~~
Delores walked into her office early the next morning, whistling a tune she had heard on the radio when she had woken up. She flung open the blinds and windows, still whistling, to let some air into the already stuffy office. She walked into Doctor Sloan's office to do the same, but stopped in her stride when she saw a blanket on the floor with a large lump curled under it, a shock of white hair poking out of the end.
"You really ought to go to that place you call home once in a while, or your paperboy's going to have to learn to throw long," she said, shaking Mark's shoulder vigorously to wake him up.
"Wh-what?" Mark groaned, squinting at his watch. "Eight-thirty already? Hmm, I've had six hours of sleep," he said cheerfully, obviously having expected far less than that.
"And just what were you still doing here four hours after your shift ended?" Delores demanded to know as she folded the blanket. "Having a slumber party?"
Mark struggled to his feet, putting his hand to where he felt the strain in the lower part of his back. He made a mental note to put a camp bed in his cupboard in case other occasions such as this arose. "Operating," he said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "I was about to go home when guests from the Charity Ball rolled in, having been shot by some kind of mad gunman. Jack was one of them," he finished solemnly.
Delores stopped dead. "Jack Stewart? He got shot? Did you operate on him? Is he okay?" She asked, firing the questions at him in a panic. Delores was fond of the young, streetwise doctor, and she was immediately concerned for his well-being.
"Yes, to all four," Mark said, taking a moment to absorb the rapid-fire enquiries. "We took a bullet from below his left shoulder, and he's going to have one huge headache when he wakes up, but he'll be fine."
"That's a relief," Delores said, placing the blanket back in the cupboard.
"Morning Dad, Delores," Steve Sloan greeted, strolling into his father's office, armed with a cup of coffee. "It took about nine hours to interview each and every guest at that Charity Ball last night, on top of looking for evidence. Amanda just paged me, saying she finished the autopsy, do you want a look?"
"Sure, just give me a minute," Mark said, moving to tie the shoes he had taken off before he went to sleep on the floor. "Who identified the body?"
"Anthony's aunt was called in, no one could get hold of his brother until after it was confirmed," Steve explained, having been told this by Amanda not long ago. As an afterthought, he added, "Say, Dad, I thought you said Jack was at that Ball - I never saw anyone interview him."
"Jack did go, but he was taken here," Mark said, not really wanting to tell the story many more times so he shortened to one small sentence. The three words, separately, were insignificant, but put together in the same sentence, they had quite an effect. "He was shot."
Steve almost dropped his coffee. "Jack was shot? Is he okay?"
Mark didn't mind telling people this part of the story repeatedly. "The surgery was successful, and if there are no problems then all he'll be left with is a concussion and a scar," he said, standing up from where he had crouched to tie his laces. Wryly, he said, "come on, there's a corpse waiting."
~~
"Morning," Amanda said wearily, picking the file up from the desk. Her scrubs were covered in blood and bags could be located beneath her eyes, inferring that she'd had an even longer night than Mark. "Is that coffee?" She asked longingly, her senses able to detect the black liquid from a mile away.
Steve smiled. "Here, you can finish it," he said, placing the cup on her desk, aware of how much she needed it. He turned to the lump beneath the thin sheet. "Anyway, is this our victim?"
"Yeah, the only fatality of what could have been eight," she said, silently adding that Jack could have quite easily been one of them. "Hold onto your breakfast, guys," Amanda warned before whipping the sheet off of the cadaver. Both men screwed up their faces slightly, but they had been in their respective professions long enough to become almost used to it, no matter how much they disliked it.
"Meet Doctor Anthony Holmes," Amanda said, glancing over the notes she had made. "Twenty-eight years old, and that's about all I know as far as his background goes. His aunt couldn't tell me anymore than that he was a doctor."
"I'll fill you in," Steve said, remembering what he had read when given the initial profile of the victim. "He's spent almost two years in Paediatrics at Oakes Valley Hospital, and has done so well that he was made head of the department last month."
"Wow, someone works fast," Mark noted almost enviously, thinking about the many arduous years it have taken him to become Head of Internal Medicine at Community General. Mark wondered how on earth it had taken one doctor less than a year to progress to the stage of head of department.
"There's motive there, for someone," Steve said, writing this in a small notepad. "Holmes had just made a speech at the Charity Ball, and once he'd finished people began to get up, mill around, and visit the buffet cart. Meanwhile, the victim had been making a phone call backstage, according to the cell phone we found under the curtain. He was backstage when he was killed."
"Here's the odd thing," Amanda said, directing the doctors to the victim's rather bloody head. "Look at where the bullet entered, the angle of it. It looks like someone fired at him from directly above him."
"Steve, did they have any kind of ladders or ropes that could be climbed up backstage?" Mark asked, having not had a chance to visit the scene himself yet. He wondered how else the bullet could have entered at that angle.
"I'll call and get it checked out," Steve said, whipping his phone out of his pocket and dialling one of the investigators at the site. Now that he had picked up clues from the corpse itself he could begin to make certain connections, such as in this case where the killer was so that the victim couldn't see him, and being directly above him was certainly an ingenious means of being concealed.
"This rules out the possibility of our murderer being a madman - this person knew what they were doing," Mark said. "What else, Amanda?"
"Death was instantaneous," Amanda said, turning a page in her notes. "By the way, the family are coming in later, at about ten o'clock, to formally identify the body."
"We'll be back for that," Steve said, looking at his watch. "I'm going back to the Mayfair Hotel to check out if there was anything to climb backstage before I see the family." He walked out of the room, talking on the phone
"Call me if you find anything," Mark said, he too checking his watch. "I'm going to visit Jack, I'll see you later."
~~
Delores walked into her office early the next morning, whistling a tune she had heard on the radio when she had woken up. She flung open the blinds and windows, still whistling, to let some air into the already stuffy office. She walked into Doctor Sloan's office to do the same, but stopped in her stride when she saw a blanket on the floor with a large lump curled under it, a shock of white hair poking out of the end.
"You really ought to go to that place you call home once in a while, or your paperboy's going to have to learn to throw long," she said, shaking Mark's shoulder vigorously to wake him up.
"Wh-what?" Mark groaned, squinting at his watch. "Eight-thirty already? Hmm, I've had six hours of sleep," he said cheerfully, obviously having expected far less than that.
"And just what were you still doing here four hours after your shift ended?" Delores demanded to know as she folded the blanket. "Having a slumber party?"
Mark struggled to his feet, putting his hand to where he felt the strain in the lower part of his back. He made a mental note to put a camp bed in his cupboard in case other occasions such as this arose. "Operating," he said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "I was about to go home when guests from the Charity Ball rolled in, having been shot by some kind of mad gunman. Jack was one of them," he finished solemnly.
Delores stopped dead. "Jack Stewart? He got shot? Did you operate on him? Is he okay?" She asked, firing the questions at him in a panic. Delores was fond of the young, streetwise doctor, and she was immediately concerned for his well-being.
"Yes, to all four," Mark said, taking a moment to absorb the rapid-fire enquiries. "We took a bullet from below his left shoulder, and he's going to have one huge headache when he wakes up, but he'll be fine."
"That's a relief," Delores said, placing the blanket back in the cupboard.
"Morning Dad, Delores," Steve Sloan greeted, strolling into his father's office, armed with a cup of coffee. "It took about nine hours to interview each and every guest at that Charity Ball last night, on top of looking for evidence. Amanda just paged me, saying she finished the autopsy, do you want a look?"
"Sure, just give me a minute," Mark said, moving to tie the shoes he had taken off before he went to sleep on the floor. "Who identified the body?"
"Anthony's aunt was called in, no one could get hold of his brother until after it was confirmed," Steve explained, having been told this by Amanda not long ago. As an afterthought, he added, "Say, Dad, I thought you said Jack was at that Ball - I never saw anyone interview him."
"Jack did go, but he was taken here," Mark said, not really wanting to tell the story many more times so he shortened to one small sentence. The three words, separately, were insignificant, but put together in the same sentence, they had quite an effect. "He was shot."
Steve almost dropped his coffee. "Jack was shot? Is he okay?"
Mark didn't mind telling people this part of the story repeatedly. "The surgery was successful, and if there are no problems then all he'll be left with is a concussion and a scar," he said, standing up from where he had crouched to tie his laces. Wryly, he said, "come on, there's a corpse waiting."
~~
"Morning," Amanda said wearily, picking the file up from the desk. Her scrubs were covered in blood and bags could be located beneath her eyes, inferring that she'd had an even longer night than Mark. "Is that coffee?" She asked longingly, her senses able to detect the black liquid from a mile away.
Steve smiled. "Here, you can finish it," he said, placing the cup on her desk, aware of how much she needed it. He turned to the lump beneath the thin sheet. "Anyway, is this our victim?"
"Yeah, the only fatality of what could have been eight," she said, silently adding that Jack could have quite easily been one of them. "Hold onto your breakfast, guys," Amanda warned before whipping the sheet off of the cadaver. Both men screwed up their faces slightly, but they had been in their respective professions long enough to become almost used to it, no matter how much they disliked it.
"Meet Doctor Anthony Holmes," Amanda said, glancing over the notes she had made. "Twenty-eight years old, and that's about all I know as far as his background goes. His aunt couldn't tell me anymore than that he was a doctor."
"I'll fill you in," Steve said, remembering what he had read when given the initial profile of the victim. "He's spent almost two years in Paediatrics at Oakes Valley Hospital, and has done so well that he was made head of the department last month."
"Wow, someone works fast," Mark noted almost enviously, thinking about the many arduous years it have taken him to become Head of Internal Medicine at Community General. Mark wondered how on earth it had taken one doctor less than a year to progress to the stage of head of department.
"There's motive there, for someone," Steve said, writing this in a small notepad. "Holmes had just made a speech at the Charity Ball, and once he'd finished people began to get up, mill around, and visit the buffet cart. Meanwhile, the victim had been making a phone call backstage, according to the cell phone we found under the curtain. He was backstage when he was killed."
"Here's the odd thing," Amanda said, directing the doctors to the victim's rather bloody head. "Look at where the bullet entered, the angle of it. It looks like someone fired at him from directly above him."
"Steve, did they have any kind of ladders or ropes that could be climbed up backstage?" Mark asked, having not had a chance to visit the scene himself yet. He wondered how else the bullet could have entered at that angle.
"I'll call and get it checked out," Steve said, whipping his phone out of his pocket and dialling one of the investigators at the site. Now that he had picked up clues from the corpse itself he could begin to make certain connections, such as in this case where the killer was so that the victim couldn't see him, and being directly above him was certainly an ingenious means of being concealed.
"This rules out the possibility of our murderer being a madman - this person knew what they were doing," Mark said. "What else, Amanda?"
"Death was instantaneous," Amanda said, turning a page in her notes. "By the way, the family are coming in later, at about ten o'clock, to formally identify the body."
"We'll be back for that," Steve said, looking at his watch. "I'm going back to the Mayfair Hotel to check out if there was anything to climb backstage before I see the family." He walked out of the room, talking on the phone
"Call me if you find anything," Mark said, he too checking his watch. "I'm going to visit Jack, I'll see you later."
~~