The Detective Duel 
 

      I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing off the hook. I rolled over and glanced at the clock as I reached for the phone. 6:17, it read. Somehow the captain just couldn’t get it through his thick skull that I wasn’t to be disturbed this early in the morning. “Yes?” I croaked into the receiver in that raspy voice I always have before I drink something. I hate it. Makes my skin crawl.

      “Sorry to disturb you so early, Detective Rossman” – I grunted, which I guess he took as his cue to continue – “but we have a case. You know the watch store down on Seventh and Main? Riley’s Watches?”

      I grunted again.

      “Well, Riley was found dead early this morning. Shot. His store was robbed last night, several thousand in jewelry taken.” The captain gave me the rundown.

      “I’ll be right over,” I told him. We both knew that meant I’d take a shower and eat breakfast before heading down. I’d gotten spoiled being the only detective in this small town.

      “Oh, and one more thing…” the captain continued. “We’ve also put that new detective on the case. You know, the one you met at the station the other day. From Florida. He’s offered to work it for free, ‘to show us his skills’. I figured there’s no harm in seeing what he can do.”

      “Yeah. Sure.” Not sure whether I’d sounded angry, I hung up the phone and headed for the bathroom, forgetting my shower and breakfast plans. I hate competition. I remembered the detective well. He’d been wearing a monocle and smoking a cigar. He’d given me one. He’d moved here from Florida a couple weeks ago and came down to the station looking for work. The captain had turned him down, saying the cops only needed one detective. Apparently he’d resorted to desperate measures. I knew he would.  
 

      When I arrived at the watch store, the new guy was already there, smoking a newly-lit cigar. I nodded at him. “Weston.” I made a point of leaving out the ‘detective’ part.

      He nodded back. “Jeremy.” He called me by my first name, same as he had the moment we met. It was damn annoying. I’d gotten accustomed to being addressed as ‘sir’ or ‘detective’ by the cops. Being called by just my first name was as good as a punch in the jaw. I looked away.

      I turned towards the captain just as the coroner came out of the shop. “The owner was shot twice. Died almost immediately, I’d say,” he reported.

      The captain frowned. “Twice? The lady who called it in said she heard three shots. You’re sure?”

      The coroner nodded. “Nearly sure, sir. Two bullet wounds, two bullet casings, no obvious damage anywhere else in the shop.”

      “Very well…” The captain slid his phone out of his pocket and answered it. “Captain Borgman,” he said curtly.

      I turned to check on our new guy and found him in the planting strip, holding his monocle to his right eye and examining what looked like a footprint in the dirt. “Find something?” I asked, doing my best to sound nonchalant, as though if I hadn’t found it it couldn’t possibly be important.

      He shrugged and finished his examination before looking up. “Deputy,” he called. “Tag this as a specimen.”

      The deputy rushed over, eager to please, and began photographing the print enthusiastically.

      “Gentlemen,” the captain addressed both Weston and I as he slid his phone back into a pocket. “That was the station. Another body’s been found, shot and dumped by the road just outside town. They suspect some connection between the two cases.”

      Thinking fast, I ordered the deputy to photograph the bullet wounds on the watch store owner so he could compare them to the one on our new dead guy. Weston was already in his car, driving away. Before the captain could leave, I called him over to examine the clue I’d found while Weston was examining the footprint.

      Just in front of the door, nestled in a corner, was a cigar stub. The captain shined his flashlight into the shadow. He frowned. “It’s a cigar stub,” he said, confused.

      “Yes. And I only know one person who smokes cigars,” I replied triumphantly.

      The captain shook his head. “They always have a few at the bar. I’m sure someone else in this town smokes them. Besides, even if it is Weston’s cigar, it’s not enough to go on. He could’ve walked past the store a week ago and just happened to toss his stub by the entrance. And he seems trustworthy to me.”

      It was my turn to frown. “I don’t trust him.”

      The captain shook his head again. “You don’t trust anyone.”

      “Even so, it’s a bit much of a coincidence, don’t you think? It’s at least worth looking into…”

      “Well, let’s see what our young deputy thinks. He’s knowledgeable about this sort of thing. And I’ll have him bag it up, but I don’t think it can be considered proper evidence yet. Deputy!”

      The young man rushed over and knelt down, examining the cigar. He picked it up with a sterile specimen bag and examined it from all angles. “Well…it wasn’t here yesterday, or there’d be some sun bleaching on the top. Even though it’s in shadow this early in the morning, it would’ve gotten direct sunlight for a few hours yesterday afternoon. However, these small dents from the pavement indicate it’s been here for several hours at least.”

      I smiled. “You see? It’s from the time of the crime!”

      The captain sighed. “Thank you, deputy. Have you any idea of the brand? I suppose we can compare it to the brand Weston smokes.”

      The deputy turned it over one more time. “Yes, the shape and design on the side is unmistakable. It’s a Havana cigar.”

      The captain nodded and turned away, indicating not only that the conversation was over, but that he wasn’t thrilled with me.

      As I walked back to my car and drove towards the edge of town, I thought about how easily this particular competition had fallen by the wayside.  
 

      I hopped out of my Ford just in time to see the captain confronting Weston.

      “Detective, I’m terribly sorry to have to ask you this, but may I see your cigar?” he asked.

      Weston raised his eyebrows but handed his cigar to the captain. I walked up and peeked over the captain’s shoulder. It was indeed a Havana cigar.

      The captain sighed again. “Well, detective, I must tell you that a cigar stub was found at the scene of last night’s crime. It’s the same brand as yours and the deputy estimated it was tossed down around the time of the crime. I have to ask: have you ever been to that watch store before?”

      “No, sir.” He did an excellent job of sounding incredibly innocent. “May I see this stub?”

      The captain nodded and looked to his deputy, who handed over the stub, double-bagged in clear plastic.

      Weston lifted his monocle to his eye and turned the bag over slowly, examining the cigar stub closely from every angle. “This is my cigar, yes.”

      I glanced knowingly at the captain. “Well, now that we’ve established that–”

      Weston held up a hand to silence me. “But it has not been smoked,” he concluded.

      The captain raised his eyebrows. I had to admit that one impressed even me. “Then why is one end burnt?” the captain asked suspiciously.

      Weston smiled sweetly. “Well, I would guess someone cut most of it off, then charred that end with a lighter.”

      The captain frowned and consulted his cigar expert. “Deputy?”

      The deputy took the bag back and examined the cigar for the second time. “He’s right. There are no saliva stains around the base.”

      The captain nodded, even more impressed than I was. “Interesting. Any idea how it might’ve wound up at a crime scene?”

      Weston shrugged and looked away. “Not really. I’ll work on that…”

      Weston walked off, back in the direction of the road. I glared daggers at his retreating back, then shifted my gaze as the coroner returned from examining the body.

      “Well?” the captain asked curtly.

      The coroner pointed back towards the body. “It was definitely dumped here,” he explained. “Shot once, and judging from the still-moist blood, I can be almost sure it was last night, probably at about the same time as the other guy. I can’t be sure it was the same gun until we do an autopsy and check the bullets, but it looks very similar to me. There’s more extensive charring around this wound, which means this man was shot from closer range. Also, both men were shot in the same place, just to the right of the sternum, where the ribs are thinnest and you’re almost guaranteed to hit the heart. Even from close range, that kind of accuracy indicates some skill with a gun.”

      I was turning this information over in my mind when I heard a shout and turned to see the sergeant beckoning to us. Next to him, Weston was holding his monocle up to his eye, examining a small, dark patch of dirt near the edge of the road. The captain and I walked over, and I saw a partial footprint in the dirt patch.

      Before either the captain or I could say anything, Weston launched into his explanation. “The deputy here has confirmed my suspicion that this print matches the one I found at the store. The shoe has a fairly distinctive wear pattern – shoes are always made so they’ll wear evenly across the heel, where most of the stress lands when you walk. However, many people suffer from pronation, meaning their foot tilts inward when they walk, resulting in greater stress on the inside half of the sole. Supination, the opposite, is a much rarer problem, and the excessive wear on the outer half of the heel, and the fact that the outer half of the print is significantly deeper, indicates that this is a rather extreme case of supination.”

      I shifted uncomfortably, angry that he’d discovered what I knew could prove an essential tool in weeding out suspects. I played it down. “Well, I’m glad you’ve established that our culprit has a rare foot disease,” I said sarcastically.

      Weston looked up, his monocle falling away from his eye. “Not a disease, Jeremy. A developmental problem resulting from abnormal bone growth.”

      I cringed again at his use of my first name. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me, either. His eyes sparkled, making it clear he knew something I didn’t. I glared back.

      “Alright, enough.” The captain frowned at Weston. “Rossman is right. Good job, but I’m afraid I don’t see exactly what this tells us right now.”

      Weston smiled. “I believe it may be significant.”

      The captain waited a moment, as though expecting Weston to continue. “Alright, I’ll go radio it in. Maybe the station can come up with a list of suspects who…ah…supinate.”

      The captain and Weston both walked off, the captain back to his car and Weston into a grove of tress near the body. A couple seconds later, Weston called my name and beckoned me to join him. I walked over and looked around, confused. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary in this particular grove.

      Weston was looking at me, holding up his monocle. “I think you did it.”

      I blinked and stumbled over my response. After I’d composed myself, I replied, “Excuse me?”

      Weston smiled his sweet little smile. “You supinate severely. May I see the bottoms of your shoes?”

      I blinked again, still sort of in shock. “You can’t possibly be suggesting – ”

      Weston smiled his sweet little smile again. “Actually, I can.” He stared into my eyes, as though watching closely for my reaction. “I think you couldn’t bear the though of competition for best detective in town, so you tried to frame me for a crime. The original plan was to rob the watch store, and that man” – he pointed over my shoulder at the body lying in the brush – “was helping you. However, you decided it would look better if you went ahead and framed me for murder too, so you killed the store owner. Your helper objected, so you killed him too, picked up the bullet casing, carried him to your car – leaving that unusually deep bootprint in front of the store – and dumped him here in the wilderness, leaving the print by the road here. To reinforce your frame, you took the cigar I gave you at the station the other day, cut off the end, tried to make it look smoked, and planted it outside the store.”

      I frowned and reached for my gun. Weston appeared to notice what I was doing but didn’t react. I pointed the gun directly at his chest, just to the right of his sternum. The way they’d taught me at the firing range. Weston held up his hand like he’d done before, presumably indicating he didn’t want to be shot. Now it was my turn to smile. “Yes, I did it. I hate competition. I like being the only detective police can depend on in this town. You’re the second detective who’s come to my town and tried to usurp my authority. The last one’s rotting in a prison somewhere, convicted of grand theft and murder.”

      Weston appeared completely unfazed. “My, aren’t you jaded and sadistic.”

      My blood was boiling. “First of all, no one’s going to believe you anyway. The all trust me. Second of all, I could shoot you right now and say you admitted to the crime and were trying to run away, so I shot you instinctively to prevent that.” I did my best to imitate one of his sweet smiles, hoping to give him a taste of his own medicine. “In fact, that sounds good to me.”

      A voice came from behind me. “Don’t even think about it, Rossman.” I froze. I’d never heard the Captain speak so harshly. I felt his pistol pressing into my back as he reached around and pushed my gun down. He moved around me, now pointing his gun at my chest, and I realized Weston hadn’t been holding his hand up to get me to stop. He’d been telling the captain to wait. And listen. Fuck. He’d heard everything.

      The captain glared at me. “I thought it was a little strange that a robbery and murder closely followed the arrival of both new detectives. How could you do this? We’ve been working together for almost twenty years now. I’ve trusted you for almost twenty years. How often have you been lying through your teeth?”

      “You can’t be serious.” I tried to sound civil, but it came out as more of a snarl. I couldn’t believe it. The icy claws of panic began to tear at my insides.

      My mind was racing. The captain was still glaring at me, his jaw slightly ajar. I felt the cold metal of my gun against my palm and knew there was no alternative. I jerked the gun back up. I hadn’t decided yet whether I was going to shoot myself or this new guy who’d ruined me, but before I could finish the motion the captain made my decision for me. I heard a loud crack and felt a sharp pain in my side. The gunshot echoed in my head as the pain in my chest grew stronger and sank deeper.

      My hearing went first. I could see the captain’s mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear the words. I felt my gun hand go limp as my body collapsed onto the dark earth. The pain and panic slowly subsided. A dark shape was standing over me. It expanded to fill my vision. I could hear nothing, see nothing, feel…nothing.