Samurai Code. Don Easton

It’s soaked in blood. The last name looks like Montgomery.”

      “Hang on, I’ll wake her,” said Jack.

      “I’m already awake,” said Natasha. “Overdose?” she asked, taking the phone from Jack who shook his head in response.

      Natasha listened in shock and disbelief, her ears hearing the words, but her mind acting fuzzy and numb. She heard herself speak. She sounded professional, but it was as if someone else were saying the words … putting her brain on hold for the real flood of emotion that would follow moments later. She passed the phone back to Jack.

      “Natasha thinks he lives in an alley close to her clinic,” said Connie. “She thinks she can recognize his sleeping bag and is willing to help us. Think you could drive her and meet us there? We want to find out where this guy was grabbed as soon as we can.”

      “We’re on our way,” replied Jack. “Give me your cell number.” Jack hung up and looked at Natasha. She was sitting on the bed with her knees drawn to her chest, holding the plastic rose.

      “Someone murdered Melvin,” she sobbed. “Why? Why would anyone do that? He was harmless. A gentle person. Why shoot him?”

      “I don’t know. Come on, we need to get dressed.”

      Minutes later, as they rode the elevator down to the parking garage, Natasha turned to Jack as anger started to overcome grief. “Why?” she demanded. “Why would anyone do this?”

      “CC is a good investigator. Very thorough. If anyone will find —”

      “Don’t you patronize me! I know how these things work.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “Melvin isn’t some la-de-da member of society. People like him disappear all the time. Who out there really cares? I’m the only friend he had,” she added, with a sob.

      “Melvin didn’t disappear. He was murdered. It will be investigated as closely as if he was the mayor.”

      “Yeah, right,” muttered Natasha sarcastically.

      Jack hugged her as he sighed and said, “Melvin doesn’t sound all that different from who I was visiting today — Ophelia. I told you about her.”

      Natasha paused, swallowed and said, “You’re different. So am I. Who else has visited Ophelia?”

      Jack grimaced and shook his head.

      “Exactly. And I’m the only one who Melvin could ever turn to.”

      “That may be, but CC is a good investigator. She’ll do her best to solve it.”

      They drove in silence, and were almost at the alley when Natasha asked, “Is she as good as you?”

      “Who?”

      “Connie Crane. Is she as good as you?”

      “When it comes to homicides, I bet she’s better. Homicide is her field of expertise. Mine is organized crime.”

      “How do you know it isn’t organized crime if you don’t look into it?”

      “Honey, come on. Think about it. What you have told me about Melvin. It doesn’t make sense to involve organized crime figures.”

      “Right. Proves what I was saying earlier. All this crap about it being looked at as closely as if it was the mayor. That’s what it is. Crap!”

      “I’m not feeding you crap. You know me better than that,” said Jack quietly.

      They slowly drove up and down several alleys before spotting a crumpled green sleeping bag lying in a pile near the bottom of a wooden hydro pole.

      “That’s it, I’m sure,” said Natasha.

      “We’ll just wait in the car until I-HIT gets here,” said Jack.

      Moments later, Connie was the first to arrive, and Jack and Natasha got out of their car to greet her.

      Connie used her flashlight to closely examine the area while Jack stood with his arm wrapped around Natasha. Her beam caught a sheet of plastic the wind had blown against the side of a Dumpster a short distance away.

      “Bet he used that to try and keep dry,” said Connie. “When the rest of the team gets here we’ll bring that in and print it for —”

      The mournful cry of an animal in distress erupted briefly and went quiet.

      “What the hell was that?” questioned Connie.

      “That could be Winston,” said Natasha. “Melvin had a cat named Winston.”

      “It sounded like it came from around here,” said Connie, walking over and gingerly lifting a corner of the sleeping bag. The sound erupted again. Louder and in more pain.

      Jack, Natasha, and Connie bent down to look as Connie shone her flashlight inside the bag. Winston lay inside, his eyes blinking at the light. His head twisted and turned as he tried to get away, but his legs didn’t move.

      “I’ll get him to a vet,” said Jack.

      “His back and spinal cord are broken,” said Natasha. “He needs to be put down.”

      “It’s only 4:30,” said Connie. “You won’t get a vet much before nine.”

      Winston uttered another long low mournful sound, ending only when he sneezed and coughed up more blood.

      “We think the victim was beaten with a bat,” said Connie. “Must have been when he was in his bag. Bet the cat got in the way.”

      “Oh, God,” cried Natasha, standing up and returning to their car where she sat inside, holding her head in her hands and crying.

      “Shit,” muttered Connie. “Tell her I’m sorry, will you? I thought as a doctor it wouldn’t affect her like this.”

      “Melvin was sort of a special patient,” sighed Jack. “You’ll be here for a while. I’m going to take her home. We’ll fill you in on the details later.”

      Connie watched as Jack got in the car and spoke with Natasha. Seconds later, he returned.

      “Winston is in critical pain,” said Jack. “He needs to be put down. The sooner the better.”

      “He howls all the more when I move him,” replied Connie.

      “I know. I think you should shoot him now.”

      “Me? Forget that! I’m not doing it. Besides, someone will hear the noise and call nine-one-one.”

      Jack looked back at Natasha and took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “I’ll do it,” he muttered.

      “This is a crime scene! You can’t just go and shoot —”

      “Explain that to Natasha. Besides, you’ll want Winston’s body for DNA. Maybe find his fur on the killer. Don’t worry, I won’t screw anything up.”

      Connie watched as Jack retrieved a piece of cardboard and an empty plastic litre pop bottle from the dumpster. Moments later he eased Winston out of the sleeping bag and onto the cardboard and carefully dragged him over beside the wooden hydro pole.

      He stood silently and looked at Natasha. She stared back for a moment before nodding.

      Jack looked down at Winston and said, “I’m sorry, little guy. I really am.” He took out his 9 mm and shoved the barrel into the empty bottle and knelt down, lining up Winston’s head and using the wooden hydro pole as a backdrop.

      Winston sniffed the bottom of the plastic bottle and looked at Jack. Oh, don’t do that … It’s as if you trust me, like you think I am going to help you. Goddamn it …

      The bottle muffled the sound of the explosion, but it was still loud enough to cause Natasha to jerk and once more cover her face with her