Free Dos Equis by Anthony Bidulka

do with Jane Cross’s murder.”
    “Have you been asked to look into her death? By who?”
    “Yeah,” I shouted back. “By Jane! Right before she died.”
    He glared some more.
    “Your turn,” I said in a quieter voice.
    “After we talked on the phone, things happened pretty quickly.” “Yeah, thanks for keeping me in the loop on that.” I knew he had no responsibility to do so. It was probably even a little against the rules. But it would have been nice if for once he gave me something I needed without my having to sell a kidney to get it. Yes. I was grouchy. And my cat scratch really burned.
    He began to talk. “The investigation moved from Regina to Saskatoon once we got wind of Lynette Kraus, and Jane’s
    involvement with her. We talked to people who said Lynette often joked about needing her mother to kick the bucket so she
    could inherit the land, sell it, and go see the world. Lucky for us, but unlucky for her, Kraus’s fingerprints were in the system.
    She’d been arrested for shoplifting in her early twenties. She left them all over Jane’s office. And, it gets better. Lynette Kraus was one of the few people in Canada who registered their gun, then shot someone with it. So here we are, Quant. Ready to
    make an arrest. That enough information for you?”
    I surmised this wasn’t the best time to bring it up, but I couldn’t help wonder if Kirsch and his police buddies were making a big mistake. There was a major piece of this puzzle that did not fit. How could Lynette Kraus be the killer when the killer I’d rumbled with in Jane’s office was most definitely a man?
    I kept my mouth shut, backed off, and tried to blend into the background. By making myself inconspicuous, my hope was that
    they’d forget about me, and I’d get a front row seat to the arrest of Jane’s possible killer.
    It was a tense environment. A real live murder suspect on a Saskatoon suburban street was a big deal. I had to give kudos to the law enforcement agencies involved. Other than allowing a rogue PI to slip through the cracks, they seemed well prepared, with plenty of backup firepower should they need it. I suppose it might have seemed like overkill to the casual bystander. This was, after all, a heretofore law-abiding woman in her thirties we were talking about. But I knew, as did the cops, of far less perilous situations that had gone horribly wrong.
    What followed was a lot of waiting and many whispered consultations (none of which included me). Finally the move was
    made. A team of three plainclothes, one being Darren Kirsch, was sent to the front door. I had my great view, albeit from a
    great distance.
    They knocked.
    The door opened.
    A woman whom I guessed to be Lynette Kraus stood there. She had a short chat with the officers. Everything seemed very
    polite. Had she been expecting this? Or had they not yet revealed their true intent? Or did she know the jig was up, and decided to peacefully give herself up? She must have invited them in, for we watched as the three men went inside. The door closed
    after them.
    And then all hell broke loose.
    We heard one loud pop. That was it. After two microseconds of profound silence, the yelling and screaming and running and
    drawing of weaponry commenced. It seemed like every cop in Saskatchewan was rushing through Lynette Kraus’s door.
    Whoever had done the shooting didn’t stand a chance. My only hope was that the victim did.
    My late workout at the gym was punishing. I needed it. For many reasons, not the least of which was to help me exorcise the
    sound of the senseless death of Lynette Kraus. One “pop” and it was all over for her. The cops didn’t even have a chance to
    talk to her. She must have known they would come for her. She’d invited them in. The moment the door was closed, she looked
    Darren in the eye, placed a gun to her head, and fired.
    I hung around and kept my eyes and ears open. It sounded as if the evidence they’d collected against her, even