This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.
“What's the name?” Frank Upton said, his attention focused on the worn leather notebook he’d pulled from his K-Mart suit pocket. He stood on the narrow urban street outside the smoldering ruin of the house on Church Street where the charred — and as yet unidentified — remains had been found.
Sergeant Hal Folsom, his partner of ten years, was the first officer on the scene after the Fire Department investigator found the body and made the call for police presence.
“The FD’s Peterson is on this one,” Folsom said, his well-chewed gum snapping between his perfectly straight white teeth.
Folsom worked out more than Frank, consequently he wore the better suits from one of those upscale places at the mall. His blond crew cut and muscular build made the single detective popular with all the gals at the station house and some of the guys too. Rumor was his folks left him a big bankroll, which certainly didn't hurt his social life.
He was known as a real swordsman around the precinct. There were persistent rumors he’d even bagged a few of the married lady cops, but since he wasn’t one to kiss and tell, the rumors were unconfirmed. Frank wasn’t about to ask his younger partner since he had little interest in how another man took his lovin'.