Prologue
The Reverend Jackson Wilde had been shot in the head, heart and testicles. Right off, Cyrus figured that that was a significant clue. Whoever wanted the Reverend dead certainly did not stop at just emasculating him: Blood was splattered all over the sink and cabinets; collecting in a pool of blood underneath the body.
It was messy, but Cyrus figured that messy was clearly an understatement to explain the task following the death of the county's most prominent minister. Clearly his thoughts were leading him towards the start of his search for answers.
"What do you think Theo?"
In response to his question, Theron Ramirez, pushed his glasses more squarely onto his face.
"My initial guess is that the head shot got him. His grey matter is mostly destroyed by the impact of the bullet, which I'm betting was fired at close range. The bullet to his chest missed his heart by a mile and the shot to his balls probably wouldn't have killed him... well not instantly anyway."
Theron's grin earned him an enquiring look from the inspector. Cyrus felt sorry for the Reverend.
"Do you think his balls were shot before the killing blow or after?" Cyrus asked.
"He wasn't dying with a death grip around his balls if that's what you wanted to know. His hands were by his side, see? He probably knew the perpetrator and didn't see it coming."
"Most victims hardly do," Cyrus offered. "Time of death?"
"Judging from the rigidity in his wrist... I'd call it around 5am or slightly after," Theo replied and as though on second thoughts continued, " And Threadgill, if you want that autopsy report ASAP, you've got to get your ass out of my way and not poke your nose around and bug me for it before I'm done okay?"
"Whatever," Cyrus muttered and conducted a visual investigation of the scene. Prints were being dusted for and items were being placed in bags and labeled by the crime scene investigation team. Cyrus spotted his brother examining the carpet for fibers.
"Don't let those pesky press in just yet Ciro. I want every damn inch of this house checked." Not waiting for a reply, Cyrus continued to the living room which appeared gloomy with its drawn curtains against the morning sunshine.
Huddled in the corner of a Natuzzi sofa was a young redhead woman, her head bent; her face buried in her hands. She was sobbing uncontrollably but it was the slim brunette consoling her that caught his attention. She was tall and slender with wide shoulders which served to accentuate her slim waist. Cyrus caught himself staring at her whiskey coloured eyes as if drowning in its flavor. Feeling himself drawn to her, Cyrus stepped forward and stuck out his right hand.
"Cyrus Threadgill, Homicide detective," he introduced. The lady merely glanced, giving him a once over and replied, "Eulalie Duras."
Her voice was controlled yet he did not miss the silkily French accent in her voice. No wonder the whiskey eyes, he thought to himself.
"This is my sister Sybilla. That is her husband," she said, shrugging her shoulders towards the kitchen.
"Mrs. Wilde, if it's okay with you, I need to ask you a few questions," Cyrus began.
Sybilla merely looked up meekly at him and in a hoarse voice he could hardly hear, she said, "I think I killed my husband."
**** Chapter One
Ring!!! The shrill of her phone emanated through the room and invaded her ears albeit rudely.
"Damn it... can't a girl even get a nice four hour sleep for once? It's seven in the morning for god's sake!" Trudging around in her bedroom in search for the source of her annoyance, Astraea almost slipped on her cat, who didn't seem happy that it's' tail almost got stripped off.
"Ramirez speaking," she managed to mumble.
"Astraea, what do you think you're doing at 7 in the morning?" came the reply.
"What the...? Hey buster, I just had the worst night shift and for starters, who the hell is this?" she yelled into the phone.
"Hey sleepy-head... it's Theron okay? Doesn't your brother deserve a buenos diaz now and then?" "What do you want?" she asked grumpily.
"Alright, chill with the crankiness. Well... I'm kinda shorthanded here at the lab. Do you think you can catch the next plane to Dallas?" inquired her brother.
"You want me to quit my job, sell my house, pack my bags and go hallelujah with you?" she replied, clearly annoyed.
"You're always one for drama, baby sis. How bout this: Does the name Jackson Wilde ring a bell?" Theron offered.
"As in THE Reverend Wilde? No... don't tell me you're..." her voice trailed off, hoping she wasn't hearing things.
"That's right. Now get your sassy ass here right now. This has just been your new job assignment."
Astraea Ramirez hardly misses the opportunity to get her hands on a real autopsy. She wouldn't call her latest trend in examining stroke victims, real work. God help her if she didn't become one. Working with Theron on a major examination such as this would go a long way into her career book.
"Do you think Theron would expect me to wear something bubbly or something sassy?" she said to her cat who was still sulking over its rumpled fur. Not long later, Astraea had half her cupboards empty of its content.
"I don't know what to wear," she sighed as she began dumping back all the unwanted clothing and finally decided on a business suit, a pair of jeans and boring t-shirts. She doubted that she would have any kind of social life once she's immersed in her lab work; if not, there's never any better reason for shopping in Dallas.
**** Astraea stood facing the sliding doors of the terminal and gave a sigh. Going to Dallas would give her two lodging choices- Theron's or her mother's place. Choosing the latter, Astraea made her way to the telephone booth and desperately tried to fish for her telephone book. Trust her to forget to charge her phone batteries. Now they're dead and useless.
Finally, with the prize in her hand, she turned to face the telephone, only to find a bob of black curls staring at her.
"Hey! I was here first!" she grumbled to herself but loud enough for the culprit to turn. He gave her a wink and continued with his conversation.
Ten minutes passed and Astraea got bored of shifting her weight from feet to feet. Her plane would soon be boarding its passengers and she needed to talk to her mother urgently.
"Umm, excuse me sir, do you think you could let me use the phone now? I'm sorry to intrude, but there's only one public phone here and I really need to use it urgently."
The man raised his eyebrows and eyed her approvingly. She had a lovely sun kissed tone to her skin, almost bronze- like with soft brown eyes and wavy auburn hair tied up hastily into a knot at the back of her head. The plain black and oversized t-shirt did nothing to hide her ample breast from his eyes. She was hot... and currently annoyed at him, which he found strangely amusing. Rounding up his conversation, he hung up and spoke to her.
"The name's Travelli. Art Travelli. I don't suppose, you'd like a cup of coffee as compensation for my rudeness... Miss?"
Astraea didn't bother to reply him at all. This guy is too damn smooth, she thought as she began dialing.
"Hey Mama, it's me, Astraea. Just wanna tell you I'll be staying over for a couple of weeks... No time to explain now... My plane's leaving in about an hour or so, so that gives you around eight hours to clear all that junk you've stored in my room... Love ya mom, can't chat long, bye!" and hung up before her mother had anything more to add.
Upon turning around, Astraea found the man leaning against the pillar of the booth. "About that coffee, Miss...?" he said, with a grin that almost made her want to kick him in his gut.
"I'm sorry sir, but I'm late," she replied and sped past him even before he could protest; marching towards the security check area.
Thirty minutes later...
Shuffling past the other passengers to get to the back of the business class, Astraea finally found her seat- only to find it occupied by someone with a pillow over his face. Sighing, she sat beside him and stared out the window. His flight ticket was on his thigh and she saw clearly that they were in each others' seats.
Trying to distract herself from her annoyance, she began wondering how Theron was doing. Many said that they never shared any similarities except for their date of birth but she knew otherwise. There were times when she could sense what he was thinking about. Even when she went to work in London, Theron still played a major role in her life.
She was suddenly shaken from her daze when the sleeping man's head started to lean unconsciously on her shoulders.
"You!" she exclaimed and woke him up from his slumber.
