Chapter Thirty
In which we learn that True Crime shows can be surprisingly helpful.
Wallace…
I can feel Scarlett watching me, a little frown creased between her eyebrows. She wants to comfort me and if I could, I’d shut this laptop, take her into the bedroom, and get back between her thighs. I could make us forget everything else outside of that bed.
Murder Mittens abandoned Scarlett to sit on the conference table. Unfortunately, her arse is planted firmly on a pile of documents I must sort through.
“Move, MM. I need those papers.” She gives me a well-bred sneer and licks her paw.
“Murder Mittens, come over here immediately!” Scarlett half-rises from the couch and the beast lifts its furry arse off my files, moving a fraction to the left. Her gold-green eyes don’t leave mine, waiting to impart the secrets of the universe or just wanting another can of salmon from the galley.
My tie is strangling me and I loosen it slightly, returning to the reports that Uncle Alec sent me from London.
Scarlett slides into the seat across from me. She hands me a red marker. “How about drawing it out on the glass tabletop so you can see how the-” she hesitates. Talking about diagramming my father’s attempted murder is a balls move. “So you can visualize it more easily? I remember Dad saying that knowing how they did it can lead you towho did it.”
“That’s a good idea, wife.” The look of relieved happiness on her face is worth having to recreate the moment where a bullet entered my father’s chest.
“According to the trajectory, there’s only two locations that would make sense for the shooter.” I’m sketching out a rough outline of the street in front of Dad’s building. “The building right across the street, it would have to have been the fifth or sixth floor.”
“Okay, that sounds easier to access,” Scarlett’s abandoned her chair and she’s sitting cross-legged on top of the conference table. “Multiple rooms, two floors.”
“Aye, but those floors are leased by a high-tech security firm,” I say, running my finger over my lower lip.
“So harder to access, but never impossible in our world,” she agrees. “What about the other location?”
“The building next to it, still under construction. With the position, though…” I sketch it out on the table, “the shooter couldn’t get the angle unless he-”
“-Or she,” Scarlett reminds me. “Remember Russo? She nearly broke my arm and she slipped into the bathroom with Marlena because your guards were looking for a male threat. Clearly, we can be murderous dirtbags just as well as a man can.”
“I support women rising through the ranks of whatever criminal enterprise they wish,” I agree dryly. “In the second location here, the shooter would be forced to balance on a steel girder on the exterior of the building to take the shot.”
“It’s a given that your people already pulled any camera footage in the area,” she says.
“Yes, there’s construction folk on the building site on that floor…” I pull up some of the grainy images on my laptop. “Here’s the girders…” The long steel beams dangle horizontally from a crane on the side of the construction site. “Time stamping the…” I rub my forehead. “...the shooting, there’s two men in the general location who could take the shot. One’s empty-handed…” I enlarge the image, though it dinnae help much. “The other is holding a drill.”
Scarlett leans closer, her citrus and vanilla scent soothes me. “I know next to nothing about long-range weapons. I can shoot a gun with some accuracy, but that’s it. Still… Look at how he’s holding the drill. A drill has a standard hand grip, see how his index finger looks higher than the others? Aren’t there sniper rifles that can be broken down in seconds?
"I was watching this True Crime episode last month; they talked about a new rifle that uses a short barrel and still has superior accuracy.” She points to the drill again. “I know we can’t get better resolution on the footage we have, but can Xenia sharpen the image?”
“I’ll send it to her now.” I’m focused on the screen, and I nearly miss the hesitant, hopeful look on her bonnie face. I should praise her. It’s a good idea.
“While you’re waiting for Xenia,” she says, “Maybe you could sit with me for a minute? You’re so stiff, your shoulders are up around your ears.” She wiggles her fingers invitingly. “No training in massage therapy but a lot of natural talent.”
I must go through the analysis that Uncle Alec sent. It covers the statistical likelihood of which crime family would be suicidal enough to goafter my father.
“Not now, but thank you.” I look back at my screen, not wanting to see her disappointment.
Scarlett…
It’s a short flight from Edinburgh to London, but after our late night of fire and sex,the sun’s already creeping over the horizon as we land.
Wallace is already back on the phone, speaking tersely into his headset as we head for The Clinic.
Waiting for him to disconnect, I leap into the brief gap as he dials another number. “The Clinic. Does it have a name?”
“No, it’s an anonymous medical center for our type,” he says, eyes still on his phone. “Regular people don’t know about it, the place doesn’t look like a hospital.”
