Relative Justice

"Can I freshen that up for ya?" Reg wiped the bar top with his cloth and leaned hopefully toward the more promising of his two customers.

"No thanks, this is fine. Pretty slow, eh?"

"Yeah, mid week, late and all that messy snow. It'll pick up toward the weekend." Another swipe of the cloth.

"Your pal down there looks like he could use another."

"Forget it. He bought his one beer and has been suckin' on it for an hour." Reg wiped unnecessarily again and leaned closer. "Guy's a nut case. You remember the body they found in that VW van around the corner from here? It was all over the paper a while ago."

The customer passed a hand over his hair and smiled. "I wrote that article. I'm that Grant Morrison."

"Yeah! No kiddin'? That was you?"

"I got the police on the right track. I went over that van with a fine tooth comb after they finished their forensics." He leaned over, lowering his voice. "They misinterpreted some pretty important clues."

"Yeah? But you sorted them out?"

Grant stretched his neck inside his collar a bit and answered with another smile - a smug smile.

The bartender lowered his own voice, throwing a glance at the other customer. "He told me he did it."

"What, he says he killed the guy they found?" Grant perked up in amused surprise.

"That's what he says; nut bar. Told me he'd confessed to the cops but they'd just ignored him."

Curiosity prompted Grant Morrison, freelance journalist for The Review and crime solving celebrity in his own eyes, to send a fresh beer down to the man and he followed it casually, taking a seat on an adjacent stool.

"The beer's an offer for some conversation. My name's Grant, Grant Morrison, what's yours?"

A pair of red rimmed eyes swung slowly from the beer to the man, followed by a loud sniff. "Snider."

"Pleasure . . . so, Mister Snider, Reg there told me a pretty fantastic tale about you and a killing?"

"That right?"

"Yes, he tells me you confessed to killing the man they found in that van near here? Is that true?"

"Why?" Snider drained his old glass and sipped from the fresh one. Grant looked at Reg who winked, shaking his head.

"Well because you are mistaken, sir. You couldn't have done it."

"Really? How come?" Snider picked at some frayed threads on his jacket cuff.

Grant grinned, "Because I know you didn't do it." Snider's eyes fixed on his and for a second, he felt a passing discomfort. "Mr. Snider, I'm Grant Morrison; you haven't heard of me?"

"Should I have?"

"I wrote the story on that killing. Actually it was my investigation that brought the real killer to the attention of the police."

Snider wiped a hand across his mouth and turned toward Grant. "She didn't do it; your story was all wrong."

Grant smiled and pursed his lips. "So you did read my story - my investigation was flawless, my friend."

"Maybe, but the result was wrong." Snider squeezed his glass between both hands; his eyes locked somewhere only he could see.

"Not possible. I was commended by the Chief of Police himself."

"Yes, he was fooled as well." The eyes rejoined with Grant's and held for an eerie moment. "I committed the perfect crime."

"The perfect crime . . . you do know there's no such thing?"

"If you say so. You're the famous investigative journalist."

Grant stiffened at the rebuke. "Listen, an abandoned van in a public lane with a body in it was reported to the police who did a full investigation. My photographer and I arrived and recorded everything. My reputation allowed us access to the police garage while forensics went over the vehicle. I spoke to the coroner and taped the report of his findings and after going over all the evidence myself I reached the only logical conclusion and published my solution to the crime." He finished his drink with an air of self satisfaction.

"The wrong solution."

"Mister Snider," Grant's voice wavered in annoyance and he paused to signal Reg for another drink; Snider was barely sipping his. "Say- just say I believed you, why did you do it?" Reg freshened Grant's drink while listening to the story.

"Because it was personal." A rough finger tapped the bar for emphasis.

"What do you mean personal? How did you know the victim?"

"I didn't."

"What! What do you mean, I don't understand?"

"What do you know about the perfect crime?" Snider asked.

Grant made a face and sipped his own drink. "I know there's no such thing."

"Let's assume for a moment there is. What does it need?" Snider's fingers stroked his beer glass.

"An awful lot of nerve."

"I'm trying to be serious, Mister Morrison."

"As am I."

Snider stared thoughtfully at his glass, twisting it back and forth on the bar. "I would have thought you might be a little more curious and open to this topic considering your professed expertise."

The comment stung and Grant felt the heat rise on his neck. "I don't waste my time on fantasy."

"Really." It was Snider's turn to smile. "You said you didn't understand so let me explain." He took a sip from his beer and continued. "Common perception of the perfect crime is first, absolutely no connection to the victim-"

"Which makes the whole thing ridiculous," Grant blurted.

"What if it was a hired killer?" Reg said, sidling closer, his own curiosity coming to a boil.

Grant looked at Reg. "Are you saying he's a hired killer?"

"No but-"

"No trace of any kind to connect the killer to the crime, remember?" Snider interrupted. "Being hired still leaves a connection. Better still, no body. "

"With today's forensics that is virtually impossible." Grant argued.

"So what would be possible then?"

"A rock solid alibi and I mean rock solid."

"Just in case, you mean?"

"There is no just in case. There is no perfect crime." Grant glanced at Reg and finished his drink. Immediately a bottle appeared and another couple of ounces splashed into the empty glass.

Reg glanced at Snider and offered his two cents. "The guy in the van was shot. There'd be ballistics and the killer would have had to get in somehow without touching something. There was fresh snow all around."

"Who said I got in?"

Reg's eyes lit up and he stood, folding his arms. "Hah! Because his article in the paper, his article, said he was shot in the right temple at close range and he was in the driver's seat."

"Well I guess that clinches it," Snider chuckled.

"So what are you saying, you stood way back with a gun barrel ten feet long and shot him?"

Snider pushed his glass away, shook his head at Reg and drew a deep breath. He turned to face Morrison directly then proceeded to recount every step he took along with explaining all the supporting evidence the police had released to the public. Grant listened in silent awe to the man's recitation of how the crime was committed - but in greater detail than even he had imagined.

"That- that's not possible! You're making up things that didn't happen." Grant rapped his knuckles on the bar and sat up. "The girl Moira Bingham did it and I proved it, I had all the facts- the evidence."

"No, I'm telling you things your investigation never discovered. Things that were not in line with you're reading of the so-called facts."

Snider leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "I knew her - the real victim." His eyes flashed. "You had an innocent girl executed. You were all wrong; you especially, Mister Morrison."

"That's nonsense, the evidence, the police- she was tried in a court of law and found guilty. If what you say is true why didn't you come forward?"

"Because I wouldn't have been believed then either."

"If I did believe, why would you kill an innocent man?"

"Who said he was innocent?"

"So you did know him!"

"I told you, it was personal." Snider turned back to the bar and folded his hands together.

Annoyed and confused, Grant leaned in for one more question. "Why do you keep saying this is personal?"

Snider paused while Reg refreshed Grant's drink. "My name is Snider Bingham. Moira Bingham was my niece. I killed that man because he was an abusing, good-for-nothing who beat her, took her money and made her life a living hell."

Grant downed his drink and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Nothing like that came out at the trial. Okay, say everything you've told me is true. What's to prevent me from going to the police and turning you in?"

"I told you, I already confessed. They just ignored me."

"But they didn't have all these details . . . I didn't have . . ."

"Go ahead, won't do your reputation much good."

Grant stood and found he needed to lean for a second on the bar; he didn't think he'd drunk that much.

"You okay Mister Morrison?" Reg asked.

"Just sitting too long I guess." Grant sagged back onto the stool, his breath coming in short gasps.

"This is the end of the perfect crime, Mister Morrison." Snider was watching calmly. "Remember I said they wouldn't believe me then . . . either?"

Grant stared uncomprehending as his head began to spin. He grasped the bar and croaked for help.

"You'd better call an ambulance, Reg; I think Mister Morrison is unwell."

Reg hurried down the bar to the phone, dialling frantically. Snider leaned over and stared into Grant's panicky eyes.

"This is perfect crime, Mister Morrison . . ."

************

Reg got a fresh bottle and poured him and Snider a stiff drink. The police had questioned them both for a lengthy period while the coroner proclaimed a cardiac arrest then thanked them both and left along with the paramedics who loaded Grant Morrison into their vehicle for transport to the morgue.

"Well, you did it, Snider" He raised his glass in a toast.

"Yes, but what? I outsmarted myself by establishing the perfect crime and condemned the very person I meant to protect"

"But you've made up for that now. It was a stroke of genius the way you handled it. Hard to believe it was that easy."

Snider stared morosely into his glass. "I haven't made up for anything, Reg; just tied up a loose end. Not easy living with it."

"Well, as Moira's godfather I say thank you, Snider."

"I want you to know your help in this was invaluable, Reg."

"Nothing compared to the groundwork you did."

"I got very lucky." Snider shrugged, sighed and climbed off the stool. "We sat here a lot of nights before he finally came in."

"That man deserved to die the way he treated Moira and Morrison deserved it for his arrogant, publicity seeking condemnation of her."

"My regret is that to make it work in the first pace I had to establish a pattern by confessing to every killing, kidnapping, theft and as many other crimes as possible they were so used to me as that nut bar, they automatically dismissed me. It was a risk but human nature follows predictable lines, or so I've learned. Even one of the policemen here tonight recognized me and joked, asking me if I did this one too. I told him yes and he just shook his head and laughed."

Reg chuckled and began cleaning up. "So as you know, the bottle contents went down the toilet and the empty glass was washed clean." He paused and shook his head. "I hope Moira knows what you did for her."

"I hope she doesn't. Tonight was for me, Reg. An attempt to salve my own demons."

"Sleep well, Snider."

The End

word count - 1999 (Microsoft Word)