The Short Life of Dani Bea,
Chapter 2 — The Detectives
Paul Kissiakis, police chief of Manchester, had been at an event until 11:15 pm and came in to do some paperwork, which appeared to be an endless sea. There was no one waiting for him at home. His wife was taken by cancer a decade ago, and as much as he loved her, he didn’t want to be in a relationship that intense ever again. What he did want was unavailable tonight. He drove past her house to see if she was home. It was something he didn’t do, but the widow Kyryankis had been drinking at the dinner and made many gestures and whispers while dancing that meant she wanted to be taken home and made to feel even better. Regardless of her enduring beauty and yoga-fit body, he would avoid that road at all costs. She wanted a life. The chief wanted a moment. When he drove by Dani’s house, there was a truck out front and movement behind the light shade of the kitchen window. He knew her generous nature and made no effort for anything more than a bit of time each month. He figured the office was a safe place to focus until his need lessened.
As soon as he sat down, a text chirped on his phone, and an email appeared on the screen.
The chief keyed his verification code at the prompt and looked at the address.
“Oh, for fucks sake, I was just there! What the hell happened?” he asked himself.
“Oh, Dani,” he said and began to feel the sweat down his back. He waited a few minutes for the feeling to pass and resumed reading.
The Chief of Manchester P.D. was blessed with intelligent humans getting smarter every day because the tools he was given could never be budgeted for. A benefactor who saved his ass years before and was always a friend to the department gave technology and two sons. One with extraordinary street smarts and former CIA. Another son with exceptional gifts of sight.
He knew that one of the senior detectives of his task force could speak to the dead and see things others could not. The chief emailed his tech boys another gift from the same family. He tapped a few keys, and the information he needed returned almost immediately.
He looked over Dani’s list of associates and felt his heart race.
“Oh shit!” he said in a loud whisper. Many of the people on Dani’s list were his close colleagues or above him with serious jobs, many political.
This list is more volatile than the crime,” he said, rubbing his head.
He looked down and said, “No shit.”
He saw his gifted detective was on it, but contact with social, phone, and in-person contacts ceased over six years ago.
“It’s enough time, legally,” the chief said to himself.
He reached for his phone and called the friend who saved his ass once.
“7793,” Will Gordon said, picking up the phone.
***
12:30 AM
It must be nice to have a whole night’s sleep, but I wouldn’t change a thing right now as I switch to a lower gear and press the gas towards the floor. A sensual giggle comes from my right, and I almost tear up. The speedometer says 150 miles per hour, and I can feel the engine’s supercharger kick in and hear the roar in my ears. Trees line both sides of the two-lane highway and are a blurry green wall.
My beautiful wife Daniella and I are racing down Route 89 from Henniker, trying to beat the others in our team but not wake up the state trooper who had the single duty of traveling the highway back and forth from 11:00 PM to 6:00 AM.
Nothing about this was wrong or a lie in the least possible way except for one; she was long dead, and I had the misfortune of being able to talk and see her every morning. The dream was a blessing, but the waking hit me hard and had for over seven years.
I’m a police detective, and the best have a sixth sense, but I was given a bit more.
The only change this morning was the song on the radio. It was always something I connected with her. It would get into my daydreaming, which always consisted of her and I dancing naked in our bedroom. This morning, it was Dua Lipa and Elton John’s Cold Heart while my Viper’s engine roared with the pounding beat. I could hear my brother, best friends, and longtime companions taunting each other over the two-way radios. The sounds of their engines and mufflers came through with every word. My heart raced for the woman beside me whose blue eyes sparkled whenever we were together. Her long blonde hair was flying around, and she didn’t care for one second how it looked. Her ample all-natural breasts heaved every time I gunned the Viper’s engine, pushing her into her seat and threatening to expose her from beneath the tight tank top.
Back then, I wasn’t a police detective. A friendly race among the team always coincided with a client’s work. Someone on our team was driving a stolen car or smuggling something from one part of the state to another that couldn’t be moved on a legitimate carrier. The scene was so long ago, but every moment with her glimpsed my version of heaven. And heaven was anywhere she was.
I stayed calm. I wanted every second, every minute, with Daniella to remain in the dream. The grief that snapped me back to reality had worn off a while ago. It was like the slamming of a wave that caught you off guard, filling your mouth and nose as you closed your eyes and wiped away the water, only to open them as another crashed upon you, throwing you down and threatening to drown you. Over time, as the experienced often do, you adjusted your body and face and never took your eyes off the waves. When one came in, you reached out your hand into the peak and entered the center of it. You realized the wave, like grief, was the proximity of your lost love. With each new set, you took a step further and reached calmer water every time.
Danielle looked at me. She stopped laughing and looked deep into my eyes. I said, “I love you,” for the millionth time and saw her mouth the words. I never saw or felt anything as beautiful as she was.
Today, she looked past me for the first time, and I saw her eyes sparkle. She reached for me like a spider jumping from its web onto its prey, and I felt my heart race from her touch as she whispered, “She needs your help.”
Danielle pulled back, and I heard her say, “Don’t be mad at me. I made sure she was there when you needed her,” she said. “She needs you now. Save her.”
I had no idea who “she” was talking about, but my life has been like this since I was a baby. Until now, the dream never varied from our fast and furious past. I didn’t know there was anything past the calm. Yet, this morning, I felt something more: a presence pulled at me and lay with me as I fell through my car seat into a blackness. I drifted into a dark fog and felt peace until I saw where I was. It was a house I had not been to in more than six years and would not have returned to willingly.
“Don’t just stand there,” I heard Daniella’s voice say.
I felt myself knocking, hoping the owner was not in.
I looked at my arms and body. For some reason, I was in a formal suit I wore to work as a detective in the Manchester police department: Detective Sergeant Joseph Gordon, son of the famous, now retired, private detective, CIA field agent, and attache to the Russian Embassy in Berlin, Will Gordon, who slept in one of the many suites he, my brother, sister, and I owned in Almonte Hall, a large 55,000 square foot mansion, on North Union street.
There was a time when my brother and I drove through New England and Europe like we owned the roads. I was known as BJ Gordon then, running bootleg items from New England to Novorossiysk on the Black Sea in the old Soviet Union. Since no one had cash, we traded cars, American cigarettes, drugs, chocolates, and anything the upper party wanted. In return, we received caviar, tanned leathers, sable furs, copycat fashions, and purses. It allowed a little fishing village to trade with Moscow to help bring the Soviet’s newfound perestroika and glasnost to life. I had brothers there as well. Danielle was from there. We all made a fortune and kept it. Danielle and I wanted for nothing, but after retirement, we changed our names slightly and were married. When Vladimir Vladimirovich wanted the routes and business for himself, we just gave it to him without ever meeting him. His SVR contact in Germany was related to me. It was a friend of my father who had made many political allies worldwide. When SVR contact told the president of Russia it was a ‘fait accompli,’ we disappeared with our nearly one billion and never looked back. Several large donations to the city and the passing of tests found my brother and I in charge of a task force that was an intelligence detail for the commissioner.
My beautiful life flashed as I stared at a door I wished I had never entered. I wanted to turn away, but I felt Danielle turn me around, and I knocked on the door again. I am not doing this and know I am still asleep because I look at my hand, and there are no scars, and the tattoo I shared with my late wife is missing. I look around and keep knocking. The ends of the street, both ways, are a fuzzy outline of the buildings and alleyways; I think I remember. I look back at the door. The woman who lived here should be opening her blinds slightly to look out. Her dog would bark once or twice if she still had him, and the door would open.
Instead, there was no response. I felt a cold shiver in my back go through me as I pushed lightly on the door. I spread it wide and walked in. The chill went in first like a mist. Whatever it was had no form until it maneuvered past the foyer, past the table, to where Dani stood doing the dishes with a man about my age, 51. He was kissing her on the side of her head. Then the mist took the form of a person who raised their hand, holding a large weapon with the barrel pressed to Dani’s head and fired. I went to pull a gun that wasn’t there, but it was too late. I heard someone scream. I looked around and realized it was me.
“Why didn’t I wake up?” I asked myself.
The weapon was large, perhaps a desert eagle, but I wasn’t sure since the noise was greatly diminished. Dani’s skull absorbed almost all of the energy, and the rest forced the side of her skull to blow outward. I felt hot liquids fly into my face as I watched Dani slam into the sink and fall to the floor. The killer moved off slowly and faded into the ether. Dani’s lover, who lay on the floor, covered in blood and brains, did not move. I looked at the man.
“Had there been a second shot,” I asked myself, but I was glued to the spot where Dani lay. The air in my ears felt as if I was falling.
I paused and took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure if it was me or the dream.
The phone rang, sending a chill up my spine. It was an old-fashioned dial phone hanging on the wall. My feet felt semi-glued to the wood floor as I walked. The phone kept ringing. I picked it up, and in my ear, it breathed, “Helloooow,” in such a low creepy voice that sent a cold shiver throughout my body.
“Hello, who is this?” I asked, smiling like every white person in a horror movie that treated the supernatural like a Karen. There was no answer, but I could feel the connection was someplace far away. Something behind my belly button connected to the beyond, and it felt like the caller wanted me to fall in like the wind flowing into a dark cave. The sound was hollow and distant. I pulled the phone away from my ear and hung up. I turned to look towards the spot where Dani lay and stepped back. She was right in front of me with a good chunk of the back of her head blown out. I wanted to back away and run, but her ghost grabbed my arm and, despite my efforts, wouldn’t let go. She turned to look at where she had fallen. I looked, and we both saw her body on the floor. Then, like switching channels, her focus was now face to face, and she screamed a high-pitched wail of fear and sadness. I tried to move, but my feet were cemented in place. Despite the missing pieces of her skull making me want to convulse, she moved forward, looking for comfort. Before I knew it, she had an arm coming around to hold me. I didn’t want to do this, but I wasn’t going to deny a victim of comfort. I could feel her body come forward into my right hand. Of course, her perfect breast filled it. I sighed and thought, “Why the hell is this happening?”
She was hard to separate from because she was a walking sex toy to use that left you in pain every time you left her house.
“Dani,” I said, waiting for her to look at me. She did. “You are dead. Someone blew your brains out.”
“And God sent you to meet me?” she asked. “Of all fucking people.”
She chuckled.
“I don’t know. Not with your record,” I replied and immediately regretted it. Dani laughed for a second, and her eyes widened as she tried to pull energy from me, but that shock, like electricity, went in and out into her. She winced and looked into my eyes.
“Don’t try that again,” I said with a look that told her how much I despised succubi.
“Why did you hate me?” she asked.
I said nothing and watched a smokey shadow surround her. I felt my heart skip a beat, and whatever was exchanging energy from me was filled with so much love that my mind, heart, and gut combined to give her form. I saw bright blue fill my eyes as Dani’s screams filled my ears so loud I cried.
***
I awoke with a start, found myself in my east wing suite, and looked out my windows. It was still dark outside. I looked at the clock on my side table. It read 12:34 AM, a sign that meant I was present and what I saw wasn’t a dream.
I reached for my journal and wrote in as much detail as I could remember for five minutes.
I was pissed at myself for being startled in my dream. I could do anything there, but when I couldn’t, it meant I would be dealing with this soon.
My phone beeped. I reached for my department-issued phone and saw the call that had come in about a potential homicide at the address I was just waking from. The call was initiated by a neighbor who heard the shot 30 minutes ago. I jumped into the shower, did a quick once over, and dressed in my charcoal gray Bill Blass suit with a matching silk tie. I walked down the steps into the kitchen and saw my dad, Will Gordon, at the counter in front of the large island with a cup of coffee in hand for me in a to-go mug.
I smiled, picked up the cup, and took a big sip.
“Thank you,” I said.
“No problem. I was watching Beretta and heard you cry out. Figured you might need this,” he said.
“Did the ole man call you?” I asked.
“Funny you ask. The chief wants you over there ASAP,” Dad replied. “I asked him about any conflict of interest. He says there’s none.”
“But I knew her pretty well,” I said.
“Yeah, over six years ago, almost 7. You weren’t married or had children, no abortions, and the lead detective is your brother,” Dad said with a smile.
“Wow, she really was a-,” I said and stopped. It was unkind to say.
“Slut?” Dad asked, cutting me off.”
“I won’t ask who told you that,” I said with a smile, knowing she had got around. “She loved men in uniforms and suits. I can see the Chief’s dilemma.”
“So, someone finally disagreed with her dating style,” Dad said.
“I am about to find out. Thanks, pop, for the coffee. Tell you the details when I can,” I said, grabbed the cup, and walked out the kitchen door into the garage. I got in my Toyota Land Cruiser and hit the button for the door. When it was clear, the lights came on and shined into the eyes of our cat, who was out prowling. His eyes glowed until I started the car, and he ran off.
I told dispatch that I would be on the scene in ten minutes. There was an acknowledgment, but it was lost in my thoughts and coffee. I had an empty stomach and would pay for it later.
I put my portable blue light on the dash and turned it on. I opened the windows but kept the siren off except for one intersection at Webster and Union streets. I raced up the hill, took a right on Belmont St., and raced towards Bridge Street. I got to her road and pulled up in front of her house. Several officers and one detective were on the scene, my partner and adopted brother, Rodney Hannaford, five feet ten, with the olive skin of his late mother’s Greek blood and his father’s striking good looks.
I shut off the engine and got out. I was dark-skinned but not brown like my mother’s Central American ancestors. I had my father’s strong chin and the penetrating eyes of a Scotsman. I won’t be so arrogant to say I am handsome. I save that for those who want to say it. My late wife said it to me almost every day, and she was hands down one of the most beautiful women in the world. I didn’t care who didn’t like the way I was made.
Several people from the crime scene office came out with all their equipment in their van. I waved to the lead investigator. He nodded and said, “Give us a bit.”
I knew the rest, and they took off. I looked toward the house. Rodney walked up to me.
“What are you doing here so quickly?” I asked. “Thought you’d be asleep.”
“I took a detail last night and was just about into my first drink at the Shaskeen when I saw the dispatch,” Rodney replied.
“A detail? You don’t have to worry about money anymore,” I said quietly with a chuckle.
He looked at me and said, “It was just a favor. Let’s talk about this later. It’s bad inside.”
“Gunshot wound to the head. Extremely close range. Lover on the floor?” I asked.
“Not again?” he asked. It wasn’t the first or tenth time my second sight had guessed correctly.
I nodded my head. He knew firsthand what my premonitions meant and questioned my validity in handling the case. Did I know something because I was there?
This murder wasn’t some stranger in a back alley.
“Who was first on the scene?” I asked.
“These two patrolmen,” he replied, pointing to the two uniformed police officers, LeClerc and Chaisson.
I walked up to them and pulled out my notepad. “Officers?” I asked.
I knew Officer Chaisson and nodded to him.
“What can I do for you, detective?” LeClerc asked. She looked a little rattled, but I wasn’t going to ask.
“I understand you were both first on the scene. What was the first thing you did as you entered, and was it this door?” I asked LeClerc, pointing to the side door, and looked at Chaisson to ensure he was included.
“Yes, this door, but Chaisson-” she replied.
I smiled but cut her off, “Just what you did for now.”
LeClerc nodded and said, “The first thing I did was walk around the edge of the kitchen so I didn’t touch anything but the floor. Then I went into the living room and turned the T.V. down.”
“Music or some show?” I asked.
“Music,” she replied, pointing to the house’s front. “I felt a breeze and walked toward the front door. It was open. I drew my weapon and checked up the steps before proceeding to the door and out to the patio.”
“Did you touch anything but the knob on the door and the?” I asked and stopped. I realized I was about to say stereo. I knew and remembered almost everything but didn’t need any rumors. I looked at their hands, and they both wore latex rubber gloves. I nodded and said, “Please continue.”
“I touched the television buttons, but they didn’t work. I realized the stereo was the audio and turned the big round knob to lower the volume.
I turned to Chaisson to see if there was anything he wanted to add. “You went in first?” I asked.
“Since the dispatcher issued the shots fired call, I put my hand on my holster and prepared my weapon. I knocked hard and said loud enough that we were MPD. We heard nothing. I drew my weapon and proceeded to open the door. It was unlocked, and it wasn’t opened an inch before the smell hit your nose,” Chaisson replied, shaking his head.
“Before you ask, I didn’t touch anything with my hands, but the heel of my shoe touched a blood stain at the edge of the living room before the kitchen. I already marked it and took some photos for the report. Then the other detective,” he said, pointing to Detective Hannaford, “came in with another rookie and asked us to watch the first floor in case the murderer was still around or watching.”
I held up my hand and said, “That’s enough for now.” I looked at my watch and ordered, “Alright, go get a coffee and write your reports while they are fresh. Unless the desk sergeant calls you directly, I want those done before you take another call. Dunkins on South Willow is open or in your car. You know how it is, if they think you are available, they will call you. Tell them you are with me and nothing else.”
“Yes, detective,” they said. It wasn’t protocol, but the kids looked shaky and needed a break.
The medical examiner pulled up and entered the side alley door with an assistant. The assistant M.E. came out a few seconds later, turned, and barfed up his last meal beside the garbage can.
We walked past the man, up the short steps, and into the kitchen. It looked like a gravy boat, and a claret-filled balloon had exploded against the floor, walls, and appliances.
“You take the prints on the victim doc?” I asked.
He handed me the print screener, and it was a match. I knew we had a mugshot and prints of Dani. The shot was over ten years old and related to her resisting the arrest of a former lover, who was pulled over for DWI.
“Make sure we have photos from every angle. How close to the VIC was the murder weapon?” Rodney asked.
The ME looked up at me and replied, “There’s no gunpowder residue further than four inches from where the bullet went in. They must have pressed the barrel against her head and fired. The problem is that some residues on her face are missing as if something or-.”
“Someone was in the way,” I said, finishing the sentence.
Both the medical examiner and my partner looked at me. I pointed to the body-shaped spot, mostly blood-free, and said, “Not a guess.”
Rodney coughed and looked around. He had already been upstairs and had an officer waiting next to an unconscious, bloody man who probably fit the outline.
The assistant M.E. said something I couldn’t hear.
The senior M.E. said, “Even the strongest man in the world couldn’t keep a barrel so perfectly still and press beyond the foot-pounds of a high-powered weapon. It’s not the movies.”
The assistant ME, now composed, put a caliper into the hole in the victim’s head.
“What is the caliber, a 44 or 45?” I asked.
The assistant shook his head. “50, most likely a desert eagle. We’ll know for sure in a few hours,” he replied.
“Where’s the bullet?” I asked.
“We used a metal detector to see if it was in that carnage and then over the victim’s body. It’s lodged inside her head, detective. We will find it soon enough,” he replied.
“Christ!” Rodney exclaimed.
The M.E. and I turned to face him.
“Sorry, this kind of murder could have been done with a 22 caliber long, but the desert eagle round had to be modified; otherwise, you would have found the round in a wall. It tells me this wasn’t a simple robbery or lover’s quarrel gone wrong.”
“Premeditated,” I said calmly.
I turned and faced the living room. The memories of Dani walking around and dancing naked returned for a few seconds. A cold chill went up my spine. She was close and let me know.
I heard people coming down the steps. I walked towards them. The first was holding a sleeping dog who was shaking, and the second had a man’s arm covered in blood except for the left side of his face.
“Well, that answers my question: ‘Was there anyone else in here?’ There’s almost an outline and some footprints in the kitchen,” I said.
The ME approached the man and said, “Please stay still, sir. I’m going to swab you now and show the detectives something.”
The ME removed several of his swabs and ran the clothing, cheeks, forehead, and hair. “You see?” he asked.
I did, but I watched it happen and let Rodney answer.
“No, what am I looking at?” he asked.
“Only one side of his face has gunpowder residue and flash burns. It’s a good thing his eyes were closed. I am going to take a blood sample from him and the dog. They are both too calm for all this activity.
“Most likely, they were drugged,” the uniformed officer said. “He said he crawled to the bathroom upstairs to wash but kept passing out and waking up.”
“He needs to be seen by the doc. Did ‘crime scene’ take pictures of where you found him?” I asked.
Rookies always want to be detectives.
The officer holding the dog shook his head.
“Detective, I took ten or so shots of the room and how we found him. I didn’t know when they would arrive, but I should have known they would be called first. He was passed out, or so we thought until he jumped up and wanted to run. He’s not all there. He keeps crying and mumbling about his wife,” the rookie officer, Michaels, said. “Is this the victim’s husband?”
I shrugged in reply. “Dani didn’t do husbands,” I thought. “He’s probably like I was, a grieving widower.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. My heart slowed down and calmed. You couldn’t help the questions of the young cops. The M.E.’s team approached the man, swabbed several areas, and asked him to remove his shoes. It took him a minute of protesting, but when he saw me smile, he removed them. Everything was taken away for processing. The paramedics came in and took the man away to the hospital.
“Michaels, go with him. I don’t believe he’s involved, but I need him taken to his home if he checks out. Grab some evidence bags and put his clothing, as is, into the bags and label them. Allow him to wash, dress, and escort him to the station,” Rodney ordered.
When no one was around us, Rodney looked at me and asked, “Did she say anything to you?”
“In my dream, yes. I haven’t spoken to Dani in reality in almost seven years,” I replied. “She asked, ‘Why did you hate me?’”
“Well, that isn’t very clear,” he said. “Lots of people hate you.”
I shook my head at his quick smile.
Officer Sullivan must have been called when LeCler and Chaisson left. He was holding Dani’s dog and put him into my hands.
“Her old dog must have died of old age,” I said.
“Or sniffed her vagina,” Rodney whispered.
“That’s so gross,” I replied, but wasn’t phased. I turned to the officer and asked, “Hey, Sully, would you mind taking the dog to the pound?”
“Detective, he told me to fuck off and keep the dog til morning,” Sully replied.
I pulled out my cell and dialed the number.
“Sergeant, this is Detective Sergeant Gordon. You must come to 680 Westfall Street and take possession of a victim’s dog. He is part of the investigation, so don’t put him with everyone else,” I ordered.
“Joey, I just had two bad skunk calls in a row. I am still trying to rinse Dawn out of my hair,” animal control officer Kazakis said. We had been friends since we were teens.
“Jimmy, I don’t have to convince you. Better teeth or bullets?” I asked.
“Be there in 20,” he said and hung up.
I handed the dog to Sully. “Animal control will be here in 30. Walk him around,” I ordered and watched him leave.
“It’s going to be a while to process this fully. We can get four or five hours or so,” Rodney said. “Let the team do what they’ve been trained to do.”
The three members of our homicide squad came through the door. Two I knew well, and we had a probationary detective, Gonzales, who recently passed the exam. She was the first to arrive.
Rodney walked up to Gonzales and handed her his preliminary notes. She accepted.
“Double-check everything I listed with ‘crime scene’ and anything else you think you should ask. Be prepared for comments, and don’t take them personally. Better you learn what is a stupid question on the job,” Rodney ordered and walked out behind me.
I didn’t say anything. I nodded. Gonzales smiled at me. I smiled back and kept walking.
We made sure two uniforms guarded the scene, and then Rodney and I left to get some sleep. The team knew how to close the initial investigation and got to work.
When we were near our cars, Rodney said, “Jesus, they keep making them younger and hotter.”
I chuckled.
I drove home, went up the back steps, and quickly undressed but carefully laid my suit pants and jacket. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. This time, my love and I were racing out of our old partner’s canning factory in Novorossiysk, following an old friend who drove a turbine-driven tractor-trailer with flames shooting out of every exhaust port. We were screaming and laughing as if we did it every day. I looked at her, and her eyes were locked on mine. We grabbed each other’s hands, and my world went into a black void of bliss.
I heard a phone ringing in my sleep and came out of it to my phone buzzing. It was 7:00 AM. I turned over, groaning, rolled twice from the center of my king-sized bed, reached for the department-issued cellphone, and answered, “Detective Gordon,” I said.
I didn’t need to see the caller. If it rang, it was important.
“Sorry to wake you, partner, but the guy in the house this morning is Roger Earl Gray,” Rodney said. “He lives in our area but near your uncle Hector.”
“You’re already in?” I asked.
“Since five. I took a three-hour nap,” Rodey replied and paused. He shuffled papers and continued, “Let’s find out what this guy knows. It’s going to be a long day.”
Rodney had been a field agent at another time and could handle the lack of sleep better.
“Has anyone claimed the body yet?” I asked.
“Her father,” he said.
“Fuckin-a that had to be hard,” I said.
“Lieutenant Kransz said he broke down and cried on the floor for at least ten or fifteen minutes,” he said.
“He was the only man she ever truly loved,” I said and paused. I took a deep breath. “I told that selfish bitch this would happen if she didn’t stop. Let’s be clear: I am looking for a victim.”
“Self-defense?” Rodney asked. I could almost see the grimace on his face.
“The legal kind?” I asked. “No, that would be laughable, but I know what she did to me, partner. To find the killer, we find the victim. See you in thirty,” I replied and hung up.
I showered again to get the sweat off my body and dressed in under twelve minutes. I loved that clean feeling but hated going through dry-cleaned and pressed shirts too fast. I checked to make sure I had everything I needed. I opened my gun safe and pulled out my nine-millimeter. Dad was awake, making noises in the kitchen; his hair was wet, and he had changed. Coffee was poured into a new carry-along.
“You know you don’t have to work this hard, you know,” he said.
“I chose to stay with them after the Russian case, and I can leave at any time,” I said, taking my first sip.
“How bad was it?” Dad asked.
I took a sip and put the cup down. “Like the Jackson Pollock painting we saw in Berlin once. Close range to her skull. The energy turned her brain to mush if the bullet didn’t kill her. I didn’t like her, Dad, but I would have never wished this upon her,” I replied.
“I know, son. She was your best fantasy and worst reality. Sounds like revenge or hate,” Dad said. “You know, I wouldn’t be so focused on this being a lover, current or past. You were her type and handled it as well as you could.”
That made me think of the dream. I looked at our sink. I wasn’t paying attention, but I nodded.
“You have someone in custody?” he asked.
“Yes, we do, but he wasn’t the killer,” I said.
“You know that already?” Dori said, chuckling as she walked into the kitchen. She was my sister, a lawyer, and had one of the six apartment suites in Almonte Hall, our home. Despite each apartment having full baths and kitchens people would die for, we all came down to the central kitchen for our meals and sat around the large island.
“We found a guy in shock and coming off some drug. We’ll know later. I say that because he got up from the table and was drinking wine. He walked to her where she was washing dishes and kissed her on the cheek,” I replied.
“He could have been getting up and starting to feel the impact of the drugs. The way people can drink tequila and not feel it until they try to stand or walk,” my father said.
“So why isn’t it him?” Dori asked.
“No powder burns or gunpowder residue on his hands, but the M.E. said it was all over the right half of his face. He may have been used as a shield to take the brunt of the fluids and firepower. It was a single 50 caliber desert eagle round.”
“That’ll do it!” said Dad. “Talk about overkill.”
“Had to be a modified round,” I said, and Dad looked up, “The bullet stayed in her head and turned the brains into-.”
“No need to articulate,” Dad said, cutting me off.
“Where’s Miss Marple when we need her?” Dori asked, knowing it would affect Dad.
Dad made a face but smiled through it.
“That smells so good,” Dori said, taking her cup of coffee. “Rodney called. He said to bring Dad if you want but to get down there. The guy’s lawyer says Roger can walk anytime.
“Shit! Dad, you want to go?” I asked.
He shook his head and said, “Not today. I am enjoying my retirement.”
“He’s enjoying his new girlfriend,” Dori said.
“I’m outta here,” I said and smiled at Dad.
He waved. Dori lifted her cup and said, “Later, cabron!”
Dad shook his head, and I laughed as I walked out the door.
