Free The Merry Pranked by Day Rusk

although I’m sure there’s some significance to the removal of the eyes.”
    “What about prints? DNA? You have anything for us Doc?”
    “I’d suggest you call in a forensic psychiatrist to evaluate your crime scene. There’s nothing typical about this murder. As for physical evidence, we’re coming up short, other than your victim was drugged. Lysergic acid, LSD. Whoever did this to him sent him on a trip first. You’ll have all my reports later this afternoon. I’ve tried to be as meticulous as possible. Based on what I’ve seen here Detectives, I don’t believe this will be an only kill. This kind of commitment to death is not going to be a onetime thing. Sorry.”
    “Thanks, Doc,” said Bryan as he and Ray started making their way out of the autopsy room.
    “Smart and a John Wayne fan,” said Ray as they stood in the hallway outside autopsy, “is it just me or did she just get a little sexier?”
    “It’s just you, Ray.”
    “So what have we got?”
    “Well, the Doc said rage was involved. Rage could possibly indicate some sort of personal attachment to the victim.”
    “True,” said Ray, “however, rage against Wall Street guys, stock brokers, those in the financial district, well that’s pretty common nowadays, ever since the economy went in the toilet. It could be someone who took a bath financially, sees that no one responsible is being held to account, and has decided to seek their own justice. We spent a lot of time in the Eighties worrying about nuclear war destroying the world, when we should have been keeping our eyes on the Bankers.”
    “Other than Leonard’s divorce, there wasn’t much in his past to indicate he was headed for an end like this.”
    “True, which can only mean one thing, we missed something.”
    Bryan looked to Ray.
    “I’m not buying random. Too much passion in this kill. We’ve missed something, so back to the drawing board, partner.”
    Bryan knew Ray was right. They had to have missed something, but what?

 
    chapter SEVEN
     
    “you STILL here, Les? Jesus, you ever go home?”
    Leslie looked up from his laptop to see Fred Bosch, his Editor in the doorway, a press release in hand.
    “One of us has to show some dedication to the job,” said Leslie.
    “Yeah, tell that to my wife, buddy. Listen, you appreciate good art, don’t you?”
    “One of my ex-girlfriends did. Picked out the art on the walls at home; looks good, but I have no idea what any of it means.”
    “That’s good enough for me,” said Fred as he moved to the desk and tossed the press release on it, “some artist; apparently taking the art world by storm. She’s got a showing of her latest collection coming up at the Sylvia Cumming’s Art Gallery. They’re opening with a private viewing for friends, the city’s elite and selected members of the press. We’ve been invited, and unless there’s a bunch of images of dogs playing poker, I’m afraid this crap is lost on me.”
    “Get to the point, Fred.”
    “Exhibit Thursday night. I need someone to cover it. Free booze and food, no doubt. You’re the most cultured reporter we have, so what do you say?”
    Leslie picked up the press release and gave it a quick once over. Art wasn’t exactly his thing. He knew when he looked at something whether he liked it or not, but that was about it. To actually have to describe or critique a work of art, well that was another thing; he was sure his ignorance in the matter would quickly be recognized by readers who actually gave a damn about this stuff.
    “No one else available, Fred?”
    “Always someone else available, Les,” said Fred. “Let me put it this way. This is no run-of-the-mill show. It’s going to draw the city’s best and brightest, a truly refined crowd. Not for our younger reporters just yet, or any interns. I need someone who can handle themselves in that crowd; hell, you probably know most of them. Are on their social register. This assignment calls for refinement, so