Free Corpus de Crossword by Nero Blanc

dark skin and a winning smile, he resembled a young version of Harry Belafonte. He never, ever lacked female companionship—a fact that garnered a fair amount of envy as well as a steady dose of ribbing in the Newcastle PD, from the beat cops all the way through to the detectives.
    This modern-day Lothario now sat on a metal stool in the forensics lab in the basement of the NPD headquarters. Before him, on a stainless steel examining table, rested a group of human bones that had been painstakingly rearranged by Abe to form a complete skeleton. The task had taken him three days, and after all was said and done, he was left with more questions than answers.
    Abe set his clipboard on the table beside the skeleton, folded his arms across his chest, and sighed. “What can you tell me, darlin’?” he asked. The inflection and expression were so sincere that any visitor entering the lab would have half-expected the skeleton to sit up and answer him, hand over a life story. Obviously, no response came.
    There was a knock at the laboratory’s entrance. Out of habit, Abe checked his watch, then crossed the room and unlocked the door. Standing before him was Lt. Al Lever, Newcastle’s chief of homicide, a balding, overweight chain smoker with a gruff exterior that hid an intrinsically sentimental heart. Al was also known as a fair cop; he was diligent, honest, and hid a sneaky sense of humor that took strangers by surprise. It just didn’t seem to match the no-nonsense facade.
    With Lever was a shorter man who appeared apprehensive and edgy, a fish out of water whose shoulders almost quivered with tension. Jones pegged him to be mid-fifties—about Lever’s age—and deduced that this was none other than Lonnie Tucker, the part-time constable/mechanic responsible for the jumbled set of bones that had been delivered to his lab three days earlier. The three men exchanged handshakes and walked toward the remains. Tucker seemed to take two steps for every one of Lever’s.
    â€œNever seen a place like this,” Lonnie Tucker said a trifle breathlessly. “Not in all my years—”
    â€œA good thing, too,” Lever observed in his wry and even tone. “Only kooks like Dr. Jones here enjoy year-round Hallowe’en.” He nodded at Jones. Enough of the polite chitchat. “Okay, Abe, I want you to run through what you’ve told me. I think Mr. Tucker should hear it from the horse’s mouth.” Lever reached for his cigarettes as he spoke.
    â€œDon’t smoke in here, Al.”
    â€œWhat? You’re serious? You can’t be serious.”
    â€œNew rules.” Abe smiled his signature smile. It didn’t impress Lever.
    â€œSince when?”
    â€œSince now. I’ve got a date later. I don’t want my hair smelling like a pack of Luckys.”
    â€œSo what’s that supposed to mean? I can’t smoke just because you have a date? When aren’t you hooked up with some luscious lady?”
    Abe raised his hands over his head. “Guilty as charged … Maybe you should think about quitting. You know what they say about cigarettes—?”
    â€œOh, please! You and my wife … yap, yap, yap—”
    â€œI keep telling you, Al: You gotta listen to these women. They have a unique ability to make your life more enjoyable.”
    Lever only grumbled and shoved the cigarettes back into his shirt pocket.
    â€œYou pay attention to the ladies, Al, you’ll be all right. If you want to stay happy—”
    â€œPlease … Spare me the helpful hints, Doctor.”
    Jones shook his head, but he was still smiling. “Okay, to begin with: Thank you for taking the time to drive all the way back into Newcastle, Mr. Tucker—”
    Tucker held up a nervous hand. He was clearly trying to reestablish his equanimity. Jones recognized the behavior: a small-town, part-time government employee suddenly facing a big-city problem.