Free Djinn and Tonic by Jasinda Wilder

in the doorway, in the hall going from his study to the kitchen. He was shot twice. Some jewelry was missing, the DVD player, my dad’s golf clubs, his watch off his fucking wrist. Bunch of random shit. It made no sense.  
    “So the shots get called in, they find my parents shot to death, blood everywhere. Robbery gone wrong, easy. It was a neighborhood in the middle of the day, should be some witnesses, right? Someone who saw the car, or the shooter?  
    “Nope. Apparently not. One guy saw a white full-size van, older model, maybe, couldn’t be sure. Saw one guy, average height, wearing khakis and a black hoodie. No license plate, no other description. No one else saw anything. No fingerprints were found that matched anyone in the database, no weapon was found so the ballistics meant nothing. No other robberies or murders that could be confidently connected. After a couple months, they closed the case. Sorry, they told me. No leads, no evidence. It’s gone cold.”  
    I have to pause. It’s still hard to talk about. I blink, sigh, and pick at the fries, eat one.  
    “Did you have any other family? Anyone? What did you do?”
    “I was alone. I mean, I have an uncle, he helped out a bit, sent me some money now and then, but for all intents and purposes…I was alone. My grandparents all passed when I was young, my mom was an only child, and my dad just had the one brother, but Uncle Bill has always been kind of reclusive. He helped me out with taking care of the arrangements, but he did it all remotely.  
    “I…started school, played ball, but it was empty. It meant nothing. And when they closed the case, I got angry. I demanded to know what they’d done to find the killers. The detective, he was a nice guy. Jim Wisniewski. Twenty-year veteran of the force. Gave me a kind of crash course in how hard it is to solve a case like that, how you got no leads, no clues, nothing to go on. Sort of piqued my interest, I guess.  
    “Old Jim bent a few rules, showed me things he shouldn’t have. But I needed closure, and he knew it. I needed to know what happened. What was being done. I guess I needed to feel like someone in the world gave half a shit about me, and he was the one who showed me.  
    “And I realized he was right, there was nothing. You have no witnesses, no camera footage, no physical evidence, no weapon, no suspect or motive. Like someone just walked in, shot them, and took a few random things, then left. Like, the TV was there, a two-thousand-dollar Sony, didn’t take that. Didn’t take my dad’s computer. It all made no sense. Just…just a random act of violence.  
    “Guess that was the impetus, needing to know what happened to my parents. Needing to find them, to catch the assholes who do shit like that. So I got a criminal justice degree, joined the force, got fast-tracked to detective.” I laugh, a forced, hollow sound. “Well, now that I’ve told you that happy story…”  
    Leila shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Carson. I don’t even know what to say.”
    “It’s old history, at this point. I mean, I’m not sure that’s something you ever really just get over totally, but I think I am, as much as I’ll ever be. So, yeah. That’s why I became a cop.” I shrug and look down at Leila. “What about you? Where is your family?”
    Leila looks panicked for a split second but recovers quickly. “I—oh, my family isn’t that interesting.”
    “You’d be surprised what would interest me,” I tell her. “And you know, that’s not the first time you’ve evaded that question.”  
    “It’s not an evasion, Carson—” she starts.
    “The hell it isn’t.” I sound harsh. I sigh and start over. “Leila, look, I’m not asking you to tell me your deepest, darkest secrets or anything like that. Just…tell me a little bit about yourself.”  
    She sighs. “Well, I’m Arab-American. My mom and dad moved here from Kuwait long before I was born. My dad is a…businessman.”