Peter watched the interrogation from the other side of the glass window, musing over what their prime suspect was divulging while he waited for forensics to return with any fingerprints. He absently passed his thumb and index over his moustache.

Their suspect, a lean woman with a sultry voice whose long wavy hair fell below her breasts, sat with an arm draped over the back of the interrogation chair, jutting her chest out to expose her cleavage, as though she were giving a celebrity interview. God only knew she thought of herself as one. Her lavish crimson dress was cut at just the right angles and the way she moved only made the heat rise to Peter’s face.

Peter’s colleague, Michael, concluded the interrogation and entered the room Peter was watching from. Peter cleared his throat. Michael looked completely unphased.

‘Certainly lives up to her name, doesn’t she?’ Peter remarked. ‘What, with that dress.’

Michael shrugged. ‘Unlike you, I wasn’t paying attention to what she was wearing, I was busy asking her the right questions.’

‘We need to piece the timeline,’ Peter prompted, quickly changing the subject.

‘Dinner party with concert afterwards, except our victim never makes it to the concert after retreating to change, the other guests arrive late, while the smoke alarm in the manor goes off before our victim is found by the maid.’

‘Did you speak to her? The maid?’

Michael rolled his eyes. ‘Sadly, yes. She’s insufferable. Complaints left and right, droning on about nothing ever left in its place once touched by anyone, and her laugh, ugh, I think she’s a witch.’

‘A witch? Really?’ Peter chuckled.

‘Have you heard her laugh?’ Michael’s eyes widened. ‘She cackles!’ He shook his head. The overhead light cast a soft glow on his five o’clock shadow — it had been a long day, and it was far from over.

Peter chuckled again. He looked over at their suspect who turned to sit facing the glass –the mirror from her side– and puckered her lips seductively.

Peter cleared his throat. ‘I swear, she knows we’re watching her.’

Michael placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. ‘If she’s cleared, are you going to take her home?’

Peter grinned, feeling his cheeks flush.

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