The young woman sat sullenly hugging herself, completely oblivious to her surroundings. Even if she hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have been impressed by what she saw. The walls of the room were the depressingly dull gray of unfinished cement, illuminated only by the glow of a small, albeit bright, lamp shining on the small table in front of her. Behind that table sat a vacant chair and, behind that, a solid-looking steel door donned with a small glass window pane.

The young woman noticed none of these things, however, instead preferring to stare blankly down at the table in front of her. She was so consumed with this task, in fact, that she completely failed to notice as two men entered through the door. One of them, a somewhat tall well-built man, moved casually towards the chair in front of her, draping his suit jacket on it before seating himself. The other man was shorter but even sturdier. He moved agitatedly towards the shade of one of the corners, preferring to glare menacingly out from under his hat.

“Hello.” The tall man said genially. “I’m detective Calligan and this is my partner detective McCullough. We’d just like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

The woman didn’t respond, numbly boring a hole through the table.

“I understand that this was a traumatic experience, and I’d like to emphasize that you’re not currently being considered as a suspect. We do, however, need some information regarding your discovery of the victim Miss…” Detective Calligan paused expectantly.

“Taylor. Valerie Taylor.” Came the soft, almost inaudible reply.

“And how is it that you happened upon the victim Miss Taylor?”

“His name is Henry. Henry McGovern.”

“So you knew him?”

“Sort of. He worked at my father’s bank. I would see him sometimes when I went to visit.”

“I see,” Calligan said thoughtfully. “Which bank was this?”

“First Regional.”

"What does your father do there?"

"He's the president."

“And did you ever speak with Mr. McGovern during any of your visits?”

“Sometimes… well I guess more than sometimes.”

“Was there something between you two?”

“Well, he and I are close in age and he was very friendly.”

“I see, so he was a very likeable young man.”

“Yes and father says that he’s very bright, one of the best workers he has.”

“Really?”

“Yes. According to Father, he was well on his way to becoming vice president.”

“Vice president of a bank, at his age, that is impressive. Though I do need to know the events that led to you finding him in an alleyway.”

Valerie’s face darkened at this, as though she just remembered why she was there. “Yes, yes of course. It was actually somewhat because of Henry. The last time I went to see my father, we talked a little, just like before. Only this time he asked me if I’d like to go out to dinner with him that evening.”

“And I take it, you agreed.”

“Well, he was such a nice man, and my father always boasted about how smart he was. I could see no reason to refuse. We were supposed to meet at the Gilded Swan to eat, and it was on the way there that I found him. I was walking from the trolley when I heard a sound from a nearby alley.”

“What kind of sound?”

“It sounded like a scuffle, then a crash. I think a trash can was knocked over. Then, all I could hear was a low moan, like someone in intense pain.”

“So after hearing all that you went to investigate?”

“I did.”

“Brave woman.”

“Brave… or stupid? If I’d never gone to look I’d never have seen Henry in that way. The blood was everywhere, detective. His eyes, nose, mouth, and ears even. Every inch of his suit was soaked. His eyes looked like they had turned into pure blood, but at the same time they stared at me. They looked sad. Almost as if he was saying he was sorry…” Valerie trailed off, tears slowly rolling down her face.

Detective Calligan stood and, walking over to her, placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “Thank you Valerie for your help. Please wait here, I’ll arrange a cab to pick you up and take you home.”

“You will find out who did this, won’t you?” Valerie whispered through her tears.

“We will... We will.” Calligan promised and solemnly left the room, his shadowy companion trailing after.

“So what do you think?” McCullough asked as soon as they had left the room, lighting up a cigarette.

“What do you mean?” Calligan asked in return.

“A young man doing well in his career and about to take out a nice well,-to-do girl, suddenly turns up dead in an alley in one of the most gruesome scenes this town’s seen in a long time. And that's saying something. But in a town like this if you’re doing well that means you have friends. If you suddenly aren’t, then you have enemies... very special enemies.”

“I know what you’re insinuating, Mac. You think it’s the Donahues. Somehow it seems like you always do.”

“That’s because they’re the cause of virtually everything unsightly that crawls through the underbelly of this fair city.”

“You know, with all the tortures, thefts, muggings, and murders; I’d forgotten just how fair this city is.”

“And that’s all because of the Donahues. Everyone knows they got their money from their ties to Boston.”

“Well you may be right; let’s just see where the clues take us. For now we still have to wait on the coroner’s report. Why don’t you go start the car so we can go check out that bank? Though I’ve got something I need to do first.”

“What, are you going to go talk to your girl at the front desk?” McCullough asked, somewhat jeeringly.

“My girl? You mean I spent all this time bragging about you for nothing?” Calligan responded, undeterred, before turning and setting off down the hallway. It didn’t take long for Calligan to reach the police station’s receptionist desk, where Calligan was greeted by the broad smile of the petite blonde sitting behind it.

“Hello Crystal.” Calligan said smoothly, “Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

Crystal sighed, “I’m afraid not, the boss wants me to pull a double to catch up on paperwork. You’d think that I’m the only person who knows how to push pencils around here.”

“Well who knows, you might get lucky. I might have to work late tonight too.”

Crystal smiled at that. “Hopefully,” she said with an equally hopeful gleam in her eyes.

“Though I do need something from you now.” Calligan interjected, shattering her short reverie. “There’s a woman in interrogation room one who needs a ride home. Is there any way you can make sure she gets it?”

“Of course. I’ll call for a cab right now.”

“Thank you.”

After saying his goodbyes, Calligan made his way to the entrance of the station, where he knew that McCullough would be impatiently waiting. As expected, McCullough’s Model A was there waiting. It had once been nice, purchased brand new in 1928, but the years and McCullough’s driving had been hard on it.

Calligan opened the passenger side door and casually sat himself inside. “Alright Mac, that’s all settled. Let’s go head to that bank.”

“I don’t think we should do that just yet.” McCullough responded, a hint of tension in his voice.

“Why is that?” Calligan asked, turning to look at him. McCullough was sitting bolt upright in his seat, staring fixedly ahead. A distinct look of fear was carved onto his face, as distinctive as the cold black metal of the gunbarrel pressed against the back of his head.