Chapter Two - Without Shield

Sam Mitros was the only Hispanic cop on our force. He was a good man and also my ex-partner.  We’d been through some of the worst of cases this town had ever seen.  I was sitting on my front door steps when he arrived minutes later.  He got out of his car and began to walk toward me.  He wore a brown leather coat and jeans.  I stood up slowly, but my legs felt like wet noodles, and I crumbled into his arms.  I could tell that he was in shock.  He’d never seen me this way.  No one had.  In between my breaths of tears, I told him to go upstairs and that I would soon follow.  I told him what had happened, exactly the way it did.  I also told him about the frame trail I created for the intruder, so forensics wouldn’t pin the murder to me.

“If you were anyone else, I’d say you were loco man.”  He said.

“But I trust you, man.  If the roles were reversed, I would’ve killed that son of a bitch with my bare hands too.”  Sam continued. 

“Thanks.”  I knew he was sincere, but that didn’t help me rest any easier.

“We need to call the coroner and forensics Marty.”

“I know.  I don’t want to be here when they get here.”

“You don’t have a choice man.  They’ll need to question you.  Running away now only makes you look like a suspect.  You know that.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.  But there’s something else.”  I said.

I handed him the envelope that I had recovered from the study.

“What’s this?”  He asked.

“I don’t know, but I think it’s a key to what happened here.  I need you to hold onto it for me until they’re done questioning me.  Meet me at the Lounge around 2.”

The coroner and forensics team arrived a little while later.  I explained to the investigators about what happened.  That I returned home late from my shift and saw a man attacking my wife.  Most of the team knew me.  They all kept looking at me like I was broken and in need of repair.  I hated the looks, but I didn’t care.  I looked across the yard to the coroners carrying my wife’s body out of the house.  My stare followed her in disbelief.  This couldn’t be happening.

“Martin, I’m very sorry for your loss.”  A voice said.

I didn’t blink.  My eyes were still following the coroners.  I recognized his voice.  It was Mitchell Raines.  He was probably the lead investigator assigned to my case.  He was a very loud, obnoxious man who never hesitated to bark orders at the people beneath him.  Most of us hadn’t liked him since he became Captain.

“Lieutenant!”  He said louder, obviously trying to turn my attention toward him.

“Thanks Mitch.”  I said, without even looking at him.

“You know we’ll still have to take you down to the station for a statement, right?” 

“Yeah.”  I said. 

“C’mon, I’ll drive you.”  He said.

The coroners closed the doors to the van.  I turned away slowly and glanced at Sam.  He gave me a nod as I got into Mitchell’s car. 

The interrogation room was dark, cold and had little color.  There was a light on table in front of me.  I stared down at my hands waiting for someone to come in.  They were shaking.  I tried to interlock my fingers more tightly, hoping that would stop the quiver.  I waited for what seemed like hours.  I thought of Jeniveve.  Thinking of her brought me certain warmth that ended in sorrow.  I was alone, again.  I decided to light a cigarette.  After my first drag, Mitchell walked in.

“You know you’re not supposed to smoke in here.”  He said, sitting down.

I just ignored him, staring down at the table.  I’m sure he noticed the shake in my hands.

“Martin.  This won’t take long.  Now, do you have anything you’d like to add aside from what you’ve told us already?” 

“No.”  I said.

“So, just so we’re clear, you came home after your shift.  You walked through the front door.  You heard your wife scream, so you ran upstairs.  You found your wife being attacked by a man you didn’t recognize?”

“Yep.”

“Then what happened?”  He asked.

I let out a sigh and looked up at him.

“I pulled him off of her and threw him back against the closet doors.” 

“Forensics noted the broken closet doors.  Go on.”

He kept looking back down at my case file as if he wasn’t really listening.

“My wife was barely alive.  She moved slightly.  The perp got back up.  I came at him and…I didn’t stop.” 

“You beat him to death, never having drawn your weapon?”  He asked.

I hesitated for second.  Hearing those words actually said out loud brought a grotesque feeling of guilt upon me. 

“Yes.”  I said, looking back down at the table.

“Well, I’m sure the autopsy report will reflect that.  Let me ask you this Lieutenant, did you and your wife have any marital problems of any kind?”

“No we didn’t.  At least not any more than any other cop’s marriage.  I see where you’re going with this Mitch, and it’d be in your best interest to stop.”  I said, growing angry.

“Have you talked to your mother at all lately?”

“Mitchell, you know I haven’t spoken to her for many years.  I don’t know even know where she is for Christ’s sake.”

“Don’t you find that odd?”  He said, in sneering voice.

“She and my father divorced a long time ago.  She was an alcoholic and suffered constantly from depression.  She was a loose canon.”  I said.

“A loose canon who is still missing.”  He said.

“Is someone really missing even when you’re not looking for them?”  I said.

“You tell me Lieutenant.”

“My mother was a psycho, alright?  She never knew Jeniveve.  There’s no motive there.  And she certainly wouldn’t have the resources to pull something like this off.”  I said. 

“Look, I’m just trying to piece together what happened tonight.”  He said.

“So am I!  I came home from work to find a guy raping my wife!  What the hell would you have done?!  My back door was kicked in and several things in the house were broken!  Did you ID the attacker yet!?”

“Yeah, we did.  His name is James Darren.  Sound familiar?”  He said.

“No, should it?”  I said, without hesitation. 

“We’re trying to establish a connection.”  He said.

“Jeni never mentioned him.  What do you have on him?”  I said.

“Virtually nothing.  We have guys checking out his house now for a lead, but so far nothing.  Is it possible he was one of Jeni’s clients?”

“No.  If that was the case, I’d remember him.  I’ve never seen him before in my life.”  I said.

“Are you sure you and Jeni haven’t had any problems recently?”

“Look Mitch, you need to mind your business about Jeni, alright?  How about a little professional courtesy here eh?”  I said.

“I’m just looking for an answer Lieutenant.”

“So am I.  So, stop wasting my time and let me get back out there and find you one.”

I could feel the tears in my eyes beginning to resurface again.  I couldn’t hold them back.  I couldn’t quite define the emotions that were overwhelming me.  It was a sense of guilt, sautéed in anger.  Mitchell could see that.  He could see that I was about to crack wide open. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you for your badge and your gun Lieutenant.”

I glared at him.  For a moment I thought I’d just walk out.  But that wouldn’t help my case any.  I grabbed my sidearm and my badge and slammed it on the table and stood up. 

“Are we done?”  I said, wiping my nose.

“Almost.”  He said.

         I stood in front of him waiting for a further response.

         “Did you know your father showed up at the house after we left?”

         “What?”  I said.

         “He said he was there to give you condolences, but we had already moved you down here.”

I thought for a moment about what Jeniveve said. 

“I just thought you should know.”  He continued. 

I stood for a moment in the doorway.

“I’ll keep you posted on anything we find.”  He finished.

“Thanks.”  I said. 

I arrived at the Lounge around 2am.  Sam was there waiting for me already. 

“How’d it go with Raines?”  He asked.

“Same as always.”  I said, sitting down.  A waitress walked up to our table.

“Can I get you something?”  She asked.

“I’ll take a beer, whatever’s on tap.”  I said.

“He took your shield didn’t he?”  Sam asked, knowing my response.

“Yeah, and my piece.  Did you bring the envelope?”  I asked.

“Yeah, it’s right here.”  He slid the envelope to me across the table.

“What is that?”

“I found it in my wife’s study, taped underneath a drawer.  She told me to look there right before she died.” 

“I’m assuming you didn’t tell Raines about this.”  He said.

I just looked at him with a blank stare.  He understood.  I opened the envelope once again and laid out the pages in front of us.  Sam took notice to the same photo I did.

“That’s Turnovsky.”  He said, looking up at me.

“I know.”

“What’s he got to do with this?”  He asked.

“I don’t know.   None of this makes sense.  Why would Jeniveve collect this stuff?” 

“Let’s start at the top.”  Sam said.

“The first page has a photo of your father clipped to it.  He’s not on the force any more, but he was when Turnovsky was arrested and sentenced.”

“I know.  Raines told me he showed up at the scene after I left for questioning.”

“You don’t think he’s got something to do with this do you?”  Sam asked.

“I don’t know.”  I said, rubbing my head. 

“Marty, I know you and him haven’t been on good terms, but do you really think he’s capable of murder?  What reason would he have to kill Jeni?” 

“Somehow he knew what went down.  How could he have known that she’d been killed, and to show up at my house?” 

Sam hesitated.

“Look, he probably still has friends inside in the department.  He probably found out that way.” 

“Maybe.  Jeni was trying to tell me something before she died.  She said I needed to know the truth and that my father was somehow connected.” 

Sam looked back down at the page and photo.

“This is just a copy of his record and contact information.” 

“What else we got?”  I said.

“Well, there’s the report you wrote from Turnovsky’s wife’s death with crime scene photos.  The death order, and his arrest record.  He got the death penalty for the murder of his wife, remember?”

“Yeah.”   

“There’s also another photo of your father with Turnovsky before he was arrested.” 

“Turnovsky knew my father?”  I said, looking at the photo.

“Apparently.  There was a rumor going around back then that he and your father were tight.  But your father denied it.”

I sat back in my chair and thought for a moment.

“What if my father was still sour from Turnovsky’s death and hired the attacker to kill my wife, and frame me for the murder?  That’s motive enough right?”  I said, sitting back up.

“That’s a stretch man.  And besides, why would he have waited so long?”  Sam said reaching for the empty envelope. 

“Wait a second, there’s something else in here.” 

Sam held the envelope upside-down and a small key tumbled out onto the table.

“What’s this?”

“It looks like a safety deposit box key.”  I said, picking it up.

“It’s inscribed with ‘Lloyd’s Commerce Bank.’”

“That’s downtown.”  Sam said.

“Look, there’s another sticky note on the top page.”  Sam continued.

“Key – 8685.”

“I’ll check it out tomorrow morning.  Maybe it’ll give us another clue.”  I put the key in my pocket, and pulled out the cell phone that I had nabbed from the Jeni's attacker.

“I also got this off the perp before forensics got there.”  I said, showing Sam the phone.

“Jesus Marty.  You got anything else I need to know about?”

“No, this is it.”  I said, handing the phone to Sam.

“Raines ID’d the perp as James Darren.  See what you can find on him too.”  I continued.

“I’ll run the numbers on the phone and do a work-up on Darren. Maybe it’ll turn up something.”

“In the meantime, I think I’m going to have a chat with my father.”  I said.

Just then, Sam looked up in surprise.

“You won’t have to look far, he’s right out there.”  Sam pointed to the parking lot through the window beside me.  I could see my father’s face through the glass.  He was driving by slow in his car.  I got up and ran to the door.  The car’s tires let out a screech and he sped off.  Sam and I stopped outside the door.  I quickly decided I was going to pursue him.  Before I could open my car door, Sam grabbed my shoulder. 

“Marty, you’ve had a rough night.  Why don’t you get some rest and we’ll figure this out tomorrow.  You need a clear head.” 

I knew that he was right.  I was exhausted and full of energy at the same time.  There were too many questions flying around in my head.  I needed to quiet the voices. 

“C’mon, you can crash at my place.”  




Coming up next:  Chapter 3 - The Fallen Gumshoe

Chapter One - The Peculiar Intruder

It was around 9pm by the time Martin Winter leaned back in his chair, sipped his drink and stared straight forward awhile.  Irv’s Lounge didn’t look any better from day to day, even on Christmas evening.  He didn’t like the bar-like atmospheres that lurked in certain woodsy crevices of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula anyway.  But, Irv’s had a certain appeal to it.  It was quiet.  And to an extent, you might say it was even serene.  The warm tan walls allowed shadows to play on them throughout the evening, and the hardwood floors seemed weathered and experienced.  The air hinted of whiskey and stale beer.  Irv’s has been owned and carefully tended by Matty Stevenson for over twenty years.  Although he was rapidly approaching seventy years of age, he didn’t look a day over sixty.  It was becoming obvious, however, that in addition to his age, his weight had begun to slow him down.  Being that Martin was alone in the bar this evening, Matty would periodically check in with him about topping off another glass.  Matty kept to himself most of the time.  Occasionally a joke would surface, or he’d bicker to himself about the weather.  But that’s what bartenders do.  They don’t chat up the guests with useless, relentless conversations.  That’s for the drinkers.  Bartenders are there to listen.  

“Excuse me?”  A female voice said.

         Martin looked up, and noticed a woman standing before his table.  She was tall, attractive and was wearing her hands at her hips, waiting for a response from Martin.  She wore a pink, sleeveless blouse that slightly revealed her naval and blue jeans.

         “Is this seat taken?”  She asked. 

         He was instantly annoyed, but playfully attracted to her.

         “If I said yes, would you believe me?”  He said. 

         “Nope.”  She replied. 

         With that, she grabbed the chair across from him and sat down.  One of the main reasons Martin enjoyed his time here at Irv’s was because it was without interruption.  He could sit, enjoy his drinks and sulk in what ever thoughts came to him, without so much as a whisper engaging him.  Ordinarily, he would’ve welcomed the intrusion, especially if it was from that of beautiful woman.  But not tonight.

         “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not interested in company.”  He said.

         “Oh, loner eh?  That’s okay, I don’t mind.  I’m Kate.” 

         She held out her hand hoping Martin would yield and succumb to conversation.  He wouldn’t make it that easy for her. 

         “Look lady, maybe you misunderstood me.  I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone right now.  I’d rather be-“

         “Left alone?  Then why come to a place like this?  Why not stay home?”  She interrupted.

         Martin began to wonder what he had done to deserve this kind of treatment from a person he hardly knew, today, of all days.

         “I’ll ask you one more time, please leave me alone.”  He said.

He felt guilty saying those words out loud.  But they didn’t change the expression on her face at all.

         “It’s Christmas, Martin.  Why are you in a place like this?  If you don’t start being more social and connected, you’re never going to make any new friends.”

“How do you know my name?”  He asked, sternly.

         “The bartender told me.”  She defended.

         “Bullshit.  He doesn’t call me that.”  Martin was becoming angry.  It was obvious that this woman had something to hide and she was lying to cover it. 

         “Just who the hell are you?”  He followed.

         “I told you, my name is Kate.”

         “Okay.  Kate.  How do you know my name?”  Martin asked again, in a little more demanding tone.  She was beautiful.  She had short, perky hair, long eyelashes, gorgeous dimples and a demanding posture that ordinarily might be a little intimidating. 

         “Tell you what…I’ll make you a deal.”  She said, putting her elbows on the table, folding her hands under her chin.  “You tell me why you’re being so unsocial and disconnected these days, and I’ll tell you how I know who you are.”  She proposed. 

         “I don’t think so.”  Martin looked away.

         “Why?  What have you got to lose besides more time alone?”  She pushed, while Martin returned a stern glance.

         “You wouldn’t understand.  No one does.”  He answered.

         “I’d like to.  Try me.” 

         Martin stared into her eyes.  They were honest.  He could tell she was sincere.  She wouldn’t understand the truth about what Martin had bottled up inside.  No one could.  But it was damn peculiar that she knew him, somehow.  He weighed the options in his head, while she sat in front of him, staring him down, waiting for an answer.  This is crazy.  She won’t believe me, he thought.  But what’s the worst that could happen?  She’ll laugh it off and walk away leaving me in peace again.  It had been over a year since Martin felt a sense of normalcy.  Maybe opening up might bring back a little.  Not to mention, he had always been a sucker for dimples. 

         Martin reached forward and took a long drink of the cold beer he had in front of him, while Kate sat back, folding her arms, waiting for him to begin speaking.  He then leaned forward upon the table, interlocked his hands in front of him and began speaking in a low, calming voice.

There’s only one way to tell you this story, and that’s to start at the beginning.  Or, is it the end?  Yes, more like the end.  The end is where it starts.  The end of what I used to call living. 

There was a time in my life when things made sense, like a completed puzzle.  You go through your days learning from your mistakes, applying what you’ve learned to your future, resulting in a nicely painted picture of your life.  In this life, I had a wife.  A love.  A friend.  And essentially, another half of myself.  Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but who’s really is?  Yet, through the good and the bad, we’d endure.  After all, being the wife of a detective wasn’t easy.  There’s the late nights, the stuff you can’t talk about together, and the evil actions of people that are not easily forgotten.  I tried to separate her from that side of my life.  I thought that I could protect her from the evil that lurked the city streets outside our home.  I was wrong.

         It’s been a year since Jeniveve’s death.  But the images of her still haunt me today.  I know that she is here with me, somehow, or even walking next to me.  But it doesn’t matter, because she isn’t really here.  She isn’t really anywhere.  She only exists in my mind, disguised as an invisible guide who’s voice I can still hear.  It’s the other side.  My other side.  My other half that I miss.

Jeniveve would be disappointed in me.  She would’ve told me that I wasn’t trying hard enough, or that I had just given up.  Nobody likes a quitter, she’d say.  It’s funny because I used to use that excuse with her about smoking.  Never did much good though.  I kept on lighting up anyway. 

In the academy they teach you how to survive, and they teach you how to kill, when necessary.  They teach you how to see things, hear things and interpret things.  They also teach you to protect, and how to save a life.  But they don’t teach you how to live only half alive. 

One year earlier…

         It was a cold December evening the night it happened.  It would be the night that I’d remember for the rest of my life.  I pulled up into my driveway, put the car in park and began the stride toward my front door.  The outside lights were on and I could see lights inside throughout the house.  I pulled out my keys when I noticed the front door was left slightly ajar.  It swayed back and forth slowly from the approaching winds.  This was most odd, because Jeniveve was adamant about locking doors when she was home alone.  I pushed the door open and crept inside.  I called out to her but there was no answer.  I began to wander around.  I went into the kitchen and the living room, but there was no sign of life anywhere.  I then heard a loud thump that seemed to have originated from the upstairs.  I started up the first step of the stairway when I heard another series of thumps and soft thuds.  Then, I heard Jeniveve cry out.

         “Mart-….Help M-!!!” 

         Her screams were muffled, as if she was deep in a struggle, trying to cry out for help.  I dashed up the stairs screaming her name. 

         “Jeniveve?!  Jeni!  Where are you?!”  

         The rush of adrenaline in my body felt good and terrible at the same time.  As I entered our bedroom, my eyes forced me into a fit of rage.  Jeniveve was on the floor next to the bed, struggling with a man on top of her.  He was holding her down, choking her with one hand and tearing her nightgown open at her chest with the other.  Her arms appeared bound at her wrists as she was trying to strike him with downward blows toward his head.  She was also trying to kick with her bare legs but the weight of his body kept her from moving too fiercely.  She started to scream again.  I quickly raced up behind the man, grabbed his clothes at the shoulder and tossed him back, throwing him

into the glass closet doors, shattering them.  I spoke no words.  There was no need for them.  I knew this man was going to die.  Tonight. 

         “You…”  The man said, staggering to get up from the broken glass on the carpet.  It was as if the man recognized me in some way.  I walked up to him slowly, grabbed him by his shoulders once again, and threw him into the adjacent wall, almost forcing him through it.  I glanced over at Jeniveve.  She was beaten badly.  Her nightgown was torn to shreds and her arms had cuts and bruises on them.  She moved her legs slowly, but stopped.  The man again rose up from the floor, trying to re-gain his composure.  Once again, I turned toward him.  I knew only one emotion that night.  Rage.  Uncontrollable rage.  The man now was holding his hand out, wishing me to stop.  To which, I responded with an uppercut, slamming the man’s head into the wall, and flooring him once again.  Seeing his body fumbling around somehow brought happiness to the fury in my belly.  I grabbed him and dragged him away from the wall with ease.  I stood above him, contemplating my next move.  I knelt down upon him and began to swing.  I landed punches for what seemed like minutes.  I know my fists were in pain, but at the time I couldn’t feel it.  They had become tools that wielded my anger and violence toward him.

         “Martin…”  Jeniveve said, in a very faint voice.

         I stopped swinging and looked up at Jeniveve, while my downed adversary was now immobile and lifeless.  I had almost forgotten that she was still lying over there.  I got up and went to her side.  She was reaching to me from the floor with both of her hands still tied.

         “I am so sorry.”  I said, untying her.

         “Don’t be…”  She said.  “You…saved me.” 

         I knelt down beside her and clutched her hands.

         “I need to call an ambulance.”  I said.

         “There isn’t…time.”  She said, faintly.  “I’m not…going to make it.”  She continued, started to cry.

         “Just hang on!”  I said, getting up reaching for the phone on the nightstand.

         “Martin, listen to me...”  She said.

         I knelt back down next to her, still clutching her hand.  The blood on my hands made my grip slippery.

         “I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.”  I said.

         “It’s about your…father.”  She said. 

         Jeniveve took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tightened her grip on his hand.”

         “Jeni!?”  I said.

         She opened her eyes one last time.

         “In the study…the desk drawer.  You…need to know…the truth.”

“What are you trying to tell me?”  I asked.

         “I love…you, Martin.”

         “I miss you…already.”  She continued.    

“No!  Jenni!!”  The tears clouded my eyes and blurred my voice.  And just then, my wife’s head slowly turned away from me, and her eyes closed.  My wife, Jeniveve Winter died next to our bed, still holding my hand.

         “I miss you already...”  She said, citing the lyrics from that Patty Loveless song.  She loved that song.  But she didn’t know that those words would be the last words we ever traded.  What started out as a couple’s joke, quickly grew into a habitual goodbye ritual between the two of us.  I miss you already;  like you’re already gone.  Saying those words in my mind felt like piercing knives into my heart and stomach.

That was the night half of myself died.  I sat next to her holding her hand for what seemed like hours.  The tears were relentless.  I put my head on her stomach and continued to sob harder.  Her body had lost the fight with its predator.  She fought him off long enough for me to come home and save her.  But it was my fault.  If I had only came home a little sooner.  I could have been there.  Protected her. 

The problem however, was that I was a cop.  A detective.  I knew how these things worked.  My wife has just been murdered.  I’m sitting next to her still, crying and in denial over what has just transpired.  There’s a man lying on my floor a few yards away who’s also presumably dead.  I needed time to think, time to recollect.  I couldn’t leave her.  Not now.  But I had to.  From the outside looking in, this situation didn’t look good. 

I could call for help.  I had people I trusted in the department.  But the fact of the matter remained.  There were no witnesses to the events that took place that night.  So, as far as anyone else knew, I could’ve walked in on my wife cheating on me, beat the hell out of the guy she was with and I’d be slapped with a murder charge.  One step at a time, I told myself.  One step at a time Martin. 

It took every ounce of my being to stand up.  My knees were shaky.  Looking down upon my wife’s lifeless body felt like I had entered another world.  A world without her.  This world scared me.  I tried telling myself to pull it together, but it didn’t help.  I had killed a man with my bare hands who assaulted and killed my wife.  Was this right?  Was this justified?  No.  No, it wasn’t.  But he came into my house.  He made me do this.  Every human being has the God-given right to protect their family and their offspring, right?  Yes.  But at the expense of revenge?  No.  I had become the judge, the jury and the executioner in a single moment.  The very laws I vowed to uphold were simply tossed aside in a fit of rage.  They would condemn me.  The law would not sympathize with killers.  Murderers.  But I didn’t mean to kill him.  I was defending my wife in my own home.  You’ll go to prison Martin, my inner-self said.  No, I won’t.  They’ll understand.  The courts would understand.  Would you trust them to?  I stopped on this thought for a moment.  Could I trust them to understand?  Could I put my life in their hands with confidence?  Hell no. 

I walked back over to the man lying on the floor.  I checked his pulse.  He was dead, probably as a result of massive head trauma from my relentless pounding.  He was dressed in jeans with a black leather jacket.  He had black hair and his face was so riddled with blood, I couldn’t identify with it.  He hadn’t bothered to disguise himself at all.  Serves the bastard right.  But, a part of me wished he was still alive.  He was a question that needed answering.  My nose was still running and my cheeks were still soaked with tears.  I knelt down and checked his pockets for identification.  He had no wallet, but he did have a cell phone in his jacket pocket.  I flipped it open, then closed it and put it in my pocket.     

Jeniveve’s words still bothered me.  What was she trying to tell me?  I looked over at her battered body lying on the floor.  I could see her lifeless, bare legs sticking out from behind the bed.  This isn’t real.  This isn’t happening.  But the cop in me began to take over.  How did he get in?  I walked down the hallway slowly, checking for signs of evidence.  My legs were so heavy.  Then I went downstairs and checked the doors and windows for a sign of forced entry.  There was nothing.  Not one window was broken or open, and the doors showed no sign of damage.  Jeniveve must have let him inside.  But why?  I checked further around the house for any sign of a disturbance, but everything was in order. 

That only left one lead:  The study desk drawer.  What did she have in there?  What the hell was she trying to tell me?  I walked into the study and began pulling out the drawers in the desk.  There was nothing here except for the usual stationary.  I stopped for a moment and thought.  She said ‘in the study…the desk drawer.’  Not necessarily, in the drawer.  I began to turn the drawers upside down, emptying their contents.  The last drawer I came to had a brown envelope attached to the bottom of it, marked with the words ‘Evidence.’  I opened the envelope and pulled out the papers inside.  There was a small photograph of my father paper-clipped to the top page.  I then went through the pages looking for a clue as to the meaning.  Some of the pages were autopsy reports, and some of them were just handwritten pages of notes in what I recognized as my wife’s handwriting.  The last page stopped me suddenly.  It was a mug-shot photo of a man I nailed some years ago on a murder charge named Milo Turnovsky.  A sticky note rested on the photo bearing the words, ‘It all points to Turnovsky.’  None of this made sense.  Why was my wife collecting evidence like this?  How was my father involved?

After thinking a while longer, there was only one way to handle this.  I needed to first secure my innocence, so I could then call for help.  I can’t be a suspect.  There’s no justice in my actions if I’m prevented from finding out the truth.  I will not be imprisoned for trying to protect the one I loved.  I put the envelope of evidence in my back-pocket and walked toward the front door.  I needed to make it look like the house was burglarized by Jeni’s attacker.  The investigators would then believe that the attacker entered my home in search of valuables, and found Jeni inside unexpectedly.  I went outside the house leaving the door slightly ajar.  I then went around the back-side of the house to the patio door which was still locked.  I gave it a good kick with my right leg.  The jamb shattered and the door flew open.  After that, I walked inside and began throwing things about in a path that led upstairs.  I needed to make it look like this man broke in through the patio door and began a rampage all over the house.  I emptied the drawers on the end tables in the family room.  I tossed the lamps aside, breaking them.  I even went into the kitchen and began emptying the cabinets in there onto the floor.  Once I was confident of the frame trail, I went back upstairs to where my wife was lying.  Seeing her again, lifeless, wrecked my insides.  I knelt down and felt her cheek.  It was still warm.  I began to cry again.  I was alone in this new world.  I hated this place.  It made me do terrible things.  It changed me into something I’m not.

Moments later, I pulled myself together, pulled out my cell phone and called the one man who I knew could help. 

“Mitros.”  He answered.

“It’s me.”  I said.

“Marty…hey, what’s up?”

“I need you to come over…now.”  I said.

“What’s going on man?  You okay?”

“No.  No, I’m not.”

Coming up next: Chapter 2 - Without Shield