Blown Away by Shane Gericke

Branch nodded, and she kept going. “A Glock’s the kind of pistol a civilian might buy—familiar, something she’s seen on a million TV shows. She probably bought it for self-protection.” She pursed her lips at the irony. “I know the ex was home when you called. But there’s hourly service between O’Hare and LAX. I presume he has an alibi?”
    Benedetti nodded.
    â€œOK.” She pointed to the Glock. “The gun is still in the car. A killer would have taken it. The position on the passenger seat is consistent with falling from her hand after a self-inflicted gunshot. Did you find the ejected shell casing?”
    â€œWedged at the bottom of the windshield,” Branch said. “Next?”
    Emily pointed at the right temple. “The bullet entered the skull there. Meaning she held the gun in her right hand. That’s consistent with being right-handed.”
    â€œWe don’t know she’s a rightie,” Benedetti objected.
    â€œShe’s got bigger calluses on her right fingers, and the palm and nails are more heavily worn. She uses that hand much more often. Making her right-handed.”
    Benedetti looked impressed. “What else?”
    Emily took a drag of her cigar. It tasted like burnt rope. “Her money and credit cards were intact, so it wasn’t robbery. She’s intact, so it wasn’t rape. She works nights, the last few hours by herself, which explains her having the gun. As for opportunity, Lucy had it 24/7.”
    â€œSo we’ve got means and opportunity,” Benedetti said. “But what’s her motive? Why would this lady kill herself?”
    â€œThe divorce.”
    Both detectives blinked at the bald assertion.
    â€œIt’s not a crisis with the kids,” Emily explained. “Her son’s grown and doing well. It’s not about work. She got a nice raise in a down economy. She looks healthy. Well, except for that ,” she said in answer to Benedetti’s smirk. “So unless she had some incurable disease, that leaves her marriage.” She stopped to play the argument through and, satisfied, continued. “I don’t care how common divorce is nowadays. It’s still an emotional nightmare. Especially for middle-aged women who grew up believing marriage is till death do us part. No matter who wanted the divorce and for what reason, Lucy thinks it’s her fault the marriage ended. Her fault she was abandoned.”
    The word brought the familiar catch in her throat.
    â€œIt ate at Lucy, made her sick with loneliness,” she said. “She couldn’t take it anymore and decided to call it a life.” She shook her head at the sadness of Lucy’s decision. “Murder just doesn’t make sense in this case, guys. It’s too risky. The killer would have had to overpower a blue-collar worker surrounded by power tools, stuff her in that tiny trunk, and drive to the cemetery in the middle of the night. What’s he going to say if a bored cop pulls him over for a safety check? ‘Gee, Officer, I thought she seemed a little quiet tonight.’” She shooed flies from Lucy’s crotch, looked at Benedetti. “So I think suicide. But you’re calling it homicide. Why?”
    â€œSuicides are homicides,” Benedetti replied. “So we treat ’em that way till proven otherwise. But, yeah, I’m ready to rule this suicide, too.”
    â€œYou are?” Emily said, wishing she hadn’t wasted all that time laying out connections he’d already made on his own. “Why didn’t you say so, save me from running my big mouth?”
    â€œâ€™Cause I wanted to hear what you thought,” Branch answered. “I didn’t call you here only for my bad joke. As it happens, we agree with you. Lucy’s a suicide.”
    â€œThough I’d like to see her farewell note,” Benedetti said.
    â€œIf she bothered to write one,”