Free A Deadly Development by James Green Page B

an additional two hours
answering Michaels’ pointed questions and filling out
paperwork.
    Burke’s favorite part was how people kept
honking at them as they waited for the ambulance and the coroner to
arrive. The Missouri Highway patrol had closed down two of the
three westbound lanes, and traffic had slowed to a crawl. It was
clear from the body bag and the blood stains that someone had died.
One businesswoman, in a white gleaming SUV about the size of a
cruise ship was unrelenting. She sat on her horn, and would not let
up. Burke finally had enough.
    “Lay off the goddamn horn!” he shouted. She
promptly flipped him off.
    “I’m trying to get to my daycare before it
closes and I get fined, asshole!” she screamed out the window.
    Burke pulled out his badge and walked towards
her.
    “Hit that horn one more fucking time and
you’ll be getting more than a fine from the daycare,” he
shouted.
    It worked. The woman sheepishly rolled up her
window and failed to make eye contact for the entire time she was
stuck in traffic.
    They had gotten back to headquarters around
seven, and Burke had headed for the gym before going home. Every
time he got tired or wanted to put down the weights, he thought of
the woman flipping him off. Then he would do a few more reps.
    He got home exhausted and drained. He saw
that his mother had called once again, but he didn’t have the
energy for that. He also needed to call Bethany Edwards back, but
that would have to wait until the morning. He showered and wanted
to go to sleep, but there was one call he couldn’t put off.
    Hi, it’s Julie, leave a message and I will
call you back as soon as I can
    Burke hung up. He knew he needed to lobby
Julie hard to get her to agree to sell the house. Leaving a message
wouldn’t suffice. He may be forced to see her face to face. The
thought of that made him emit a heavy sigh and grab a beer out of
the fridge. It would have to wait; he would have to build up the
patience before he crossed that bridge.
     

 
    Tuesday, March 14 7:25 a.m.

    Dick Houlihan held court every weekday
morning at a popular breakfast restaurant on the Country Club
Plaza. It was the place where Kansas City power brokers went to see
and be seen. Granted, the food was good and the service was
excellent, but that’s not why he came. Houlihan liked it because
there was only one large room for the entire restaurant. The dining
floor was one large rectangle - bar and hostess table at the front,
a phalanx of tables in the middle; and at the back, the restrooms
and the kitchen. No one could get in or out without Houlihan
noticing.
    He always sat at the same table with his back
to the southern wall. From this vantage point, he could not only
see every individual who was in the restaurant but could also gaze
through the floor to ceiling windows on the north side of the
restaurant to see who was walking along 47 th Street.
    Like every morning, he wore a blue Italian
suit, white silk shirt, and a scarlet red tie and matching
suspenders. His thick salt and pepper hair was brushed straight
back into a tall pompadour. He had bushy eyebrows that desperately
needed to be trimmed, but he never did, no matter how much his wife
nagged him about it. Around his neck hung his reading glasses,
attached by an eighteen carat gold chain. Dick Houlihan bought new
suits every two years, without fail. Partly to stay up with the
latest styles; mostly because his waistline, despite his best
efforts, continued to grow at an alarming rate. Dutifully, he wore
his father’s gold watch and cufflinks.
    Technically, he was retired. He had sold all
of his businesses-- a car wash, dry cleaner and a billboard sign
company. But, he still got up by six every morning, dressed and
left before his wife of forty-seven years even stirred. Keeping the
routine made him still feel relevant and important. He had no
hobbies. His children were grown and gone. They were really
strangers to him, anyway. He was an absentee father,