With a tall cappuccino in hand, Ashlyn O'Laighin stood on the terrace of her top-floor apartment in downtown Boston and greeted the day. A ritual from her childhood that she had learned from her biological but deceased mother, Sarah O'Laighin. "The body and the mind smile at those who get up early," she had always said when Ashlyn was still in elementary school and didn't really want to get up.
A door slammed downstairs in the courtyard, and Ashlyn was startled out of her thoughts. She opened her eyes and looked up at the overcast sky. It was freezing today, just above 32F. She shivered a little because, as usual, she was only wearing dark blue chinos and a light gray T-shirt when she was not in the office. No matter whether it was summer or winter. Ashlyn took a last look over the rooftops of Boston and then went back to her living room. The large room with the open kitchen was flooded with light and, despite the many windows, was designed to be barely visible from the outside. She noticed the long, solid walnut dining table, which she also used for work and on which a large stack of files lay.
What the heck, she thought. She put down her cup and was about to start work when her cell phone vibrated. It was a WhatsApp voice message from her grandmother Jane.
"Good morning, sweetheart. I hope you're doing well and not again stuck on one of your cases! It's Sunday, and you should take the day off."
Ashlyn had to laugh. Her grandmother knew her damn well. She rolled her eyes with a smirk when she heard the next part of the message. "And don't forget that the family is meeting at our house for dinner tonight; like I said, it's Sunday."
xxx
Dr. Maggie Ross, Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, introduced herself to the officer securing the scene with her official ID. She wore a white wool sweater with her jeans. Her striking blue eyes radiated calm and simultaneously the experience of a woman who had seen a lot in her life.
A good hour had passed since the crime. Police work was in full swing around the bakery. Numerous BPD patrol cars, forensics buses, and local TV news vans lined the scene. The injured had long since been taken away in two ambulances.
Maggie looked at her wristwatch. She had planned to have breakfast with her Ex-wife, who was trying to rebuild an intimate relationship with her, but she could probably forget about that now. It was part of her job to make an initial inspection of the body at the scene. Reconstruct what exactly happened based on clues. To provide the BPD with information about the possible weapon and the approximate time of death. However, these things were of secondary importance in this case because there were numerous eyewitnesses.
"My name is Dr. Maggie Ross," she turned to an officer standing near the entrance to the bakery, who was writing something down in his notebook. "Can you tell me who is in charge of this operation?"
"That would be Detective Bochenek for the time being," he replied, pointing in the direction of a patrol car where a woman of about forty stood. She had dark hair, a worn leather jacket, and a noticeably pale complexion.
Maggie thanked him and went to the detective. After introducing herself again, she asked, "Do you know precisely what happened here?"
Kristen Bochenek nodded and replied curtly, "Multiple gunshots. Two were seriously injured, and one died. And a whole bunch of witnesses, especially Officer Bailey, who happened to be at the scene and overpowered the shooter." She pointed to an older officer who was being treated by a paramedic in an ambulance. "I just arrived too; let's go over to him together; they seem to be finishing up," the detective said.
Together with Bochenek, Maggie made her way to Bailey, who was looking at the officer with a professional eye. His left temple was swollen, and the skin above and below his left eye had a reddish tinge.
Maggie realized that the hematoma was sagging under the force of gravity. Nevertheless, he seemed in control. Kirsten Bochenek briefly introduced Maggie, and Bailey nodded friendly at the two women. "I'll be done here in a second."
The paramedic handed Bailey two pieces of paper on which, in addition to the diagnosis, it was noted which examinations she had carried out and which medications she had administered before she patted him on the shoulder and said, "So, don't forget that you still have to go to the hospital today so that you can be properly examined again and, above all, have an X-ray."
Bailey grinned. "I'll be fine," he said, climbing out of the ambulance.
"Can we have a quick word with you?" Bochenek asked, and Bailey nodded.
"Yeah, it's not a problem. My head's a bit thick, and I don't think anything's happened except a big bump and a black eye."
Maggie had to smile. Some cops could learn a thing or two from him, she thought. From years of experience, she knew that the sick leave rate among police officers was far too high, and she had the impression that young cops, in particular, were highly susceptible.
"I think we'd better get into one of the command buses so we can talk in peace," Bailey said. 'The forensics team has just arrived to start their work at the scene. Otherwise, we'll just be in the way, won't we?'
Good idea, Maggie thought. The more information she could get now, the easier it would be for her to examine the dead man and reconstruct the events. Together with the two cops, she sat down in the command bus, and Bailey was just about to tell them what had happened in the last hour when suddenly a cell phone rang.
The ringing came from a bag of evidence. Among it was a cell phone, along with a bagged keychain, a pack of handkerchiefs, and a roll of peppermints.
"Oh dear," said Bailey. 'These are the items I took from the shooter. I put them here and completely forgot. Should I answer that?' he asked.
Kirsten Bochenek shook her head and grabbed the evidence bag. Maggie could see the caller's name on the display. In white letters on a black background, she read:
Home.
xxx
Anja Brandt stared out of the large kitchen window onto the street, worried sick. Nicholas had been gone for over two hours. Usually, after the bakery, he would still make a round of the Esplanade to clear his head, as he said, but he had never been gone longer than an hour. They wanted to have breakfast by 9:30 at the latest.
She called her husband's cell phone for the fourth time, hoping he would finally answer. Her fear that something had happened to him grew with each ring.
"Damn it, please answer!" she cursed, more out of desperation than anger. At that moment, the ringing stopped. Nicholas had actually picked up. "Nicholas, oh, my God, I've been so worried. Why didn't you call?"
But it wasn't Nicholas who answered. Instead, a woman's voice answered, 'Hello. Who am I speaking with?'
Anja Brandt's confidence was gone from one moment to the next, and panic rose in her. 'Who are you?' she cried desperately into her cell phone. "What about my husband? Where is Nicholas?"
"Please listen carefully and stay calm," the voice on the other end of the line replied. 'My name is Bochenek, I'm with the Boston Police Department. Are you Anja Brandt, the wife of Nicholas Brandt?'
Anja was frozen with fear. What had happened to Nicholas, and why did the police answer his cell phone?
"Hello, are you still there?" the voice asked again. "Are you Anja Brandt?"
"Yes," she replied weakly. 'Yes, I am.'
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Brandt. I had to make sure that you are who you say you are. And please calm down. Your husband is fine; he just can't answer the phone now."
"He's fine, you say? Oh God, I'm so relieved. Thank you, thank you very much! Where is he, and why can't he talk to me?"
"Mrs. Brandt, even though your husband is fine, I must tell you something bad happened. There was a shooting here. Your husband is not injured, but we still have to hold him. Of course, you can see him later. Therefore, I would like to come with a colleague to you now, so I can tell you everything and ask you a few questions. Would that be okay with you?"
"A shooting?"
"Yes, but your husband is fine."
Anja Brandt no longer understood the world. A shooting? When the cop assured her again that her husband was not injured, Anja Brandt finally agreed.
"All right, we'll be there in forty-five minutes," the detective said. 'Stay calm, everything will work out!'
Anja Brandt was utterly distraught when she hung up. What on earth had happened to Nicholas?