Flat-footed, Part 4

May 5, 2009

Flat-footed, Part 4

by Mark Terry

Apparently Detective Rain was not a big fan of being embarrassed because she shot back, "I want to see your gun, Mr. Leightner."

"On the first date? Now it's my turn to blush."

Detective Rain scowled. It occurred to Biz that his scowl to blush ratio was out of whack. "I can get a warrant."

"My lawyer is on the other side of that door and she files her teeth and has a taste for raw meat."

Rain raised an eyebrow. "I know you're licensed, I know you have a CCW permit. Let's see the weapon."

"How was Delbert Fontaigne killed? The news was a little vague."

Rain tapped his desk. "Let's see the gun."

Reaching into his desk drawer, Biz gently placed the Colt .45 on the desktop. It was actually a semi-automatic, an M1911 that had been customized with the pearl grip.

Rain seemed to relax. "Let me see your other gun."

"You're not going to take me out to dinner first? Wine me, dine me?"

"Other gun."

"I don't have one. This is it. As surprising as this may sound, I don't like guns. Their sole purpose is to kill people and that's something I try to avoid."

"You can put it away."

He did, studying her. "He wasn't killed with a .45, was he?"

"Nine millimeter semi-automatic, because we found the brass."

"How many shots?"

She hesitated, then shrugged. "Three. Two in the chest, one in the head."

"Eliminates suicide and probably eliminates a professional because he--or she--didn't police the brass. Did it have the looks of a hit, though? Was the one in the head a coup de'grace?"

"No, more like he was running for his life and the killer shot him as he was moving."

"And I've effectively eliminated the wife and her lover as the killers--"

"--and probably yourself."

"Probably?"

"So we're looking for motive. He let someone into the house, we know that much. Any thoughts, Mr. Leightner?"

"Drinks at six?"

She sighed. "Make it seven."

Score two for the flatfoot, he thought, and refrained from pumping his fists in the air.

To be continued...