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[h2][color=0054a6]Richard Barker[/color][/h2][/center]

	[color=0054a6]"His briefcase. How curious."[/color] Richard said out in the smokey room, his words nearly piercing the thick smoke that the two lonely smokers gave off, even though they had the company of each other. To the detective the mention of Ottoman jewelry and the like didn't raise any thoughts in his mind, but the briefcase? Flicking of some ash into the ashtray, surrounded by a typewriter with a half-written report, a pile of newspapers and Richard's hat, the detective looked down at January again. She was onto something. Clever kid, she might get places, even without her razor-sharp looks. 

	[color=0054a6]"It would seem we're on the same train of thought then, Miss Endicott. If you're asking for my opinon, and I assume you will sooner or later, something smells fishy of this whole mess. I don't want to sound rude, but to me it looks like someone or something from his past is involved here. That and the briefcase. "[/color] The detective downed another sip of his whiskey, the last one, and poured himself another glass. He was used to drinking the hard stuff, years upon years of experince weighing down on him. The same memories that reminded him that the cops were far too keen to sweap these kinds of cases under the rugs of a public afflicted with memory loss. He though didn't forget. He remembered all too well. 

	[color=0054a6]"If you don't mind, honey, I'd like to start on the case in the morning. The museum, where he was murdered is probably where I'll begin my investigation. Unless you have something more you can tell me, any and all of the smallest details you can think of, there's not much a common shamus like me can do. You'd probably need some rest, after all that's happened."[/color] Richard said frankly to January, putting down his glass after another sip and giving her an understanding look. People would behave the wildest of ways at the loss of someone close, even if they didn't know so themselves. Richard guessed that January was the partying type, dancing and flirting her way out of the sorrow that followed Death. 

	Richard stood up from the desk and wandered over to the illuminated window again, idly smoking the rest of his cigarette as he listened to her fingers restlessy tapping on his desk. Turning to look at her, he chuckled and grinned at the young and beautiful lady with a silver spoon in her mouth, before looking out and down at the rainy street. [color=0054a6]"You'd be a mean receptionist with those fingers, doll. Ever considered working a typewriter?"[/color] he asked, finishing the stump of a cigarette and throwing it out the window.[color=0054a6]"Anyway, you'd better take the backdoor out. Frontdoor doesn't open easily outwards in this rain, you see. I hope to see you again soon, Miss January Endicott."[/color]