Taking in the scene, Detective Del Harold imagined the body before it reached the floor. His old theater coach yelling “Reverse!” in his head, he moved backwards from the victim, stopping just short of an upturned table in the middle of scattered broken glass. Nothing bloody though…

“Okay, for tonight’s first suggestion I’d like the name of a blunt object.”

“I’m sorry, Del, what was that??” his partner Viola asked, head still down as she took notes in small, neat handwriting.

Sheepishly, he said, “I mean…have they found the weapon?”

“No,” she replied, “but the uniforms are combing the bar and back dumpsters in the alley for anything with blood or matching the impact profile. What reason did the bartender give for the vic being here this early?”

“His troupe performed Friday nights in exchange for a round of drinks and use of the bar for Saturday morning classes.”

“You think he made a joke at the wrong person’s expense last night? Tough room.” she said.

“Yes.” he replied. “And?”