Into the Fire

From my one and only mystery . . .

Two

A long day ahead introduced itself accompanied by the gut feeling this was indeed a homicide and it wasn’t going to be an easy solve. My partner Jesse Davidson called to tell me he was en route. The ME arrived shortly after Jesse’s call. Doctor Loren Walsh set the initial estimate of time of death at sometime between midnight and 3 AM., a fairly precise window, putting the girlfriend at the top of my suspect list if natural causes were ruled out.

     Racetrack security, our patrol officers, and Detectives Phil Phelps and Mark Griffin helped keep the group outside the tape from crowding the scene and separated and contained those who first arrived because of Carmella’s frantic screaming. At my request they’d contacted the particular guard who manned the gate during the shift when Carmella supposedly arrived back at the track and sent a replacement to relieve him so he could come talk to us.

     We needed to notify the owner of the racetrack and inform him of our investigation. No doubt he wouldn’t want this publicized and neither did we, but word always manages to get out. I’d send Detective Griffin to do this after we got done with the preliminaries.

     The official cameras flashed recording the scene, and the two other detectives converged to get interviews after we spoke discouraging those with cell phones attempting to take pictures although the crime scene itself was not visible.

     Jesse arrived looking a whole lot more refreshed than anyone should at this hour. I’m obsessive about how people dress so I notice Jesse’s attire. Dapper dude that he was, he’d elected to wear pressed Levis and some kind of Redwing boots with his professionally cleaned button-down pale yellow shirt with the one button undone at the neck to expose the tight-curving collar of a blinding white T-shirt, and his black leather jacket which he tossed into his car to don his ballistic vest. The brisk morning air sent a shiver more than once under my light POLICE windbreaker, my polo shirtsleeves not providing much warmth in spite of the extra layer my vest provided.

     “So. Guy dies in his sleep? Girlfriend can’t remember if she’s in bed with him? Convenient, huh?”

     “Looks that way.”

     “That her over there?”

     “Uh-huh.”

     “Kinda hot, huh? How ‘bout him? He a looker too?”

     “Oh yeah.”

     “Okay. We find the other guys and gals these two’ve been sleepin’ with and we got a suspect pool. If we need one.”

     “Pretty much.” 

Father, you wanted this one written. It was hard for me, but with your design and Patrick's help, I did it. Thank you for it. It's fun to be able to say I've written one mystery. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.