Free Bullet Beach by Ronald Tierney Page A

eggs.
    â€˜Same same,’ he told Casey, who had just meandered in, no doubt picking up the scent of breakfast.
    â€˜All right, all right,’ he said to the universe, ‘I’m going to get on it.’
    What was on the plate didn’t look like an omelet or scrambled eggs.
    â€˜A scramlet,’ he said, putting some of it in a bowl he put down for Casey and a tablespoonful of it for Einstein.
    He took his plate into his office where he sat on a chair, putting the plate in his lap and the coffee on a side table. He flicked on the television. He glanced at his watch as the screen gained life.
    Five minutes until the news. He pushed the ‘mute’ button. There had to be something about the case. He nibbled on his eggs, sipped his coffee, thought about what it was that he knew. Marshall Talbot was the son-in-law of a powerful citizen, Raymond Taupin. The identity of the woman had yet to be disclosed. The relationship between them was also unknown. Lovers? Two strangers at the wrong place at the wrong time?
    What else did Cross know? The man with the shotgun was waiting for Cross and Slurpy. Of that, there was no doubt. And why was that? Cross couldn’t be sure. But he knew that it ended with the murder weapon in his and Slurpy’s possession. The question then became, was Cross the intended set-up? Maybe the killer or killers wanted Cross to take the fall. Specifically Cross. True? Cross couldn’t be certain of that even though it felt that way. If Cross was the real target, maybe the bodies in the trunk were a pretext, related to nothing else, not even to each other. They were used to get to Cross.
    â€˜You must think pretty highly of yourself,’ Cross said to himself.
    Either way, how did they know Cross, or anyone for that matter, would be there to repo the car the same evening the victims met their fate? Then there was a phone call to let the police know where they could find him, Slurpy, the two dead bodies and the shotgun.
    It all seemed to come down to Edelman. And he would be profoundly, eternally quiet.
    Cross clicked the mute button and sound burst into the room.
    A very blonde, doll-like woman read a few headlines to tease for the news that would follow nearly endless commercials. Once the dancing mops had saved the day it was clear that the bodies in the trunk led the news.
    â€˜Police are asking for help in the murder of Marshall Talbot and an unidentified woman.’ A police sketch of a woman appeared on screen. She appeared to be Hispanic, perhaps Middle Eastern. ‘Police are seeking information about the woman shown here in a police sketch. Both Mr Talbot and the other victim were found in the trunk of a repossessed automobile, both apparently dead from shotgun wounds.’
    The face of Lieutenant Rafferty appeared on screen, a microphone in front of his mouth.
    â€˜What have police learned about the repo case so far?’ asked a disembodied voice.
    â€˜We know very little at this point. We are in the preliminary stages of the investigation. With the help of the coroner and medical examiner, we are developing a time line and are questioning everyone who might be able to shed some light on the case. We are confident that we will be able to apprehend those responsible for these deaths.’
    â€˜I understand that you are questioning a private investigator, the person driving the car at the time of the discovery of the bodies.’
    â€˜We are questioning everyone.’
    â€˜Is the investigator . . . let me see . . . Howard Cross a suspect?’
    â€˜In this stage of the investigation almost everyone is a potential suspect.’
    â€˜He is being held for questioning,’ the voice asked. ‘Isn’t that right?’
    â€˜We are not going to go into any information regarding people of interest at this point. Thank you.’
    â€˜I’d like to follow up on the death of Chester Thurman who was killed by police that