Studying the condition of the murder scene, the two detectives could see that Mary Alice wasn’t the one to be blamed for the condition of the living room. “The dear girl wasn’t one for good housekeeping was she?” Pierre muttered. “She may have been, but we’ll never know the solution to that question. Her killer is the one that turned her showplace into a garbage jump.” Robert said. Pierre didn’t bother remarking back he was too preoccupied poking around some of her family photos. “What are you doing over there, Pierre?” He asked. “If I remember correctly you must always visit the scene of the crime and look for clues in order to piece together the entire investigation.” He explained. “I was a detective same as you I think I know a bit about it.” Robert said. “Yes, but in my day we had no finger printing techniques. It is much easier for you than it ever was for me.” He sighed. “I agree the capabilities of my day and of yours it seems there is far leg work that needs to be done,” Robert said. “Did you see anything useful while you were looking through those picture frames?” He asked. “It is nothing so urgent, but, on the other hand I think it would be best to hold onto this for now.” He replied. Instead of waiting Robert snatched the frame right out of his hands. “What is this?” He asked. “I think it’s a school picture.” He shrugged. “What makes you so intrigued, Pierre?” He asked. “What do you say we do some undercover work at the police station I mean who knows what we could uncover in some of their files at the police station?” He asked. “And just what are you hoping to find?” Robert asked. “I don’t know, but it certainly might help to know who their suspects are.” He replied. “You don’t even know who this guy in the picture is.” He muttered. “This is exactly what I am going to find out and you are going with me.” He replied.
“Pierre, what are we doing here at the Sheriff’s station?” Robert asked. “I just hope he doesn’t realize that I am breathing over his shoulder.” Pierre snickered. “Just wait until they get a whiff of that of that two-hundred-year old breath of yours. What do you attribute that to garlic, or spiced rum?” Rob joked. “Just because you had the luxury of dying in the twentieth century doesn’t mean your breath stinks any prettier than mine, after all we are both dead.” Pierre remarked. “Whoa, back up for a minute,” Robert said. “What is the problem?” Pierre asked. “That face, I recognize him.” He replied. “What is the problem?” Pierre asked. “Turn the page back to the beginning of the mug shots.” He shouted. As Pierre began thumbing through the stiff pages, he seemed to be causing quite the raul in the detectives cool demeanor. “Did somebody open a window?” The investigating detective bolted up from his desk. “What is it what did you see?” He asked. “Do you remember that picture you took from the Mary Alice Radisch’s house?” Robert asked. “Yes of course I do. Did you see him?” He asked. “I certainly did and there he is, do you still think he is our killer?” He asked. “Why couldn’t he be?” Pierre asked. “Because he was killed six months ago.” He muttered. “I wonder why she kept a picture of him?” He asked. “Could it be for the simple fact that his name is Martin Radisch? He was her son?” Robert replied. “Just how many sons did Mrs. Radisch have?” Pierre asked. “I’m not sure, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to take another look at the house or should I say the crime scene.” He remarked.