Ionshaker (Part I), Felix Timothy [fox in socks read aloud TXT] 📗

coroner say, “We’re heading back to the lab to start on the autopsy. Maybe she’ll tell us more in the lab.”
“You go do your autopsy this evening, but I need that report – first thing yesterday morning.”

After the body was rolled out, Nicole stepped closer to Brett to brainstorm.
“There’s no indication of a forced entry, no witnesses, the place is super clean with no prints not even a scratch, nothing appears to have been stolen and for sure the shooter was a pro,” Nicole said with her eyes keen on him and her arms entwining across her chest.
“What about motive?” Brett looked at her as he asked.
“Still a mystery to me, you’ve cracked it?”
“Nope, I pretty much agree – it’s a mystery.”
“Hmm…for once,” she remarked with a hint of satisfaction, as if she’d won an argument or had proved a point.
“Don’t celebrate just yet. I want you to find out everything about her; did they own a gun? If they did, which type, who registered for it, where did she work? Girlfriends, boyfriends…” Brett said authoritatively as if to reaffirm that he was still the one running the show.
“Whoa! Did you just say boyfriends?” Nicole retorted quickly, stepping closer to Brett.
“You heard correct,” he stared into her piercing blue eyes.
“Boyfriends? Seriously?” She raised her voice.
“Yeah, what’s the problem?” His voice went a notch higher.
“I saw you staring at the wedding photo. Didn’t you see anything?”
“Like, they were happy?” He scowled.
“Wasn’t it obvious?”
“I’m not accusing her of anything but what if she was having a fling and her husband found out?” Brett reflectively turned to the lovely wedding photo as he asked.
“So we’re already accusing her of cheating?” Nicole fired the question instantly and Brett took a moment before softly answering, “No we’re keeping an open mind.”
“But you’re already convinced the husband did it,” she said as she started to walk to the picture.
“We don’t have anything; anybody could be a suspect, even a loving husband.”
“I think you’re way off on this one, Sherlock Holmes,” she said stretching her hand to touch the photo.
“Let’s see. What time is it?” He turned to her.
“9:15, why?” She asked gazing into his eyes with no idea of where he was going with the random and seemingly out of context question.
“Happy husbands get home early to be with their loving wives. We’ve been here what, almost an hour? Isn’t it getting late for a happily married man to still be out?”
“Suppose it was you?” She challenged him quickly.
“Suppose it was me what?”
“Suppose you were married, would you be home right now? No. Why, because you’re still working, see? Your assumption proves nothing,” she finished the sentence then shrugged her shoulders.
“The cold fact is, many people who work late do so to avoid spending more time with their mates. You wanna guess why?”
“Because they’re not happy? Is that why you’re still single?” Still looking at him, she tilted her head to study his reaction to the question. She was purposely digressing from the main topic.
“When did it become personal?”
“Are you scared to talk about your singleness?” She continued pushing.
“Let me get something straight, are you attracted to me?”
“What! No, are you crazy?” A surprise frown instantly formed on her face as she quickly went on to clarify, “don’t let it get into your head. I can never be interested in you okay?” She wanted an answer; she needed to hear him say he understood nothing could spark between them.
“And why are you suddenly investigating my singleness?”
“Let’s just leave it at that,” she said looking away. Though she started it, it suddenly felt awkward being put on the spot over the issue.
“Okay. Any theories on the husband’s whereabouts?” Brett asked turning from her to stare at the photo again.
“No.”
“You better come up with some soon because we need to arrest him as soon as possible.”
They needed to find Trey Woodley, Brooke’s husband who had vanished into thin air.


2


“Tit-it…tit-it…tit-it…”
It was the sound of Brett’s bedside alarm harshly introducing a new action-packed day of chasing all sorts of yahoos; from rapists to pedophiles, professional scam artists to armed robbers, etcetera.

On that day, Brett was to hunt down one man suspected to have murdered his wife in cold blood. The good thing was that there was someone else to help him with the heavy lifting – Nicole Anderson.

Though not necessarily a skyscraper with her medium height and figure-eight slim body, with her long youthful wavy hair, narrow face fitted with deep blue piercing eyes, augmented by a perfect nose and a pair of dimpled high cheeks, it was befitting to call the stunning hot blondie a head-turner. While men found every reason to befriend her, asides from her small circle of girlfriends, many women envied her.

However, as is the case with great love stories – from popular vampire-themed novels to traditional Mexican soap operas, all heroes and heroines in the love stories had to overcome brick walls in their quest for love.

Brett could not make a move on Nichole because of who her dad was. Donny Anderson was an overprotective father, a stringent boss, and the man in charge of the Los Angeles FBI Criminal Division. Donny Anderson was one man who had the power to make Brett’s life a living nightmare.

After he finished grooming, he grabbed his car keys from the coffee table on his way out, picking his daily at the doorstep.

His first glance at the front page made his day. He was part of the mainstream news; and he loved media attention. The headline was about a company going under, but a small article on the front page was titled: “Get’em Brett!” with Brooke Woodley’s picture.
He entered his black double cab Ford Avalanche and drove off.

His first stop was at a coffee shop for breakfast. He would also use the time to skim through the newspaper, before heading to the FBI Field Office headquarters on 11000 Wilshire Boulevard, where a brown envelope – Brooke’s autopsy report, was waiting for him.

The report positively matched the bullet pulled from Brooke’s body with the other five found in the gun recovered at the crime scene. The report also indicated that Brooke Woodley was killed by the rupturing of the heart as the bullet plowed through the delicate organ.

Nonetheless, though the gun had been identified to belong to Trey Woodley, the forensics experts had failed to get any finger prints on the gun. But the report wasn’t entirely fruitless. Swabs from the body tested positive for semen samples; the murder victim, or probably the rape and murder victim, had engaged in sexual activity either willingly or unwillingly prior to her death.

That last finding confirmed Brett’s suspicions.

One could have deduce that Brooke was having an affaire de coeur, her husband found out and confronted her about it, an altercation ensued and he shot her in the heat of the moment.

Or maybe there was no affair; the husband just slew his wife soon after being with her, or maybe the boyfriend did it.

Either way, it was necessary for Brett to find Brooke’s husband ASAP in order to crack the murder mystery.

Speaking of the husband, by the time Brett and Nicole had left the crime scene on the previous night, the widower had not yet turned up, and all attempts of reaching him by phone had turned futile.

That raised eyebrows.

Brett was so wrapped up in the report that he had failed to notice Nicole peek in, clad in a short, chic, cream-colored suit and a pair of black stilettos at the door.
“Hey bookworm!”
Her hair swayed to the side as she rested her head on the doorframe, waiting for his response.
“Hi,” he replied looking up.
“What does it say?” She asked, sitting in a spare chair.
“That I was right and you were wrong,” he replied with a sense of satisfaction.
“Come on, I know you’re just blowing a trumpet.”
“Am I?” Brett paused for a bit before continuing, “The gun belonged to the husband.”
“Still, it doesn’t prove the husband did it,” She waved her hand in dismissal as she replied.
“Semen present.”
“No kidding, you mean…?” Surprised, she quickly leaned forward as she went on to ask, “Was she….? Wait a minute, have you matched the samples with the husband’s DNA or something?”
“Not yet…”
“Exactly…”
She sank back into the chair.
“But when I do…”
“If you do,” she corrected him.
“Fine, if I do, it’ll mean the husband was almost certainly the last person to see her alive, and you know what that means.”
“Assuming you’ll get a positive match on the semen.”
“Some yes-we-can optism, please.”
“But don’t you find it strangely abnormal for someone to sleep with his wife and then shoot her?”
She sat up straight and a frown formed as she asked.
“And who said murders are normal?” Brett asked rotating his chair to his right.
“Okay, I give up,” she said raising both of her hands up as a sign of surrender.
“If I remember correctly you were to do some digging.”
“On her boyfriends you mean?”
She really emphasized the word ‘boyfriends.’
“Just tell me the name.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, there’re no boyfriends – not even acquaintances. But I may agree with you on one thing.”
“Can’t wait to hear what that is.”
Brett stopped rotating the chair to listen.
“The pictures in the living room...”
“I knew it,” he interjected with a broad smile on his face.
“She was seeing a shrink, happy now?”
“Pay the shrink a visit and confront him about the affair…” Brett said quickly placing his elbows on the desk.
“Hold your horses Joey Greco, confront him about what affair? I just told you this woman had no extra marital thingy.”
“If the husband is innocent as you believe then the next automatic suspect is her psychiatrist. Its possible she was having the extramarital with her shrink.”
“Are you even serious?”
Nicole couldn’t believe him.
“Very. Just think about it,” Brett rose from his chair as he went on, “the last person to be with her, slept with her, and it was someone she knew and trusted, and if her marriage was in shambles and she didn’t have any boyfriends, then we’re left with only one candidate – the shrink.”
“You can really make stuff up. So now it’s no longer the jealous husband?”
Nicole challenged him back.
“It still could be… but right now I’m going with the shrink.”
Immediately Brett said that, Nicole burst out laughing before asking, “What? Do you even know the doctor’s name?”
“No, why, is it someone I know?”
“Sorry Genius. The shrink is called Jordin Stevenworth, and she’s a woman. The autopsy results found semen in the body and in case you skipped biology class, allow me to let you in on a little secret; we women don’t have those little swimmers.” She whispered the last bit of the sentence, then smiled. She had beaten him ten-nil by letting him yap about the shrink.
“Doesn’t matter. Find out what was bothering her anyway. You might be right after all. Maybe she knew something she wasn’t supposed to. In that case, find out what the million-dollar secret it is.”
“What about you?”
“You just exonerated the