To Catch a Killer
By Sasha Cartwright
As I walked through the door, I pulled off my high-heeled shoes and flopped onto the couch.
I was exhausted.
I am a private detective and have been working on a case for nearly three months with no end in sight.
Every time it felt like I was on to something, the trail would run cold.
It felt like the answer was right under my nose, but I was in no mood for thinking.
I just wanted to get rid of my headache.
"What's the matter honey?" I heard my husband ask from the doorway to our kitchen.
"Oh nothing Connor," I answered, massaging my temple, "just a rough day at work."
He walked across our living room and pulled my hands away from my forehead.
Giving me a gentle kiss on the head and putting a beer in my hand, Connor smiled and said, "Why don't you tell me about it?"
Opening the bottle, I took a big drink.
"It's this case we've been working on," I replied, "no fingerprints, no bullet casings, nothing."
"That's not too strange," he answered, "if they're professionals, they'd know how to cover it up."
"But that's not the only thing," I said, taking another swig, "the victims are all mobsters and crime bosses."
Connor gave a small laugh.
"Sounds like someone's doing you a favor," he reasoned with a smile.
What he said made sense, but there were still some things that didn't fit.
"But the bodies were arranged with their arms crossed over their chests, like in a coffin," I stated, half of me wanting to prove him wrong and the other half wondering if he could solve the mystery that seemed to elude me.
"Ready for burial then I guess," Connor said causally, "must be in a real hurry to get those guys in the ground."
"And pennies, "I argued, needing at least something he couldn't explain, "There were pennies over their eyes."
My husband gave me a strange look.
"Come on Shannon," he said, a little exasperated, "you know that myth as well, if not better, than I do."
I was out of evidence and clues.
"Yea," I agreed, "your right. Back to square one."
"Don't worry honey," Connor said, pulling me into a one-armed hug, "I'm sure you'll find your man."
I looked up into his big hazel eyes and smiled.
I could never be discouraged when he gave me that smile.
"You're right," I said, smiling back, "I'm sure we'll find them."
"There's my girl," he said, glad that he had cheered me up, "listen, Murph asked if I could go get a pint with him."
"Go ahead," I answered, "I've got some thinking to do anyway."
"Thanks," Connor said, giving me a quick kiss on the forehead, "I'm sure you'll find them."
I smiled as he went for the door.
"All right," I replied, "tell Murph I said hi,"
"Will do," he answered, walking out the door, "I love you."
"I love you too," I called back, getting back to my thinking, "Who could it be?"
"So how's Shannon?" Murphy asked as Connor walked into McGinty's Pub on Third Street.
"She's fine," he answered, "she's been having some trouble with the case she's been working on."
"I sure hope so," Murph stated, "she was getting pretty close there for a while. I still say that it's a little risky with you sleeping with the detective that's working on us."
Then when he saw the look on Connor's face, Murph added, "No offense, Shannon's top notch, but you've got to admit it's not the best idea."
"In my defense, "Connor replied, "I didn't know she was a detective when we got married."
Murph gave a small chuckle.
"Just like when she married you before she knew you were a saint," he said.
"Absolutely," Connor answered, as the two clinked their beer bottles together, "a toast to saints that never get caught."
"And to women that never catch on," added Murph.
"Amen," agreed Connor.
The End
