ONE

They found the woman’s body slumped over the steering wheel of a late-model Mercedes. A bullet fired through the driver’s side window splattered glass, bone, and matter throughout the interior.

Sheriff’s deputies Al Striar and Buzz Farmer spotted the sedan parked at an odd angle on Glasgow Street in the heart of downtown Freedom. The sedan’s front end was poking into the road, forcing traffic to pull around it in order to get by. They phoned it in and sealed the area.

Departmental Dispatcher Wilma Hansen found me in my cruiser, parked on Overlook Drive in the Freedom foothills, catching up on the morning reports, a takeout coffee in my cup holder, a breathtaking view of the Pacific before me.

“We have a bad one,” Wilma informed me.

“A bad one what?”

“Youngish woman. Dead in her vehicle. Shot in the head.”

“Where?”

“Glasgow Street.”

“Have they secured the site?”

“What does a bear do in the woods?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You never fail to impress, Buddy.”

“Ditto.” I ended the call.

Glasgow Street was located in the heart of the financial district, home to a number of prominent bank branches and investment institutions. Traffic had been diverted away from the site which was causing backups and delays. I inched my way there with my finger on the siren trigger, sporadically blasting it as a signal to complacent drivers to move out of my way.

Several police cars and an ambulance were already at the scene when I arrived. Al Striar and Buzz Farmer met me.

“Looks like an assassination,” Farmer commented.

He was new to the department, recruited from a list of experienced candidates, most, like him, from out of state. He was a presentable-looking thirtysomething, neatly groomed, nearly handsome, rusty-haired with a body sculpted by considerable training and exercise. He had done a single tour in Afghanistan and then returned home to Chicago, where his wife and young son awaited him. As did a position with the Chicago PD Homicide Division.

When he learned of the opening here in Freedom, and wishing to move his family west, away from the crime-riddled streets of the inner city, he leapt at it.

With Farmer at my side, I examined the scene in search of any clue that might lead us to an understanding of what exactly happened. Other than the strange angle in which the car was parked, nothing caught my attention. There was no indication of a struggle. It puzzled me.

“I don’t know, Buzz. Could be anything. Woman alone in a fancy car. Commercial neighborhood. No visible clues. Let’s ID her. And the car. See what we learn.”

“It’s pretty messy in there, Buddy. Should we let the forensics team in?”

“Might as well.”

“This could require some time.”

“What doesn’t?”