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"No. Not yet. I came straight here. I have no idea who is trying to kill me and why. I wasn't going to stop anywhere, not even the police station."
"I take it Max is still lying on your driveway?"
I nod, swallowing hard. "I believe so."
"We need to report this immediately. This is not something we can just push under the rug. A man is dead on your property."Father O'Malley pulls out his phone and makes a call, requesting that two detectives come to the church in an unmarked car.
When they arrive, I recognize the stern-faced Detective Morris from the television and his partner, Officer Jennings, both dressed in plain clothes. The questions begin almost immediately, their tone professional and matter-of-fact. I recount the events of my whole day all over again, and it is beginning to irritate me.
"Mr. Dexter, when did you first notice the black sedan?"
"Earlier today, outside the Winston's. I thought it might be a coincidence, but then I saw it again near my parking garage."
"Can you describe the driver or any passengers?" Detective Morris asks, his piercing gaze never leaving mine.
"Unfortunately not. The windows were tinted, so I couldn't see inside, plus it was too far away. I just thought it strange that they would be parked there so early, yet the Winstons are away."
"Tell us about this bodyguard," Officer Jennings interjects. "Why did Martin hire him for you?"
"I shared my suspicions with him when I got to the office, and he said he had a bad feeling about all this and thought it would be best if I had some protection. I didn't argue, given the unease I felt.”
"Could Martin have known something you didn't?" Detective Morris inquires, his brow furrowing.
"I don’t think so," I say, my gut twisting. "I’ve known Martin a very long time. We talk a lot, and he is my project manager, so we see each other nearly every day. I can't imagine him knowing anything like this and not telling me."
"Alright, let's talk about the assassination attempt. Did you see the shooter?" Detective Morris continues.
"No, it all happened so fast. One moment, Max was opening my car door, and the next, he was lying on top of me, bleeding out."
“Who would want to kill you and why?”
“You are the detective . . . you tell me. I have no enemies, at least none that I know of.”
“No need to be snippy with the officer, son. They are here to help.” Father O’Malley says in that annoying priestly voice.
“We intend to find out who is trying to kill you and why, but you need to help us . . . any little help we can get from you will help. Even things you might think are inconsequential.” Detective Morris says as he scribbles something furiously on his notepad. I wonder if he is noting down that I am being naughty and uncooperative.Ohhhh.
“Someone left a cryptic note on my doorstep three days ago, under my welcome scrub rug.”
“What’s a scrub rug?” Officer Jennings asks, furrowing his brows, indicating confusion.
“The bristle floor mat you put at your main entrance for people to clean their shoes before entering the house.”
“Hmmmmm.” He hums to himself in thought. “Do you still have the envelope?”
“Yes. It is at home.”
“You will need to bring that in. Your fingerprints are already all over it, but I would still suggest you handle it with care so you don’t smudge the sender’s prints, if any.” Detective Morris says.
“Understood.”
"Did Max say anything before he died?" Detective Jennings asks softly.
"Only two words: 'Get down.' He must've seen the shooter or something just before they fired." My heart races as I remember Max's final moments, his blood staining my clothes.
"Thank you, Mr. Dexter," Detective Morris says, closing his notebook. "We'll do everything we can to find out who's behind this and keep you safe."
"Where should I go?" I ask, my voice trembling. "I'm afraid to go home, and I don't know who I can trust."
