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  “White male, thirty, two shots to the head. Apparently, he had come home for Christmas. His parents were out shopping. They returned and found him in the living room. Pretty messy, Sarge.”

  “Where are the parents now?”

  “Next door.”

  “Let me take a look here, and then we’ll go next door.”

  Hopkins walked over to the body. He looked at it because he had to. He tried to detect some clue to give meaning to the scene. His emotional self cried out, while his logical, trained mind told him it was a robbery gone sour and murder was the result. He looked over the scene, which further convinced him of his first impression. Some things were gone, but to what extent only the family could confirm. That would take a few days in their condition. He knew the Worthys, especially John. His heart went out to them.

  Everybody was doing their job, which released Hopkins of momentary responsibility. He called for the officer to escort him next door.

  The neighbors were nice and quite concerned for their friends. They were bewildered and shocked, but relieved that they had not also been victims, and a bit guilty for feeling that way. They tried to intercede between their grieving neighbors and the police, which made questioning rather difficult.

  After validating a few facts, which confirmed his general direction, Rick asked that, at their convenience, they take an inventory of their home to determine what was missing. They nodded, assuring that matters would be taken care of.

  Rick shook hands with both husband and wife but gave John a warm hug. Mrs. Worthy looked up through swollen eyes and, in a quivering voice, asked the detective who could have done such a thing. Hopkins shook his head and reached for her hand.

  “Mrs. Worthy, we don’t have any answers now, but I promise you we will.” He patted her hand and motioned for the officer.

  As they walked from the house, another officer signaled for their attention.

  “Sergeant, another homicide, B&W Liquor Store on Oak Street. You’re needed ASAP. They have an eyewitness. I’ll drive you.”

  “Okay. Be with you in a minute.” Hopkins turned and pulled the other officer aside. “In the morning, I want you to pull the Worthys away from their protective neighbors and get a list of what’s missing. Check Austin, the university, and Jeff’s apartment. How did he get home? Find out if anyone drove him.” He paused. “And anything else you can think of.”

  Hopkins climbed into Dave’s car. “Busy night, huh, Dave?”

  “Someone must hate Christmas.”

  “Yeah, or wanted some extra gifts for themselves.”

  Sergeant Rick Hopkins, himself only forty years old, looked at the young rookie detective, twenty-two, married with a new baby. First Christmas for all of them, and he’s called out. That’s part of the job, but that doesn’t make it any easier. He and his wife, Linda, and their two sons had had their Christmas disappointments, but nothing like this. He felt for his rookie friend. “What a shame!”

  “Two homicides on Christmas Eve. Who would have thought, Sarge?” Dave shook his head. “What do you know about the liquor store?”

  “Apparently, someone was in the bathroom while the robbery was going down. The clerk and the alleged robber were killed. I guess we’ll find out the rest real soon,” he said, as Dave turned into the parking lot.

  A uniformed officer greeted them. “Sir, it’s awful. The clerk got it point blank, a real mess for the mortician.”

  “Where’s the witness?”

  “He’s at the station. Too many cameras.” He motioned to the reporters.

  “Tell me what you know.” Hopkins turned back to the officer.

  “The witness, male Caucasian, mid-thirties, was in the bathroom, during which time a black male, late twenties, attempted a robbery. White male exited the bathroom. Upon seeing the black man with a gun, he hid behind a beer display. Suspect apparently shot the clerk, laid the gun on the counter and reached over the counter for the cash register, knocking the gun to the floor. Witness grabbed the gun and blew away the suspect. Then he ran outside and flagged me down. I rushed inside with the white male and saw the bodies and blood. I told the witness not to touch anything. I then radioed for backup and ambulance. Justice of the Peace is inside.”

  “Good job, Tom. Keep everything secure. The coroner is tied up on another homicide, as is everybody else.”

  They entered the store. The officer had reported the situation accurately, as far as Hopkins could tell. Both men were shot in the face, dead before they hit the ground. A .38 was on the counter. Hopkins looked up for an explanation.

  “The witness said he laid it there after he shot the suspect,” Tom offered. Hopkins was curious about the prints. He would know soon enough.

  “Dave, send a few uniforms to check out the route between the two crime scenes. See if we can come up with anything.” He paused. “Any vehicles?”

  “Yeah, the clerk’s and the black man’s.”

  “Anything?”

  “Shotgun in the suspect’s car. We’re checking for prints and registration.”

  “Dave, see if the Worthys are missing a shotgun. Impound it as evidence and the witness’ vehicle, as well.”

  “He drove it downtown, Sarge.”

  Dave looked at the sergeant curiously. Hopkins looked at him and shrugged. Too much was going on with two homicides. Better to be overly cautious than to miss something.

  “We need to be alert for any similarities between the two crimes. Ballistics will tell us a lot, tomorrow, once the ME retrieves the bullets. Two homicides on Christmas Eve, we’re going to be very busy.”

  Hopkins walked to the restroom in the back of the store. It was more for the employees than the public.

  He went in, partially closed the door without touching the knobs or anything else in the room. He attempted to trace what could have been the witness’ path. He squatted behind the display, looked toward the body and made a mental note to ask the witness if he was standing or squatting. He looked at the body in front of the counter, then the body of the clerk behind the counter. Another question: Did the witness know either of the deceased? Could he have been an accomplice? Probably not, probably happened like the witness said, but it didn’t hurt to keep all possibilities in mind.

  “Make sure you dust the bathroom and doorknob, also everything around the counter and especially by the beer display,” Hopkins told a forensic officer.

  “No problem.”

  Hopkins strolled outside to a Cadillac sedan. It had started to snow again.

  “We need to cover this vehicle and leave it here until we get prints. I don’t want to take the chance and lose any evidence,” he said emphatically. “Get a patrol around the clock.”

  The ME team arrived and started their work. Hopkins left them alone. After a while, they brought in the gurneys. Hopkins followed them.

  “Headed back to the morgue, Phil?”

  “No, Hopkins. Thought I would take them home and shove them under the Christmas tree.”

  Hopkins shook his head. He would never get used to the coroner’s humor.

  “What can you tell me?”

  “They’re dead.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “Come by in the morning.” The ME team left, laughing.

  Dave looked at Hopkins stoned-faced. “Do they even know it’s Christmas?”

  “Not unless Santa Clause came across their table.”

  Dave smiled. “Now what?”

  “Let’s go back to the Worthys and get my car. We’ll go to the station and talk to the witness. Then you can go play Santa with your new little girl.”

  Dave smiled, his mind moving in that direction, but pulled back. “What about all this?”

  “Check with night patrol and give your orders. You can pick me up at seven o’clock tomorrow morning. Maybe we can clear some of this up in time for Christmas dinner.”

  “My wife would appreciate that… and so will my mother-in-law,” he added.

  Hopkins didn’t nee
d to explore that line of conversation any further. Mothers-in-law, mothers, wives, and daughters, all thought everything should come to a halt on Thanksgiving, Christmas, their birthdays, and anniversaries, no matter what the situation.

  “Well, when you get to the dinner table, there will be a lot to talk about.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think I have the stomach for it.”

  Hopkins thought about the three victims, all shot in the face. He thought about their families. He suddenly couldn’t wait to get home, take a long look at his boys, and pull his wife close to him.

  CHAPTER 3

  At the station, Joe sat on a plastic chair that made his butt fall asleep and his lower back ache. Occasionally he walked around and watched the patrol officers bring in drunks. He knew there was more crime going on than DUIs or PIs. In fact, he was living proof, and he was sitting right under their noses. He looked at the wall clock.

  It was 11:30. An hour had passed without talking to anyone. He thought about leaving, but that would look too suspicious.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Joe,” said one of the detectives. There was another detective with him, much younger.

  “That’s okay,” Joe said restlessly.

  “I’m Sergeant Hopkins, Joe. I’ll be handling everything from here.”

  “I thought the DA wanted to talk to me?”

  “Probably later, but not tonight. Glad to meet you, Joe.” He extended his hand.

  “Same here,” Joe said.

  “I hate the circumstances, but it won’t take long. I know it’s late, you’ve been through a lot, and after all, it is Christmas. Is there anyone you need to call?”

  “No, but I would like to get home.”

  “Where do you live, Joe?”

  “The Lexington.”

  “Oh, you’re not from here?”

  “I’ve been here about a month or so.”

  “Not married, I guess.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Most married men don’t live in a motel.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Joe thought out loud. “I’m a roofer. Came from Houston, chasing the hail storm.”

  “Sure, I understand. The whole town is covered with roofers.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty crazy.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “Triple A Roofing.” Joe was glad he hadn’t quit.

  “How long have you been working there?”

  “Since the storm. About two months.” He was getting irritated. “Don’t you want to know what happened?”

  “The detectives filled me in; I’ll go over their statements and then give you a call. Will you be around?”

  “Yeah, sure. Why? Will I have to testify or something?”

  “I doubt it. There is no one to prosecute, unless it’s you.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “Nothing. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I just meant everybody is dead but you,” the detective explained, as he looked deeply into Joe’s eyes.

  Joe looked sternly at the detective. “I should have jumped the guy. Maybe Juan would still be alive.”

  “Yeah, and you would have been dead.”

  “I guess you’re right. It could have been me.”

  “Well, I’ll keep you posted if anything develops. We were just lucky you were there.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He could have gone on a killing spree. We have reason to believe the liquor store wasn’t his first stop.”

  “Really? You mean he did something else before?”

  “We’re not sure. I’ll keep you informed. Don’t worry. Get some sleep, I’ll call you tomorrow and fill you in.”

  “Yeah, I wish you would. I’d like to know.”

  “Get some rest.”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  Joe wanted to relieve himself again, but he wanted to get out of the cop shop worse. He drove the truck down the road until he could see no traffic. He pulled over into an alley and walked behind the truck. Afterward he breathed deeply and felt better. Everything seemed to be going his way. He reached under the seat for the watch. The face glowed with expensive numbers. He had time! Again, he reached under the seat and retrieved the .9 mm handgun. He had a need for it. After all, it still had the black man’s prints on it. He was careful with his own prints before securing the gun once again.

  He got back into the driver’s seat and drove away. He opened the glove compartment and reached in to retrieve the perfume. He was ready to see Pam.

  CHAPTER 4

  The bar was smoke-filled; it hung in the air like a heavy fog. Even though there were only a handful of customers, it was noisy with drunken talk and loud with country music coming from a dusty old jukebox in the corner. Pam was behind the bar and a huge smile crossed her face when Joe sat down at the end of the bar. She brought him a vodka and soda without asking, walked around the bar, and sat on the stool next to him. He lit her cigarette, and she took a long drag off it and blew the smoke in his direction.

  “What happened to you? I haven’t seen you all day. I was beginning to think you were one of those fly-by-nighters.”

  To Joe, that meant Pam wanted more. His ego ballooned and made him feel more confident than he had ever felt in his life.

  “Well, let’s just say I was a little busy today.” Joe smiled, wondering just how much he should tell her.

  “Just a minute.” She touched his arm. “A couple guys need another beer.”

  While she attended to the customers, Joe began to contemplate his situation. The newspapers would more than likely print what happened and there would probably even be television coverage, so he might as well tell her. He wanted to. It might even help him get his story straight, like an actor rehearsing his role. He liked this new feeling. He felt the watch through his shirtsleeve. He wanted to look at it but knew he shouldn’t. It was a luxury he could ill afford; it might catch someone’s attention. He eased it from his wrist and started to put it in his coat pocket, but then decided differently and slid it in his pants pocket. Someone could pick it from his coat, and he didn’t trust any of the lowlifes at the bar. They would steal from their own mothers. And he probably couldn’t risk selling it. He would have to destroy it or at least hide it until he had time to think. He decided he would hide both the watch and the gun until needed, and then he could take the watch out and look at it occasionally.

  Pam returned. “Now, tell me, what’ve you been up to?”

  “Well, first, I went Christmas shopping,” he said, smiling. “Then I stopped off at a liquor store for a bottle of champagne.”

  Pam smiled. “Did you do that for me?”

  “Well, I didn’t get the champagne. When I was in the bathroom, some black dude tried to hold up the store.”

  “Really? What happened?”

  “He shot the clerk. I was hiding behind a beer display and he didn’t see me. He was grabbing money off the counter and knocked the gun right in front of me. I grabbed it and shot him.”

  “Did you kill him?” She was astonished, wondering if he was bullshitting.

  Joe proceeded to tell Pam the story about the detectives and the police station and all that went down. Before long, Pam had told everyone in the bar what had happened. Joe was in awe himself. He had never had so much attention.

  A large, unshaven cowboy sitting at the bar by himself shook his drunken head. “I just don’t buy it. I think you’re full of shit!”

  “Hey, big guy,” came a voice standing near Joe. “Why would he make up a story like that? If it’s true, it’ll be in the paper or on the news. He couldn’t lie his way out of that.”

  “He’s still full of shit and so are the rest of you. I got a hundred that says we’ll never hear another word about this and this jackass disappears. Who the hell is he, anyway?”

  Joe looked over at the moose of a man, who glared in his direction. “I’ll tell you who I am. I’m the guy who’s going to take your hundred dollars!” He reached into
his wallet and slapped five stolen twenties onto the bar.

  The attention turned to the instigator. “What?” He looked dumbfounded.

  “Put up or shut up.” Pam jumped in.

  The big man glared with glazed eyes at the newfound enemies he had thought were friends. “Fuck all of you!” he said, rising from his stool and stumbling out the door.

  As everybody laughed, Pam put her arm around Joe. “What an asshole!”

  Joe felt a sense of camaraderie. “Pam, bring everybody a drink on me. I’ll collect from him tomorrow.”

  Everyone was laughing and those around him slapped him on the back. Pam proudly jumped up and served everyone. Joe knew he had little money, but this was his moment in the sun. Pam returned to his side, making sure everyone knew Joe was her man. She felt important, as though she were part of it, too. Several of the guys bought Joe beers and shots of tequila. By closing time, Joe could barely walk, so Pam had to drive. She didn’t mind at all. She liked the idea of taking care of Joe.

  They took her car, left the truck at the bar, and went to her apartment. Pam helped Joe to bed, where he instantly passed out. She pulled his boots off and covered him up. She felt the effects of the tequila, too, and quickly undressed and snuggled beside him. Sleep came easily for both, but their dreams were quite different.

  CHAPTER 5

  The house would be roomy and neat, with flowered wallpaper in the kitchen, yellow and white cabinets with green knobs. There would be three bedrooms, hers and Joe’s, one for guests, and a nursery for the baby. Joe would come home promptly at 5:20 from work and she would have a nice country fried chicken dinner and homemade dessert waiting for him. Their evening would be filled with television in the den and talk of the baby yet to come.

  Pam awakened with a slight hangover, but a warm feeling from her dreams. She looked at Joe and wondered about his dreams. Were they the same? She headed toward the shower, hoping that a nice hot steamy one would help clear her headache.

  Joe’s dream had not been like Pam’s at all. He walked through the wealthy house, examining countless displays of watches that were all the same: gold bands, with gold-lighted Roman numerals. Even though they were the same, he could not decide which one he wanted. Every time he picked one, he shot someone: a young man, a black man, a police officer, a drunk, and a woman resembling Pam.