A Short Story

THE GAME
Detective Mike O’Mara left his partner at the scene of a drive-by to mop up. Headquarters needed him at a certain location in the ritzy neighborhood of Marble Hill Estates. The gloomy, dilapidated dwellings along the Penn Central tracks gave way to the more upscale environs. Shots had been fired in a house along Winthrop Street, an exclusive tract of brick, Tudor-style mansions. He was instructed to check things out immediately.
Having been on the force for over twenty-five years O’Mara knew that homicide had no boundaries. Rich, poor, and everyone in between took turns being victims.
O’Mara parked his unmarked behind a sleek, white Cadillac and a patrol car and began walking up the winding, flower-lined pathway to the front door. He was greeted by a rookie cop named Dubinski. The two had met on several occasions at various crime scenes. Detective O’Mara considered Dubinski a competent officer.
“Good to see you again, sir,” said Dubinski.
O’Mara nodded a greeting and said, “What do we got here?”
“The mansion is owned by one Jenny Barbosa, a recent widow. The lady claims that she interrupted a burglary. Plugged the intruder in the dining room. Two shots. One to the abdomen, the other to the chest. The lab people haven’t arrived yet.”
“Doesn’t surprise me, Dubinski. Our town is in a murderous rage tonight.”
The cop pointed over his head. “Full moon. People go nuts when the moon is like that.”
O’Mara glanced at the white orb before entering the foyer. A couple of more steps took him into the front room where a shapely, blonde, middle-aged lady sat on an expensive-looking leather couch dabbing her eyes. She placed her handkerchief in her lap when she heard O’Mara approach.
“Ms. Barbosa?”
“That’s correct.”
“I’m Detective O’Mara. I understand you shot someone breaking into your house this evening.”
“Yes, quite unfortunate. I didn’t mean it.”
When the lady began tearing up again, O’Mara told her that he would be back in a few minutes. Besides allowing her time to compose herself, he wanted to check out the crime scene. He ducked under the yellow tape while putting on a pair of thin latex gloves. Dubinski’s partner stood off to the right, at the end of a rectangular oak table staring down at the victim. When he spotted O’Mara he straightened and nodded slightly. “Evening, sir.”
O’Mara knew his name as well. “Haven’t touched anything, have you Johnson?”
“I know better than that, sir. The man hasn’t moved an inch.”
Without reacting to officer Johnson’s attempt at humor, O’Mara went over and stood at the foot of the intruder, glancing first at the broken window directly behind the fallen man and then at the doorway he had just entered. Glass was scattered all around the dead man. Appearing satisfied, the detective knelt down beside the man laying on his back. He first noted the bullet hole in the man’s stomach and then flicked away a couple of small shards of glass partially covering the hole in the man’s chest and got a better look.
“Johnson cleared his throat before stating, “Gun is in this evidence bag, sir. The lady had placed it on the coffee table in front of the couch when we got here. It’s a .38 caliber. Shell casings are in here also.” He raised the bag slightly.
“Good job, Johnson. Stay right where you are until the crime scene investigators show up. Okay?”
Johnson nodded and O’Mara left him standing there while he returned to the front room. Ms. Barbosa was sitting quietly on the sofa. Tears no longer ran down her checks. O’Mara took a seat opposite her and started his interview. “Were you alone tonight?”
“Yes. I’m a widow. My husband passed away five years ago. Thank goodness he taught me how to protect myself. The gun was his.”
“I see. Why don’t you run through the events that led up to the shooting?”
“Not much to tell. I was in the kitchen making supper when I heard glass break. I immediately ran to the hall closet and grabbed the gun. I keep it loaded, just in case. The dining room light was off. It was dark when I peeked around the corner and there was the outline of this guy, just standing there. My husband taught me to shoot first and ask questions later and that’s exactly what I did. I think I should tell you that there is one area of concern.”
“Concern?”
“Yes. You see I know the intruder. Like me, he’s in the real estate business. He works for a firm on the other side of town. We’ve had a couple of disagreements over the years. Might as well tell you now. It‘ll all come out in the end.”
O’Mara studied her for a brief moment. Something about her demeanor made him think that she was testing his intelligence, almost like a little game she was playing. “After he broke the window and climbed in, you shot him twice, once in the abdomen and another in the chest.”
“That’s correct. The chest shot came first.”
“And how did he fall?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean did he twist as he went down? Did he fall over backwards? Or did he merely slump to the ground?”
“He first grabbed his belly and after the second shot he fell backwards and never moved. I came into the front room and called the authorities.”
O’Mara pulled out a set of handcuffs and asked Ms. Barbosa to turn around. She had no option except to comply. While looking shocked, she began stuttering an objection. O’Mara ignored her and began reading her her rights.
“What am I being charged with?” she asked after acknowledging she understood.
“Murder.”
Her head recoiled with surprise. “Murder? But…but…”
“You might have gotten away with murder except for one tiny detail.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The shards of glass. If the man broke the glass like you claimed and entered the dining room where he was shot and fell on his back, then how do you explain the shards of glass I flicked off his chest. The window had to have been shattered after the man was shot and not before.”
Ms. Barbosa’s head hung in disappointment as O’Mara led her away. She had lost her little game.