Bob stared out the hotel window. “She said she’ll sign the papers tonight.”
Angela leaped from the bed, ran to him and pressed her naked body against his. “Finally! Now we can get married.”
He engulfed her in his arms, lifted her and carried her back to the bed. “Absolutely.”
* * *
Carol lay in John’s arms on the king sized bed.
“He said he’d sign the papers tonight,” she said.
John propped himself up on his elbow. “That’s great. Then we’ll marry.”
She pushed him down and rolled on top of him. “Absolutely.”
* * *
Detective Conroy sat at his desk, mulling over the evidence in the case with his partner, detective Peters.
“Despite ballistics saying the same gun was used to kill both of them, I don’t believe this was murder suicide,” Conroy said. “If he shot her then went back to the hotel and shot himself or vice versa, where’s the gun?”
“So you’re sticking to your theory that someone they knew shot them,” Peters said.
“Who? One of their lovers?”
“Doesn’t make sense. If it was one of them, why kill your own meal ticket. Neither of them had two nickels to rub together. Sure they were given expensive gifts, but the real money would come if they married their lover.”
“Maybe they got tired of waiting for the divorce to be finalized. How about unbeknownst to each other, his girl friend shot her and her boy friend shot him?”
“What’d they do pass the gun to each other? Nope, the shooter was definitely someone each of them knew. But I’ll bet the farm neither of the victims knew the other knew the shooter."
Conroy cupped his chin in the palm of his hand and shook his head ever so slightly sideways as if he was telling himself, unbelievable.
"Couple the same gun used," he said, "the $15,000.00 they each took out of their account a few days before the murders and that they have been fighting over their assets for a year and a half with no end in sight and it looks like they both hired the same hit man.”