Missing Lynx: Signature Quotes: Holiday Card 2004

I was with Val when the call came in: Homicide, Macy’s at Union Square.

When we got to Macy’s, store security escorted us up to the eighth floor, where we were greeted by Santa Claus. Nine of him, plus the store manager, a handful of other store personnel, and a pair of beat cops.

Val flashed his badge -- “Detective Raynor, SFPD” -- and asked for an explanation.

“One of our customers is dead,” the manager said. “And one of these… anarchists!… murdered her!”

“Santarchists,” said one of the Santas, one with a red nose added on. The leader, apparently.
“Come again?” asked Val.

“Santarchists,” he replied. “We dress up in Santa suits and go from store to store, making a statement about the commercialism of Christmas. And we’re innocent.”

“Naturally,” I said. “I thought you guys just did pub crawls, though.”

“We’ve tried to refocus a bit this year. The ‘boozy Santa’ bit was getting a bit out of hand. It’s hard to really make a mark against commercialism with brandy eggnog dripping out of your beard. So we’re back to a-waddling rather than a-wassailing.” He checked his watch. “We’re due at the main branch of the library in an hour to hand out candy canes and do a dramatic reading of ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas.’”

“You’re not going anywhere!” shrilled the manager. “Arrest them, officers!”

“Settle down,” said Val. “The officers have already taken your statements, I assume?” Nine Santas nodded. “Okay then, just tell me what happened.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for our lawyer?” one Santa said to another.

“I am your lawyer, Sol,” Santa replied.

“Oh, yeah.”

The lead Santa spoke up. “All we did was get in the elevator, going to the top floor. After we got out, thump, she fell over dead. The lady, the customer. Little Asian woman.”

“She was in the elevator with you? In the back?”

“I guess so. I didn’t see her, but I was the last one in, so I was in front.”

“Did any of you see her?”

There was a general murmur of “No” and “Uh-uh” from the group of Santas. And one “She was real short.”

Val turned to the store security and the beat cops. “Any details on the woman? Any marks?”
“No, sir,” said one of the cops. “ID pegs her address as out in the Richmond District. No blood or obvious trauma.”

“Her lips were kinda blue,” said one security guard.

“And her eyes,” said another. “Wiiide open.”

Val consulted with me. “What do you think? Simple suffocation?”

“Maybe. They said she was short. If she was suffocating, wouldn’t she have tried to, I don’t know, beat on one of the Santas to get some air?” I turned to the Santas. “None of you felt anything like that?”

“In these outfits?” said one of the Santas, pounding on his padding. “You wouldn’t feel it if one of those Critical Mass bicyclists ran into you.”

“I’ll tell you what I think killed her, Val,” I said. “I think she got scared to death. Jammed into the back of an elevator by nine men in fat suits. No room to move, no room to breathe. She must have been terrified.”

“Claustrophobia?” Val asked.

“It’s Christmas,” I replied. “Santa Claustrophobia.”

	I was with Val when the call came in: Homicide, Macy’s at Union Square. When we got to Macy’s, store security escorted us up to the eighth floor, where we were greeted by Santa Claus. Nine of him, plus the store manager, a handful of other store personnel, and a pair of beat cops. Val flashed his badge -- “Detective Raynor, SFPD” -- and asked for an explanation. “One of our customers is dead,” the manager said. “And one of these… anarchists!… murdered her!” “Santarchists,” said one of the Santas, one with a red nose added on. The leader, apparently. “Come again?” asked Val. “Santarchists,” he replied. “We dress up in Santa suits and go from store to store, making a statement about the commercialism of Christmas. And we’re innocent.” “Naturally,” I said. “I thought you guys just did pub crawls, though.” “We’ve tried to refocus a bit this year. The ‘boozy Santa’ bit was getting a bit out of hand. It’s hard to really make a mark against commercialism with brandy eggnog dripping out of your beard. So we’re back to a-waddling rather than a-wassailing.” He checked his watch. “We’re due at the main branch of the library in an hour to hand out candy canes and do a dramatic reading of ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas.’” “You’re not going anywhere!” shrilled the manager. “Arrest them, officers!” “Settle down,” said Val. “The officers have already taken your statements, I assume?” Nine Santas nodded. “Okay then, just tell me what happened.” “Shouldn’t we wait for our lawyer?” one Santa said to another. “I am your lawyer, Sol,” Santa replied. “Oh, yeah.” The lead Santa spoke up. “All we did was get in the elevator, going to the top floor. After we got out, thump, she fell over dead. The lady, the customer. Little Asian woman.” “She was in the elevator with you? In the back?” “I guess so. I didn’t see her, but I was the last one in, so I was in front.” “Did any of you see her?” There was a general murmur of “No” and “Uh-uh” from the group of Santas. And one “She was real short.” Val turned to the store security and the beat cops. “Any details on the woman? Any marks?” “No, sir,” said one of the cops. “ID pegs her address as out in the Richmond District. No blood or obvious trauma.” “Her lips were kinda blue,” said one security guard. “And her eyes,” said another. “Wiiide open.” Val consulted with me. “What do you think? Simple suffocation?” “Maybe. They said she was short. If she was suffocating, wouldn’t she have tried to, I don’t know, beat on one of the Santas to get some air?” I turned to the Santas. “None of you felt anything like that?” “In these outfits?” said one of the Santas, pounding on his padding. “You wouldn’t feel it if one of those Critical Mass bicyclists ran into you.” “I’ll tell you what I think killed her, Val,” I said. “I think she got scared to death. Jammed into the back of an elevator by nine men in fat suits. No room to move, no room to breathe. She must have been terrified.” “Claustrophobia?” Val asked. “It’s Christmas,” I replied. “Santa Claustrophobia.” Best wishes for the Holiday Season from Marc Lynx and all the “Missing Lynx” characters. Click here to return to the main Signature Quotes page Click here to return to the main Missing Lynx page
	All content © 2004 Marc Lynx