apartment.” Schuster ordered. His eyes followed his subordinate officers until they vanished inside the apartment’s bathroom and bedroom. He then turned to Adam seemingly irritated. “Dubois, look at this; he cannot afford to rent a better place, not even buy proper furniture, yet his house is filled with gadgets: a fifty inch TV, a home theatre, video games consoles and a state of the art computer. Kids these days.”
Adam stood there, just silent. The scene was just too much for him to handle. It was one that he had never witnessed before. He had never gotten his hand dirty, as his colleagues used to say. Most of his work required him to stay behind a desk coordinating vital data between different law agencies across the globe. Always engaged in theory rather than application. Yet what may have really disturbed him was Schuster’s indifference and seemingly disconnected reaction to such a grim violent encounter.
“Why didn’t anyone call the police?” Adam asked feeling increasingly sickened. The smell and sight of blood was nauseating. He pretended to be looking around for evidence but in fact he was just trying to distance himself from the uncomfortable scene.
“A lot of people came here illegally, they’d rather avoid our rather unpopular presence in the area.”
“… But a murder?!” Adam’s voice came out shrieking that it made Schuster aware of his shakiness. The Frenchman took a deep breath trying to quell his hectic, pulsating heart rate. Yet, his uncontrollable hyperventilation and increasingly sweaty forehead gave away his nervousness. His whole face glistened under the fluorescent bulbs that illuminated the tiny residential space.
“Everyone is on his own in this part of the city.” Schuster replied in an apathetic disconnected tone.
“IT’S CLEAR!” Exclaimed a loud voice from inside the bedroom.
“Alright, you three go ask the neighbours if they had seen or heard anything suspicious… So, Dubois, another dead end?” Schuster asked as he reported the murder on his radio.
“Not precisely.” He said. “Whoever did this, did it in a hurry and obviously it wasn’t a robbery; even Delić’s wallet along his other expensive belongings were still there. Let’s just hope that they did not find what they were looking for. Unlike yesterday’s heist, this looks very sloppy.” Adam felt confused, from what he had previously encountered, art heists were almost always non-violent.
The Senior Councillor bent down taking a closer look at the body, still refraining from touching it. He did not want to tamper with any evidence before the forensics team arrived.
“He was shot at point blank. Three bullets. Two in the chest and the last one entered through his jaw, exiting the back of his skull. I think he was probably being threatened too. There’s a small mark where the gun muzzle was pressed against his cheek. What do you think they were looking for?”
That was the only question Adam had a perfectly good answer to. “Just plain old leverage. Whatever power he had over them.”
***
The question had to be posed and there was obviously no better time than right here and now. I patiently awaited the first conversational pause to reveal my concern. I was actually hoping that the Italian would present me with a convincing explanation.
“So how did you make it here so fast, Father Russo?” I asked playfully, yet I could tell that it did not go so well; his facial features tensed and cringed to the extent that I feared the irreversible departure of his joyful mood. He was definitely caught off-guard.
“You seem to
Adam stood there, just silent. The scene was just too much for him to handle. It was one that he had never witnessed before. He had never gotten his hand dirty, as his colleagues used to say. Most of his work required him to stay behind a desk coordinating vital data between different law agencies across the globe. Always engaged in theory rather than application. Yet what may have really disturbed him was Schuster’s indifference and seemingly disconnected reaction to such a grim violent encounter.
“Why didn’t anyone call the police?” Adam asked feeling increasingly sickened. The smell and sight of blood was nauseating. He pretended to be looking around for evidence but in fact he was just trying to distance himself from the uncomfortable scene.
“A lot of people came here illegally, they’d rather avoid our rather unpopular presence in the area.”
“… But a murder?!” Adam’s voice came out shrieking that it made Schuster aware of his shakiness. The Frenchman took a deep breath trying to quell his hectic, pulsating heart rate. Yet, his uncontrollable hyperventilation and increasingly sweaty forehead gave away his nervousness. His whole face glistened under the fluorescent bulbs that illuminated the tiny residential space.
“Everyone is on his own in this part of the city.” Schuster replied in an apathetic disconnected tone.
“IT’S CLEAR!” Exclaimed a loud voice from inside the bedroom.
“Alright, you three go ask the neighbours if they had seen or heard anything suspicious… So, Dubois, another dead end?” Schuster asked as he reported the murder on his radio.
“Not precisely.” He said. “Whoever did this, did it in a hurry and obviously it wasn’t a robbery; even Delić’s wallet along his other expensive belongings were still there. Let’s just hope that they did not find what they were looking for. Unlike yesterday’s heist, this looks very sloppy.” Adam felt confused, from what he had previously encountered, art heists were almost always non-violent.
The Senior Councillor bent down taking a closer look at the body, still refraining from touching it. He did not want to tamper with any evidence before the forensics team arrived.
“He was shot at point blank. Three bullets. Two in the chest and the last one entered through his jaw, exiting the back of his skull. I think he was probably being threatened too. There’s a small mark where the gun muzzle was pressed against his cheek. What do you think they were looking for?”
That was the only question Adam had a perfectly good answer to. “Just plain old leverage. Whatever power he had over them.”
***
The question had to be posed and there was obviously no better time than right here and now. I patiently awaited the first conversational pause to reveal my concern. I was actually hoping that the Italian would present me with a convincing explanation.
“So how did you make it here so fast, Father Russo?” I asked playfully, yet I could tell that it did not go so well; his facial features tensed and cringed to the extent that I feared the irreversible departure of his joyful mood. He was definitely caught off-guard.
“You seem to
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