Book "Dick Mullen and the Mistaken Identity"

In your hand, you hold four-fifths of "Dick Mullen and the Mistaken Identity."

Modus: Mullen.

Examine the cover.

The cover features a pastiche of different scenes. In the foreground, a man in a dark overcoat clutches a pistol to his chest. Rising up behind him are two silhouettes wrapped in a passionate embrace.

The tagline reads: "Detective Dick Mullen must prove his innocence after an old friend is murdered -- by someone who looks just like Dick Mullen!" That seems to sum up the premise nicely.

Needless to say, it violates nearly every RCM regulation for a detective to investigate a murder in which he is a suspect.

"Are you really reading that, detective?"

"I'm looking for advice on being a real detective."

"Well, you won't find it in there. Those books are much more about ravishing dames and gun play than real policework."

When was the last time you ravished a dame, detective? Besides your crusty old sock, that is.

"I really need to know who this Dick Mullen guy is."

"Good luck finding it. He's not much of a character, I think you'll find. Just a stand-in for the reader."

The point is for the reader to feel like they're solving the crime along with Dick Mullen. A crude narrative convention, but no less effective for it.

"I'm just skimming it."

"That's probably for the best. Those books aren't exactly famed for their tight plotting."

It's much more about the dark and deadly atmossssphere.

[Put the book away.]

Start reading.

Why? There's truly no point. You'll never know who did it, because those pages have literally been scattered to the wind.

I just want to relive the experience.

If you insist. But again, it's really pointless...

The story opens with a knock at the door. Detective Dick Mullen is greeted by an old friend, Charlie Spillane, who's come to Mullen to ask a favour on this dark and cold night...

Spillane needs Mullen to drive him in from Vesper to a small town along the Insulindian coast. Despite his friend's apparent agitation, Mullen does as he's asked, then returns home where he passes out drunk, as he does most nights...

An extremely unprofessional and hurtful stereotype that's offensive to all upstanding officers of the law.

But also extremely accurate, in your case.

I don't need to read this. I'm already living it. (Close the book.)

Hey, I'm trying at least.

Are you, though?

Look, I can't judge.

Two days later, Mullen is arrested by the Vesper police and charged with the murder of Charlie Spillane. At his interrogation, Mullen learns that Charlie Spillane was shot in a bar in the very town Mullen dropped him off in, by a man matching Mullen's description...

Desperate to clear his name, Mullen manages to convince the Vesper police to release him for three days so that Mullen may solve his friend's murder and prove his innocence.

"The cops release their prime murder suspect so he can find 'the real killer'? Are you shitting me?"

"What's the matter, detective?" The lieutenant turns to you with a start.

"I don't know who's writing this shit, but I get the feeling they aren't experts on homicide investigations."

The lieutenant shrugs, resigned to the idea that his profession will rarely, if ever, be accurately represented in art and literature.

They're not shitting you, detective. This is what the writers think passes for police procedure.

Okay, so Mullen didn't do it. (Keep reading.)

Of course Mullen didn't do it. That's the whole premise of the book! Anyway, Mullen returns to the seaside bar where Spillane was murdered, and meets a beautiful, mysterious woman named Deanna Deneuve.

Nice, a dame.

And not just any dame -- she's truly one-in-a-million, a knock-out whose mind is as dangerous as her curves. But she's got a secret.

Man, who doesn't?

Secrets are the currency of human relations.

Your secrets are unknown even unto you, so does that make you a rich man or a beggar?

Now it's getting interesting. (Keep reading.)

Deneuve reveals that she was Spillane's lover, and that he was mixed up with a local amphetamine smuggling operation. As soon as Mullen begins pulling at strings, the whole conspiracy begins to unravel...

Not only is the local police captain in on the amphetamine ring, so is the son of a powerful politician, and a strung-out art collector named Torvald. Each of whom has his own reasons for wanting Spillane dead...

Okay, let's get on with the story.

One evening, Deanna Deneuve comes to Mullen's hostel room in tears. The two of them drink half a bottle of vodka, and soon they're seeking comfort in each other's arms...

Yes, comfort and pleasure. The warmth of another human's touch, the burning taste of liquor on her full, sweet lips...

Well, that testimony won't be admissible any longer.

Nice. Get it, Mullen.

As the two lovers share a post-coital cigarette, Deanna Deneuve turns to Mullen and says, "By the way, Dick, there was something else I meant to tell you..."

"I love you"?

The name of the true killer?

"Always aim for the centre of mass"?

Whatever it is, Mullen never hears the words -- A blow to the base of his skull knocks him out cold instantly.

Fuck.

When Mullen comes to, Deneuve is dead on the hostel bed next to him. To make matters worse, his clothes are covered with her blood!

Double fuck!

Mullen trashes his blood-stained clothes and flees the hostel, knowing it's only a matter of hours before the cops discover Deneuve's body, if they haven't been tipped off already...