Murder in the Magic City by G.P. Sorrells (speed reading book TXT) 📗

in the way of fanfare, its role often embellished in popular crime television, it was still an integral part of the murder solving apparatus. He had hoped that by doing his part to bring violent perpetrators to justice, some local families may come to know peace following their loss.

“Yea, uh, anytime, Doc,” Osteen replied uneasily. He followed Orson into the examination room and felt a chill run down his spine, as though the deceased were reaching out to tell him something in a language only he could understand.

“I’m surprised your partner didn’t join you today.”

“Ms. Jackson wasn’t feeling too hot. Took a personal day.”

“Ah, I see,” Orson replied. His face was devoid of emotion, but his voice betrayed a mild touch of concern. “I trust you’ve heard that I’ve made my determination.”

“I did.” Osteen’s gaze drifted away from Orson, and down toward the pair of bodies on the tables in the center of the room. Cagney and his mistress. He hoped in vain that the tarps would remain in place. The last thing he wanted to see in that moment was a cracked rib cage. He wasn’t sure his lunch would stay down through such a sight. “To be honest, I thought it was odd you asked me to come down here.”

“Consider it a professional courtesy.”

As uncomfortable as he may have been, those words sparked a fire within Osteen, like a match ripping across the striker. He was instantly on edge. “I appreciate that, Frank.”

“Well, we’ve been working together for some time now, Dan,” Orson said, removing his glasses and wiping them off with his lab coat. “I feel it’s only right I let you know that there are some things which are better left to the imagination. If you catch my drift.”

“Still a murder-suicide?”

“Yes, that it what the evidence suggests. You’ve seen the notes. Deceased male, Mr. Cagney, sustains a gunshot wound, first in the abdomen. A struggle likely ensued. The distance from their bodies is consistent with that notion. This likely ended with the second gunshot wound to the deceased male, this time to his cranium. That she pulled off such a shot in one attempt is nothing short of a miracle, but it’s not unheard of. Finally, we have the self-inflicted gunshot wound to the cranium of the deceased female, Ms. Ortiz. Nothing much to see there.”

“I’m supposed to believe Ms. Ortiz had the wherewithal to not only thrust this larger man across the room, but to raise and fire a perfectly placed shot to his head immediately after? On her first try, no less. I can understand why she might turn the gun on herself at that point, but that’s hardly the craziest thing at play here.”

“You’re not required to believe the evidence. But this is what it suggests. I’ve made the same report available to your superiors. That is the professional courtesy in question today, Dan. Far be it from me to order you around, but chasing dead ends like these screams of career suicide.”

“Thanks for your concern,” Osteen replied curtly. “All the same to you, I know how to do my job just fine. How about you stick to yours?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, Osteen flung the door open and marched out.

Orson watched the detective storm out of his office, a bit of remorse as the two had a mutually respectful relationship to that point. His job was more important than any relationships that existed because of it, however, and that led to him grabbing the telephone from a nearby receiver shortly after his colleague exited the room. The dial tone came on as he punched in a few numbers. He waited a moment. “It’s done. He suspects something, but I believe he’s intelligent enough not to make this into something it’s not.”

Chapter 25

The little stunt with security guard number one had likely bought Micah some time to meander about the grounds unnoticed. But it wouldn’t last forever. At some point, Doug would wonder why Mitchell was taking so long to radio back in. He may assume the worst. He may also be just as dense as his counterpart. No matter the reality, Micah figured it likely the man would eventually leave his post and go searching for his partner. The probability of his partner functioning before that took place was nil. With any luck, Micah would be long gone before either scenario took place.

An odd mixture of honks and grunts emanated from somewhere off to the right. Micah wasn’t sure what caused the noise, though part of him thought it sounded a bit like a flamboyance of flamingos. Whether the sound escaped the bill of a flamingo, or something else entirely, one thing seemed obvious: it didn’t sound dangerous enough to warrant further investigation. The truth of the matter was, he had more important matters to attend to.

The lighting in the backstage area of the oceanarium was spotty. Much of that likely had to do with a combination of the time of day and the current members of staff on the premises. There was a plethora of lights on the opposite side of the large hedge. One in every four appeared to have power, though their light didn’t travel far. Within the backstage area, the lighting was even more sparse. A single lamppost for every thirty feet. It created an odd sense of unease within Micah. A feeling that he wasn’t quite as in control as he was used to. He briefly regretted not taking Mitchell’s flashlight before dumping his body.

Rather than dwell on the past, Micah pushed forward toward the massive structure in the distance. The closer he got, the smaller he felt. It was almost as if he were watching the walls stretch out in real time. He found it momentarily disorienting, but shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts. The part of the building he could see appeared to be one curved edge, part of a much larger whole.

“Guess you’ve got to ask