WMC - First to Die

Chapter 125

I WAS RUNNING AND I REALIZED that I no longer knew exactly what I was doing, where I was. Somehow my instincts brought me back to where Chris had been shot. He was still up against the pillar in the same position. He looked as if he'd been waiting for me to return. I rushed up to him, knelt down as close as I could get. I could see police and the EMS medical crew finally arriving. What took them so long? "What happened?" Chris whispered. I could barely hear him. "I got her, Chris. Chessy Jenks was the killer." He managed to nod his head. "That's my girl," he whispered. Then Chris smiled faintly and he died on me. I never would have imagined, or dreamed, that Chris would be the first to die. That was the most terrible and dreadful shock. I was the sick one, the one whom death had brushed against. I put my head down close to his chest. There was no movement, no breath, just a terrifying stillness. Everything seemed so unreal. Then the medics were working on Chris, doing heroic, useless things, and I just sat there holding his hand. I felt hollowed out and empty and incredibly sad. I was sobbing, but I had something to say to him; I had to tell Chris one last thing. "Medved told me, Chris. I'm going to be okay."

Chapter 126

I COULDN'T GO NEAR MY OFFICE at the Hall. I was given a one-week leave. I figured I'd take another of my own time on top of that. I sat around, watched some videos of old movies, went for my treatments, took a jog or two down by the marina. I even cooked and sat out on the terrace overlooking the bay, just as I had with Chris that first night. On one of those nights, I got really drunk and started playing with my gun. It was Sweet Martha who talked me off the ledge. That, and the fact that if I killed myself, I would be betraying Chris's memory. I couldn't do that. Also, the girls would never have forgiven me, right? I felt a hole tear at my heart, larger and more painful than anything I had ever felt, even with Negli's. I felt a void of co

Epilogue

I HAVE COME TO LEARN that murder investigations always have loose ends and questions that cry out to be answered. Always. But not this time. I was home one night about a month after we buried Chris. I had finished di