“Believe me, I’d love nothing more than an answer that required little to no thought, but something’s not right about this one.” It had been a long while since Osteen noticed this sort of fire within his partner. He found it more unnerving than the sight of the decomposing bodies mere feet away.
“Then why are you trying to make something out of nothing?”
“I’m not. Just hear me out. Not taking any potential motive into consideration. Say our mystery lady really killed Cagney,” Osteen suggested. He approached Cagney’s body. “Why the second shot to the gut?”
“Perhaps she wanted to make sure he was dead.”
“It’s possible, but a shot this close, to the head, would have done the job without the need for insurance.”
“That can’t be your only reason.”
“It’s not. However, my other reason is just speculation until we get the report from the Medical Examiner.”
“And that is?” Vivian fought back the temptation to roll her eyes. The road they were on the verge of traveling down was well worn and not one she was fond of.
“Why go back to her final resting spot? Why not get it over with right next to his body? I doubt she was enough of a crack shot to hit a target with that kind of precision, especially not under duress.”
“Maybe she was just in shock. Putting the pieces of the puzzle together, realizing that life was over, and she had fucked it all up,” Vivian said, with a hint of exasperation. She knew the battle she was currently waging was a losing one.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and the person who took care of Cagney wasn’t expecting seconds.”
“That’s a crude way to put it, Dan.”
“Sorry, but it’s a crude predicament. The point is…”
“I know the point, Danny-boy,” Vivian snapped and felt terrible about it almost immediately. “Let’s just head back to the office and wait to form our theories until we receive the M.E.’s report.”
Osteen put his hand on her shoulder, squeezed it lightly, and left the room.
Chapter 17
Micah jolted up in his bed, visibly distraught. He rubbed his eyes profusely to ensure he was awake.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?”
Our minds have a funny way of playing out dreams and memories, coalescing the two in a dance that can sometimes leave you wondering if what you witnessed was a moment in time that has since passed, or if it ever existed at all. Perhaps, Micah sometimes thought, it had existed, or would exist, but not in this world. Or in this lifetime. Or he just really needed to set up a meeting with a shrink. He hadn’t the slightest idea why the dreams had got worse, but he longed for a sleepless night.
Micah reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the remote for the television set mounted on the wall across the room. He clicked it on and saw that the local news had just returned from a recent commercial break. Seems like they’ve got one of those damn things every five minutes. A reporter stood in front of what looked to be the condominium he had recently visited. The longer he watched the coverage, the more certain he became. He tapped up on the volume and listened in.
-#-
“John, I’m standing outside the building where authorities found Channel 2’s own Dirk Cagney, murdered early this morning,” the reporter said, her voice somewhat cold. “Authorities also discovered the body of a female victim at the scene, but they aren’t releasing any information about her until next of kin can be notified. Details are sparse, but officers found a single gun at the scene, along with three bullet casings. It appears to have been a murder-suicide, though who pulled the trigger is still very much a mystery. Neighbors said they heard odd sounds coming from the condo around midnight last night. We’ll have more on this story as additional information becomes available. For now, we’ll take it back to you, Steve.”
-#-
Medina and Castillo sat stoically on the sofa in the Fisher Island mansion’s living room. They were watching the news story that would set the marbles rolling for the newest member of their organization.
“He continues to impress,” Medina said.
“Yea, I’ve had plenty of people fuck up this kind of thing so bad the cops know it the second they step away,” Castillo said. “Bad enough that they may as well have left a note that said, ‘check it out, I did it! Signed, dumbass.’” Both men laughed. “But this guy, boss, he knows how to cover his tracks. The pigs up in that tower could be thinking something else is at play, like it’s all a little too cut and dry, too safe, but they have nothing to go on.”
“Does he have your approval?”
“After seeing this, I don’t know how I could say no to bringing him in.”
-#-
Micah stood in his kitchen, staring at the contents of his refrigerator. He had a taste for eggs over medium and toast, but a severe lack of desire to cook, which created quite the predicament. For a moment, he considered running down to a spot in Little Havana to pick up some breakfast, but stopped when his phone rang, causing his attention to drift away from his rumbling stomach.
“What’s up, Jimmy?”
“Excellent work last night,” replied the distorted voice. “In the future, don’t use names on here.”
“Got it, thanks.”
“Meet me at the spot at sunset,” the voice said, pausing for effect. “And dress nice.”
As if on cue, the phone clicked, and it left Micah wondering
