Brad continued, “So, you didn’t do it. Can you tell me what happened from your perspective?”

Cortez wiped the tears from her eyes. “I dunno, it’s all a bit of a blur. Things just happened so fast that I wasn’t able to really process them properly.”

Brad looked at Elaine, who nodded, and then he said, “It’s okay, just tell us what you can remember. Take your time.”

“Well…I was home late from work that day. Something in the evidence locker got misplaced and I had to find it and put it back. I decided I’d surprise Vince with dinner from his favorite restaurant, so I took a little longer getting home than normal. When I made it to the apartment, the place was a mess. The official story is that Vince and I had an argument that got physical before I shot him in self-defense, it was either him or me. That’s…what they say anyway…” Cortez trailed off.

Elaine leaned forward. “But…?”

“That’s just it, though. Vince and I never fight. Never fought…that is. Sure, we had disagreements now and then, like all couples do, but it was never…never like that.”

Brad looked Cortez over, noting that something was missing. “The report says that the fight got physical, but…you look fine. No bruises or anything. How do they explain that?”

Cortez sat up straight, “Oh yes, let me continue. When I got home, the apartment was trashed, like I said. In the kitchen I found Vince…he…he was already gone. Shot in the throat. Thank God it was probably over quickly, but…” she sniffled, her voice breaking. “By him was a chef’s knife…the one he’d bought for my birthday. Real steel, not ceramic. He knew I was trying to learn more recipes…”

Elaine finished for Cortez, “So the official story is that he grabbed the knife when things got too heated, but you put him down before he could get you first.” It wasn’t a question, as she’d read the report previously.

Cortez nodded. “It was at this point when the police showed up in response to noise complaints as well as the sound from the gunshot. Before I knew it, I was in cuffs in the back of a cruiser. No matter what I said, they wouldn’t listen. After all, the murder weapon was my own gun, covered in my prints…”

“And unable to be fired by anyone but you because of the ID tagging system,” Elaine finished, mainly for Brad’s benefit.

Brad raised an eyebrow.

“Police firearms have failsafes installed on them for the safety of the officer. Basically, each piece is registered to one specific officer’s individual fingerprints and other biometric data. That way, they can’t be fired by someone else, such as, say, a suspect in a scuffle with an officer. If someone who isn’t the registered owner of the piece tries to use it, the safety is on and will not be turned off.”

Brad nodded, “I guess that makes sense. Only…” he stroked his chin. “How could it have been your piece if you had just gotten off duty. Wouldn’t it be on you when all this went down?”

Cortez looked down at the floor. “That’s what I don’t get. They say the ballistics profile is a perfect match. And conveniently,” she chuckled, barely masking the pain, “Nobody actually saw how it happened, so this was all pieced together by the officers on scene.”

“That is convenient,” said Brad, before clarifying at the death-glare coming from Elaine, “Nobody saw it happen, but all evidence points to you. It is your word against the law, and the only cases of reasonable doubt come from people who know you. And considering that a common thing said of people convicted of murder is that their friends and neighbors would have never guessed they’d have done such a thing. Seems like they have you dead-to-rights. I see two possibilities.”

Cortez and Elaine both blinked.

“Either you’re guilty as sin. Or this is the perfect crime. Do you know anyone who would want to hurt you or Vince?”

Cortez looked at the ceiling, trying to gather her thoughts. “I mean…Vince was a journalist who a lot of people accused of being ‘too nosy for his own good’, and I work for the police department which always has people upset at it. But I can’t think of anyone who would want either of us dead.”

Elaine straightened up suddenly. “Is there anything that Vince was investigating that people would have not wanted him to see?”

Cortez furrowed her brow. “I mean…maybe? He didn’t tell me everything about his work.” She sighed. “Maybe he was just protecting me.”

Brad rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. “Any chance you have access to his work files?”

Cortez narrowed her eyes and waved her hands, almost to say, “Jail, duh.”

“I mean…did he keep his files in the house, or is there anything in his office? Did he keep backups? Anything will help.”

“I’m not sure, but I’d recommend you search our apartment. Well, for anything that’s still left following the break-in and investigation. The door code is 2215.”

“2215?”

“Yes. It’s the year we got married. We have to make sure we remember our anniversary, right…?” She broke into tears again.

Brad looked Cortez in the eyes, those pretty brown eyes, and said, “I know it’s too much to ask you not to worry, but we’re going to get you out of here, and we’re going to bring your husband’s killers to justice.”

Elaine smiled, “Yeah, they’ll rue the day they decided to mess with your family!”

“Th…thank you, both of you.”

—

After Cortez was taken back to her cell, Brad turned to Elaine and said, “I’m going to head straight to her apartment. Hopefully I can find something.”

“Don’t you want to wait for me to get off work so we can go together?”

“There’s not enough time, and I think it would be better if you were here to keep an eye on Cortez. If Vince truly was investigating something someone didn’t want him to know about, Cortez might be next.”

Elaine paused, and then said, “Okay, but be careful. I’ve tried to keep this meeting as low-profile as I could, but…” she trailed off before finishing, “Just watch your back, okay?”

—

Jill and Vincent’s apartment was a few blocks away from Brad’s office, something Brad found to be kind of odd. Sure, Vincent Cortez was an independent journalist who had some columns in various newspapers, likely not a super lucrative position, but the money Jill would make as an evidence officer should more than make up for it, right?

As Brad considered just why someone would willingly live in this neighborhood when they could likely afford better housing, he noticed his reflection in the window of a shop, or to be more specific, he noticed the reflection of a man wearing a baseball cap with the brim low, trying to block his face.

There’s the look of someone who’s up to no good.