Dark of the Moon

it. Gloria was in the bedroom. Looks like they’d been asleep awhile. Then, whoever did it, came and put the last two shots through his eyes. There are holes in the kitchen floor, inside the door.”
    The body was found by the newspaper deliveryman. Virgil was the fifth cop there: the two guys on the night patrol had come in first, Big Curly right behind him, because he lived only a mile away, and heard the call on his scanner, and then Stryker and Virgil. Now more cops were showing up, blocking off the yard, waving traffic through on the county highway. Crime scene running a bit late, but expected in the next several minutes.
    “Any sign of resistance?”
    “No, but that’s not a sure thing. We cleared the house and then I got everybody outside, so’s not to mess the place up,” Stryker said.
    Big Curly came over. “I barfed,” he said.
    “You okay?” Virgil asked.
    “I knew them my whole life,” Big Curly said. “They lived three doors down when I was growing up. I said hello to Roman or Gloria every day for fifty years.”
    “Maybe take a seat, get some coffee,” Virgil said. “Not much to do until crime scene gets here.”
    “Okay,” Big Curly said. He took a step, then turned, and said, “You know, Jim, Rome liked his guns. That drawer was open on his bedside table. I bet there was a weapon in there. If somebody came in late, while he was asleep, I bet he took his gun to the door with him. The killer might have picked it up.”
    Stryker nodded and Virgil said, “Good eye.”
    Curly went away and Virgil said, “You’ve been assuming that the killer is a guy—male.”
    “You think it’s a woman?” Stryker’s eyebrows went up.
    “I had an open mind on the issue. These guys are old, and don’t weigh much, but they were dragged. I’m thinking, now, Curly’s right—it’s a guy.”
    “Uh…”
    “A strong woman could have dragged them, as long as she didn’t worry about hurting them, which she wouldn’t, because they were dead. But: take a guy from Schmidt’s generation. He’s up, he’s got his gun, he goes to the door, sees who it is—recognizes him—and opens the door. Gets shot.”
    Stryker was puzzled. “A woman couldn’t do that?”
    “A woman could—but Roman wouldn’t have opened the door with his dick sticking out of his shorts. He would have said, ‘Hang on, let me get some pants on,’ and he would have put something on, and then he would have opened the door.”
    Stryker looked at him for a minute, and then said, “Sometimes I suspect you’re smarter than I am.”
    “Better ballplayer, too,” Virgil said. “But where that leaves us, is right back at what you were assuming anyway. Not a major advance.”
     
    “S PEAKING OF major advances,” Virgil said, “have you heard from Jesse?”
    For a moment, the issue of Roman Schmidt flicked out of Stryker’s eyes: “You sonofabitch, you’ve been messing with my love life.”
    “And…” Like Davenport.
    “I appreciate it.” Stryker started to laugh, remembered where he was, and choked it off. “She called me up last night and she said, ‘Jimmy, you want a chance with me?’ I said, ‘Yes,’ or something like that. I actually mumbled a lot, but the basic bottom line is, I was gonna take her to Tijuana Jack’s tonight.”
    “It’s off?”
    “Of course it’s off,” Stryker said, looking sideways at Schmidt. “If I took her out tonight, and somebody from town saw me, I’d be dead meat, politically. That’d be the end of my job. They’ll want me out there twenty-four/seven, driving the back roads, looking for Roman’s killer.”
    Virgil looked around, making sure nobody would overhear them: “That’s horseshit, Jim. Not that they wouldn’t think it, but you’re not gonna find the killer driving the back roads. You want some advice?”
    Stryker shrugged. “Depends on what it is.”
    “Take her to Brookings. Or Marshall. That’s what, an hour? Give you time to talk. Tell her straight out what’s going on, why you’ve got to go so far. She seems pretty bright; she’ll understand it. She’ll understand that you’re taking a risk for her.”
    “Gotta think about it,” Stryker said.
    “Just don’t be too nice,” Virgil said. “She likes edge . Mix up nice , with a little law-enforcement edge .”
    “That what you’re doing with Joanie?”
    “Joanie and I are operating on a higher level,” Virgil said. “You’re not. So do what I tell you.” He looked back at Schmidt, sitting