Jason Pinter - The Guilty

But when I met Leon Binks, New York County Medical

Examiner, behind the rusty Dumpster on Thirty-first and First, let's just say it wasn't quite the professionalism I was hoping for.

Leon was wearing blue jeans and an unbuttoned work shirt, both dirty and disheveled. My guess was they were spare clothes for the times he had to run out and meet people behind Dumpsters. He was a fairly young man, mid to late thirties, with a wisp of a mustache and hair in desperate need of some Pert Plus.

He rubbed his hands together as he spoke, and I wondered what sort of compulsion that came from.

"So you know Jack," Binks said, more of a statement of fact than a question.

"I work with him at the Gazette, " I replied.

Jack had called Binks and told him to meet me as soon as possible. Didn't ask Binks. Told him. I wondered what sort of coverage Jack had given-or shielded-to have the New

York City medical examiner wrapped around his little finger.

"Good guy, O'Donnell," Binks said, his hands rubbing rhythmically.

"Yeah, he is." I waited for Binks to continue.

"Had a lot of good times with him," Binks said. "Well, not good times, but good conversations. Like he's always been a good egg with me, a good egg. I figure any friend of Jack's has gotta be a friend of mine."

"That's right," I said. "So, Leon, if I can call you that…"

"You can call me Binky," he said. "S'what my friends do, anyway."

"Right. So… Binky… you've done the initial on Joe Mauser?"

Binky nodded. "You'd be correct. Listen, Henry." Binky leaned in close. I could smell chemicals. Iodine and cheap aftershave. "Did Jack tell you about that… thing? "

"Uh…"

"I get it, you're playing dumb. It's okay, better you don't answer so neither of us have to lie. You know in case anyone comes asking."

No need to tell the Binkster that I wasn't playing dumb, since I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Just tell Jack I appreciate it, and so does my wife. I promise the bite marks will clear up and we'll be careful not to go out in public next time we want to role play."

"Yeah, anyway, let's talk about Mauser."

"Right," Binky said, winking. "Let's. Officer Mauser suffered from a single gunshot wound fired from a highvelocity rifle."

"I knew it," I said.

"Knew what?"

"High-powered rifle," I said. "I know more about guns than

I'd like to."

"Really? Well, would you like to tell me the rest of the autopsy? Please, go right ahead." Binky folded his arms across his chest petulantly. Finally he said, "May I continue?"

"Please, didn't mean to interrupt."

"No apology necessary. Anyway, the bullet entered Officer

Mauser's chest and the left subclavian artery, causing a traumatic aortic rupture."

"Which means…"

"Which means Officer Mauser never had a chance."

I wiped my brow, took this in. Mauser wasn't the target of that bullet. This much was clear. Dozens of news crews had caught the whole speech and murder on tape, and a split second before the gun went off, Mauser dove in front of

Mayor Perez. Gave his life in the line of duty.

"The bullet then lodged in one of Officer Mauser's vertebrae, where I extracted it this morning. The bullet was turned over to ballistics for examination."

"Can you tell me anything about the bullet itself?"

"Hey, Sherlock, I work at the coroner's office, not ballistics." Again I stayed silent. Hoping maybe Binky thought himself an amateur Man With No Name. "It was pretty big,"

Binky finally volunteered.

"Like how big?"

"Inch and a half, two inches long," he said. "Bullet was obviously distorted but I can't say for sure. Caused a whole lot of damage, whoever took that shot wasn't screwing around, wasn't looking to wing anyone. Even if the bullet had somehow miraculously missed the aorta, it shattered two surrounding vertebrae and severed Mauser's spinal cord. Guess we can be thankful the guy didn't suffer. I work a lot of GSWs, but

I can't recall pulling a bullet this size from many victims."

"So we have some psychopath running around New York with a high-powered rifle and damn good aim," I said. Binky rubbed his hands together and nodded.

"Funny thing is," he said, his tone of voice anything but humorous. In fact, there seemed to be an edge of fear. "I've worked in the examiner's office nearly twelve years and I don't recall ever seeing a gunshot wound from that caliber weapon."

"Really," I said, that fear seeping into my veins, too.

"Most GSW victims that end up at the hospital or morgue are from. 22 or. 38 caliber bullets. Handguns, stuff you get on the street. But not this. This is a hard-core rifle, my friend.

Kind you might hunt animals with. Kind of gun you only need one shot with, 'cause that shot counts."

"No shit," I said.

"None at all. Makes you wonder what kind of psycho this city's got loose."

"Yeah," I said. "Makes you wonder."

I turned my key in the lock, unsure whether I hoped the apartment would be empty or not. Before I could see the whole room I smelled perfume and knew Amanda was home.

She was sitting in an armchair reading a book. When she saw me her eyes picked up and the book clapped shut. She slowly rose from her chair, came over to me and wrapped me up in her arms. I laid my head on her shoulder and breathed in.

She looked me in the eyes and said, "If I had to guess, your day could have gone better."

I nodded. Took my jacket off and tossed it on a chair.

Untied my shoes and kicked them off. Went over to Amanda and knelt down, put my head against her stomach. Soon I felt her fingers running through my hair, my scalp tingling as she pressed harder. I stood up, leaned in and kissed her. At first she seemed reluctant, then leaned in harder. Her hand was on the back of my head, pressing my lips against hers. I lost myself in it, felt her body lean toward me. Then I pulled away.

"What is it?" she said.

I looked at her, embarrassed. "Just hard to see these things happen. You know, and not be affected at all."

"That cop who was killed?" she said. "Mauser."

"Yeah. You know he was the one who last year…he almost killed me."

"I know," Amanda said softly. "He came to my house.

Pointed a gun at you."

"Thing is, I never blamed him," I said. "If I'd been in that kind of situation, thought someone had murdered my family,

I would have gone just as far as he did."

"Henry…"

"He was a good cop," I said, anger rising. "He didn't deserve to go down like some animal."

"What do you mean?"

"Whoever shot him, they're some sick bastard."

I took out my cell phone. Dialed Curt Sheffield's number.

"Sheffield," he said.

"Curt, it's Henry Parker."

"Hey, man. Guess this doesn't mean you're hiding under a rock."

"I don't think I'd fit under a rock right now. Listen, we need to meet up. I talked to the medical examiner today, I think we can help each other."

"Name the time and place. But hey, Henry, be careful.

Word's gotten around our friend Paulina Cole's been digging a little bit, asking questions about Mya Loverne, about your relationship. Don't know if she's going after you, but nothing she touches stays clean, know what I'm saying."

I cursed under my breath.

"Screw her," I said.

"I would if my lady wouldn't wear my balls for earrings.

Cole's not a bad-looking older woman. Wonders of Botox, I guess."

"Yeah, right. I need to know if you've heard anything about the ballistics analysis. Two deaths from what looks like sniper attacks, I'm willing to bet my bonus the same ammo and gun was used in both Mauser and Athena

Paradis's murders."

"Don't be stupid, Henry, you know I can't just give out information Mayor Perez hasn't declared open for public consumption."