Southfarthing. The finest in all the Shire.

The clues didn’t add up. I openned the file folder and spread out all the leads on my desk. The postcard, with lipstick, addressed to the bellhop in the hotel loby. The hotel room key. A single unspent bullet. The body of the dead woman. And a name, Steve Wagner. I picked up my phone and hit the inside line.

“Louise? The hotel room still closed to the public?”

“Yeah boss.”

“Good, I’ll head there tonight. You get a number on this Wagner guy?”

“I’ve got 4 in this county. You want it now?”

“Yeah, come up.”

I could hear the click of her heels down the hallway, and then see her silhouette behind the glass. She turned the knob and my door creaked open. That girl never knocks. She always wore her hair up, “so it’d stay out of her face.” She did anyway after I said she had an elegant neck. Those glasses gotta go though.

“One guy runs a tow-motor, one’s a plumber, one’s a dishwasher and the other one is a teacher.”

“Check out the plumber for contacts in Little Italy. Teacher, huh? Like kids?

“No boss, like dogs.”

“Really?

“No, boss.”

That girl. Never smiled but always a wise cracker. “You know you might want to smile once in awhile. Guys warm up to that.”

“Sure thing boss. And boss, you might want to get that cadaver off your desk.”

“Eh, don’t bother me when I’m workin’ kiddo.”

Turns out that Steve Wagner was an English school teacher at the Praetoria School for Gifted Youngsters. The drive up was imposing, and the hedgework said, “Your shoes are cheap.” Yeah, yeah they are. My shoes are cheap. Out on the lawn there were boys and girls in uniforms, buttoned up against the brisk chill of the October afternoon. No one was sitting out studying, most were moving from point A to point B with the precision of miniature tycoons. A small group tossed around a frisbee. I got out and walked up to the door. I had my head cocked at some passing cleavage when out of the darkness in front of me emerged a huge black man in a brown blazer.

“Can I help you, Sir?”

“Hey there chief. The name’s Cheney. Detective Cheney. I’ve got a few questions to ask your staff.”

“What is this about? I wasn’t told anyone was coming.”

“I wouldn’t be much of Detective if I told you everything.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Exactly the point, my young level-headed friend.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Well, I rest my case.”

He let me in and I made for the headmaster’s chamber. I wanted to get a leg-up on the competition. He was a bald man in a full suit with a fierce gaze and a big desk. There were trophies on his walls, two stags a cougar and some fancy bird, and I wondered if behind that big oak door there were the heads of students who he put in permanent detention. I lit up my pipe in the threshold and took a heavy drag at it, letting the smoke fill the room, and introduced myself.

“The name is…”

“I’m sorry the building is non-smoking only.”

“I don’t mind.”

“But…”

“Detective Cheney, I’m here to talk to a teacher of yours, a Mr. Steve Wagner.”

“Steven? Is he in trouble? What’s this about?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“…”

“What kind of guy is this Wagner?”

“Here at Praetoria we accept teachers of only the finest calibur, with high recommendations, no black marks, and a minimum ten years’ experience at another private school. This isn’t Arkham Tech, I assure you. To gaurantee that the students receive an education like no other, one that they deserve, we spare no expense, and that says alot since we accept only the best students in the state. You will find Steven of outstanding character.”

“I better.”

“Or else what?”

I stood up, and ashed on his desk, “Or I’m going to write him a bad recommendation with some black marks.” The conversation was over.

I stopped in the doorway and looked up and down the hall. Now where the hell was Wagner’s room?