John Brown’s Body

“Ok,” said Blackbeard, pulling up another report. “The victim’s clearly an alien or some kind of swamp creature. There’s no match on the prints, no ID, nobody knows him. Odd, place as small as Panama City Beach, you’d think we’d know him. You got the GSR report?”

“Haven’t seen it. That’ll nail it, though. One of the mooks tests positive for firing a gun on the GSR report and they’re on the hook for this one, no matter what we think. You got it over there?”

“No.” Blackbeard fumbled his cell phone out of the pile, took another sip of coffee, dialed and mumbled into the phone for a couple of minutes. The last little bit was louder, with Blackbeard saying, “You clear that with me next time,” but not saying it that nice.

“No GSR.”

“What do you mean, no GSR,” said Terry. “That’s as standard as locking the door of the jail. We got a victim with a bullet hole in his head and nobody checked to see if the suspects had gunshot residue on their hands?”

“DA called down, said don’t bother with any more tests, kids are going to take a plea, don’t need evidence.”





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