Good Cop, Bad Cop
A conundrumvestigation
Detective Miller, a plainclothes conundrumvestigator, approaches his partner, Detective Martinez, a senior federal enigmagent.
MILLER: Yo, Martinez.
MARTINEZ: (taking two aspirin) You’re here late, Miller.
MILLER: The wife’s got the night shift, surgeoning at the hospital. I have to pick up the son from basketball and drive him home later. Figured I’d stick around here until then.
MARTINEZ: (taking antacid) Well, drive safely.
MILLER: Always do. (changing subject) Anyway, we’ve got a new case.
MARTINEZ: (stubbing out her cigarette) Another bag of grain gone missing? I keep tellin’ you, man, it’s that damn chicken. You can’t leave ’em alone with either the fox or the grain.
MILLER: (tossing a file onto Martinez’s desk) Afraid not. This one’s a homicide.
MARTINEZ: (taking a swig of black coffee) The Punch Killer? The poison’s in the ice cubes.
MILLER: No. The boys uptown reckon they found The Punch Killer. Or what’s left of him. (snorts derisively) Topped himself in an empty cabin with no furniture, found with just a puddle beneath him.
MARTINEZ: (nodding) Checks out. (flipping through file) So what’s this case?
MILLER: Get this. Dead door guard.
MARTINEZ: (frowning in confusion) Door guard?
MILLER: (nodding) Door guard. (clarifying) Guarded doors for a living. Or at least he did. Found dead this morning, lying on the floor in front of the doors.
MARTINEZ: (tossing the file down on the desk) Huh. Witnesses?
MILLER: One witness. His door guard partner. In the interrogation room right now, waiting to be questioned.
MARTINEZ: (chewing gum) He’s a suspect?
MILLER: What do you reckon?
MARTINEZ: (standing) Great. Let’s go, then.
MILLER: Not so fast. There’s a catch.
MARTINEZ: (shaking her head) There always is.
MILLER: We only get one question.
MARTINEZ: (banging her desk with her first) Fucken lawyers, man.
MILLER: Yeah. Worse than that, though. Turns out he’s one of those ‘always lies’ or ‘always tells the truth’ guards, and we don’t know which.
MARTINEZ: (peering through the window blinds to the city outside) Huh. And I suppose his partner was the other type.
MILLER: Bingo.
MARTINEZ: (narrowing her eyes) Fine. Let’s see if I remember this from academy training. What about: ‘If I were to ask your… dead fellow guard who… murdered them, would they say… it wasn’t you?’
MILLER: (counting on his fingers) What?
MARTINEZ: (pouring herself a whiskey from the bottle in the bottom drawer in her desk) No, wait. Maybe: ‘If I were to ask your dead fellow guard who murdered them, would they accurately identify the real murderer and if so, who is it?’
MILLER: I don’t think we can have compound questions.
MARTINEZ: (frowning) Of course not… (guzzling whiskey) I don’t think that works anyway. Let’s see, if the victim was the one who never told the truth, then the perp we’ve got in custody always tells the truth, which means that… (voice trails away in confusion)
MILLER: (believing he has it) No, wait. I think if it’s the victim who tells the truth, then the perp won’t tell the truth, which means we need to ask them who the victim… uh… (also trailing away) no, that doesn’t work either…
MARTINEZ: (slamming her tumbler on the desk) I hate these fucken door guards. They do my head in.
MILLER: Mine too. Truth-telling. Lying. Answering only one question. Drives me fucken crazy.
MARTINEZ: (frowning) What did you say?
MILLER: They drive me fucken crazy.
MARTINEZ: (lighting a fresh cigarette) Before that.
MILLER: Truth-telling? Lying? Answering only one question?
MARTINEZ: (grabbing Miller by the lapel) You son of a bitch. You’ve cracked it.
MILLER: (confused) I have?
MARTINEZ: (moving both hands to grab either side of his head) Where was the victim’s body found?
MILLER: In front of the doors they guarded.
MARTINEZ: (letting go of his head and stubbing out her cigarette again) Lying in front of the doors they guarded. One of them always lies. Which means that son of a bitch in there always tells the truth. Which means…
MILLER: We can just ask him if he killed the other guard. (pumping his fist) Bloody hell, Martinez. I could kiss you.
They strap their shoulder holsters on and head into the interrogation room.
MILLER: (to the guard) Sorry to keep you waiting. Do you need a glass of water or anything?
GUARD: (answering his one question honestly) Yes.
MILLER: (realising his mistake) No, wait.
MARTINEZ: Fuck.