It was a new day, but there was something oddly familiar about it. I received a call for an 885; a freak high-speed accident. It seems one sword-wielding freak was running uncontrollably and ran into another freak. The impact left the single victim bruised, bleeding, headless and dead.
My liege, Scoundrel Ed Hawkings was already at the scene.

“What a mess, Ed. It makes our job so much easier when these kinds of puzzles are in one piece.”
“Yeah, this one came unassembled.”
“Did you hear there was a guy who was killed just like this over in Jersey yesterday?”
“Yeah, but I figured, what the hell, it’s Jersey.”
“That’s a strange one too. Did you make an arrest in that Crosby Stills case?’
“No. We’re questioning some guy named Nash. Antique dealer down on Hudson Street."

Looking around the crime scene, we notice a yellow dog sitting next to a big orange cat on a trash can. With a smile the cat kicks the dog to the ground. Ed chuckles, “Cripes. You’re a barrel of laughs, Garfield.”
I walk over to the animals and notice something hidden among the barrels. I held it up to get a better look.
“What the hell do ya got?”
“A sword, Ed.”
“A sword? What is it?”
“It’s a sharp forged metal fighting implement and handy tool for opening casks, but that’s not important right now. What is important is the style. It’s a Toledo-Salamanca.’
“A what?!?"
“A very rare sword.”
“Is it worth much?”
“About a million bucks. Any good antique dealer could tell you that. And I know right where to find one."

Back at the station’s interrogation room sat our suspect, a Scot named Russell Nash. Ed tosses some sketches of the victim and the sword onto the table. "Ever see this guy before, Nash? Name’s Vazilek. Got his head cut off.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen him. He was going to buy a sword from me. Look, what’s going on here? One minute I’m walking down the street, the next minute some giant named Kruger winds up and hacks my only customer of the day in half. This sword must be his.”
“You think you could work with one of our artists, maybe come up with a picture of this guy?” Ed calls over Knave, the sketch artist formerly known as Prince.
Nash helps out with a description, but after an hour the finished image showed only one side of Kruger. “That’s all the information he could tell me. He never saw the other half.”
I replied, “It’ll have to do”. I took the paper and we rustled up the Brute Squad to find this Kruger character.

By nightfall, we were about to call off the search when we got to a dive called Plague’s Pit. We walked in and compared the sketch to the drunken sots in the room. And there he was. Luckily for us, he happened to be facing the same direction as in the picture.
In a deep gravely voice he starts ranting and resisting arrest. “You’re taking me on based on that picture? You can’t do that! That’s profiling!!”
“Take it easy, pal.” Ed said as he subdued the Kurgan.

Epilogue
“That Victor Kruger was one mean fella, Frank.”
"Yes, but now he’s safely behind bars in the Castle Prison keeping Sir Walter Raleigh, Grendel, Jack deLance and “Madam” Sally Decker company."
“Frank, I can’t help it, but I get the suspicion that there may be someone working with Kruger? Don’t you?”
“No, Ed. After thoroughly looking over the evidence, it’s quite clear to me that… there can be only one.”
“Sure. Sure”.