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mentally putting the evening’s events in order when a statuesque woman in a tightly tailored grey suit entered. She introduced herself as Detective Michelle Miller, the homicide officer on duty. She was tall, possibly close to six feet; attractive, and no nonsense. Her blonde hair was pulled up tight on her head, which made her look even taller. She looked like a hard ass who took her job seriously. Randy remained seated while Detective Miller paced around the room in her short heels and even shorter skirt.
    Miller was thumbing through the responding officers’ report. She started her questioning without even a glance at Randy. “Mr. Fairchild, thank you for coming down to answer a couple of questions.”
    “No problem,” He responded.
    “You said you heard what sounded like firecrackers in the alley. Could they have been gun shots?”
    “Yes, of course. They could have been. They most likely were gun shots. They will no doubt account for the dead body that I found by the dumpster.”
    “Do you remember how many you heard?”
    “There were three.”
    “Are you sure it was three? Not two? Not four?
    “Yes, I’m sure. My former job training included paying attention to details like those.” Randy gave the detective a quick synopsis of his previous job description with the Agency. A raised eyebrow and an ever-slight smile gave away that she might have been impressed.
    “We examined your gun tonight, Mr. Fairchild, and it has been fired recently. Would like to tell me about that?”
    “Yeah, earlier this afternoon. I ran several dozen rounds through it at the Blue Plains Range, south of the Air Force Base. I was there for about an hour and a half, from approximately 5PM to 6:45PM. I signed in and out, so I’m sure they will have a record of my visit. I left there in a bit of a hurry, so I haven’t have time to clean my weapon yet.”
    “Why were you at the Blue Duck this evening, Mr. Fairchild?” Another question. She must be recording this, Randy concluded. She’s not taking any notes. It had been a while since he had gone through what felt like a de-briefing. “I was there to meet a Doctor Johnson. We were supposed to have dinner together at the restaurant at 9PM. I had been waiting for about an hour when I heard the shots outside. I’m sure the restaurant hostess and bartender will corroborate those times.”
    “Do you have any idea where this Doctor Johnson is now?”
    “No, I don’t. He never showed. I never met him, and I don’t know where he is. I received a message to meet him at the Blue Duck at nine, but why he didn’t show, I don’t know.”
    “Well, Mr. Fairchild, it seems that Doctor Johnson did indeed show up at the restaurant this evening, at least according to the identification we found in his wallet. You met him in the alley tonight, and he’s downstairs in the morgue right now.”
    *****
    It was well past three in the morning when an irritated Randy returned to his apartment, dropping his car keys, wallet, empty holster, and Detective Miller’s card on the dining room table. It wasn’t the late hour that bothered him. He was more upset with the fact that the DC police had kept his weapon as part of their investigation. Randy plopped down on a dining room chair and absent-mindedly picked up the business card . Michelle, he thought. Homicide Detective Michelle Miller. Not exactly the date he was expecting tonight, but he’d had worse.
    He tried to call Carl on his cell phone, but the answering service was as far as the call went. He left another message to return his call immediately, kicked off his shoes, and fell into bed.
    *****
    Randy’s phone interrupted his troubled but well-deserved sleep at 8AM the following morning.
    “You’d better get up and get over here,” he heard his friend Carl say. “Meet me at my office in an hour.”
     
    Chapter Eight
    After a quick shower, a change of clothes, and holstering a backup .40 caliber, Randy pointed his Suburban toward Carl’s