Deception

"Right," began Matt, sitting cross-legged on a desk, a very comfortable position for brainstorming, "So that camera is one of those smart-cams which are really expensive and not to mention really stylish!"

Matt finished with an impressed nod, "And," he continued, "Only a professional would have been able to afford one."

"But the manager said that this sort of thing happens all the time," said Chuck.

"I don't think so, leastways not this one," said Matt, thoughtfully, "This is too good to be used by an amateur. Did you notice the place it was fitted?"

"What about it?"

"Its angle offered an unobstructed view of the entire office, but primarily pointing at the filing cabinet."

"Really?"

"Yes. And there's another thing. The Janitor said that he'd seen the camera seven days ago but camera was removed from its hiding place only two days ago. So there should be a total of 5 days worth of video right? But there's only two days of footage. What happened to the other three days of film?"

Chuck appeared to be lost in thought, apparently on the edge of a brainwave: a rare occasion.

"Considering the fact that this is an old model," he reasoned, "it only supports memory cards up to a hundred gigabytes. And that gives about," he counted his fingers, "seventy-two hours of video in HD 720p, which is the recorded quality here."

"Seventy-two hours is three days. So the memory card's been replaced?" asked Matt, Chuck nodded. "We need to find that one because I don't think there's anything unusual about this footage or the manager wouldn't have given it to us. How do we find it?" he said exhaling.

A moment's pause was followed by Chuck screaming his head off.

"Dude! I just had a brainwave!" said Chuck impatiently, "And I'm gonna bet my hair that this" he motioned to the camera, "belonged to Scaglietti!"

"It's certainly a possibility," said Matt, "We do know from Ms Burnley that she was working on Citibank, whatever was, or is, in that memory card is imperative to solve this case."

"Then I'm willing to bet my hair again, that Citibank is hiding something from us."

"Yeah me too," said Matt, looking out the window.

"Let me just make a call to a guy who knows a guy and get some dirt on Citibank," he continued, "It might take a while though."

"How long?"

"Three days."

"We don't have that kind of time!" cried Matt, getting ready to dramatize the whole situation, "The fate of the good people of this city, rests in our hands now, Chuck," said he putting a hand over to Chuck's shoulder, "We can't let this killer strike fear into their innocent hearts," finished Matt, bringing his clenched fist to his chest, eyes closed and head bowed.

"You're doing that overly dramatic thing again," said Chuck, unconcerned.

"Can you get it done any sooner?" asked Matt, coming out of his little bubble.

"Alright," said Chuck, manifesting displeasure at the thought of physical labor, "I'll try, but no guarantees."

Just as he finished, Matt's phone rang.

"Hello," answered Matt, "Yeah that's the one ... Hey that's great! We'll be there in 10."

He ended the call.

"That was my lipstick guy," said Matt, proudly, "And he's got some information we could use."

"Still can't believe that you have a lipstick guy," muttered Chuck but, all the same, making sure Matt could hear what he was saying, "I mean of all the things, lipstick, lipstick!"

"Would you just get over it?!" retorted Matt.

"OK alright! Let's go see your 'lipstick guy'," jeered Chuck.

Their rendezvous was a secluded dark alleyway in the heart of London. Matt was leaning against the graffiti covered wall next to a dumpster. Chuck was sitting against it, checking his Facebook notifications. He humored himself by saying that he was 'down in the dumps today'. A dark hooded figure approached them, his face hidden under the hood; he approached Matt and adjusted it so that Matt could see his face. Chuck stood up and joined Matt and the mysterious person. Matt reached out an arm and performed a very long and complicated handshake, Chuck's eyes grew tired trying to follow the swift movement; finally Matt spoke.

He introduced his friend to Lipstick, as he called him. Matt explained that Lipstick was an undercover agent that he had had the good fortune to befriend; according to him, Lipstick had been assigned to the task of getting to know the Black Market activities so that the police can keep an eye on it; but they wouldn't act until something very serious happens by fear of blowing their cover. However the fabled 'King' had become very fond of Lipstick and had taken him up as his right-hand man for he was reliable and effective; this made Lipstick, literally, the information cache.

"So, Lipstick, what have you got for us?" asked Matt.

"Ok," said Lipstick, he spoke for the first time since they had seen him, toughness radiated from him as he spoke, "So what I can tell you is that since the government put up strict restrictions on exotic lipstick use and possession, the stuff's virtually disappeared but, a few companies still secretly make some of this stuff and release it into the black market; Jean-Pierre's been doing it for years. The sample you showed me," he pointed a gloved hand at Matt, "Is impossibly rare and is worth a lot of money."

"So why would anyone just drop it then?" asked Chuck turning his head to look at Matt

"Well this is an interesting turn of events," said Matt, scratching his chin.

"I can't imagine why someone would drop it," said Lipstick, "But the only people I know who have this particular one are right here on this list, but hey, some of these people may not actually be alive. And remember, you've never seen me ... I gotta go: they'll start wondering where I am. Good luck mate!"

And with that he disappeared into the shadows.

"Oh you were right Matt! Scaglietti's not on this list," said Chuck, scanning the list, "But look who is!"

Matt read the name he was so eagerly pointing out.

He exhaled, tilting his head to one side.

"Looks like it's you're lucky day Chuck," said he, "We actually have to look for her."

Chuck smiled to himself.

Chuck entered their room, after having a curiously long bath, well dressed, and found Matt lying on his bed, ready and whistling the theme from Pirates of the Caribbean. Matt looked up at Chuck, who he had known never to dress even remotely nicely, and raised an eyebrow.

"What are you wearing?!" said he, perplexed.

"Nothing, oh you mean this?" he pointed at his Armani T-shirt and jeans, "I just thought it'd be fun to look a little nice, that's all."

"But you never dress this nicely!"

"Well there's a first time for everything," said Chuck, airily.

"Sure there is," said Matt smiling sarcastically, "Who are you and what have you done with Chuck?"

"Would you just drop it?" said Chuck impatiently, "We have work to do."

"I am a detective, you know," said Matt, concerned, "And if this is about Rachel, then I say it's a lost cause, mate."

"This isn't about Rachel, OK?" clearly annoyed at Matt's persistence. He walked out of the room.

They pulled up in front of McDonald's in Matt's Renault Meganne.

"She should be here," said Chuck, "She usually has lunch here."

"How do you know," asked Matt, but then he realized that Chuck had been stalking her, "Have you been stalking her?!"

"What? No! Get outta town!" said Chuck, airily and peering out the window and he spotted her sharing a table with someone while Matt muttered something that sounded like 'Monkey-feathers!'

"There she is!" exclaimed Chuck, "How do I look?"

"Focus man, focus," said Matt, getting out of the car.

The stranger left just as they approached the front door, but not before Matt had noticed her sleek hair bouncing in the air as she strode off.

"Alright, I got this," said Chuck, puffing out his chest.

"What are you crazy?! No! You'll just be drooling all over her! Going all doe-eyed!" laughed Matt.

"Come on man!" pleaded Chuck, "Have a bit of faith in your best friend!"

"Alright!" said Matt, realizing Chuck had hit his soft-spot, "I'm gonna sit out back and keep an eye on you, here take this: it's a microphone, lets me hear everything you say."

"Ok, I'm going in," said Chuck, picking up the miniature microphone, "Do I look alright? Not over dressed am I?"

"This is an interrogation, not a date," said Matt, though he adjusted Chuck's T-shirt, "Stay focused," he said, patting Chuck's cheek.

"Right I gotch'ya."

"What are the consequences of what I've just done?" thought Matt, as he walked over to find a good vantage point. He found a place that suited his requirements, sat down and ordered a smoothie. He heard the familiar voice of Chuck through his earphone and looked up to see him exchanging pleasantries with Rachel – well, he was at least; and he prayed that Chuck remained focused.

"Hello Rachel," said Chuck pulling up a chair.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Chuck Spaulding," she said, "It's been quite a while hasn't it?"

"Yes, it has," said Chuck who was now staring intently at Rachel as though seeing her properly for the first time in his life. Rachel looked completely relaxed; and then he spoke.

"You know I was stuck in a filthy stinking cell for three days because of what you did!", squeaked Chuck.

"Dammit Chuck! I knew you couldn't do it!" exclaimed Matt, dropping his head.

"Oh come now Chuckles," said Rachel, tauntingly, "Still holding a grudge for something like that?"

"Chuckles?!" Matt was fighting back a fit of laughter, "Oh my god! I am so not gonna let this one go!"

"Don't call me that!" said Chuck, and he continued complaining, "It was 3 DAYS," said he, showing his fingers, "And the cell stank of pee and it was dirty and had bugs and-"

"Why are you here Chuck?" demanded Rachel.

"Ah, you see," said he, somewhat regaining his composure, "I'm in law enforcement now."

"That's it man, stay on track," thought Matt, his hands together and watching his partner's every move like a hawk closing in for the kill. And Chuck shows his badge, or at least he thought he did because what he showed was an expired coupon for a free meal at McDonald's; Matt face-palmed.

"Right," she said sarcastically raising her eyebrow, "How's that working out for you?"

Chuck realized the mistake and found the badge that he had meant to show. Teasingly, in an innocent voice, she asked him.

"Have you come here to arrest me officer?"

"As much as I would love to do that, no," said Chuck, "I just want to ask you a few questions and hopefully depending on how you answer, I will arrest you."

"That's what I love about you Chuck: you're such a laugh," giggled Rachel, "Alright then, ask away."

"Let's start with where you were at around 12:30pm, three days ago."

"Why I believe I was in Rosewood near Camden Beach, in America, having tea with my grandfather, I think you remember him, don't you?" sneered Rachel.

"D-d-do I remember him?" twitched Chuck; a chill had swept over him at the mention of her grandfather. The maniacal old man, a war veteran, had tried to kill Chuck thinking he'd poisoned his afternoon tea!

"You there, boy, Chad!" said Rachel's grandfather, in a tough American accent which made him all the more frightening, "Bring me my afternoon tea!"

"But-," began Chuck.

"NOW!" screamed the old man with such a force, that Chuck was moving before his mind had registered what he was doing. A terrified Chuck returned with the tea in shaking hands. Her grandfather had accepted the cup without even giving him a nod of thank you. But seeing the teabag immediately jumped to the conclusion of attempted murder and wrapped his skinny but immensely powerful fingers around Chuck's throat; squeezing the air out of him. He'd woken up half an hour later, with high fever!

Dragging himself back to the present, he said, "I didn't come here to talk about the past. Well technically I did, because this event I intend to question you about happened three days ago, but it's not the distant past so th-"

"Get to the point Chuckles, dear," interrupted Rachel, slightly irritated, "I have better places to be you know."

"Ok, I told you not to call me that! Were you at Amy Scaglietti's house on the 14th around 12:30pm?"

"I told you love, I was in Rosewood."

"Yeah, sure you were."

"And are you familiar with," he broke off to look at the name written in his palm, "Jean-Pierre's 'Le Baiser de la mort' #22 lipstick, it's pretty rare and expensive, in fact only a few people actually know how to get this stuff."

Rachel's smile faded momentarily, but she regained control almost instantly, but not before Matt had noticed from afar.

"Well you know how much I like rare and expensive things-," she said, sweetly, but Chuck had noticed too that she had instantaneously lost her footing and interrupted her.

"Well this particular one was found at the scene of the crime," said Chuck staring piercingly into Rachel's eyes that were now explicitly trying to evade him.

She deliberated and then spoke as though she were confessing; Chuck's legendary piercing stare had worked.

"Okay look!" she began, "That was mine before, but it wasn't in my possession, the truth is I gave it to one of my clients as a gift, two months ago; she was, sort of a friend but come two weeks later and not a peep from her. I tried to reach her but she's gone, disappeared into thin air! I can tell you the name of the girl though," she added, "Her name is Alice Longworth, but I must say she's terribly difficult to find."

"Alice Longworth?" wondered Matt, who had been hanging on every word Rachel was speaking,

"I'm a good detective you know," said Chuck, leaning against the back-rest of his chair.

"All evidence to the contrary!" said Matt, amused at what Chuck was saying; reminiscing all the times Chuck had screwed up.

"So I'm going to need a DNA sample to confirm that." said Chuck.

"Oh I think I've given you enough of those remember?" said Rachel, pouting her lips. Chuck spit-takes. But she plucked a single strand of hair and handed it over to Chuck after he'd finished drying himself and his immediate environment amongst the innumerable "I'm so sorry"'s. He placed the hair safely in a plastic bag when Rachel spoke again.

"How's it been Chuck, met anyone since you and I?"

"As a matter of fact I have, lots of people," said Chuck airily, "More than I can count; in fact I'm in a relationship right now."

"He's talking about the coffee shop girl he says 'Hi' to every morning," said Matt, rolling his eyes.

"Really?" said Rachel, "What's her name?"

"Her name? Its er ... her name is ... its ... Anna," he stammered, "Yeah, that's right, its Anna."

"Sure it is. So what does she do?"

"Er...she works in a coffee shop."

"Told ya," said Matt, resisting a terrible urge to burst out laughing.

Rachel took a good look at Chuck, for a second there, Matt thought he saw a tinge of sorrow, but it vanished as soon as it had appeared.

"Well, look at the time," said Rachel checking her watch, "I'd love to stay and chat, but I have places to go, things to do."

"This isn't over," warned Chuck, "I know you got something to do with this."

"Goodbye Chuck," said she, in a final tone, leaving Chuck staring at his drink.

"Don't say a word," he said as Matt took up the seat Rachel vacated.

"I ain't got nothing to say ... Chuckles!" said Matt repressing a laugh.

"Damn it Matt! If you don't shut up or so help me I'm gonna ..."

"Alright man, chill, it's not that funny," said Matt, dishonestly.

"Who else is on the list?" asked Chuck, changing the subject.

"Well, get this, out of the nine people mentioned here, three are dead, of more or less natural causes, and the others are in prison, except for one and you won't believe who it is."

"Gwen Stefani?"

"Nope," said Matt, putting on a mysterious hat that had definitely not been there till just then, imitating Indiana Burnley.

"Sarah Burnley," said he, in a whisper, from under the hat; his eyes, hidden from view.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Chuck, "Where'd you get the hat?!" staring bewildered at the Fedora.

"Please," smiled Matt, removing his Fedora, "Its Sarah Burnley!"

"Well I'll be a monkey's uncle! Looks like this story just got a bit more interesting."

"So what do you say we visit our friend and get to the bottom of this confusing dilemma?"

"Yes! Let's."

"Oh and give me the DNA sample and I'll have it sent down to the lab."

"OK, here"

'Gwen Stwfani's Rich Girl' played through Chuck's phone. Matt shot him a quizzical look which Chuck shrugged off.

"Hello? ... Yeah OK! I'll be there."

"Who was that?"

"That there was my informant, Sarah will have to wait, let's go!"

"So who exactly is this Informant?"

They were walking down a small gravel lane where Chuck had arranged to meet up with his informant. There were small houses on either side, cozy little cottages that created the impression of a village. It was a pleasant location; Matt could hear children playing in their homes and gardens. As they took a turn however, the environment grew gloomy. Matt was surprised that it was so dark in the dead afternoon.

"I don't know her real name, she's way to careful to let that one go," said Chuck, "But on the street, they call her 'Tell Tale Gale'"

"Why do they call her that?"

"'Cause they say that she can get you information about anyone," said Chuck, "I once heard this rumor that she got dirt on the president for fifty million bucks! Can't say for sure if its true though."

"How do you meet people like this anyway?" asked Matt.

"Facebook, duh!"

"Figures," said Matt, he did not like this setting, it reminded him of the forest in The Wizard of Oz, shaking his head, he asked, "Are you sure we are supposed to meet here?"

"Yeah this is the place," he scratched his head, "Or maybe it was-"

"Over here."

They turned around searching for the source of the voice.

"Over here."

Again, they turn around but despite their efforts neither of them could see anyone beside themselves.

"Over here!"

Desperate to find the person trying to get their attention, they looked around intently, but luck had abandoned them.

"I'm over here you pair of quarter-wits!"

Matt saw the informant looking at them, quite plainly through a window. Staring at them with an air of amused irritation etched on her face as they walked over to her window.

"Oh! OK," they said in unison.

"Did you get what I asked?"

"Maybe I did; maybe I didn't."

"What if I said it means you're gonna earn a few bucks?" said Chuck, waving twenty bucks.

"That's a twenty!" she said, clearly offended, "Nobody's gonna do anything for you for twenty."

"Alright fine! How about this?" Chuck pulled out a hundred.

"I'd say that's gonna be enough to pay for coffee in the shop down the street," said Tell Tale Gale, crossly.

"Ladies please," said Matt coolly; he showed a thousand note. While Chuck shot him a murderous look for calling him a lady.

"Now, that there is worth some good information, let's go talk some place more private shall we?"

The trio relocated to a smoothie bar.

"When I said private, this isn't exactly what I had in mind," said she, looking around the crowded room.

Matt shrugged and continued to drink his smoothie.

"Alright, so what can I do for you boys?"

"You can give us any and all info on the most recent happenings of Citibank," said Chuck.