Free G'Day USA by Tony McFadden Page B

pre-ordering a breakfast for the next morning?’
    Sampson shrugged. ‘Who knows? Manic-depressive ordered food in a manic state then slipped to a deep depression.’
    ‘ Seems pretty pat.’ He lifted an evidence bag. ‘And what about this? Pretty pansy gun for a man his size. His finger would barely fit the trigger guard.’
    ‘ And it’s cheap and the guy didn’t have much money. Anything on the serial number?’
    ‘ Shit. Knew I forgot something.’ Perkins turned on his computer. He held up an earring in another plastic evidence bag. ‘And this. Lady’s earring found on the bathroom floor.’
    ‘ He had a guest. Prints will be in sometime later today. Maybe tomorrow. Look, Perk. This is your case. I’ve got other things to do. I only stopped by the house on the call because I was just around the corner. If you don’t think it’s a suicide, by all means investigate it. It’s got all the markers, but you need to be satisfied.’
    ‘ I want to bounce some ideas off you once in a while.’
    Sampson pulled on his suit jacket. ‘Sure thing. I’m heading out for a coffee. Want one?’
    ‘ We’ve got a machine here. I’m good.’
    ‘ That dog piss? I’ll bring you something.’
    Perkins absent-mindedly waved him off. ‘Yeah, thanks. Whatever.’ He returned his focus to the files. He made a mistake before, assuming a murder was suicide. It defined his attitude after that. Never assume. Never guess. Always dig as deep as possible, and one inch more.
    Something didn’t smell right with this one.
    ‘ What the fuck is it with this?’ He made notes in his ever-present pad. ‘Timing is all wrong. A guy doesn’t order food then kill himself. Out of character. And the gun. Too small.’ His computer prompted for login credentials. He looked to the back page of his notebook and entered the user name and password. Following the instructions in his book he navigated to the firearms database.
    He lifted the gun out of the evidence bag and tried to read the serial number. ‘Dammit. Fucking eyes are going.’ He put the handgun to one side for the moment and concentrated on the ME’s report.
    The entry angle of the gunshot, according to the report, matched the expected angle of a right-handed person shooting himself in the side of the head. Powder burns on the skin around the entry wound showed the barrel was either contacting the skin, or was very, very close. He flipped the page, scanned through the rest of the examination and sat back in his chair. ‘No powder on the hand. I wonder.’
    He called the ME’s office.
    ‘ Morgue. What?’
    ‘ What?’
    ‘ What. What do you want? What can I help you with? What the fuck is it now, Perkins?’
    ‘ Hey, Gerry. Good to hear your voice. I’ve got a question about the Bart Sweeney report.’
    ‘ The suicide?’
    ‘ Maybe a suicide. I can see some inconsistencies. Things which could maybe point the case away from suicide and right into the foul play pile.’
    ‘ Oh for God’s sake. Sometimes suicide is just suicide.’
    ‘ Follow me here. Stippling at the entry wound.’
    ‘ You can still read. Bueno . I’d say lightly pressed to the skull when he pulled the trigger.’
    ‘ Okay, fine. I accept your expertise in the matter.’
    ‘ That all?’
    ‘ Not by half. So where was the GSR on the hand? You don’t mention it.’
    The silence on the phone spoke volumes. ‘Wait.’
    ‘ I’m waiting. You missed that?’
    ‘ Yeah, I did. Good point.’
    ‘ Any chance it could have come off after soaking in the tub for twelve hours?’
    Ben snorted. ‘No, pops. It takes a pretty good scrubbing to remove it. Highly unlikely. This is peculiar. What was the handgun?’
    ‘ Ruger LCP. Small girl’s gun. Very narrow, very light. At the angle he’d have to hold it I’d expect to see a little bruising in the thumb webbing.’ Perkins flipped the pages in the report. ‘Don’t see anything about it in here either.’ He dropped the handset in the cradle, stood and