Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

Nus’ fold-ups, but not much. “So what have you got that might interest me, Daniel?” he asked in a neutral tone of voice.
    “First, thanks for showing up,” I said. “But Debby Flint said you were a nice, considerate man, so I hoped I could pass on everything I’ve picked up about her husband’s death without you thinking I was trying to show you up.”
    “She said that, eh?” he said. “Well, she’s a nice woman. OK, Daniel, I’m all ears.”
    “Besides,” I said, “I don’t know what else to do with all this info; if anything could be proved at this late date, I doubt I could do it, working alone, with no power of search, even if wanted to. You guys, maybe.”
    “Maybe,” he said. “So what’ve you got?”
    “First, I’ve got what you didn’t have and so your attention was distracted elsewhere,” I said. “Which is five million bucks of motive, and as Mr. Howieson just said, that’s only so far.”
    “Yeah,” the sergeant said. “Guess you could call that a motive, all right.” He stroked his mustache once on each side.
    “Then we get down to ‘His’ and ‘Hers,’ ” I said. I leafed through the folder and came up with some more paperwork, or copies thereof, and slid them across the desk to him. “Then there is ‘Theirs.’ ”
    “Interesting,” he said after a moment’s perusal. “And you’ve got all the original police reports, too, I notice. I wonder how.”
    I coughed modestly. “Some well-meaning citizen was kind enough to mail them to me, anonymously, of course."
    “Of course.”
    “By sheer coincidence,” I said, “I do have a brother, Anthony, aka Tony, who works Downtown in Records.”
    “You do, eh?” he said. “Might just have to have a word with him one of these days.”
    “Careful, sarge,” I said. “He outranks you.”
    “Might just have to get one of my captains to have a word with him about confidentiality one of these days,” he said.
    “Oh, shoot,” I said. “Me and my big mouth.” Take that, Tony, I thought with satisfaction. All these years and my own brother, my only brother, my kid brother, would never once help me out and so I had to fork out fortunes to Sneezy instead; how fitting.
    There elapsed some ten minutes of silence as we cast our eyes down “His,” “Hers,” and “Theirs”:

    HIS
    Fabulous house (hearsay)
    Collects early records (hearsay)
    Supposedly oil money—true or false?
    Car being serviced night in question (NIQ)—why? As part of potential alibi—e.g., he was transportless?
    In studio workshop, evidence motorcycle regularly kept there by delivery kid. Does he ever leave it there overnight? Does Tex ride a bike? How wild and woolly was his youth? Juvenile gangs? Is he a gun freak?
    Vise, hacksaw, pliers, metal files, soldering iron, etc., for homemade weapon all in his studio workshop storeroom.

    HERS
    Always seems to wear frilly blouses—why? Who wears frilly blouses in LA? Guys is who. Gang/homemade jail tattoos removed?
    When Mary goes to the theater, does she customarily don gloves?

    HISTORICAL FACT: The female of the species can be lots of trouble; ask what’s left of any male spider after he’s wined and dined his date and then given his all.

    How come they went in her car? Wouldn’t the man normally drive the woman in his, even today? And he was a good driver—evidence Mrs. Flint—and loved his new car—evidence Mrs. Flint.

    Mary claims the passenger window was open, allowing the mugger to stick a gun to Flint’s head. Why? It was pouring rain (Met. report for the NIQ). Flint didn’t smoke; did she, and say she wanted to let the smoke out? For that, how much do you open a window, even if you do; enough to let some guy in a leather jacket stick his arm in? And, according to Mary’s story, the window had to be open; if it was closed and some big black dude on a chopper started rapping on it late at night with no one around, what I would do is I’d get the fuck out of there, pronto.
    Unless: the guy on the bike was her hubby. Look! It’s Tex ! Wonder what he wants! Bzzzt. She opens the window, as the driver can do with her make of car (see police report). Zap! Watches, rings, wallet, etc., gun, gloves, etc., into purse. Scratch Mary’s face with suitable scratcher. Zoom! Tex is gone.
    Or: Deserted corner, poorly lit. (Evidence—me.) Stop for 4-way stop, or just before. Jonathan, would you get me these papers from the backseat, please. He bends around to his left, and backward, exposing