"What do we have so far?" McLaughin asked.

Johnston replied,"The victim, one David Carey, from what I have been able to deduce was shot once through the back of the head."

The two men, officers of the Angel Falls Police Department, were standing in a small office of a home at 412 West Bridge, where fifteen minutes earlier they had been called to investigate a possible homicide.

The call had been placed by the victim's son, who had arrived home from school to find the dead body of his father.

Lieutenent William McLaughlin, age forty-one, had been a lieutenent for three years in Los Angeles. A murder investigation was nothing new to him, but each time it made his stomach turn. No matter how many times he dealt with it, it didn't get any easier. It had been the main reason he had took the job in Angel Falls. Angel Falls was a small, peaceful town. Murder was the last thing a cop thought about when he started his shift.

Lieutenent Ron Johnston, had grown up in Angel Falls, so unlike McLaughlin he wasn't as advanced in murder investigations. He was two years younger then McLaughlin, but through time and long hours spent together the two had become good friends.

McLaughlin viewed the body of David Carey, with an eye only a man, who's investigated a homicide before, could possess. When the body had been discovered, he had been seated in the tan swivel chair, behind the desk, his body leaned over the desk. If not for the bullet home in the back of his head, a few inches from the top, David Carey might have just looked to be asleep. One thing was certain, in McLauglin's mind, whoever had shot David Carey was someone he knew. He knew this for two reason: One, the window behind the desk wasn't broken, and the lock was still intact; two, if David Carey had been sitting on the chair, the he would have been able to see anybody who entered into the office.

"David Carey welcomed his killer into his office," McLaughlin stated, "only at the time, he thought he was welcoming a friend."

Johnston was in awe by McLaughlin's observations. Little things, which would have flown right by him, never seemed to escape McLaughlin's eyes. He had learned a lot from McLaughlin, a lot more then he had learned at the Academy. McLaughlin had told him, everything in an investigation is important, and everyone who knew the victim, family or otherwise, was considered a suspect until other circumstances ruled them out.

"Of course," McLauughlin said, "The killer could have entered the room before David Carey, hid himself real well, and when David Carey sat down, he or she shot him. But since their is no signs of forced entry, we have to go with our intitial thought. The thought that David Carey was killed by someone he knew."

The setting, June sun was shining through the window, directly onto the desk, where probably less then an hour earlier, David Carey sat, hunched over, working on something. The sun was just above the top of the window.

"It's safe to say," McLaughlin said, "that robbery wasn't the motive, since nothing, which is usually missing in a robbery seems to be gone. Whoever shot David Carey, had one thing on their mind. They came to shot David Carey. All we need to do is find out why?"

He was well aware that the why was the hardest thing to find out. Sometimes it just seemed to find a good place to hide.

"I need for you to start digging into David Carey's past, find out what kind of person he was, who his friends were, if he was involved in any community organizations, how many people he has pissed off since he was born," McLaughlin said. "In fact I want you to look into every- thing David Carey did since he popped out of his mother. I want to know when he took his first step, I want to know what his first words were. I want to know when he got married. I even want to know when the last time he took a shit was, and what type of toilet paper he used. Don't leave anything unexplored, 'cause it could be the one thing that will lead us to the killer."

"Even the last time he had sex?" Johnston joked.

McLaughlin didn't catch the joke. "Yes. Not only the last time, but with who. Hell, I even want to know if he was on top, or she was on top."

"How do you know David Carey wasn't..." he stopped himself before he said the words, a fag, he could still remember what happened the last time he used those words in front of McLaughlin. He hadn't seen it coming till he was flat on his back. "...gay."

"That's what your gonna find out," McLaughlin stated.

"What are you gonna do?" Johnston asked. So far it had been McLaughlin giving him orders.

"I'm gonna have a little talk with David Carey's wife and son. If anybody knows anything about him which isn't public knowledge then they would."

Johnston reached into the breast pocket of his Panhandle Slim western shirt, and extracted a cigarette. He placed it between his lips and lit it.

"You know those things are bad for you," McLaughlin said.

"So?" Johnston said.

The only reason McLaughlin had mentioned it was 'cause he was trying desperately to stop smoking himself. After smoking since he was a junior in high school, he had been determined to quit, and not because he had heard more times the he could, or cared to, remember how bad they were for him. It had been two months since his last cigarette, and the urge wasn't even there, until he saw some ungrateful slime light up in front of him. The urge would only last a short while, and then it would fade away.

"I'm just concerned about you. I don't want you dying from lung cancer, or even something worse."

"A man has only a few pleasures in life, "Johnston said, taking a puff of the cigarette, which made McLaughlin even madder. "Mine happen to be a cigarette and a warm women. I would much rather die in the arms of a warm women, but if I die from smoking, then I know I died from something I enjoyed. Unlike David Carey, unless his pleasure was getting shot.

"You're an asshole," McLaughlin laughed.

"We all have our own special talent."

"And yours is being an asshole?"

"I say if you're good at something, then stick to it. What's your talent?"

"Putting up with assholes like you."

"What do you say this asshole buys you a beer," Johnston said. "I need a cold one before I go and start checking to see if David Carey had hemroids."

Michael Carey opened his eyes, to a sight unfamiliar to him. The morning sun was shining through the open curtains directly into his eyes. He placed his arm across his face to block out the rays, but they sneaked in and around his arm like puffs of smoking escaping from a fire. An uneasy chill went through his body. He as aware of something being wrong, but it escaped him. For starters, he wasn't even in his own familiar bed, where he was wasn't even his own home. If it had been his home, the first thing he would have seen upon opening his eyes was the 8x10 picture of him and his mom and dad they had taken at the beach the summer before.

"Damn," he screamed, when he felt the wet stain on his pajama bottoms. They weren't even his pajama bottoms, which made the fact, he had pissed the bed that much worse. Michael knew he had a kidney problem, or at least that was what he told his parents, when at the age of ten he was still peeing his bed. His father had just contributed it to sheer laziness. It had been almost two years since he had last wet the bed, and now it was starting all over again. He felt bad. He felt like he hadn't felt in a long time. The pressure and anger of what he had done overwhelmed him, and he began to cry.

The door to the room swung open, and an elderly lady, with features that looked like they were carved out of stone and set into a deep thoughtful expression, entered.

"How are we doing this morning?" she asked.

I don't know how your doing, Michael thought. He never understood why people asked such stupid questions. He was thirteen years old, he wasn't some five year old, "I'm okay. I quess," he replied.

"Well let's take a look at you," she said, approaching the bed.

Michael's heart began to beat fast, feeling like it was going to jump out of his chest. He gripped the blankets tight around him.

"If you don't release the blanket, then I can't check your heartbeat," she said. Even though her features looked rough, her voice was kind and soft.

"My heart's just fine," Michael replied. "I haven't had a heartattack yet."

"Release the blanket this minute, young man. I don't have all day to stand around and play games with you."

Michael reluctantly lossened his grip on the blanket. Embarassment washed over his face. "I didn't mean too. I don't even know why I did it."

"It's perfectly alright," she said, when she saw why he had been holding onto the blanket so tight. "after what you've been through, peeing the bed is a small thing. I think you're holding up pretty well."

What had he been through?

Had he got in a car accident?

Was his mom and dad all right?

Or were they...

Dead?

It hit him heard. It didn't ease into his mind, but thundered it's way in. All of a sudden, he remembered what had happened. He could see it, just like it was when he first saw it.

The pain just wouldn't go away.

It hurt deep, deeper then anything else she could have ever imagined. Their were no physical wounds to her, just the wounds of her heart. The king-sized waterbed, she had shared with David, for the last, fourteen years, had become the lonliest, saddest place there ever was. She had found herself, instinctively reaching over to press her body close to his. When she didn't feel him, she began to cry. Most of the night had been like that, until she finally relented, and gave up trying to sleep. If Michael had been with her, then she might have found a way to get through the night, if not for her sake, but for his.

For Sue Carey, her husbands death had hit her hard. At first, when she received the news, she hurt too much to cry, but as time went by, and she began to realize what she had done, the tears were hard to stop. Well, David Carey was being shot, she was snuggled in the arms of another man.

It wasn't she didn't love David anymore, but in the last five years of their marriage, he had become more involved with his work, and most nights she was left alone. A women had needs, needs only a man could satisfy. When she met, Derik Simm's, she knew she couldn't resist the magic he offered her. It was like it had been at first with David, pure passion. The enjoyment of each other's bodies held close together.

David had been the first, and only man, she had ever had sex with, until she met Derik Simm's. Every afternoon, while David was at work, she was with Derik. Derik touched her in places that David had only touched her when they had first fell in love. She missed those soft kisses behind her neck, the feel of his hands on her breasts, and the sweet tender words, he would whisper in her ear.

She had been a naive sixteen year old girl, when she first met David. She was an awkward girl, too tall for her age. Most of the other boys were afraid to as her out, since she was taller then them. But David Carey was different, instead of a tall, lanky girl, he saw an exquisite creation of God's. A women who was just waiting to blossom.

She had been sitting underneath the Oak tree in front of the school, reading a book, when David spoke to her for the first time. She had noticed him, from the first day he had started school, the way he conducted himself. He was full of self-assurance.

"Hi," he said, "what are you doing?"

She looked up, squinting from the sun in her eyes.

"Reading."

"Like to read?"

She nodded her head.

"So do I," he replied.

She placed her bookmark to save her page. She didn't know what to say to him, but a boy was taking the time to notice her, and she wasn't going to push him away. She tought he was by far the most handsome boy she had ever met. His hair was the color of ripe corn, with little strands hanging down his forehead. His eyes shimmered like clear pools of water on a hot summer day.

I don't believe we've been introduced," he said. "My name is David Carey."

"I'm Sue Morgan."

He smiled. "I know who you are."

She would later find out that he had asked about her. And as he would put it, he thought she was the most beautiful women he had ever laid his eyes on. And when he finally approached her he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"I was wondering," he said, "The Spring Social is coming up next Friday, and I was just wondering if you would like to go with me?"

She didn't know what to say. She had never been to a dance before, but then nobody had ever asked her. Maybe it was all just a big joke. she would show up and everybody would laugh at her.

"I'm quite a bit taller then you," she said. "Aren't you afraid people will make fun of us."

"If they do, then their just a bunch of jerks."

"Why me?"

"Why you?" he asked.

She hadn't realized she had said it out loud.

"Why not you?" "You seem like a nice girl."

She smiled. "What time should I be ready."

"Pick you up at six."

"The dance doesn't start 'till eight."

"I can't let you go dancing on an empty stomach."

That first date with David, had been the most wonderful night of her life. They danced every dance together, and afterwards they went for a long drive in the country. She felt like the wind was carrying her. She had grabbed onto her star and was being led to her magical place. The whole thing had seemed so natural, it was like she had been destined to met David Carey.

Now he was gone.

Nothing could ever fill that void left by him.

She fixed her a Vodka Martini, which was unusual since she only drank on special occasions and never before five o'clock. In order to keep her mind off her own pain, she began to pickup around her house. First, she cleaned the livingroom, where everything reminded her of David. Second, she went to put a load of clothes in the washer.

As she moved a pair of David's pants, that's when she saw it.

And her whole world turned black again.

For McLaughlin the day didn't get going until after he had that first cup of coffee. Before that first cup, he was about as friendly as a lion caught in a trap. The other's knew to stay away from him, until every last drop of the cup was gone, and then, and only then, could they approach him. And even somedays, you approached him at your own risk.

This was one of those days.

The Angel Fall's skies were overcast. Dark, rolling clouds had moved in overnight, blocking out whatever rays of sunshine there were. A steady drizzle and began to fall the moment, McLaughlin left his house, and had continued to fall for most of the morning. It was typical weather in the small, lazy town of Angel Falls.

But everything in Angel Falls wasn't typical.

David Carey had been murdered less then twenty-four hours earlier, and the town was in a state of panic. It wasn't use to waking up and hearing one of their own citizens had been killed. Things like that just didn't happen in Angel Falls. Of course, there was the time Max Bronson had stabbed his father five times, with a butcher knife, and then turned the knife on his mother, slicing her throat until she bled to death. The town cried for Max Bronson's blood, and McLaughlin was afraid the townfolk would scream for the blood of David Carey's killer.

The phone had been ringing all morning, with reporters trying to find out if anybody had been arrested as a suspect. McLaughlin had nothing to give them, and wasn't sure if he ever would. It was one of those cases, as a policeman, you hate investigating, 'cause there are no leads. He feared it would be the one case, he would take to his grave unsolved.

The time span between Max Bronson's murder of his parents and David Carey had been more then ten years. So other then a few isolated incidents, Angel Falls was the ideal place to raise a family, and one of the safest to be a policemen

The rain hadn't dispated. It hadn't picked up any, but still it didn't show any signs of slowing down. Has he listened and watched it fall, he couldn't keep himself from thinking of what was going on in Michael Carey's mind. Not only had he lost a father, he had probably lost the best friend a boy would ever have. Even though most of us don't realize it, until it's too late.

When he mentioned it, over supper, the night before, his son Robbie became quite and withdrawn. He wouldn't speak and hardly touched his food, which caused McLaughlin to become concerned, since they were having Spaghetti, robbie's favorite.

Do you know Michael Carey, very well?" McLaughlin asked.

Robbie shook his head, "I feel real bad for him Dad, he doesn't have a whole lot of friends. I tried to get him to hang with me one time, but he said, he really didn't have time to. And most of the other kids, tease and make fun of him. I don't think he's a bad person, just a little different."

A silence hung in the air for a few seconds, but for what seemed like eternity...

"Dad..." Robbie began to say.

McLaughlin knew the reason for his son's hesitation. At the age of thirteen, you began to believe your parents are invincible. Nothing in this world could ever harm them, and when the parents of someone they know, dies, then they begin to realize their parent's aren't invincible. The thought is more terrifing, then the thought of their parents actually dying.

"...I want you to know one thing. I'd hate myself forever if you died like Michael's dad, and I never told you once. I love you, Dad."

McLaughlin was touched, and even though he tried to hold it in, he could feel the tears on his cheeks.