The Mystery“Ring. . . Ring” the phone screamed. “Damn, who could it be? . . It's almost seven on Saturday. . . . wait Allison, it'll only take a minute. . . Hello?" said Detective Pat. "Hey, sorry, Sergeant McGurn, but we need you to come to the station as soon as possible". . . there's more trouble in Gibbons. See you there." “Hey honey, I gotta go to Gibbons, any other problems, do you need a ride somewhere?” said the exasperated homicide detective. "There's always something with you, Pat..." . . every time I come over you either get called out or you're so drunk you can't even remember who I am. .. It's over Pat!” and then he left. “Come in the car. . . Please work. . . Only this time. . . Here you go. No matter what anyone says, you're the best three-tone Buick I've ever had. You see, he was a real cheap skater, spending all his money on St. Ides and Old English64oz.ers. He was always borrowing money too. He still owes me seven hundred and ninety-eight dollars and ninety-five cents, plus taxes. For a Harvard graduate, it's definitely a head-scratching thing. The only thing he could afford to drive was the car the police station gave him. It was a 1986 Buick with a green trunk, brown body and dark blue hood. It took about three minutes to start and another five to warm up, and this was in the summer. Ten minutes later he showed up at my desk. I could still smell her perfume on him. He looked terrible, as usual, man, he was a really good guy, but he didn't have a lucky bone in his body. “So, what happens now Steve? . . . another vending machine robbery. . . any more scratch marks?" Pat looked like a detective, you know what I mean, like detectives looked in those old movies. He wore a bad suit, with his tie loose and dangling and his shirt open, and he usually slept at his desk with the light dim and his feet were up. The hat he was wearing really looked like it was worn by a detective from an old movie, it was all dirty and had a crease in it like someone had been sitting on it. “No, not this time Pat .