Justice for Hire by Rayven T. Hill

badge and displayed it. “I’m Detective Hank Corning.”
    The man nodded slightly.
    “You called this in?” Hank asked.
    Another nod.
    “Did you see what happened?”
    The man finally spoke, “I didn’t see anyone around. I pulled in for gas and there they were.” He nodded toward the bodies. “And so, I called 9-1-1.” He shrugged. “I didn’t see a thing.”
    “There were no other cars around?”
    “Nope. The place was deserted.”
    “Did you see anybody on the sidewalk?”
    “Nope. I mean, there might have been . . . I don’t know, but I didn’t see anyone.”
    Hank frowned and glanced back at the bodies. There appeared to be no witnesses, and this guy wasn’t much help. He turned back and slipped a notepad and pen from an inner pocket. “I need your name and address, and then you can go.”
    The man gave him the information and Hank jotted it down. He flipped the pad shut and tucked it back into his pocket. “Someone may need to contact you later,” he said, “but for now, you can go.”
    “Thanks, officer.”
    “Detective.”
    “What?”
    “I’m a detective.”
    The man gave an uncertain nod, as if not knowing the difference, and then climbed into his vehicle. Hank watched him drive across the lot. An officer removed the tape to allow the vehicle to pass.
    Hank went back to where Rod Jameson was standing. “Didn’t get anything from him,” he said.
    Jameson raised his chin toward the cooling bodies. “Nancy’s here.”
    Hank turned. Deputy Medical Examiner, Nancy Pietek, had arrived and was bending over the bodies. Hank went over and crouched across from her. “Hi, Nancy.”
    Nancy looked up. “Nice to see you again, Hank.”
    “Got anything for me?”
    “I just arrived. Can’t tell for sure yet, but it looks like either a double murder, or possibly a murder/suicide. Forensics will be able to tell you more about this one than I can.”
    “It looks to me like a robbery gone wrong.” Hank pointed at one of the victims. “This guy’s wearing a cap that says ‘Full Power Gas Bar’ on it. He obviously works here . . . but who’s this guy? He has no vehicle. Looks to me like he came to rob the place . . . but who shot him?” He thought a moment, and then looked at Nancy. “But, you think it may be a suicide?”
    She nodded. “Possibly,” she said, as she motioned toward the boy. “It looks like this victim was shot point-blank, either self-inflicted, or by someone who stood close.” She pointed with the tip of her pencil. “See those soot marks at the entrance of the wound? And see that star-like tearing in the skin around the wound? When the barrel of a gun is held against bone, and discharged, gases from the muzzle can be forced under the skin, causing it to balloon out and tear like that.”
    Hank whistled.
    “Again, I’ll know for sure after I get him back to the lab and we check for GSR.”
    “And the other guy?” Hank asked.
    “Two shots. One in the shoulder, and one in the forehead. Both at close range. Probably less than five or six feet away. That’s all I can tell you for now,” Nancy said, as she stood.
    Hank took out his cell phone and snapped a few pictures before standing. “That’ll do for now,” he said. “Thanks, Nancy.”
    Nancy turned and walked toward one of the ambulances as Hank knelt back down. Without disturbing the body, he felt in the pockets of the victim wearing the cap. He found a wallet and removed it. He flipped it open and pulled out a driver’s license. Bobby Sullivan. He compared the picture on the card to the face of the dead attendant, and then tucked the license back into the wallet and returned it to the victim’s pocket.
    He turned to the other body and searched it as well. He frowned and rubbed his chin. Nothing in any of the pockets. Not so much as a coin, or a key, or even a bus token.
    Very strange.
    “Hank?”
    Hank looked up.
    “There’s a guy here I think you should talk to.”
    Hank stood and looked where the