Summary: By D.J. Barber Read by Shawn Robertson Rain was dead. She lay sprawled across the tiny kitchen floor, blood had pooled beneath her. Several stab wounds peppered her torso; her face was twisted in fear and agony in a death mask of horror. Sirens wailed in the misty rain on this dark, cold night. A chill ran through me as I left the kitchen and walked over by the radio in the small parlor. It crackled with Toots Malloy; his latest jazzy sax tune melodic and sweet. Murphy and Callahan burst through the door and walked right past me and into the terrible scene by the icebox. Both were in long, dark coats, mismatched hats, black shoes, and wore scowls on their ugly faces. Callahan glared at me, “You call it in?” “Yeah,” I responded, not caring about what the city dicks thought.
