A Smudge of Gray by Jonathan Sturak Read Free Book Online

before
dark,” Brian said as he stood up and kissed his son’s forehead. He shifted to
his wife who stared through the kitchen window at the morning rush below. Brian
gave her a peck on the cheek and scurried out of the kitchen. He didn’t stop to
look at her face, to look at her expression, because if he had, he would have
seen disappointment in her eyes.
    Exactly twenty-two minutes later, a
rookie officer fresh out of the academy attempted to show his might by holding
back prying reporters at the crime scene. He stood behind the yellow police
tape with a look of arrogance, a look he employed when he had to deal with the
public.
    “Keep it back. Keep it back, everyone,”
he commanded as the heat of his breath misted in the brisk morning air.
    Brian snaked his way among the horde,
which held cameras and microphones from their paws. He reached the yellow tape
as the rookie officer held his arm out stopping Brian in his tracks. The
detective slid his hand inside his jacket ready to remove his badge, but a
voice beat him to it. “He’s okay. He’s with me,” Lt. Foster exclaimed, waving
Brian back.
    Brian ducked under the tape and transformed
from civilian to detective. He took a deep breath as the chill of the morning
cooled his core. Brian studied the trash barrels lining the sides of the alley,
the lack of windows on the buildings above, and the tone of his Payless dress
shoes stomping on the cement. He moved slowly as his brain processed
information like a supercomputer. Lt. Foster held a manila folder with the
details thus far from the incident, which was still being written. The
lieutenant led him toward the site that Brian had anticipated over his
twenty-two minute journey through the downtown with his police siren screaming.
As Lt. Foster neared the end of the alley, the dead end, Brian saw the center
of attention. All of the professionals were interested in the object on the
ground, the object that had been once a man. Brian saw the victim. A look of
horror was still painted on Max’s lifeless face. His glasses were shattered,
and his hair was messy as if a rat had tried to burrow itself for warmth. But
the most shocking image was the color red, the color of blood saturating Max’s
once white dress shirt, now spilled on the ground.
    “I’m afraid to ask,” Brian muttered.
    “Murder. Gun shots,” Lt. Foster mouthed.
    “Did we get the bullets?” Brian asked.
    “One to the chest, the other to the
forehead. Our guys confirmed a nine millimeter.”
    They both moved to the body. Brian
crouched and removed his pen from inside his jacket. He took a whiff—a whiff of
death, a smell that was all too familiar to him. It was worse than the stench
of bleach, worse than the stink of an overflowing landfill, worse than the reek
of a caged animal. Brian studied the blood fragments surrounding the point of
entry of the bullet that had punctured the yuppie’s brain and had stolen the
life from him. Brian then used his pen to lift the suit jacket delicately to
analyze the second shot, the one that had punctured half of Max’s heart.
    “Atypical entrance wound. Silencer was
most likely used,” Brian conjectured.
    “He was Max Cleaver, thirty two,
attorney. Last seen with some friends at the pub around the corner. They were
interviewed, looks like he left on foot just after one a.m., and was found at
five this morning by a trash collector,” Lt. Foster explained as he looked in
his folder.
    “Even with a silencer, the force
suggests close range,” Brian added as he glanced back toward several metal
barrels. “That would put the shooter…right there.”
    “It took the beat cops a half hour to
pinpoint that,” Lt. Foster said. Then he lowered his voice. “Normally, I would’ve
just let the junior detectives take care of this, but he still had a thousand bucks
in his wallet. It doesn’t look like a robbery. Plus, we found something
strange.”
    Lt. Foster lifted his pants legs and
crouched next to Brian. He