Anarchist, Vol. 5 - Lt. Wesley Gimble. The slaughter in the house down the tree-lined residential street from the bar was an entirely different matter. O'Callaghan knew this as he inspected, then assembled each piece of the puzzle. In the slaughter house, the victims were residents. The same family had occupied the place for more than sixty years. The three generations were targeted by do-gooders and truth-tellers that approached the house from the outside, entered the residence, and ended the lives of the doctor, his wife, their sons and daughters-in-law, and the grandchildren.O'Callaghan's goal was to determine the motive. He knew that the family had its secrets, all families do. As an experienced street cop, he knew that secrets have a way of seeping out into the street - through friends and neighbors - and gently settle like gold dust into the floorboards of a beer hall or saloon in Sutter's Mill during the Gold Rush. Men of discretion and patience would tread lightly, make new friends here and there, and allow the secrets - the missing spicks and specks of information - to present themselves in the fullness of time.And time stood still in the bar. The two men were not watchers, but they were patient receptors who listened much more than they talked. Had O'Callaghan pressed them or grilled them for information, they would have voiced their objections and fed him a few insolent lines of bullshit, their way of saying 'Back off buddy'.They knew what O'Callaghan was looking for - a motive. Cops always look for motive to solve the case. Their own patience was fueled by their knowledge that although they knew a great deal about the street, the neighborhood, and the victims in the house - they had no way of knowing which tidbits of information would unlock the case. They waited patiently as most people do, for the next round of drinks pulled from the tap by O'Callaghan himself. Then they settled down to wait and decide if they would collaborate with this most accommodating detective. They had all night to wait and nowhere else to go. Their world was the bar, and the three sat together sipping their beer and waited for time to stand still. And it did.O'Callaghan's demeanor allowed him to quietly nurse his beer, and wait until the leader of the two broke the ice. The detective knew that whoever spoke first would lose. Had the detective spoken first, the men would be polite, respond and nod, and quietly go back to their beer. If O'Callaghan spoke first, he would forfeit his right to hear the secrets that that street was about to reveal - at any moment.For now he could accomplish his mission with the help of the golden rule and the pad and pencil in his pocket.
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