Lieutenant Gerhardt looked across the crime scene. Three bodies, two of them shot, one crushed by a couch that the other two were on, the door barred from the inside, and no gun. "Jesus, I wish I was like Sherlock Holmes."

A purplish mist rose in the crime scene. "Grrrrranted!" boomed the voice of a muscular, bearded man wearing no shirt who appeared in the room, grinning.

Gerhardt put a hand on his gun, as did the two uniforms on site. He felt sweat prickle at his skin. His frustration transmuted into a nameless fear gnawing at his bowels.

"No," he said. "When you show up, things go wrong." He pulled his gun and pointed it with quivering hands. "You just leave, all right?"

The genie was already fading into mist. "It is already doooooone," he echoed through the room. "You are like Sherlock Holmes!"

"Then why don't I know who did it?" Gerhardt holstered his gun on the second try and pulled a handkerchief to wipe his paling brow.

"People forget Holmes also had a heroin habiiiiiit...."

One of the uniforms elbowed the other. "Call the union rep, yeah? I think he's going to need some help with this."