"Please can you help me? Please? I ve just been murdered."
Detective Daniel Parks missed a step, sloshing coffee over
his hand. Fortunately, the coffee maker had turned itself off
an hour before. He wiped the lukewarm liquid onto his pants
and turned toward the front desk.
"I mean, I m not dead, but I might have I mean,
someone just tried to kill me."
The woman clutching the front counter, stammering her
story to Nancy Dennis, the department receptionist, did not
look like a crank. Except for her mahogany-colored hair,
which frizzed around her head like the mane of a Shih Tzu
having a bad-hair day, she reminded Daniel of a young
Audrey Hepburn--finely sculpted features, porcelain-
smooth skin, and dark, earnest eyes that hinted at mischief.
She was beautiful.
Daniel grimaced. He d have preferred a crank. Twenty
more minutes of paperwork and he d be through with this
long, miserable day, sitting at home watching the Oakland-
Chicago game while he reheated last night s spaghetti. He al-
ready knew the As had won, four to two. Everyone in the de-
partment knew he taped the As games, and they delighted in
spoiling the suspense for him. But he watched the games
anyway. The complex geometry of baseball untangled his
mind from the stress of his job.
This day had been even more stressful than most. Before
he d finished his first cup of coffee, he d been called to a do-
mestic dispute that had escalated to attempted homicide,
with the wife-beater being transported to the hospital with a
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