The detective headquarters is a small building composed of a foyer, Mr. Laraby's office, and a lab room where chemical experiments may take place. The walls of the foyer are decorated with framed maps and landscape paintings, with red-cushioned chairs lining the walls and a potted ficus tree in the corner.

Mr. Laraby's office contains cieling-high bookshelves at every wall except for the one with the window (over which hang navy-blue drapes that are always drawn together), containing hundreds of books. A desk sits in the middle of the room with a globe perched on its corner.

The lab room is all white with a few chemical stains on the two tables. Shelves and cupboards around the room hold glass jars of every shape and size- most of them empty. A chalk board on the far wall is usually covered in hastily-scrawled chemical equations and notes.

There is a white, short-haired cat with a gray patch over his eyes who makes the headquarters his residence and the detectives effectionately know him as "Bandit". He can usually be found snoozing on one of the foyer chairs.

Philip Roger walked into Mr. Laraby's office taking a good luck around at the rows upon rows of books then at the detective himself with a smile. No one yet in the detective force knew that he was really an upper class member of sociaty and he was happy with that for the moment. If they knew he would have to answer the questions already asked by his younger sister. Why he wanted to fight crime. He wasn't sure of the answer himself but he felt something dragging him in the direction and so he had joined Laraby just a few weeks ago. He was already bored with the other detective's celebrating some case they had just solved.

Finally deciding to speak Philip faced his boss. "Good afternoon Mr. Laraby," he said with a nod, "I want a job and not just a small job but a real job. I want to fight crime. It's the reason I joined you here and already I am growing restless for action."

Joseph Laraby sat in his usual place behind his desk, thinking about the particulars of the "Butter Fingers" case, when one of the newer detectives walked into his office. The tall, skinny man casually looked about for a few minutes before speaking, but Laraby waited patiently to hear what he had to say. He made a habit of remembering every man's name, as well as their background. "Mr. Roger," he greeted cordially when the young man finally turned to him. He listened to Philip's request patiently and then began twisting his mustache as he thought, a small smile curling one corner of his mouth.

The clock on the wall ticked, marking over a full minute of silence before Laraby finally spoke. "I like your determination, Roger," he said. "Passion is good. But one of the things that I hope you will learn under my leadership is the art of patience." He spoke very slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.

Dagger walked into the room and saw Joseph talking to a stranger.

"Good morning, Joseph." Dagger said.

"Mr. Powell," Laraby nodded in greetings as the man known as "Dagger" entered the room. He then turned back to Roger and continued, "I'll give you assignments as I see fit. Patience." His eyes returned to Powell, signifying that his conversation with Roger was over. "What brings you in, William?" he asked casually.

"Any new cases?" Dagger asked.

Laraby scratched his head, smiling to himself at the eagerness of his staff. "Not for you," he finally said. "Not yet. Unless, of course..." he slowly sat up and pulled open one of his drawers. He pulled out a folded newspaper and set it down on his desk, displaying a children's word game. "I can't seem to find the word to fill in this blank.... A ten-letter word beginning with 'T' and meaning 'A hermit, or someone unacquainted with the affairs of the world'." He twisted his mustache and tapped his teeth together as he ran his eyes over the little word game.

"I'm afraid I can't help you there." Dagger replied.

(RM, are you doing a crossword puzzle?)

Philip Roger didn't leave even though it appeared like the converstation was over he walked over the desk and held out a casule hand to Dagger. "My name is Philip Roger," he said giving him a small smile.

"Dagger." He said, shaking Philip's hand. "That's what everyone calls me, anyway."

Philip laughed, "I like that, it is different then anything I have ever heard."

He was silent for a moment before continuing. "I just started here a few weeks ago, it's my first job. I was hoping that soon a case would turn up."

"You shouldn't wish for a murder, but, I do wish something exciting would happen."

"Of course I am not wishing death on anyone," Philip smiled again, "But I have lived such an ordinary life and I joined up here for some action. My sister however was not very happy about the idea."

"Why don't you go to the police? Ask around."

"That's a good idea," Philip said looking the man up and down. He didn't remember ever seeing him before and he didn't look upper class either.

Turning he left the office on his way to the police station.

Laraby listened to the conversation between Dagger and Roger with the same amusement he held for all younger men as he looked over his little word game.

((No, that's just Laraby.))

.........THAT NIGHT......

The clock ticked dully on the wall and Bandit purred as he arched his back and curled up on Laraby's lap. The old detective stroked that cat lazilly. It was almost time to head home.

"I still can't seem to come up with that blasted word," Laraby said conversationally as he listened to Dagger behind him. After a very long silence, he added, "I suppose I shall have to think of it tomorrow." His eyes trailed up to the clock. "Late," he grunted.

Philip came in to the office at a run, all out of breath. "Mr. Laraby," he cried, "You have got to come take a look at what I found."

Dagger stood up straight.

Laraby took in Roger's wild eyes and shaken countenance as the man rushed into the room. After listening carefully to the upset man's words, he turned to Dagger and replied to his earlier question, "I think he's found something."

After all of his years' experience of detective work, it was easy for Laraby to discern genuine fear from mere surprise, and Roger had all the signs of genuine fear- the round eyes, the lines inbetween his eyebrows that could not be recreated without the help of the 'fight-or-flight' chemical release in the body, the slight trembling of his skin and voice- there was no doubt in Laraby's mind that Roger really believed he'd found something big. The hard part was knowing if Roger hadn't had a trick played on him.

Rising calmly from his seat, Laraby set Bandit on the floor and proceeded to brush the white and gray fur off of his suit. "What was it you saw, Roger? And where were you when you found it?"

((Whoa, RM, what's with all the science?))

Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself Philip began to speak. "I have always had a habit of going out for nighttime walks," he began, "Tonight started out just that way but when I was walking I found the head of a young girl on someone's doorstep and next to it a meat cleaver."

((Did that sound Scientific? Good! Detectives are just really cool scientists XD))

"A 'head'?" Laraby asked, his eyesbrows drawing together in confusion. "Do you mean that you stumbled upon a murder? Was the rest of the body covered up?"

"It was certainly a murder," Philip said, "But the funny part is that the only body part that was there was the head. The only other thing in sight was a meat cleaver."

He paused unsure of what to say, "Do you want me to show you the scene sir?"

Laraby stroked his mustache in thought. "Have you informed the police?" he asked.

"He should have done it when he found the body of course." Dagger said. "You didn't just leave the scene of a murder, did you?"

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