Metsy Hingle - Flash Point

“I suspect that she didn’t want you to know. As I told you on the phone, Sister Grace’s heart wasn’t strong. She’d been on medication for quite some time.”

“But she died so suddenly.”

“I know, my child. But that’s how heart attacks are,” the Reverend Mother told her. “You must try to take solace in knowing that she’s with our Lord now in paradise.”

Kelly knew the nun was right. Yet it did little to ease the ache in her heart. When the church bells sounded, Kelly stood. “Thank you for your time, Reverend Mother. And for the tea.”

“You’re most welcome.” The Reverend Mother rose and escorted Kelly from the parlor to the entrance door. “Will you be returning to New York now?”

“Probably in a few days. I have to meet with Sister Grace’s attorneys first and I want to visit her grave.” And just saying those words made her want to weep. She still couldn’t imagine never hearing Sister Grace’s voice again, never receiving another one of her letters.

The Reverend Mother touched her arm. “Sister Grace is at peace now with our Lord, Kelly. Try not to grieve for her, but be happy for her.”

“I’ll try,” Kelly promised. But even as she left the convent to go visit the nun’s grave, she knew that it wasn’t for Sister Grace that she grieved, but for herself. Because now she was truly all alone.

Jack surveyed the stripped-down, older-model Lincoln in the alley that contained the city’s latest homicide. The car’s hubcaps and wheels had been stolen, along with the license plate. He stripped off the disposable gloves he’d put on to check the scene for evidence. “Any ID on him?” Jack asked the cop who had been first on the crime scene, where a man had been found with a gunshot wound to his chest.

“No, sir. His wallet’s gone and he’s not wearing any jewelry.”

“Chances are whoever took the wallet, took the jewelry, too,” Jack remarked. “What about registration papers on the car?”

“The glove box was empty, too.”

Which meant any papers identifying the car’s owner were gone, too. “Get a couple of officers and start canvassing the area within a six-block radius. Maybe someone saw or heard something,” Jack instructed, even though he suspected that with all the Halloween hoopla going on last night, they were likely to get more than a few reports of strange happenings.

“Yes, sir,” the young cop replied, and started to head off.

“Officer, one more thing,” Jack called out.

“Sir?”

“Check around with some of the shop owners and residents, find out which street musicians usually hang out around here,” Jack instructed, recalling the statement Sarge had taken from the woman, in which she’d claimed there was music playing on a nearby corner. “Question them, see if anyone remembers seeing or hearing something that seemed odd—even for Halloween.”

“Yes, sir,” the police officer said. “Anything else?”

“No, you’ve got enough to keep you busy for a while. Get back to me or Detective Jerevicious if you find anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once the beat cop was gone, Jack walked over to Leon, who had already questioned the woman who had reported the abandoned car with the body and was now conferring with the crime-scene team. “Find out anything new?”

“Not really. Looks like a robbery-homicide. They’re dusting the vehicle for prints now.”

“M.E. give a time of death yet?” Jack asked.

“I asked and she nearly bit my head off. Figured I’d let you charm her and see if she’ll give you an answer.”

Jack strolled over to where the medical examiner was finishing up her preliminary look at the victim. “Nice seeing you last night, Doc. I almost didn’t recognize you in that red number you were wearing.”

“You didn’t look so bad yourself, Callaghan,” Dr. Jordan Winston declared as she checked the vic’s pupils. She flicked off her penlight and motioned for the body to be loaded into the coroner’s van.

“What can you tell me about the vic?” he asked.

“White male, probably late sixties, two gunshot wounds to the heart delivered at close range. Small caliber weapon, probably a .22. I’ll let you know for sure when I get the bullets out.”

The doc was good, Jack thought, because he’d already figured the gun was a .22 himself. “Any idea on the time of death?”

“Based on lividity, my best guess is sometime between eleven o’clock and one o’clock this morning. I’ll be able to narrow it down once I get him back to the lab and run some tests.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“By the way, Callaghan, I liked your lady friend. Very classy. And smart.”

“Yes, she is,” Jack said, deciding there was little point in denying that Alicia had been his date last night since everyone—including his mother and Alicia herself—had placed them together as a couple. With any luck, last night he had finally got the message across, at least to Alicia, that they weren’t meant for each other.

“She put me onto a sweet little Victorian that’s about to go on the market. If the place is half as good as she says it is, I’ll be giving her a call and making an offer on it.”

“I’m sure Alicia will appreciate your business. You’ll let me know when you can pinpoint the exact time of death on our John Doe?” he asked, eager to change the topic.

She gave him a pointed look, as though she knew exactly what he was doing. “Check with my office this afternoon.”

As Jordan Winston returned to her team, Leon walked over to him. “Any luck on getting an ETD?”

“Piece of cake. I don’t know what your problem is with the lady,” Jack teased, knowing that it had taken him years to establish an easy relationship with Jordan Winston. The lady took a long time to warm up to people and she was still putting Leon through hoops. “She couldn’t have been more cooperative. Maybe you should try changing your cologne.”

“There’s not a damn thing wrong with my cologne. The woman just flat-out doesn’t like me,” Leon fired back, and grumbled something about female doctors who had a thing for blue-eyed men. “So are you going to tell me the time or not?”

“Between 11:00 p.m. and 1:00 a.m.”

“Well, what do you know. According to the captain, Sarge’s psychic came in around midnight,” Leon reminded him.

“Yeah, I know,” Jack replied as he recalled the description given of the woman named Kelly Santos who’d come into the station last night. He knew in his gut that it was the same Kelly Santos who had gone to school with his kid sister Meredith—the same teenage girl he had rescued from punks in the park years ago. The same girl who had spooked him when she’d announced that he should ditch law school and become a cop if that was what he wanted to do. Since he’d been wrestling with that dilemma for months and hadn’t breathed a word about it to anyone, not even the woman he’d been engaged to marry, he hadn’t known what to make of her. Nor had he known what to make of her telling him that she was sorry, but his fiancée wasn’t going to stand by him. Only months later did he recall that the girl had been dead right on both counts.

“Kind of weird, don’t you think?”

“What’s weird?” Jack asked, pulling his thoughts from the past back to the murder scene at hand.

“You know, that woman claiming to have had a vision of a man being murdered in a car and then a stiff meeting her description turning up dead in a car just like she said.”

Jack shrugged. “I guess so. Strange things happen sometimes.”

“Come on, Jackson. Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind that the woman knocked the guy off and then came into the station and fed Sarge that line of bull about having some kind of vision to cover her ass.”