Out of Context

Russian Hill
Ty Hutchinson

“Who knows?” Kang blurted.

I watched him flip his jacket collar up and pull it tight around his neck. “I have my men interviewing the people around here and knocking on the doors of the shops in the area, though I’m not hopeful. Most of these stores do’t open until ten in the morning. Even so, a couple of drops of super glue, a firm press to the installation–the killer could have done that without even stopping.”

Kang looked around before turning back to me. The lines in his forehead had deepened. “You still think the killer is your mystery woman?”

“She’s the best lead I have.”

“What about my cases?”

“She’s also the best lead on your cases, because you have none. Why the awesome mood this morning?”

Kang didn’t answer me and avoided my eyes by constantly looking around. This was a different side of him, one I hadn’t seen before. Where’s the playful Kang I know? I had thought we worked well together and were on our way to becoming friends. Maybe he’s a grouch in the early morning, I thought, though he should know he wasn’t the only one who had to drag his butt out of bed early.

I did another walk around the crime scene; there wasn’t much to take in. I circled the work of art and did a larger, ten-foot perimeter.