Free The Killing Hands by P.D. Martin

victim, James Santorini. Realistically, things could change a lot after our 5:30 p.m. meeting, so it might be better to put this case on hold. I decide now is as good a time as any to dedicate to the fourteen-year-old boy that’s been on my case list for two weeks. This job is all about juggling cases and sometimes it’s hard to listen to your head and not your heart. But my head’s won out for too long on this one.
    To give myself the biggest chunk of time possible on Santorini’s murder, I work through lunch, shoveling down a quick sandwich at my desk. Not that eating at my desk is unusual for me. At 2:30 p.m. I give Ramos a call to let him know I’m not going to make the ballistics run-through. He’s busy, too, going over the initial reports on the cars at the parking lot, so we agree that Hart can call us with the findings once she’s done.
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    It’s 4:00 p.m. when Hart calls. “Hey, Anderson. I’ve got Ramos on the line, too.”
    â€œHi.” I get us straight down to business. “How’d you do, Hart?”
    â€œIn terms of daylight, I tried quite a few different simulations of the sun’s position, and it was only in the early morning light, when the sun was shining directly in my eyes while I aimed at the light, that it was hard to see the bulbs.”
    â€œI still don’t see him taking the shot in daylight,” Ramos says. “It’s just too risky in terms of witnesses. Even with a silencer.”
    â€œAgree,” I say.
    â€œYes, but I needed to try all the options.”
    â€œFair enough,” Ramos says. “Go on.”
    â€œDusk works, too. I could still see the bulbs quite clearly.”
    â€œAnd nighttime?” I ask.
    â€œIt was a three-quarter moon that night and clear skies, so the shooter would have had a little extra light, but even so, during the simulation I couldn’t make out the bulbs. The brightness of the panels against the dark sky made it impossible. I couldn’t even make out the four distinct panels.”
    â€œBut broad daylight?” Ramos voices his doubts again.
    â€œWell, I did have a thought on that. I couldn’t see them, but I still managed to shoot out the bulbs.” She takes a breath. “The shooter could have made the shot at night if he studied the lights during the day,” she says.
    â€œEither way, it confirms—” My train of thought is interrupted by sudden and intense nausea.
    It’s dark, and a few parked cars surround me. I look around, somewhat cautiously, but my heartbeat has barely risen above its resting rate of sixty-seven. Convinced I’m alone, I line up my gun’s sights, breathe out and pull the trigger. The light shatters, and the edge of the parking lot is instantly darker. Flashlight in hand, I look for the bullet and pick it up. I never leave clues. Three more bullets later, my mission is accomplished .
    I’m sitting down, tied to a chair, when the deafening sound of a gun going off close range hits me. Searing pain follows .
    â€œYou there, Anderson?”
    It’s Ramos’s voice I hear first.
    â€œYeah, sorry.”
    â€œAre you okay?” Hart asks.
    I think on my feet. “Fine. The phone went dead this end. You?” I try to bring my heart rate down with a few deep, but quiet breaths. Unlike the shooter in my vision, my heart is pounding.
    â€œUm…I guess it did here, too,” Hart replies. “You cut out just as you were saying something about ‘it confirms.’”
    â€œOh, yeah.” I bite my lip. “It confirms that the murder was planned. Premeditated.” It was always more likely that the light was taken out before the murder, but until now we couldn’t rule out the possibility that someone killed our vic in the heat of the moment and then shot out the light in an attempt to cover their tracks.
    â€œI’m still surprised there aren’t any witnesses,” Ramos