Her last words woke him from his reprieve.
He looked at the red numbers blinking on the old clock. He had time for one final adjustment before moving his canvas to its place of display. From a box he removed an electric saw and cut lengthwise along the canvas. He moved the blade with delicate precision and sliced with grim determination until his work was complete.
Ash tingled with nervous excitement as he gazed at his surroundings. He had spent weeks searching for locations to present his work, knowing that if the environment was wrong, or if it didn’t match the overall impression of his work, all would be lost.
Setting his masterpiece in the perfect spot to catch the morning sun, he had just a few more modifications to make before the unveiling was possible. He laid an envelope on the easel, adjusted the silk sheet that covered his canvas, and disappeared into the night with a contented heart.
A heart that would soon grow heavy due to her perpetual droning.
“There is no such thing as perfection. It is your job and the job of all who are able, to take the plain and the ugly and make them vibrant and beautiful.” Her voice softened, “You have moments, mere moments, to admire your work,” her voice rose again as if it were a symphony rising towards the crescendo, “and then on to the next piece. Only through constant toil can you continue to strive for a perfect, everlasting impression.”
“Damn her,” he mumbled as he headed home.
2
Agent Troy Stubbs of the FDLE was hoping to enjoy his last day on the job, but that hope was fleeting. He stepped out of his car and looked out past the yellow crime scene tape toward the Atlantic Ocean. The beauty of the water was one of the things calling him home—one of the reasons he was leaving the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.
Why would anyone want to desecrate such beauty? he thought, as he spotted the medical examiner and the forensic team set up by the beach volleyball court.
The call he received shortly after punching in this day was a strange one. He asked dispatch to repeat the words twice to make sure he had heard correctly. A 911 call came from an elderly couple who found a dead body on a stretch of Miami Beach called Condo Canyon, a three-and-a-half mile strip of oceanfront that ran along Collins Avenue from 72nd Street down to 44th. The body was specifically found where 64th Street would have dissected Collins Avenue if a condominium hadn’t stood in its way, a part of the area where there was a small beachfront park and public parking. The fact that a body was found was not that unusual—this was Miami after all—but the details were odd. Troy was doubtful of their authenticity until he stood in front of the macabre scene.
He squinted to help shade the early morning sun and saw a body at the base of the volleyball court. It wasn’t a body that had washed up on shore, or one that had been dumped on the sand. No, this body had been meticulously placed; whoever left it wanted it to be seen.
And seen it was. As much as the authorities wanted the scene protected, the beach was surrounded by high-rise condominiums, and the balconies were overloaded with on-lookers and the camera curious.
“Pretty fucked up, don’t you think?”
Troy looked to his left and saw his captain eyeing the victim. “That’s one way of describing it,” he replied.
“Come on,” Captain Rand motioned, “let’s go talk to the ME and fill your last shift with enough shit that you will never want to come back.”
“Hey Quincy,” Rand said with a sarcastic bite, “what are we looking at?”
A man of small stature with a white buzz cut looked up from where he was squatting, “Call me Quincy again, you’ll be looking up from my autopsy table.”
Rand laughed at the doc’s retort. “It’s always good to see you, too, Mel.”
While continuing to concentrate on the scene in front of him, the doc pointed his chin toward Troy, “Who’s this, your replacement?”
“Wishful thinking,” Rand said. “Unfortunately, this is Agent Stubbs last day with the department. Troy Stubbs, allow me to introduce you to the larger-than-life, Dr. Melvin Howard.”
“So now we’re cracking short jokes?” the doc remarked.
Rand emitted silent laughter as he helped his good friend up off the sand.
Dr. Howard stood, pulled the latex gloves from his hands, grabbed a bottle of water and extended his free hand to Troy. “You the same Troy Stubbs who was once touted as the next great thing at the University of Miami?”
Troy shook the doc’s hand and gave a quick nod. “That was a lifetime ago, but, yeah, I’m the same Troy Stubbs.”
Dr. Howard wiped the sand from the front of his chinos. “I’m a long time booster at the university. That was a hell of a thing you did back then. You may not have had a lot of supporters, but I was sure proud of you. Not many kids your age would have thrown away a college football and probably a pro career for some girl he didn’t even know. You sure we can’t find a way to keep you on the department’s payroll?”
Troy’s mind flashed back to his freshman year at the University of Miami.
A top high school recruit, he was slated to be the starting quarterback at the “U” his sophomore year. At an end of the year party, a girl with an unwarranted reputation had been drugged and raped by some of the party guests, including a few of his teammates.
He had been warned to keep his mouth shut, but watching how the girl proclaimed her innocence and maintained her sense of pride while being libeled in the press and ridiculed on campus changed
