Thirty-Three

Oberon tossed the report onto his desk and pulled off his glasses. Rubbed the bridge of his nose until his headache lessened. It was getting late, but here he still sat, going over the Jenks case, wondering for the fifth time that day if he was just getting too damn old to keep up in the job. Tossed the glasses onto the report and leaned back in his chair. Sighed. There were things there, in that case, that bothered him. And he thought he was finally getting close to what they were, just like someone who swings at a piñata and finally brushes it.

And those things that nagged were really two very simple items:

1. The single drop of blood on the bedroom floor.

2. There were no prints anywhere of anybody other than Jenks or his girlfriend.

Jenks never mentioned the attacker wore gloves, even though he’d been asked to describe the person he’d fought hand-to-hand. Oberon couldn’t for the life of him imagine a fight where either man didn’t reach out to catch himself on a counter, or surface. Somewhere, someplace, that would leave a print. In fact, if you slanted the reported facts a certain way and put the fight between only Jenks and his girlfriend, with no assailant, it could maybe just work. But why would Jenks want to kill his girlfriend? Everyone in the building said they were crazy about each other. The man was rebuilding his life. No one had heard any arguing. However, the building and its units were well made, the walls thick. He might have to have another look. It could be possible a screamfest could happen there and no one would know.

Picked the file back up. Looked again at Jenks’s record. There was a history of violence there, but he had to admit, it was back in the past. And this foundation and speaking gig he’d started for himself since he got out was indeed some good work. The man had been helping people 24/7 since he’d been released. Well, not right away, actually. There’d been a period of about six months where he’d dropped out of sight, only to appear again with this speaking/life coach career already set up. And why did that bother him so much?

Maybe he’d have to pay Jenks a visit again. Talk to him while he was still raw with what had happened. It was just that there were no prints from a third party. The other physical evidence backed up Robert Jenks’s story, or appeared to, but again—it was what wasn’t there that really bothered him. Jenks kept saying he didn’t know the man, didn’t recognize him; however, with his background and history, nobody should be surprised if some ex-con he’d known inside wanted to get even for something that might’ve happened in a different kind of place, when he had been a much different person.

Oberon laughed then—he guessed he just didn’t like the man. Not at all.