Locked, Loaded And Sealed. Carol Ericson

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СКАЧАТЬ her head cocked to one side. Silence greeted her. They’d either left already or had heard her come in and were lying in wait, ready to pounce.

      Her gaze darted to the front door of the office, which had closed behind her. Her street sense told her the thieves had left the scene of the crime. Her street sense was also sending a shiver up her spine.

      She crept down the short hallway, trailing her fingers along the wall. She poked her head into exam room one, her jaw hardening. The intruders had rifled through this room, too...and the next.

      She continued her stealthy approach to Dr. Fazal’s office. He’d be devastated by the violence perpetrated against his practice. He’d come here to get away from the violence of his homeland.

      Holding her breath, she walked into his office. She released the breath with a sputter. Someone had ransacked the room. Papers were strewn all over, sofa cushions were pulled out and hastily stuffed back in place and the drawers of the credenza behind Dr. Fazal’s big desk stood open and half-empty.

      These people must be some stupid junkies to think they were going to find drugs in here—but then weren’t all junkies stupid? A heavy smell in the air made her shudder and close her eyes. Reaching for the phone, she stepped around his desk.

      She froze. Then she dropped to her knees beside Dr. Fazal crumpled on the carpet next to his chair.

      “Dr. Fazal! Hamid!” She curled her arm under his neck to raise his head and blood soaked the sleeve of her sweater. Blood—her subconscious had recognized the smell. One side of Hamid’s head had been blown away. She choked out a sob and her throat burned.

      The smell of gunpowder permeated the air. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? She sat back on her heels and another shock jolted her body—a gun lay next to Dr. Fazal’s hand.

      “No, no, no.” She shook her head. He never would’ve taken his own life. Why would he mess up his office first?

      She closed her eyes and dragged in a long breath. She didn’t like the police, didn’t trust the police, but right now she needed the police.

      * * *

      THE BOSTON PD COP, Officer Bailey, scratched his chin with the end of his pencil. “It looks like suicide, ma’am. There’s gunpowder residue on the doctor’s hand, the shot to the temple looks like it was done at close range.”

      “And the condition of the office?” Sophia brushed the hair out of her face with the back of her hand. “He ransacked his own office, ran back in here and shot himself because he couldn’t find a pencil? That’s ridiculous. And I already told the detective that his computer’s missing.”

      “Had you noticed a change in his demeanor lately? Depressed?”

      “He was...” She pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to betray Dr. Fazal, but she didn’t want to withhold any information that might help the investigation into his murder—because this was a murder. “He’d been agitated the past few days, distracted.”

      “Was anyone hanging around the office? Disgruntled patients? Problems with the wife?”

      “Dr. Fazal was a widower. I already told the detectives.”

      “You have my card, Ms. Grant. The detectives on the case will have more questions for you later.” He circled his finger around the reception area where he’d been questioning her. The coroner hadn’t removed Dr. Fazal’s body from the office yet. “We’ll finish up here and barricade it as a crime scene. Are you expecting patients tomorrow?”

      “It’s Saturday. No. But I’ll call Ginny Faraday, our receptionist, to let her know what happened. She can start calling our patients.”

      The cop tapped his notebook. “That’s the name and number you gave me earlier?”

      “That’s right.” She hugged the framed picture she’d taken off the floor next to Dr. Fazal’s body.

      Officer Bailey noticed the gesture and pointed to the picture. “What’s that?”

      She turned it around to face him. “I-it’s a picture of Dr. Fazal congratulating me on an award I won last year.”

      “Was it in his office?”

      “On the floor. He must’ve knocked it over when he fell.” She pressed it to her chest again as one tear rolled down her cheek.

      “Sorry for your loss, ma’am. You can take that with you.”

      Bailey asked her a few more questions, double-checked her contact info and asked her if she wanted an escort to her car.

      “I do, thanks.” The cops might think Dr. Fazal had committed suicide, but she knew his killers were on the loose out there somewhere.

      Bailey called over another officer on the scene. “Nolan, can you walk Ms. Grant down to her car in the parking structure?”

      “Absolutely. Lead the way.”

      Sophia took one last look at the office where she’d spent just about the happiest year of her life and sucked in her trembling bottom lip. Dr. Fazal hadn’t killed himself. He wouldn’t have left her like that—not like everyone else had.

      When Officer Nolan touched her back, she jumped and then barreled out the office door. A detective was questioning Norm by the elevator.

      Sophia stabbed the call button and then turned to Norm. “Did you tell the detective that you heard someone on the stairwell right before I came back, Norm?”

      “I sure did, Sophia.”

      “They think it was suicide.” She snorted. “No way. You should’ve seen the office.”

      “D-do you think that was the doc’s killer on the stairs?” Norm’s eyes bugged out.

      The detective questioning Norm raised his eyebrows at Officer Nolan. “I’d like to question the witness in private.”

      “Sure, sure.” Nolan’s face turned red up to his hairline and he prodded Sophia into the elevator when the doors opened.

      When she got inside, she slumped against the wall, folding her arms over the framed picture. “I just wanted to make sure Norm told the detective about hearing someone on the stairwell. That could’ve been the killer.”

      “You’re convinced Dr. Fazal didn’t kill himself?”

      “He wouldn’t do that.”

      To me, the voice inside her head screamed. He wouldn’t do that to me.

      She lifted her shoulders and dropped them. “Besides, why would he search his own office like that?”

      “Maybe he was looking for something, couldn’t find it and decided to end it all. Did you know he kept a gun in his office?”

      “Who said it was his gun? Maybe the killers shot him in the head and planted the gun in his hand.”

      “I guess we’ll know more when the homicide detectives look into everything and we get the ballistics СКАЧАТЬ