Supposing is good, but finding out is better. ― Mark Twain
The killer is someone we’d never suspect…
I awoke to the aroma of coffee and bacon and eggs. Clare had been up before me. I suppose I was more exhausted than I realized—it was 830 a.m.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” Clare smiled, handing me a mug of coffee. “Cyril phoned and suggested we take the day off and you were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you.”
“It was a rough day yesterday,” I admitted sheepishly.
Yeah, it was a deliberate understatement, trying to play down how close to death we both came.
I hate looking weak, especially in front of Clare.
“So what do you want to do today?" she asked tentatively—"take Maggie and go hiking?”
I shook my head. “We have to go in, Clare—we can’t give in to our fears—this is what we signed up for.”
“How did I know you’d say that?” She laughed. “I said as much to Cyril and he thought I should try to persuade you.”
“Oh really, what did you have in mind?”
“Forget about it, Chum. I told him he’d see us before ten.”
“Try, just after nine. I’m a fast eater.”
She rolled her eyes. “I told him you’d be stubborn.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, “You two are a pair—you’re no different.”
“We are a pair,” I whispered, and she understood my meaning.
We arrived at the detachment just after nine and Cyril was waiting for us in his office.
“Reporting for duty, Boss,” I smiled, handing him a takeout coffee.
“What no croissant?” He laughed.
Clare handed him a box of six she had concealed behind her back.
“Some things never change, “ he chuckled, “And I’m thankful for that.”
He didn’t need to say more. We were now more determined than ever to catch this guy.
Did forensics turn up any clues from the farm?” Clare asked.
Cyril put down his croissant and handed her the report. “There’s an interesting detail in there.”
Clare scanned the report and suddenly her brow furled. “You gotta be kidding,” she exclaimed, “Is this a mistake?”
He shook his head. “Nope. We’ve been going down the wrong road all this time.”
“Would someone care to let me in on the secret?” I said, exasperated.
Cyril leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk. “Get ready for this—our shooter is a woman.”
My jaw dropped. “How—how can they be sure?”
“Shooter got careless—trace DNA on one of the bullets and a boot print smaller than a man’s. We figure she’s a petite thing from the impress in the soft sand—hardly weighs anything.”
“You don’t happen to have any trail cams out there?” I asked Clare.
“I wish—if I knew who it was I’d dismember her.”
“Well, that’s a blessing in disguise,” I smirked sardonically. “At least she’ll survive long enough so we can question her.”
Cyril swivelled his chair to face me. “I see you checked the duty roster—were you ruling out Bob Henderson?”
I nodded. “It seemed a logical conclusion, but he was in the detachment, so he’s in the clear. as well.”
My face drained of colour.
He held up a hand. “Don’t be too hasty—he might be in the clear for this but I haven’t dismissed him or Robyn or Jim. Frankly, we don’t know who’s involved or how many.”
“That’s true,” I agreed, giving a deep sigh of relief, “it could be a ring of bad cops, but it seems unlikely they’d target me.”
“Well, each day brings a new twist—we just have to keep digging.”
I wished I shared his optimism.
We’ve gone from surveilling a killing machine with mad skills to seeking a slight female who might be more suitable as a fashion model—but maybe that was the point. It would be someone we’d never suspect…
And for the time being, we couldn’t trust anyone.
To be continued…
© 2025, John J Geddes. All rights reserved
