CHAPTER SEVEN

MONICA

 

 

 

 

 

 

I plopped into a chair, the vinyl seat packed hard by countless butts, and tore the wrapper off my breakfast burrito. I bit into the soft outer shell. Eggs and sausage hit my tongue while the torn edge of the burrito steamed. My breakfast choice matched my mood. With the case out of my hands now, I burned inside. I wanted to see Horace Stubbs earn his dues and I wanted to see someone pay for assaulting Steph Buchanan.

“Any news from D.C.I.?” I asked my partner.

Lehman poked a fork into a giant blueberry muffin. “They arrested Stubbs last night.”

I bolted upright in my chair. “What?” Now that was what I called police work. I was ready to get on the phone right then and commend the investigating detectives to their superiors.

“No,” said Lehman, grinning behind another mound of muffin, “but I couldn’t help getting a rise out of you.”

I bared my teeth. “I’ll murder you.”

“Eh, I’ve been on your hit list for years.” He sipped his Triple Chocolate Mocha. “Seriously, what did you expect? We only handed the case over yesterday.”

“I know.” Leaning on my elbows, I brooded over my burrito. “I just can’t stand not knowing what’s going on.”

He shook his head, pulling a long, mournful face. “Patience was never one of your virtues.”

I lifted an eyebrow at him, unmoved by his observation.

“How about fishing? You should try it.” He set his fork down and swallowed. “Mm. I caught this walleye last night…” He tapped his forefingers on the table about three feet apart, a boyish grin lighting up his face.

“You know there’s only one way I’d ever go fishing,” I said, keeping my eyes bland. “Barrel, Glock.” I made a hand motion as if firing a gun and mouthed a shooting noise.

Lehman stared in blank horror. He glanced away to release a small burp, and with it, no doubt, some of his shock at my idea of angling. “Wow, that’s bloody.”

I grabbed a fork and stabbed it into my burrito, filling it with holes, my appetite vanished. “What if D.C.I. doesn’t find enough evidence?” I fretted.

Lehman was still staring vacantly. “All those fillets, just…” He turned up his palms. “Mangled.”

I slapped my fork down on the table. “I’m serious, Lehman. What if Stubbs walks free all over again?” I dug my fingers into my hair, nails baring down on my scalp. “My God, I would die. And right now, he’s the only lead we’ve got on Steph’s attack.”

Lehman sighed, as if mentally saying a few moving words to the slaughtered fish before laying them to rest. Only then did he poke his muffin again and shrug. “Someone will report something on the burglar.”

I turned angry eyes on him. “No one’s going to report anything. We don’t even have a decent picture of the perp to share on social media.”

Lehman grinned sarcastically. “Well, maybe we can round up a few suspects into a barrel and you can shoot them.”

I frowned. “You’re not going to let that one drop, are you?”

“Some images can never be erased.” Lehman sipped more mocha. “Seriously, Monica, quit worrying about it. The break this investigation needs is right around the corner.” He popped the last bite of muffin into his mouth and pointed at me with his fork. “Just you see.”