Murder in Hindsight by Anne Cleeland

hours. She found what she suspected she might; her assailant from the projects had been murdered late last night, shot twice in the head, execution-style. Staring at the photo on the screen, she decided she was not surprised—indeed, she’d half-suspected as much, considering who her rescuer worked for. He probably felt he’d done her a favor.
    I married Acton, and now I meet the most interesting people, she thought. Lucky me.

C HAPTER 7
    D OYLE WOUND UP EATING A CANTEEN SANDWICH AT HER DESK while she worked on the cold case files. She was cross-indexing the old crimes by creating a spreadsheet of pertinent facts about the victims, the type of crime, and the personnel who worked on the cases, including the judges and courtroom personnel. It was detailed and tedious work, which explained why she was all too willing to catch Munoz’s attention when the girl passed down the aisle between their cubicles. “So—how did it go with the graduate student? I’m deservin’ of a report, bein’ as I was instrumental in the battle plan.”
    “Success,” reported Munoz with a self-satisfied air. “We’re going out tonight.”
    “He seemed smitten; it is surprisin’ such tactics were needed or necessary.”
    “I think he was intimidated, at first.” Munoz smoothed back her glossy hair. “A lot of men are.”
    “He’s only dazzled,” Doyle assured her. “In no time a’tall he’ll be takin’ gross advantage of you.”
    “No one takes advantage of me,” the beauty declared with a brow that arched at the very idea. “My problem is that I get bored too quickly.”
    With acute regret, Doyle bit back a rejoinder about a certain Irishman pretending to be a Russian, and instead offered, “Patience is a virtue, DS Munoz.”
    The other girl drew up a corner of her mouth in derision. “That’s a laugh, coming from you.”
    Nettled, Doyle returned, “Not everyone is as lucky as I was.”
    “Oh-ho, so you’ll admit it was sheer luck? What—was Acton drunk at the time?”
    This hit a bit too close to home, and Doyle retorted hotly, “Lucky he didn’t fall for the likes o’ you, he is.”
    But Munoz was aware she’d landed a punch, and pronounced with no small amount of satisfaction, “He’ll wake up; it’s only a matter of time, with a man like that.”
    Doyle rose to her feet and clenched her fists. “Take. That. Back.”
    Abruptly, Munoz subsided and exclaimed in exasperation, “You’re right; I have to take it back—can’t you see? You always have to win, now.”
    Although she still glowered, Doyle saw the justice of this remark and sank down into her chair again with a thud. “It’s ridiculous, is what it is.”
    With a sound of extreme annoyance, the other girl agreed. “Yes, it’s ridiculous. I’m lucky my date isn’t even aware of the stupid incident .”
    But Doyle reminded her with heavy regret, “He will be; no one can let it go, the stupid knockers.”
    They contemplated this sad fact a bit glumly, Munoz’s impressive breast rising and falling with a sigh. “No, they can’t let it go. And you will have the upper hand for all eternity.”
    But Doyle suddenly raised her head and met Munoz’s eyes. “No. No, I don’t have the upper hand. You would have done the same for me; it was only luck that it was me instead of you.” They paused for a moment, both of them considering this profundity in the silence it deserved. Doyle insisted, “It’s true; you would have, Izzy.”
    Munoz nodded in reluctant acknowledgment, but still could not quite concede. “I know how to swim, though, so it wouldn’t have been the same.”
    Now it was Doyle’s turn to consider this, seriously and with a knit brow. “I don’t think that matters; we’re even.”
    The other girl slowly agreed, “Yes, you’re right; it was only a matter of luck—that it was you instead of me.”
    “And you and I both know it, even if no one else does.”
    Munoz blew out a breath. “I can live with that.”
    “Cheers.”