“Umm…Detective Lassiter?”

Buzz cleared his throat nervously and stood by the desk, waiting patiently until Lassiter finally decided to look up and acknowledge his presence.

“What is it, McNab?” He growled, throwing his pen down as if he had been interrupted while scribing the Declaration of Independence.

“There’s a call for you, Sir…a tip on the Brighton murder. Guy says he knows who did it.”

“Great,” Lassiter rolled his eyes. “Another crackpot. Who’s it supposed to be this time? Bart Simpson? The President? The Beatles? I’ve heard it all on this one.”

“No, Sir. This one sounds legit. I think you should take it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, McNab.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Lassiter picked up the phone and covered the mouth piece, glaring as Buzz continued to stand in front of him, watching every move he made with the eager expression of a puppy waiting to go for a walk.

“McNab.”

Buzz jumped a little.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Go away. I can handle this.”

“Oh. Right.”

Lassiter shook his head as Buzz walked away, then uncovered the receiver and barked into it with the urgent, jaded authority of someone who couldn’t be bothered.

“Detective Lassiter.”

The voice on the other end stifled a laugh.

“Lassiter? Seriously? That’s your name? Dude.”

Lassiter hated this voice, whoever it was, already.

He sat up, his face twisting angrily.

“Look, Joker. This is a police line. If you have something to say, spill it. If not, get lost.”

“Okay, okay. Wow. You’re grumpy. You might want to consider adding fiber to your diet.”

“You have two seconds. One—”

“Do you want to know who killed the woman in the park or not?” The voice demanded, but not irritably. He (it was definitely a he, Lassiter decided) actually sounded more amused than anything else.

“Because, frankly, you’ve missed some pretty obvious clues.”

“Have I?” Lassiter asked with mocking sincerity. “Have I really? Please, enlighten me. What clues have I missed?”

“Well, for starters, how about the fact that the boyfriend did it?”

Lassiter’s sneer disappeared.

Who was this guy, anyway?

“What do you mean, the boyfriend did it?” He demanded. “It was a mugging.”

“Try to keep up here,” the voice sighed. “They just interviewed him on the news. In the span of four questions, he mentioned his alibi at least six times. Tell me that’s not just a little defensive of him. Plus, his shirt was wrinkled and his pants had three stains on them, but for some reason his shoes were meticulously polished. Recently polished. Like he cleaned them after traipsing through mud…and wasn’t it raining the other night?”

Lassiter was scribbling notes on his pad furiously. He tried to keep his voice cold and unimpressed when he finally responded.

“Is that it?” He asked, attempting to sound as if the entire conversation had been fruitless.

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“Fine. I need a name.”

“You don’t have one? I thought you said it was Rin Tin Tin…” the voice answered cheekily.

Lasstier’s hand closed around the phone just a little tighter

He really hated this guy.

“It’s Lassiter, clown. Detective Lassiter. And I meant I need your name for the file.”

“Oh! You want my name…well, granted, it’s better than Lassiter. But if you take my name, what will people call me?”

“Oh, something tells me no one has any trouble thinking of names to call you.” Lassiter snapped back, just about fed up.

“Detective!” The voice clucked reprovingly. “That was so uncalled for.”

“Just tell me your damn name!”

There was a long pause as the voice seemed to consider for a minute.

“Batman.” He said finally.

“Batman?”

Lassiter was squeezing the phone so tight he was sure it was about to snap in half.

“What? It’s not?” The voice asked innocently.

“No.”

“Captain Planet?”

“No.”

“Oh! I know! Lassiter!”

“That’s my name!” Lassiter roared.

“Right! Then we agree.”

The phone clicked, and the voice was gone.

Lassiter slammed his receiver down angrily a moment later.

“God he’s annoying,” he muttered to himself. “At least I’ll never have to talk to that idiot again…”