Any Alibi is Better Than No Alibi

In Schuyler Square, the murder of a brilliant chemist has left the townspeople uneasy and the police stumped. Fritz Weiss had no known enemies--and no known friends for that matter. Fritz kept to himself, preferring to spend the majority of his time on his chemical creations. However, it is clear to the Schuyler Square police that there was at least one person living in the small community who wanted Fritz dead.

"Officer Van Husen, you're beginning to bore me." Bernard Morton gave Peter Van Husen his best glare, a glare that had sent more than one employee sniveling out of his office after asking for a raise. "I've already told you that I have an alibi for the night Fritz was murdered so why you're continuing to harass me is beyond my comprehension."

Peter Van Husen ignored the glare and spoke politely. "It's about your alibi, Mr. Morton. It seems to have a few holes in it."

"Holes? What are you talking about? I told you that I was getting a massage down at my health club. You can ask the massage therapist. She'll tell you that I was on her table for an hour and a half."

"We spoke to your massage therapist and she told me that you cut your massage short. She said you left at 6:30. She remembered because she used extra essential oils and apparently had quite a mess to clean up."

"That lying little...and to think I tipped her an extra buck! Well, maybe I did leave a little earlier than I thought. So what?"

"Mr. Weiss was murdered at approximately 6:45."

"I repeat: so what?"

"So my commanding officer would like you to come in to the station with me and answer a few questions."

"Not on your life. Arrest me and I'll come in and talk with my lawyer but there's no way I'm going to participate in this pathetic little witch hunt. Why would I want to kill that bald-headed jerk? Fritz worked for me. If anyone should have been killed, he would have done me in."

"Are you saying that there was bad blood between the two of you?"

"I'm not saying jack! Now would you get out of here? Go find some jaywalkers to harass."

"I'm only doing my job, Mr. Morton."

"And very poorly." Bernard walked to his front door and threw it open. "You can forget my annual donation to the policemen's retirement fund."

Peter smiled slightly. "I sincerely doubt that we'll miss that $10, Mr. Morton, but I'm sorry that you feel that way."

Bernard slammed the door after Peter left, his mind swirling. That dumb little twit hadn't backed him up on his alibi. Now what was he supposed to do? He poured a large bourbon and sat down on his fur covered couch. Truth to be told, he didn't have an alibi for the time when that idiot Fritz got himself murdered. Not a good one, at any rate. Bernard lifted his glass in the air in a mock toast to Fritz. "Thanks for nothing, old boy. You die and leave a mess behind. Good one."

Draining his glass, Bernard rose and poured another one. It looked like he had some thinking to do.