Free Samurai Code by Don Easton Page B

alley close to her clinic,” said Connie. “She thinks she can recognize his sleeping bag and is willing to help us. Think you could drive her and meet us there? We want to find out where this guy was grabbed as soon as we can.”
    “We’re on our way,” replied Jack. “Give me your cell number.” Jack hung up and looked at Natasha. She was sitting on the bed with her knees drawn to her chest, holding the plastic rose.
    “Someone murdered Melvin,” she sobbed. “Why? Why would anyone do that? He was harmless. A gentle person. Why shoot him?”
    “I don’t know. Come on, we need to get dressed.”
    Minutes later, as they rode the elevator down to the parking garage, Natasha turned to Jack as anger started to overcome grief. “Why?” she demanded. “Why would anyone do this?”
    “CC is a good investigator. Very thorough. If anyone will find —”
    “Don’t you patronize me! I know how these things work.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Melvin isn’t some la-de-da member of society. People like him disappear all the time. Who out there really cares? I’m the only friend he had,” she added, with a sob.
    “Melvin didn’t disappear. He was murdered. It will be investigated as closely as if he was the mayor.”
    “Yeah, right,” muttered Natasha sarcastically.
    Jack hugged her as he sighed and said, “Melvin doesn’t sound all that different from who I was visiting today — Ophelia. I told you about her.”
    Natasha paused, swallowed and said, “You’re different. So am I. Who else has visited Ophelia?”
    Jack grimaced and shook his head.
    “Exactly. And I’m the only one who Melvin could ever turn to.”
    “That may be, but CC is a good investigator. She’ll do her best to solve it.”
    They drove in silence, and were almost at the alley when Natasha asked, “Is she as good as you?”
    “Who?”
    “Connie Crane. Is she as good as you?”
    “When it comes to homicides, I bet she’s better. Homicide is her field of expertise. Mine is organized crime.”
    “How do you know it isn’t organized crime if you don’t look into it?”
    “Honey, come on. Think about it. What you have told me about Melvin. It doesn’t make sense to involve organized crime figures.”
    “Right. Proves what I was saying earlier. All this crap about it being looked at as closely as if it was the mayor. That’s what it is. Crap!”
    “I’m not feeding you crap. You know me better than that,” said Jack quietly.
    They slowly drove up and down several alleys before spotting a crumpled green sleeping bag lying in a pile near the bottom of a wooden hydro pole.
    “That’s it, I’m sure,” said Natasha.
    “We’ll just wait in the car until I-HIT gets here,” said Jack.
    Moments later, Connie was the first to arrive, and Jack and Natasha got out of their car to greet her.
    Connie used her flashlight to closely examine the area while Jack stood with his arm wrapped around Natasha. Her beam caught a sheet of plastic the wind had blown against the side of a Dumpster a short distance away.
    “Bet he used that to try and keep dry,” said Connie. “When the rest of the team gets here we’ll bring that in and print it for —”
    The mournful cry of an animal in distress erupted briefly and went quiet.
    “What the hell was that?” questioned Connie.
    “That could be Winston,” said Natasha. “Melvin had a cat named Winston.”
    “It sounded like it came from around here,” said Connie, walking over and gingerly lifting a corner of the sleeping bag. The sound erupted again. Louder and in more pain.
    Jack, Natasha, and Connie bent down to look as Connie shone her flashlight inside the bag. Winston lay inside, his eyes blinking at the light. His head twisted and turned as he tried to get away, but his legs didn’t move.
    “I’ll get him to a vet,” said Jack.
    “His back and spinal cord are broken,” said Natasha. “He needs to be put down.”
    “It’s only 4:30,” said Connie. “You won’t