Naive by Charles Royce (world best books to read .txt) 📕

close, and I want them to be able to use the elevator with the stretcher.”

“Yes.” Micah turns around to press the key pad.

“Sir, wait,” Officer Palino says. “We have to be careful here with fingerprints. Do you mind giving me the code?”

“It’s 925411. I’ll still have to let them in, but at least they’ll be able to get the stretcher up here.”

The officer’s latex fingers punch in the code. He rushes back to Lennox.

Micah watches. As if in slow motion, the officer follows the river of blood toward Lennox, past the soaked black office chair that has clearly been moved from behind the desk to the far west corner of the living room. Bloody tracks end right beside the naked body. Lights from the ceiling beam down onto the scene, illuminating the dust still swirling about in a traumatized dance from the night’s events. The rays are bathing Lennox in evening peace from the neck down. A cold shiver touches the very center of Micah’s neck, causing a chill that undulates down his back.

This could be it, Micah thinks. He could really be gone.

Officer Palino pushes down on Lennox’s neck with two fingers. Micah squints to see the officer’s reaction.

Is he really dead? Did this really happen? Micah doesn’t know what to think.

The elevator dings. Micah reaches down without looking and presses OPEN. An EMT team, complete with a stretcher, appears.

“Hold up.” Officer Palino raises his palm. “Secure?” he yells to the large female officer who has just finished checking the condo.

“Secure,” she answers.

“Okay then, come on through. Crime scene protocol. Wear your fucking gloves.”

Micah walks toward the officer, who has relocated to the center of the living room. “Is he—”

“Dead? Yes. Well, I’m pretty sure. Waiting on confirmation.”

“Oh God.” Micah collapses onto the couch, streaking the blood starting to cake on his hands onto the sofa arm as he goes down. The officer notices.

“I wouldn’t. Jesus. Stand up, please.”

Micah stands up.

The officer takes off his gloves. “Sir, I’m Officer Mateo Palino from Seventh District Precinct. What is your name?”

“Micah. Micah Breuer.”

“Mr. Breuer, can you tell me what happened here?”

Micah clears his throat. Where do I begin?

“Well, I was at an event,” he says, “wondering where my husband was—”

“And that’s your husband right there?” Officer Palino bobs his head in the direction of the body.

“Yes.”

“Subject is confirmed dead.” The head EMT takes off his gloves and motions his team to exit the premises.

“No, dear God!” Micah begins to move toward Lennox.

Officer Palino stops him with an upraised arm. “Sir, this is officially a murder scene. I’m gonna need you to stand still, please.” He leans in and puts his hand on Micah’s shoulder. “Now, I’m sorry for your loss, but I need to ask a few questions.”

Micah nods.

“You were at an event, wondering where your husband was …” Officer Palino continues, as the female officer moves into position beside him.

“Yes, I couldn’t get ahold of him. I was worried. So I left and came home. I walked through the elevator, yelled for him. Nothing. That’s when I heard something like someone clearing his throat. I walked into the living room and saw him on the floor. It was dark, I thought he’d collapsed from choking or something, so I ran over to him and started doing CPR.”

“CPR, like breathing into his mouth?”

“No, like chest compressions, over and over. It was working at first, but then he just … stopped … breathing.”

The elevator door dings again.

“I’ll get that,” says Officer Palino, who wants to keep his crime scene as pristine as possible. He presses the OPEN button. The elevator reveals a tall man in a buttoned-up black overcoat.

Detective Bronson Penance walks toward them as the elevator doors close. “Just came from Union Square, some hotshot from uptown gunned down in the street. Busy night.”

Detective Penance is 44 years old with salt-and-pepper hair, medium length, slicked back. His crystal blue eyes reflecting the lights from the ceiling as they scan the room. He takes notes in a small black book he’s pulled from his coat pocket, then walks with confidence toward Officer Palino, who motions with his head to join him elsewhere. They veer together to the opposite corner of the room, away from Micah and in a whispered hush, Officer Palino begins to share the information he has collected.

Micah looks down at his hands, which are beginning to crackle from the dried blood. He jiggles his wedding ring right-to-left with his thumb to release it from its crusted bondage. For a second, he thinks about going to the bathroom to wash his hands but remembers Officer Palino’s reprimand from the last time he tried to do anything normal, like sit on his own sofa. Micah turns and looks at Lennox, his partner of four years, his husband of two.

The day they first met.

The wedding.

The last time he saw him alive.

Micah begins to weep.

Detective Penance walks over to the dead man’s body, past the desk, noting the bowl of half-eaten cereal still on the glass desktop. He continues past the green velvet sofa, situated behind the desk to signal the start of the living room, and onto the thick grey jute area rug, which is soaked in blood. Being careful not to touch anything, he bends down to examine Lennox. Skinny man, but built, he thinks. Poor guy. After only five or six seconds, he gets back up, nods to Officer Palino and walks toward Micah.

“You told Officer Palino here that it was dark when you first saw your husband on the floor?”

“Yes. I thought he was choking.”

“You must’ve turned on these can lights above us here after you tried to save him?” He points to the ceiling.

“I—I guess so. I don’t really remember.”

The detective takes another step closer to Micah.

“Let me get this straight,” he says, eyes down in his notebook, walking closer. “You walk into your house.”

Closer.

“Your husband is lying on the floor in a pool of blood.”

Closer.

“You hear him choking, possibly still alive.”

Detective Penance is now face to face