rounds. The university salary must pay pretty well for Chris to afford this place. Or maybe Chris was getting money from somewhere else.
Ben flashed his badge to the girl behind the desk and he watched the smile slide from her face. ‘Detective Ben Naylor, Washington Metro PD,’ he said. ‘I have a warrant that entitles me to search the locker of one of your members, a Mr. Chris Sanders.’
The girl was not fazed. ‘Certainly Detective,’ she said, ‘I’ll just call someone who can assist you. Please take a seat.’ She gestured to a group of stylish and over-designed chairs. Each chair looked like the bottom part of an egg shell, crafted from white leather. He guessed that the furniture was deliberately retro-chic rather than simply old. The chairs didn’t look too comfortable. He stood at the counter and waited. The girl made a phone call and then looked up to Ben once more with that amazing smile.
‘Mr. Case, the duty manager, will be with you shortly,’ she said. ‘Can I get you a coffee or a tea, Detective?’
Ben declined the offer and walked over to the trophy cabinet. There were half a dozen trophies for target shooting, one of which he noticed had Chris’s name on it.
A voice came out of the office from behind him, ‘As you can see, Detective, our members take their shooting rather seriously.’
Ben turned to see a man in his mid-forties, well dressed in a smart pin-stripe suit which was well-tailored and expensive-looking, no doubt Italian, or some other import. The man was smiling the uniform welcoming smile; his right hand was extended and open, waiting to take Ben’s hand as though he was a long-lost friend. Ben figured that whoever owned this place had not only read the book on outstanding customer service, they’d probably helped to write it. ‘I see Chris Sanders is one of your trophy winners,’ Ben said as he shook hands.
‘He sure is. Chris is a fine shot; I believe he trained in the British Army. He scored a perfect round to win that trophy, quite amazing, although he tells us that pistol shooting is really only a hobby. Unfortunately we don’t have the facilities to allow rifle shooting here, otherwise we could see what he could really do.’
Ben nodded and waited for the silence to open up. The man started to look a little uncomfortable, like he was busy and was itching to get on with other things.
The man said, ‘When it comes to firing a pistol, I can tell you he’s the best shot I’ve seen and I’ve been running this club for more than twenty years.’
Ben nodded. The guy wanted to make small talk, so he needed to get to the point, this man was way too professional to let something slip about one of his clients. Ben pulled the warrant from the inside pocket of his sports coat. The manager didn’t look surprised. He gestured towards his open office door, ‘Please Detective,’ he said, ‘let’s carry on this discussion in the privacy of my office. We don’t want to make a scene that may upset our other members.’ The man smiled and gestured Ben to the office, like a Maître d’ showing him to his table.
The office had an air of elegance. The large windows looked out over a small lake and woodland surround. Towards the end of the room stood a large oak desk, its surface was clear but for a speakerphone and laptop computer. There were two chairs for guests and a third behind the desk and in front of another large window. The chairs were upholstered in green leather and looked old, possibly antique. Expensive. Everything in this damned place looked expensive, and Ben was starting to feel he was making it look untidy.
‘This is a nice office you have here Mr. Case.’
‘Thank you Detective. Please, call me Julian.’
‘So tell me Julian, what do you make of Chris Sanders?’
‘As I said, he’s a great shot. He’s a nice guy; friendly. I understand he’s a bit of a whiz kid with computers—he’s helped me out a couple of times with my email. I gather
Ben flashed his badge to the girl behind the desk and he watched the smile slide from her face. ‘Detective Ben Naylor, Washington Metro PD,’ he said. ‘I have a warrant that entitles me to search the locker of one of your members, a Mr. Chris Sanders.’
The girl was not fazed. ‘Certainly Detective,’ she said, ‘I’ll just call someone who can assist you. Please take a seat.’ She gestured to a group of stylish and over-designed chairs. Each chair looked like the bottom part of an egg shell, crafted from white leather. He guessed that the furniture was deliberately retro-chic rather than simply old. The chairs didn’t look too comfortable. He stood at the counter and waited. The girl made a phone call and then looked up to Ben once more with that amazing smile.
‘Mr. Case, the duty manager, will be with you shortly,’ she said. ‘Can I get you a coffee or a tea, Detective?’
Ben declined the offer and walked over to the trophy cabinet. There were half a dozen trophies for target shooting, one of which he noticed had Chris’s name on it.
A voice came out of the office from behind him, ‘As you can see, Detective, our members take their shooting rather seriously.’
Ben turned to see a man in his mid-forties, well dressed in a smart pin-stripe suit which was well-tailored and expensive-looking, no doubt Italian, or some other import. The man was smiling the uniform welcoming smile; his right hand was extended and open, waiting to take Ben’s hand as though he was a long-lost friend. Ben figured that whoever owned this place had not only read the book on outstanding customer service, they’d probably helped to write it. ‘I see Chris Sanders is one of your trophy winners,’ Ben said as he shook hands.
‘He sure is. Chris is a fine shot; I believe he trained in the British Army. He scored a perfect round to win that trophy, quite amazing, although he tells us that pistol shooting is really only a hobby. Unfortunately we don’t have the facilities to allow rifle shooting here, otherwise we could see what he could really do.’
Ben nodded and waited for the silence to open up. The man started to look a little uncomfortable, like he was busy and was itching to get on with other things.
The man said, ‘When it comes to firing a pistol, I can tell you he’s the best shot I’ve seen and I’ve been running this club for more than twenty years.’
Ben nodded. The guy wanted to make small talk, so he needed to get to the point, this man was way too professional to let something slip about one of his clients. Ben pulled the warrant from the inside pocket of his sports coat. The manager didn’t look surprised. He gestured towards his open office door, ‘Please Detective,’ he said, ‘let’s carry on this discussion in the privacy of my office. We don’t want to make a scene that may upset our other members.’ The man smiled and gestured Ben to the office, like a Maître d’ showing him to his table.
The office had an air of elegance. The large windows looked out over a small lake and woodland surround. Towards the end of the room stood a large oak desk, its surface was clear but for a speakerphone and laptop computer. There were two chairs for guests and a third behind the desk and in front of another large window. The chairs were upholstered in green leather and looked old, possibly antique. Expensive. Everything in this damned place looked expensive, and Ben was starting to feel he was making it look untidy.
‘This is a nice office you have here Mr. Case.’
‘Thank you Detective. Please, call me Julian.’
‘So tell me Julian, what do you make of Chris Sanders?’
‘As I said, he’s a great shot. He’s a nice guy; friendly. I understand he’s a bit of a whiz kid with computers—he’s helped me out a couple of times with my email. I gather
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