The working day was over.
I was back to staring out the picture window behind my desk at the city lighting the night sky. Bright white lights and red neon did their best to cut through the thick winter darkness. I sipped my whiskey, and instead of thinking about Val, I tried to make sense of this case.
Had Marty Finnegan truly been murdered? Were the boys somehow at fault? They didn’t put a bullet in him, that much was certain. But was it possible they scared him to death? That the stress and pressure of being held at gunpoint was enough to make his fragile heartbreak on the spot?
Other questions also loomed.
At what point did Detective Mastrullo discover his son was on the scene when Finnegan died? How did he figure it out? Maybe he heard the boys were partying at the country clu
