Free The Dark Eye (The Saxon & Fitzgerald Mysteries Book 2) by Ingrid Black Page B

are too many points of coincidence to simply let it go. Felix’s interest in the case. His call to me. He was trying to tell me something, I’m convinced of that. Even the fact that he was shot through the eye, it’s too symbolic, like he was being punished for something he’d seen, something he shouldn’t have seen.’
    ‘And from your experience, you also ought to appreciate how difficult it is to stage a murder to look like suicide.’
    I wouldn’t listen. I was floundering for some rope to grasp on to.
    ‘Did no one even hear a gun going off?’
    ‘No, but it’s a quiet neighbourhood. They’re not like you. They hear a gun going off and they’re more likely to think it’s a car backfiring.’
    ‘Whereas I hear a car backfiring and instantly start trying to figure out what calibre it is,’ I said quietly, and I wasn’t proud of it. ‘What about witnesses?’
    ‘There were a couple, but you’re not listening,’ said Fitzgerald. ‘It doesn’t matter if there were a thousand people on the pier that night. You could tell me the massed ranks of the Dublin Symphony Orchestra were playing hide and seek in and out of the boats and it wouldn’t make any difference. If there’s no evidence Felix Berg’s death was anything other than a straightforward suicide, then there’s no evidence.’
    ‘Indulge me. What did the witnesses see?’
    ‘Only you. I’m serious. You stand around on your own long enough and you’re bound to be noticed.’
    ‘How’d they describe me?’
    ‘Small, dark, smoking a cigar, couldn’t stand still. I’d recognise you anywhere.’
    ‘They didn’t mention the fabulously good-looking and sexy part then?’
    ‘It was dark.’
    ‘Oh well, I’ve had worse notices,’ I said, and I could feel a panic rising in me as the threads which held together my interest in the death of Felix Berg started fraying, coming apart. ‘I don’t get it, is all. If Felix did kill himself, why the elaborate charade to make me, Alice, everyone, think he was murdered? Why tell me someone wanted to kill him?’
    ‘Who knows what was going on in his head? Maybe he just needed to make a drama out of his death. Maybe simply dying like everyone else wasn’t good enough for him. Maybe he wanted to make himself the centre of attention even in his absence, keep the world guessing, and who better to rope in than you, famous writer, former FBI agent? Maybe he just wanted an audience and figured you wouldn’t come all the way out there on the back of an invite to the opening and closing night of his one-man suicide show. Or,’ she added in a tone that made me look up and take notice, ‘maybe he planned on taking you along for the ride.’
    ‘You think now he wanted to shoot me too?’
    ‘It’s a possibility.’
    ‘It’s ridiculous is what it is.’
    ‘You don’t know what’s ridiculous and what isn’t. You don’t know the first thing about Felix Berg. What he was thinking. What he was capable of. And that’s why you need to just let this go. I mean it,’ she said firmly. ‘You say you’re only going to talk to Alice and not get involved, and the next minute you’re reacting badly because there might be nothing to Felix’s death after all. I’m worried where it’s going to lead. I don’t want you to be dragged into something.’
    ‘I’m not going to be dragged into anything. I’m just curious.’
    ‘You know what curiosity killed.’
    ‘I’m not a cat. I’m restless, is all. I need to be doing something to stop me seizing up. I wasn’t made for sitting round at home watching daytime TV.’ I flipped the cover and handed back the autopsy report. ‘And you know me. I need to know . Felix called me; he arranged a meeting; and when I got there, he was dead. That must mean something.’
    ‘Suicides are sick in the head. What they do and say doesn’t mean anything. Sometimes things don’t make sense. You know that. Sometimes you never find out what’s going on, it never adds up.