Truth Is a Tool to Be Used Sparingly
Detective Monk began combing the suspect's muttonchops. Evil Editor brushed his hand away. “Stop it, Mr. Monk.”
EE ruffled both muttonchops vigorously with this hands.
“Ew! I can't do this,” said Monk, and left.
A new detective arrived. “I'm Detective Colombo, Mr. Editor,” he said, blowing cigar smoke into EE's face and handing him a glass of water. Evil gulped it down.
“Did you murder Ms. La Taupe?” Mr. Editor.
“Alleged murder,” said Evil Editor. “Corpus delicti.”
“Yes...turning the lady's moles against her and...let's just say the evidence was eliminated underground. Ghastly!”
Colombo smiled back and turned off the tape recorder. “You've just drunk a truth serum, Mr. Editor.” He turned the recorder back on. “Are you Evil Editor?”
“No,” said Evil, confidently.
Colombo coughed some cigar smoke. “You are not Evil Editor?”
“I believe that I believe that I am not Evil Editor.”
“Ah...Mrs. Colombo was talking about Wittgenstein during 'Jeopardy' last night. I think you've abused his subjective answer by one level of abstraction. I want a Platonic or Hegelian answer.”
Evil Editor showed his driver's license to Colombo. “It says so here, so I suppose I am, though I'm not convinced.”
Colombo's eyes glistened, thinking of the little old lady in tennis shoes being gnawed to death by her own moles. Even under truth serum, Evil could not be cracked. Colombo took a “spare” revolver tucked into his sock and shot Evil Editor. He put it into Evil Editor's hand, and then remembered the one-way mirror. “Mrs. Colombo will not be happy about this, boys,” he said into the mirror, stoically.
Ms. La Taupe snickered at the newspaper accounts of her death. “I guess I'd better 'return' from my writer's conference." She then looked in her recipe book for mole recipes.