Ma always told me that drink never solved anybody’s problems, and I’d never argue with Ma – except this once.
It was the Farrell case that drove me to lunchtime drinking. Our perverse refusal to accept his confession to burglary only amused him. He knew that we had no case and that he only had to be patient. But I glanced along the bar, and I saw the waitress refracted through a wineglass, and that afternoon I told him confidently, “Farrell, we both know this was Bennett’s job.”
He only faltered momentarily, but it was the beginning of the end. My certainty broke his nerve. He couldn’t guess that I had no evidence, but only that flash of inspiration. His story hadn’t quite rung true, but it made sense if the burglar was short-sighted – as Bennett was.
And if Bennett was our burglar, then Farrell had no alibi for murder.
I can always trust Angela Goff’s VisDare to take me in an unexpected direction. Follow the link to see what the rest of her happy band are making of the prompt.