expression. He
sweated profusely, and urine leaked out of penis. His eyes filled
with anger and pain. I watched him die.
Yes Gary, let it
go.
I turned my attention to
Lara, the beautiful, sexy blond who didn’t have to die, if she was
not involved with Gary. Pity filled my heart. She was mesmerizing.
Her porcelain skin soft and flawless, like a fine piece of
China.
She was still alive. Her
eyes full of horror and pain, as I clenched my hands into
fists.
I punched her. Again.
Again. Again. My rubber glove covered with blood from her
face.
Chapter 3 Ryan
My dad once told me that
low expectations were the secret to a long marriage. I wondered if
it held true for other areas as well.
For example, my
kids.
My son, Max was staring at
his math homework with the intensity of a homicide
detective.
"Dad, does 2x4 =
10?”
10? In what
world?
I looked at his cute face.
My father was definitely right. Low expectations were the mother of
patience.
"How did you get that
number?"
"Duh, dad," Max showed me
his fingers. He counted his fingers, ignoring that, as he counted
the first 8, the two pinky fingers creeped into the final count as
well. "See 10 fingers."
"I wouldn't recommend
counting fingers for math. What do you do when you need more than
10 fingers?"
"Dad, I’m in the first
grade. I’ll worry about it when I need to."
I sure hope the lack of
math skills was something he’d grow out of.
Suddenly, my phone rang.
It was Paula Parker, my partner at LAPD. "I’m at 6892 Wilson Blvd
in Westwood. Double homicide. Poison gas."
I was hoping to spend the
night with my kids - Max, Poppy, and Tucker.
Max looked up from his
homework. "Are you leaving?"
"Sorry Max. I’ll get Mrs.
Harris, next door, to watch you guys tonight."
"When are you coming back
Dad?"
"In a few
hours."
I felt guilty when I
hugged Max goodbye. I thought about my wife, Cassandra. I wish she
was still here.
Chapter 4 Ryan
I drove to the condo
building at 6892 Wilson. The street was blocked with traffic police
directing cars to a detour. Dozens of bystanders watched from the
sidewalk and through the windows from surrounding
buildings.
Paula was already at the
crime scene, inside unit 3012, a modern 2-bedroom apartment with a
sprawling city view, minimalist neutral color decorations. I walked
into the master bedroom.
"Hey Ryan," Paula greeted
me, with a simple, efficient voice that was her
trademark.
32 years old,
short-haired, and direct, Paula was the only female detective at my
unit. She was known for her bullshit detecting ability, and busted
balls of criminals and colleagues, who made the mistake of
underestimating her.
Going strong in our fifth
year together, I couldn’t have asked for a better partner. She was
street-smart and tough. Rarely let people in, she counted me as one
of her few friends.
"The male victim, Gary
Michaels, 52 years old, is the city official in charge of zoning.
The woman, Lara Gibbs, was from Chicago, appeared to be his
mistress. The leasing office confirmed he’d paid her rent for the
past four months," Paula said.
Nice Midwest girl
corrupted by the big city. I sighed.
The condo
in this building started at $2500/month. A two-bedroom condo on the
30 th floor would cost a lot more, something a government employee
shouldn’t be able to afford.
"Victims were having sex,
when they died. We found a 3 liter sarin bag on the
floor."
"Who found the
body?"
"The maintenance crew.
Lara Gibbs submitted a request to unblock her bathroom
sink."
"Any suspects?"
"We're looking into it. On
the business side, he's in charge of zoning. There could be
disgruntled real estate developers not happy with him. On the
personal side, he's married and is seeing a young mistress on the
side, so there could be jealous lover or spouse," Paula
said.
I turned my attention to
the victims. The older man was naked, facing up, a beer belly
protruded out. His face looked tortured. It’d been a painful
death.
Next to him was a