The Mark of the Assassin

sprawled on the
    floor, and she saw the blood.
    God, so much blood. She realized someone was calling her name. She
    opened her eyes and saw a tall fair-skinned African-American with
    striking green eyes standing before her. His police shield hung from the
    pocket of his blue double-breasted suit coat. "Mrs. Osbourne, I'm
    Detective Richardson, Homicide. I understand you discovered the body."
    "Yes, I did."
    "What time?"
    "Between seven-fifteen and seven-twenty, I believe."
    "You knew the victim?"
    Elizabeth thought, The victim. Susanna had already been robbed of her
    name. Now she was just the victim. "We were best friends, Detective.
    I've known her for twenty years. We were supposed to go running this
    morning. When she didn't show up, I came looking for her. I got the key
    from the neighbor and went inside."
    "Anything look out of the ordinary to you?"
    "Except for her body, no."
    "I'm sorry, Mrs. Osbourne. Where did she work?"
    "She was a reporter for The Washington Post."
    "I thought the name sounded familiar. Worked at the White House for a
    while, right? Used to be on the roundtable show on Elizabeth nodded.
    "This may sound like a strange question, but do you know anyone that
    would want to kill her?"
    "Not a soul."
    "Anything unusual going on in her life?"
    "No."
    "Any angry boyfriends? Jilted lovers?"
    Elizabeth shook her head. "Husband?"
    "He's remarried."
    "How's their relationship?"
    "I work with him, Detective. He's a partner at my firm. He's a shit, but
    he's not a murderer."
    "We can't find a purse. Did she carry one?"
    "Yes, she always left it on the kitchen counter."
    "It's not there."
    "Who did this?"
    "Impossible to say. Looks like someone was inside the house and she
    surprised him. She had jogging clothes on, but one of her shoes had been
    removed. Looks like she may have twisted her ankle. Dog was wearing a
    leash."
    "So they shot her."
    "A lot of people in this town would rather kill someone than leave a
    witness behind who could identify them later." He said this
    matter-of-factly. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm
    very sorry, Mrs. Osbourne. Here's my card. If you think of anything
    else, let me know."
    ELIZABETH HEARD THE TELEPHONE ringing inside the house. Harry Scanlon
    came to the door, eyes red. "It's Michael," he said. Elizabeth rose and
    walked inside, unsteady on her feet. "Michael, come home quickly. I need
    you."
    "What happened? Why are you at Harry's?"
    "Susanna's dead. Someone shot her in her house. I found her. Oh, God,
    Michael--" Her voice choked with tears. "Please come home, Michael.
    Please hurry."
    "Stay there. I'll come get you."
    "No, meet me at home. I need to walk. I need some air."
    She looked out the window and saw Susanna's body, wrapped in a white
    sheet, being taken from the house on a stretcher. She had maintained her
    composure until then, but the sight of Susanna like that broke down the
    last of her strength. "Elizabeth, are you there? Elizabeth, talk to me."
    "They're just taking her away. Oh, God, poor Susanna. I just keep
    thinking about what she must have gone through before she died. I can't
    stop thinking about it."
    "Get out of there. Go home. It will make you feel a little better. Trust
    me."
    "Hurry."
    "I will."
    She hung up the telephone. Scanlon was holding a floppy disk. "Well, I
    guess she won't be needing this." He paused, his eyes filling with
    tears. "God, I can't believe I said that."
    "What is it?"
    Scanlon explained their system--how Susanna always made extra copies of
    her work and left them through his door slot. "She was paranoid about
    it."
    "I know. In law school, she kept her papers in the refrigerator because
    she read somewhere that refrigerators could withstand fire." Elizabeth
    smiled at the memory. "God, I miss her so much. I can't believe this is
    happening."
    Scanlon laid the disk on the kitchen counter. "I found it when I came
    home last night. She must have slipped it through my door when she went
    out for her run. Funny, I always told her she was a fool to run at
    night, but she got killed in her own home."
    Elizabeth thought about the call from Susanna last night. She had been
    working on an important story all day. Whatever she was writing was
    probably on that disk. Elizabeth said, "Can I have that?"
    "Sure, but you'll never be able to read it."
    "Why?"
    "Because she used encryption software. Like I told you, she was paranoid
    about people reading her stuff."
    "You don't know the password?"
    "No, she