Igby pored over the documentation regarding the evidence of the agency’s latest victim.

‘What are we missing?’ he asked his colleague.

‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ replied Sylvie. ‘We’ve got a body, no prints, no murder weapon, we searched the crime scene thoroughly.’

‘And we questioned all possible suspects the victim was in contact with recently,’ completed Igby. ‘Do we know anything about him, aside from the fact that he was an early retiree bodyguard who worked with many prestigious figures?’

‘He moved to the U.S. a few years ago,’ replied Sylvie, ‘but nothing indicates that during his time living here he made any enemies.’

‘Could someone from the U.K. have followed him, wanted revenge, maybe an enemy of someone he worked for?’

‘He worked for so many important people; ministers, C.E.O.s, the Princess,’ Sylvie listed. ‘It would be hard to pinpoint any link to any of their enemies and we know all these folks rack up a number of people who want to take them down.’

‘A large number of people, who are already behind bars or six feet under thanks to our victim’s diligent work,’ concluded Igby. ‘All right, maybe we missed something at the crime scene. Let’s go back, see if we find anything new.’

‘Lead the way!’

After several hours of going over the same scene, and finding the same evidence, Igby and Sylvie still came up empty.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said slowly walking around the rich home’s living room. ‘He’s got all these elaborate weapons on display, and yet none of them is the murder weapon.’

‘Our murderer went for something small and simple, something that doesn’t stand out…evidently.’ Igby continued to look around as he spoke. ‘A few millimetres in diameter, that’s the size of the puncture wound in the neck. Nothing here fits that.’

‘And there are signs of minimal struggle,’ added Sylvie, ‘meaning our victim was caught off guard. Maybe he knew his murderer.’ Sylvie stopped and stared at the couch where the struggle took place. ‘Mr. Preston bled out. Probably had a few moments to realize he was done for before he died.’

‘Probably saw his murderer’s face,’ mused Igby, as he looked at his reflection in the lavish mirror that hung on the wall next to a great broadsword that looked like something out of the sixteen hundreds. Through the reflection, he saw dawn was minutes away. He turned to Sylvie. ‘Maybe, we need to search outside the box.’

‘We’ve gone through this crime scene and searched the entire house thrice over,’ noted Sylvie.

‘But did we search outside thrice over?’

‘You think we missed something out there?’ asked Sylvie.

‘It’s worth taking a look.’

‘You’re the boss.’

They headed outside. Igby let out a low whistle. ‘Every time I see that barbecue it baffles me. It’s huge and looks so elaborate. Look at it.’

‘They’re called eggs,’ Sylvie replied, a teasing smile on her lips. ‘They’re considered the best charcoal barbecues on the market.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t look so astonished, Mister I-Only-Cook-Craft-Dinners.’

‘Hey, that’s not true and you know it!’ Igby protested, pointing at her.

Suddenly the wet spray of water splashed Igby’s pants as the sprinklers went off. ‘Oh, for the love of…’

‘Hey, Igby? Are sprinklers supposed to sputter like that?’

Igby looked about the backyard. The sprinklers had started, but the sound and rhythm seemed inconsistent, as though something somewhere was blocking the water from flowing properly. He glanced at the bunched-up hose.

‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ Sylvie pressed.

Igby smirked. ‘Small in diameter, long and slender enough to fit inside a hose? It’s worth a shot.’

‘Hopefully, we can get something from it, if it’s in there, the murder weapon. Water will have washed out all the blood but…’ Sylvie turned off the sprinkler system.

Together, they unravelled the long hose and began feeling it.

‘Gotcha!’ Sylvie breathed, pressing down on a section. She cut the hose open and pulled out a long, thin barbecue thermometer gauge. ‘Well, what do you know?’

Igby grinned. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’

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