Filkers and Harlow stood over the body, both holding their trench coats closed against the weather. Well, additionally, Harlow was a little insecure about the plaid liner in his.
Filkers said grimly, “I’ve been on the force thirty years, and I’ve never seen a case like this. You taking notes?”
“Yeah, but the ink keeps running in this rain.”
“That’s alright. I don’t think I could forget the location of that model starship if I tried. Yech.” They both stared, turning their head this way and that.
“But why,” marveled Harlow, “Would the killer dress him like a duck and shove all those funny little oranges in his mouth?” A man in black, wearing black sunglasses despite the downpour, stepped out the shadows and flashed a badge, an FBI badge.
“That’s no duck, and those aren’t oranges. This is a federal case now, gentlemen. For this is the work of the Platypus-Kumquat Killer!”
But Filkers looked closely and announced, “Not so fast, fed, those are satsumas.”