Grace Champion sat in front of her computer. "This is from a department store across the street. Check the time stamp."

"Ten-forty."

"Right, now Watch." She advanced the image forward slowly, sliding her eyes to the side as Springer leaned close over her shoulder, his breath warm on her neck.

"That's Wales! He said he got back at eleven." He blurted, straightening up.

"Right. And we scrolled through three hours previous, up to when we arrived, and got nothing. Doesn't mean another entrance couldn't have been used, but we checked plates on all the cars in and out and there have been nothing but tenants – not even a visitor."

Grace straightened up as well, giving the bottom of her sweater a tug.

"So, he got home earlier than he told us. The 911 call came in when?" Art checked his notes. "Eleven fifteen. So he had thirty-five minutes from getting home to calling us."

"Plus the fifteen it took before the medics arrived. They beat us by about five minutes." Gary noted.

"Right. So we're looking at nearly an hour. Doc said time of death was one to two hours - you can do a lot in an hour."

"That sounds promising," the Chief of Detectives rumbled as he joined the trio. "I hope you were referring to your investigative prowess, Detective Springer."

"We've only started, Cap." Springer inhaled slowly and silently.

"So have the brass. Seems the mayor is a very good friend of the Manager at Dominion Banking, and he doesn't want his friend involved in anything messy."

"He'll need to be interviewed. Harrison was bunking with Wales because he was fired. I'm sure the mayor would want us to be thorough."

"Don't blow smoke, Springer. You heard what I said, and I don't want any more calls. Just wrap this up." The CD rolled back to his office, and they all watched him go.

"Grace, you call the bank and do it over the phone. A friendly woman's voice might be more palatable to him."

"I could report that, Art," she replied, winking at Gary. "Sexist comments are harass ment you know."

"Really? Perhaps we should compare notes." The dare was delivered with a confident change in posture.

"That would just leave Gary to solve our case."

"Point taken," and they both laughed at Gary's expression.

                                                    ❄❄❄❄❄

The following day in the squad room brought a flurry of phone calls and computer searches. The killing had riveted the press, and progress was demanded almost hourly by the mayor himself. Apparently the banking community was circling wagons to guard reputations. Reporters were pestering the Desk Sergeant, and the Captain of Detectives was coming to a slow boil.

"These are the backgrounds on Wales and the vic." Gary dropped the file in front of his partner. "Interesting to find our Mr. Harrison was married – or at least separated."

"Wales never mentioned that when we asked about relatives. Come to think of it, he seemed a little evasive when I asked."

"Seems the wife left the picture about two and a half months ago, but there's no divorce proceedings mentioned anywhere." Crawford slopped into a chair and put his feet up. "Explains why he didn't have a place to stay. She probably tossed him out."

"Wales must have known that, why not say so? Where did he live anyway?" Art was flipping through his notebook.

"Crestview Estates . . . that's a pretty high income area."

"And he was what, a loan manager?"

Grace called from her desk across the aisle. "Yes, at Dominion bank.  Mr. Avril Kendrick was very forthcoming to my friendly woman's voice." She poked a tongue out at Art. "And he was worth quite a bit what with his savings, plus a healthy portfolio, and a ton of insurance. Apparently the drinking habit was the means for dismissal."

"Are we looking into why the drink?"

"We're looking at everything, Art." Crawford waved a hand around the squad. "Wales' financials are interesting. He's managing director of a property development company, also very comfortable, except for some currently risky ventures abroad."

"Didn't he say it was his company?"

"A little self aggrandizement."

Springer huffed. "How risky were these ventures?"

"The company could lose a bundle if they fall through."

"So both of these men were in stressful situations. I can smell money motives."

"Career-wise maybe, for Wales. Apparently Harrison was pretty flush. Can't see him knocking on a lot of doors looking for handouts." Gary sat up rubbing his hands. "Speaking of which, I'm sneaking out early tonight. Promised Angie I'd set up the spooky pumpkin again this year, and then take Shirley around the neighbourhood."

"Halloween." Art Springer, lead detective on the team, inhaled a tired breath.

"I know it ain't your favourite night, Art, but you don't have kids."

Art's look was vacant, but he saw his partner clasp his forehead, shaking it and mouthing an apology.

"Christ, I'm sorry, Art. That was- I forgot . . ."

"It's fine. I know." He tossed the file on the desk and waved a hand. "Go. Go be with your family, and don't eat all the goodies. I'll get a couple of the boys to run a check on the wife. We need to bring her in."

"You sure? I can call Angie—"

"No way. Beat it. Tomorrow you can bring me a taffy apple."

"Those days are gone . . . shit, sorry again, man . . ."

Springer just waved a hand and picked up the file again. "Don't let the Captain see you."

A while later, Grace wandered over and sat on the edge of his desk. "Sure you're okay?"

"Yeah – I'm fine." He looked doleful.

"I know a mean Chinese diner if you don't want to be alone."

"Thanks anyway, Grace. I don't really want to be out at all tonight." He gave her a weak smile. "I may even crash in the back."

"That's no good, Art. You need a proper bed and some food."

"Okay, I'll go home, I promise. You take off now. Enjoy your evening and I'll see you tomorrow."

As the squad room emptied for the night, Springer fell more and more into a reminiscent melancholy. It was just past a year ago, when similar preparations for Halloween were in progress. He had helped Bev get her son into his costume, then offered to stay at her house and greet the Halloweeners while she took him out. The next thing was the call from his precinct - his partner and her little son had been run down by a hit-and-run vehicle. No survivors.

The culprit was never caught, and in his free moments, Springer quietly, but with determination, still worked the case off the books.

He sat up, clearing his head and focussed on the file. The wound, and the fact that there was no idea of the weapon used, bugged him, and he searched his mind for something that could match the ME's description. Tapered? Hell, that could be anything. He rolled his chair over to his partner's desk and brought up the CCTV file on the computer. Scrolling slowly through the images, he stopped when Wales appeared, and he enlarged the image to study it.

Nothing. Frustrated that he saw nothing suspicious, he closed the program and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "I've got a gut feeling about you Mr. Wales."

A phone on a desk across the room jangled and he checked his watch. Too late, let the Desk Sergeant take it, Grace was right, he needed to go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow they would take another run at the building and do a more thorough weapon search. He put a few things away and left the squad room. As he crossed the lot to his car, a group of young teenagers dashed around the corner of the building, all in various costumes and shouting Halloween threats as they approached the surrounding houses.

He stopped, leaning on his car. The scene shook him and he felt his chest contract from the remembered pain. Doors opened, and through the laughter bags were filled with treats before the assault was made on the next house. A few parents led little fairy princesses and ghosts up to the same doors, receiving their share, along with delighted comments about the costumes. He climbed into the car and sat staring at nothing, hands choking the steering wheel.

Was it a year already?