you? This microphone thing’s been going on for a month and every day I see this happen. Not the killing part, mind you but some relative is always trying to get behind their husband or wife or friend so they can be on TV too.”
“What did this woman do next?”
“She kinda stood there a few seconds. Nothing unusual like. Then the man he startin’ to talk and she comes toward him. It was then I seen the gun in her hand. Without even hesitatin’ she brought it up to his head and blew him away. They’ve got to have that on tape,” he said shaking his head. “You know, this ain’t the first person I’ve seen killed. Growing up I seen lots of people die but this was different.”
“How?”
“I don’t know . . . maybe it was her expression when she did the deed. It was cold, hard-like.” The guard looked at the officer and then at Speers. “You knows—like she enjoyed it.”
“After she shot him, what did she do?”
“Starts runnin’ away. Wouldn’t you? I gave chase but stopped when the bomb, or whatever it was, went off. The last I seen her was when she got into a grey Volvo.”
“Get the plate number?”
“I only gots a 5 and a 3. I couldn’t tell ya what order though. Someone else musta seen the car leave. She wasn’t being very careful.”
After a few more questions, Speers stepped forward.
“You found something, didn’t you?”
“How’d you know?” the guard replied.
“The look in your eyes. You shouldn’t be this excited unless you’ve got a bombshell to drop. So what is it?”
“You’s good,” the guard smiled. He quickly surveyed the area. “If you all don’t mind, I think I should show you what’s I got inside.” He looked at Speers’ perplexed expression. “Away from the TV cameras.”
Speers and the uniformed officer turned and saw the sea of media behind them.
“Fine, but let’s make this quick,” Speers agreed reluctantly.
Once inside the building, the guard led the men to the empty security office.
“I think this’ll help you out.” The guard pulled a gold bracelet from his pocket. “I saw it drop off her wrist when she was running away.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Speers said as he was handed the bracelet. He let out a long whistle when he turned it over. “To L.B Love R.B. - Aug. 9th.”
“Pretty nice clue, huh?” the guard said triumphantly.
“Not bad at all,” Speers concurred.
Speers left the uniformed officer to complete the statement and went outside. Seeing forensics were gone he went over to the body.
“We confirm his I.D. yet?”
The officer guarding the dead man took out his notebook and began to read.
“Robert Barker of 378 Whitecastle Boulevard, New Liston. They found a couple of business cards in his wallet indicating he was the president of Mantis Pharmaceuticals.”
“The drug company?” Speers asked, more to himself than to the officer. “That place is worth millions.”
“If you say so, sir.”
“Was he carrying much cash on him?”
“A couple hundred and change.”
“Anything else of note?”
“Guy’s dead—officially, that is.”
For the second time, Speers was about to take the officer to task until he saw the big stupid grin. “Very well, officer . . . ?”
“Kendall. Barry Kendall, 56th Precinct.”
“Make sure he gets to the morgue safely,” Speers said walking away. He strolled over to another plain clothes detective. “Mario, what have you got?”
“Hey, Mike,” Mario replied with a smile. “You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine, all right?”
“Deal,” Speers laughed.
“From the witnesses we’ve talked to, the shooter was either a Caucasian or Hispanic or Asian female in her 20s, 30s or 40s, between 5’3” and 5’11” in height, with a petite to muscular build. The only thing everyone agrees on is she was blonde. The problem is some think she’s a strawberry blonde, some think she’s definitely had a dye job, and quite a few think she was wearing a wig.”
“What about the gun?”
“Anything from a .22 to a .38 to a .45. One guy said he thought he heard her pump it once before she did the guy.”
“A shotgun?”
“What do you expect this early in the morning?”
“What about the explosion? Got any ideas?”
“The bomb guys said it was a harmless pipe thing. Homemade. Strictly by the book using household cleaners and stuff you can buy at any electronics store.”
“Was it hooked up to a timer?”
“A low frequency detonation. Our girl turned the bomb on, dropped it on the sidewalk, killed our boy, then sent some kind of shortwave back to the bag and ka-boom. Timed it perfectly, too.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure of watching the replay yet,” Speers said. “I think I’ll meander up to the control room. I might as well view what everyone else in the civilized world has already seen a hundred times by now.”
Speers began to walk away and felt the bracelet in his pocket.
“One more thing, Mario. No one talks to the media until I say so. ‘No comment’ will have to hold them over.”
“Sure thing, Mike.”
After watching the replay of the killing, Speers gave a short statement saying only that the victim had been identified and next of kin still needed to be notified.
Speers proceeded to Whitecastle Boulevard where he discovered that 378 was a mansion on a large estate. Accompanied by a uniformed officer, Speers pressed the front doorbell several times. A few moments later, a small woman with long dark hair opened the door.
“Can I help you?”
The woman, who was wearing an apron, looked nervously at the officer.
“Is this the residence of Mr. Robert Barker?” Speers said in a soothing voice.
“Yes. Is there something wrong?”
“Is Mrs. Barker home?”
“No,
