Book 3, Chapter 1
Red was as good as her word, calling me the next day. They’d narrowed down the time of death to early evening three days ago. The weapon was likely a higher caliber handgun, and the hole in the window corresponded with the location of the wound. The victim had been going over betting figures, and seemed to be in some debt. Whoever the killer was, they were a crack shot to be able to hit him in the head through a window from a building across the street.
“Why didn’t anyone report a gunshot?” I asked.
“Must have used a silencer,” Red replied. “Nobody reported it at the time, but residents recalled hearing a loud sound a few days ago, though none were willing to describe it as a gunshot. We’re still searching for a motive - his gambling debt seems the best lead right now.”
“Let me know when you find something.”
“Sure thing.”
“And Red, thanks. It’s... good, to try and help like this again.”
“From what I hear, you’ve been doing more than a fair share of help to people away from crime scenes, but I know what you mean. And don’t mention it.”
I hung up, my sigh stifled by an idea hitting me. “Ghost!” I called up the attic stairs.
“I’m already looking for stuff on Adrian Rolands!”
I smiled. “Thank you!”
“Did you know he’s married?”
I ran up the steps to find her lying on the loveseat, feet dangling over the side, her equipment on a small table in front of her. She was jacked in, eyes open but seeing something other than the attic room she’d made her home.
“What do you mean he’s married?”
“Few years ago he got married. Must not have gone well, because shortly afterward the joint bank accounts separate and his name is off the lease of their place. But he never got a divorce. They separated, but they’re still legally married.”
“What’s her name?”
“Sabia Monahan.”
“Red should know about this -”
“If the police background check doesn’t turn this up, then they need more help than we can give,” Ghost muttered.
I chuckled. “Good point. I guess we’re pretty useless right now.”
“Pff, speak for yourself. I’m always useful. That usefulness just isn’t always taken advantage of.”
“I stand corrected. I shall leave you to your independent investigations and return to my useful practice of healing the sick.”
The police did indeed know about Sabia Monahan, and not just because she was married to the victim. She was on the security footage, entering and leaving the building the night of the murder. Red invited me to come along to the large apartment in the Corporate Sector for the interview.
Sabia Monahan was a slender, all around average looking woman. She was mildly shaken but not terribly upset over the death of her estranged husband. When asked why they hadn’t divorced, she said Adrian hadn’t wanted it, and as she hadn’t had any desire to remarry she didn’t push the issue. Apparently the police could add either “hopeless romantic” or “egotistical bastard” to the list of things they knew about the victim, depending on how you interpreted his desire to stay married.
“Ms. Monahan, our records show that you own a handgun of the same caliber as the bullet that killed Mr. Rolands,” Red said.
She blinked in surprise. “Am I a suspect?”
“Could you tell us what were you doing in the evening, three days ago?” Red asked in her most genteel voice.
“Three days ago? I went to see Adrian after work, and then went to the shooting range. I’m something of a regular, you can ask around.”
“Do you own a silencer?”
“No. But you already knew that, unless you were expecting me to tell you I obtained one illegally.”
“Never hurts to ask. All the same, we’d like to test your gun, if you don’t mind.”
Her brow rose, but she shrugged as she retrieved it. “Sure.”
Red took the gun, “Why were you visiting Mr. Rolands?”
“He asked me to come, but wouldn’t say why. Turned out he wanted to ask for money to help with his gambling debt. I said no, we argued briefly, I left.”
“I see. Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Monahan.”
“Sabia, please,” she showed us out.
“Well, that would have been too easy,” I muttered.
Red chuckled. “Yeah, she might be lying, but she gave over her gun.”
“It probably won’t match. She could have borrowed one, especially if she’s a regular at a shooting range.”
“True. The other possibility is that someone came to collect on Rolands’ debts and decided to eliminate any possibility of a next-time.”
“But then why shoot him from across the street? If they came to collect, then shouldn’t his credit cards be missing? At least there should be a posthumous withdrawal from a bank account.”
Red sighed, “If Monahan shot her ex, then I don’t know how we’ll prove it. There weren’t any distinct footprints in the building across the street where the killer would have stood. I hate to say it, Doctor, but we can’t solve them all.”
To say that I was unsatisfied would be an understatement. That night I couldn’t get any sleep; my mind refused to just shut up and be still. That no motive had been found kept gnawing at me, and the more I thought about it the more I was convinced that something had been missed. How the hell did Sherlock do this? He would have gone to every place every possibility took him, without question. I had no desire to come home as beat up as Sherlock often did, but doing nothing and going nowhere was driving me crazy.
Then again. There was one place I could investigate without fear of getting myself killed, even though I was certain it would lead to a dead end. Still, it was better than doing nothing.
“Why didn’t anyone report a gunshot?” I asked.
“Must have used a silencer,” Red replied. “Nobody reported it at the time, but residents recalled hearing a loud sound a few days ago, though none were willing to describe it as a gunshot. We’re still searching for a motive - his gambling debt seems the best lead right now.”
“Let me know when you find something.”
“Sure thing.”
“And Red, thanks. It’s... good, to try and help like this again.”
“From what I hear, you’ve been doing more than a fair share of help to people away from crime scenes, but I know what you mean. And don’t mention it.”
I hung up, my sigh stifled by an idea hitting me. “Ghost!” I called up the attic stairs.
“I’m already looking for stuff on Adrian Rolands!”
I smiled. “Thank you!”
“Did you know he’s married?”
I ran up the steps to find her lying on the loveseat, feet dangling over the side, her equipment on a small table in front of her. She was jacked in, eyes open but seeing something other than the attic room she’d made her home.
“What do you mean he’s married?”
“Few years ago he got married. Must not have gone well, because shortly afterward the joint bank accounts separate and his name is off the lease of their place. But he never got a divorce. They separated, but they’re still legally married.”
“What’s her name?”
“Sabia Monahan.”
“Red should know about this -”
“If the police background check doesn’t turn this up, then they need more help than we can give,” Ghost muttered.
I chuckled. “Good point. I guess we’re pretty useless right now.”
“Pff, speak for yourself. I’m always useful. That usefulness just isn’t always taken advantage of.”
“I stand corrected. I shall leave you to your independent investigations and return to my useful practice of healing the sick.”
The police did indeed know about Sabia Monahan, and not just because she was married to the victim. She was on the security footage, entering and leaving the building the night of the murder. Red invited me to come along to the large apartment in the Corporate Sector for the interview.
Sabia Monahan was a slender, all around average looking woman. She was mildly shaken but not terribly upset over the death of her estranged husband. When asked why they hadn’t divorced, she said Adrian hadn’t wanted it, and as she hadn’t had any desire to remarry she didn’t push the issue. Apparently the police could add either “hopeless romantic” or “egotistical bastard” to the list of things they knew about the victim, depending on how you interpreted his desire to stay married.
“Ms. Monahan, our records show that you own a handgun of the same caliber as the bullet that killed Mr. Rolands,” Red said.
She blinked in surprise. “Am I a suspect?”
“Could you tell us what were you doing in the evening, three days ago?” Red asked in her most genteel voice.
“Three days ago? I went to see Adrian after work, and then went to the shooting range. I’m something of a regular, you can ask around.”
“Do you own a silencer?”
“No. But you already knew that, unless you were expecting me to tell you I obtained one illegally.”
“Never hurts to ask. All the same, we’d like to test your gun, if you don’t mind.”
Her brow rose, but she shrugged as she retrieved it. “Sure.”
Red took the gun, “Why were you visiting Mr. Rolands?”
“He asked me to come, but wouldn’t say why. Turned out he wanted to ask for money to help with his gambling debt. I said no, we argued briefly, I left.”
“I see. Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Monahan.”
“Sabia, please,” she showed us out.
“Well, that would have been too easy,” I muttered.
Red chuckled. “Yeah, she might be lying, but she gave over her gun.”
“It probably won’t match. She could have borrowed one, especially if she’s a regular at a shooting range.”
“True. The other possibility is that someone came to collect on Rolands’ debts and decided to eliminate any possibility of a next-time.”
“But then why shoot him from across the street? If they came to collect, then shouldn’t his credit cards be missing? At least there should be a posthumous withdrawal from a bank account.”
Red sighed, “If Monahan shot her ex, then I don’t know how we’ll prove it. There weren’t any distinct footprints in the building across the street where the killer would have stood. I hate to say it, Doctor, but we can’t solve them all.”
To say that I was unsatisfied would be an understatement. That night I couldn’t get any sleep; my mind refused to just shut up and be still. That no motive had been found kept gnawing at me, and the more I thought about it the more I was convinced that something had been missed. How the hell did Sherlock do this? He would have gone to every place every possibility took him, without question. I had no desire to come home as beat up as Sherlock often did, but doing nothing and going nowhere was driving me crazy.
Then again. There was one place I could investigate without fear of getting myself killed, even though I was certain it would lead to a dead end. Still, it was better than doing nothing.
