My stomach's growling and I check the big clock on the wall, the one that reminds me of Mrs. Copanis's third-grade classroom. It's after six and I'm thinking about getting a burger. Or a salad. Doc says I have high cholesterol. I hate salad.
I been reading the same paragraph in the Harrison report over and over. It just ain't sinking in. Probably because I'm still brooding over the phone message that was waiting for me when I walked in. Looks like I ain't gotta worry about Vecchio anymore.
“Moby, I hate to do this to you, and I hate delivering the news over the phone, but my office has recalled me to San Diego. My flight leaves at 4:30 this afternoon. I don’t handle goodbyes very well, so let me just say I hope you understand, and thanks for everything. I learned a lot from you. Good luck with the cyanide case. Knowing you, it’s just a matter of time.”
Short and sweet, just like I like 'em.
But who am I kidding? She was beginning to grow on me, like a stray pooch I took in and had to give back. Don't know why I feel like this. Maybe I'm just gonna miss looking down her shirt.
The phone rings and it's Johnson. Tells me there are glaring discrepencies between his autopsy and the offical report from OCME. Says the cyanide that killed Harrison ain't what's listed in her report. But not only that, the report matches the poison used in all the CK killings. Then he says someone had sex with the body after he examined it and wanted to know how I knew.
Now I have my work cut out for me so this will be my final entry into my journal until I solve this cased. Besides, if I say any more, I'll give away the ending, and we can't have that, now can we?
Have a Merry Christmas, everyone.
BAM - tinyurl.com/l89m699