He knew his life would be over in a few seconds. When the gunshot went off his last thought before blackness was,

    WAIT!

    The night had a crisp feeling to it, the kind that comes with early fall evenings. Pushing leaves down the road, the light breeze wove its way around houses and yards. It blew over the body, rustling the hair. The branches of the tall pine trees standing a few feet away swayed with a rhythm, like they were dancing to a slow tune. Streetlights had been on for an hour and porch lights started turning on as the echo of the gunshot drifted away with the wind.

    "It’s happened." The living room was shrouded in darkness, curtains closed except for one where a figure stood, drink in hand, stealing looks out toward the backyard of his best friend. He put the glass to his lips and drank the last of the whiskey, ice cubes clinking when he placed the glass on the coffee table. Tilting his head, he heard police sirens in the distance, coming closer.

    "What’s up, Jamie?" Detective Sergeant Mills Heller closed the gate to the backyard and strolled over to the body.

    "We got a 911 call, gunshot heard. We found the guy shot in the chest; no weapon has been located. He’s Glenn Freeman, runs the hardware store downtown. The wife isn’t around; we’ve got an ATL out for her," Patrolman Jamie Kessler volunteered. She had been on the force for ten years and was the senior officer at the scene. The other two cops were standing by the patio that protruded from the back of the house.

    Heller looked the possible crime scene over: body lying on its back, arms outstretched, dressed in shirt, pants, shoes and a light jacket. There were no tracks to be seen in the grass, no gun. The wound looked like a large caliber, bigger than a .22 or .32 caliber.

    "Has anyone searched the yard for the gun?" Heller pulled on his nose with his thumb and index finger, common when he was thinking.

    "No, Miles. We did a prelim visually, but thought we’d wait for you to get here before we did anything else." Kessler said.

    "Good. I see an empty glass on the patio table, and one chair is pushed out." He spotted the forensics officer. "Keith, bag the glass over there, then do your thing."

    Nodding his head, Keith Turner took a baggy out of his forensics case and with rubber gloves on, placed two fingers inside the glass and spreading them with enough pressure to lift the glass up, put it in the baggy. An assistant took the glass from him and secured it in an evidence case. Turner took a camera and started taking pictures of the victim and the scene.

    "What’s going on here? My God! Glenn, Glenn!" Her long dark hair swirled as she screamed the last.

    "Oh, crap, the wife." Jamie went over to the woman and tried to steer her away.

    "Get your hands off me! Glenn!" Her strength was greater than what one would expect from a five-foot, four-inch, slim woman. The shove she gave Officer Kessler was hard enough to make Jamie stumble backwards several feet.

    "Someone call a doctor," Kessler yelled. She encircled the woman with both arms and tried moving her toward the back patio door.

    "Let me through, I’m a doctor." He pushed past the group of cops merging on the woman and grabbed her arms.

    "Amy...Amy! It’s me, Stephen." Recognition showed in her eyes. "Come on, lets go in the house." His glasses had tilted when he first grabbed her and he straightened them as she allowed him to lead her into the house. "Sit down, here." He gently lowered her to the couch then rapidly walked to a cabinet near the kitchen. Opening the cabinet door, he poured a glass full of whiskey and took it over to her.

    "Knock it down, quick." He ordered.

    She squinted at the level, then drank the glass empty. Holding the glass out, she said, "more." Her eyes were bright and she seemed to be settling down. She took the offered refill and with a slight upwards gesture, gulped it half down. "That’s better; thanks, Stephen."

    Jamie stood next to the patio door. "Mrs. Freeman? Do you think you can answer a few questions?"

    "Officer, I’m Dr. Stephen Coulter. Glenn and Amy are my patients, I think she needs to wait before answering anything. She is quite upset."

    "Sure, I understand. I’ll tell Detective Heller." She left the house.

    "How’s she doing?" Heller asked Kessler. Areas of the yard were being illuminated from the flashlights as the police searched for a weapon and clues.

    "Her family doctor is in there; says we should wait awhile before we question her. She’s pretty upset. Find anything?"

    "No, it looks like someone shot him from the front. They must have taken the gun with them because we can’t find it here. I’ve got some guys working the alley, but nothing yet."

    Patting Turner on the shoulder, Heller said, "Tag him and bag him, Keith; we’ve got all we’re going to get here." He looked at the body one more time, noting that the toes of the shoes were scuffed and there were some kind of particles on his trousers and shirt front. The victim’s right hand had a red angry long mark on the palm, almost like a rope burn.

    Heller looked at Kessler, then in the direction of the patio door. "She in the living room?"

    "Yeah, she was a couple of minutes ago."

    Heller knocked on the patio door, then entered. Limping a little, he approached Mrs. Freeman. "I’m sorry, but I have to ask you just a couple of questions."

    "When can I see Glenn?" She looked at his leg.

    "Tomorrow, probably in the afternoon. Did your husband have any enemies? Someone who owed him money? Threaten him?"

    "No...no. He was respected and well liked. Stephen is, I mean was, his best friend. I can’t believe this has happened. Oh, God!" Tears started flowing down her cheeks as she put her hands over her face.

    "Is there anyone I can call for you, Mrs. Freeman? I’m finished for now." Heller was always uncomfortable asking the survivors questions so soon after a death.

    "I’ll give her a sedative and call for a friend to come over, Detective."

    "That’s fine. Dr. Coulter, maybe after tomorrow I can get back with her." Heller limped back outside, closing the patio door quietly.

    "What’s the matter with your leg, Miles?" Kessler asked as she watched him limp over to her.

    "Nothing, people see me limp and they’re easier to question. They get wondering if I got hurt on the job or born with a bad leg. I think people see me as less intimidating."

    "That’s a new one. I might have to try it sometime." Kessler snorted with a laugh.

    "Give me a hand, Jamie. I’ll go down this side of the street and you go up. Brown and Larman can check across the street. We’ll go around the block canvassing the people at home and meet at the cars. Just write down the addresses of the houses no one answers at."

    An hour later they compared notes. "About the same story with everyone, Miles. Nice guy, heard the shot; Joyce Henderson, two houses down called 911. In fact, we were a couple of blocks away when the call came in. Only took a minute to get here and we didn’t see any cars racing away."

    Both Brown and Larman reported nearly the same. A gunshot sounded, no one saw anything.

    "I found one house empty." He pulled his nose. "The next door neighbor says Dr. Coulter lives there. A widower. Other than that, same as you guys."

* * *

    "Okay Miles, the autopsy shows death by gunshot; a .45 caliber hit him in the heart, basically killing him instantly. Paraffin tests show nitrates on the palm of one hand, as if he were holding it in a defensive manner. No doubt, it’s a homicide though there is one interesting thing." The pathologist gave Heller the report and stood back waiting to see if Heller picked it out.

    "He had cancer?"

    "Yeah, pancreatic. Probably didn’t have more than a couple of months to live. Poor bastard." The pathologist clicked his tongue then silently strolled down the hallway of the morgue.

    She stiffened when the phone rang. "Hello."

    "Mrs. Freeman, this is Detective Heller, you may come down and see your husband this afternoon. We’ll also use this for the official identification and if you’re up to it, I’d like to ask you some questions afterward."

    "All right. Is two o’clock okay, Detective?"

    "Yes, it is, I’ll meet you there."

    He’s nice looking, she thought. I wonder why he limps.

    "Come in, please." He held the door open. She’s punctual. "The viewing room is down here." He walked with her, limping a bit, to a large glass window with a shade pulled down.

    "If you’re ready?" She nodded yes. "Open the shade, Charlie." He spoke into a microphone. He heard her sudden intake of breath. "Are you okay?" Her husband’s body lay on the gurney behind the viewing window, a blanket pulled up to his neck.

    "Oh, Glenn. Who did this to you?" Silent tears fell as she pulled a handkerchief out of her purse. Spinning around, she hurried out into the lobby of the morgue. "Where do you want to talk, Detective?"

    He led her to a small office and sat in a chair facing her, in front of the desk. "Can I get you a drink of water, Mrs. Freeman? Or call someone?"

    "No. I’ll be all right. Ask your questions." She had quit crying and watched him with red-rimmed eyes, her back straight.

    "The estimated time of death was about seven-thirty. Where were you?"

    "I was grocery shopping. I left the house about seven and went to Collier’s Market, on Broadway. I browsed around and decided I would get Glenn to take me out for dinner instead of fixing it, so I didn’t buy anything."

    Heller wrote some notes down. "Did anyone see you? Or did you speak to anybody?"

    "Not that I recall."

    "What kind of life insurance did your husband have?"

    She seemed startled a bit by the question. "He was self- employed so he had a universal life policy for $250,000. The cash accumulation was going to be part of our retirement eventually."

    "Did the policy have any special riders or benefits with it, Mrs. Freeman?"

    Looking at the floor, she murmured, "I believe it had a double indemnity if his death wasn’t from natural causes."

    "When had he been diagnosed with cancer?"

    Her head jerked up. "Cancer? I don’t know anything about cancer. Are you sure?"

    "Yes, the autopsy shows it. He had about two months left. I believe last night someone said Dr. Coulson was your husband’s doctor? Is he the only doctor your husband saw?"

    "I don’t understand this. Glenn didn’t say anything to me about having cancer. Stephen hasn’t said anything."

    "Are you close with Dr. Coulter?"

    "Oh, yes. Stephen and his wife, Sara, were our best friends. She was killed about seven years ago in a terrible car wreck. I don’t think Stephen ever quite got over it. He suffered from deep depression, actually went to a clinic for several months. He’s been family since. Very caring. Glenn and he have been like brothers." She dabbed her eyes again.

    "Did your husband own a gun?"

    "Yes, a pistol. Like the Army has."

    "Could we go to your house and have you get it for me?"

    "I’ll meet you there, Detective. I think I’ll have my attorney meet us too. Is that all right with you?"

    "Certainly. I have an officer out front of your house now. What if we meet there in an hour?"

* * *

    Heller walked down the halls of the hardware store; the assistant manager had opened it. So Mrs. Freeman could have some income during this tragic time.

    "Is this surgical tubing?" Heller pointed to a coil of transparent hose.

    "It is. Folks buy it for its ability to stretch and maintain its flex." The assistant manager said.

    Heller grabbed one end and pulled. "Do you sell much?"

    "Nahhh. Last one was a kid. Wanted to use it to make a giant sling shot."

    As Heller drove to the Freeman’s residence, he called Officer Kessler on the radio and asked her to see if Dr. Coulter could meet them at the house. Several minutes later, she radioed back that Coulter would be there.

    Inside the house were Amy Freeman, Dr. Coulter, Officer Kessler, Jonathan Lieberman, Attorney, and Detective Heller.

    "Do you have the pistol, Mrs. Freeman?" Heller limped over by the fireplace, where he was able to face all the people. Kessler hid her smile with a quick hand to her face.

    "No, I can’t find it. I don’t know where it could be."

    "Dr. Coulter, you diagnosed Mr. Freeman with pancreatic cancer, didn’t you?"

    The color drained out of Coulter’s face. He nodded. "Five months ago. There’s no cure."

    "It’s quite painful...at the last?"

    "Yes, usually for the last month or so, the patient has to be under heavy sedation."

    "Dr. Coulter, how did Mr. Freeman feel about that?" Heller had the autopsy report in his hand, staring at Coulter.

    His voice lowered to just above a whisper. "He didn’t want to die that way."

    "Doctor, you knew he was going to commit suicide and make it look like a murder, didn’t you?" Heller waited, his finger and thumb started pulling on his nose.

    "He...,he wanted Amy to get the double indemnity on his life insurance. They are my best friends, I didn’t want Glenn to suffer in the end. He asked me to help him plan it, but I couldn’t do it. He called me last night to say goodbye and wanted me to take care of Amy. When I heard the shot, I knew he had done it."

    Jonathan Lieberman strutted forward. "That’s a fine hypothesis, Detective, but you have no proof. Where’s the gun? I think you’ve just been wasting my client’s time."

    Heller put some reading glasses on and opening the folder, said, "The wound had pieces of cotton fiber, not consistent with the victim’s clothing. Splinters of pine bark and pine needles were embedded in victim’s trouser legs, front side, and front of shirt. The right hand had an abrasion one half inch wide by three inches long, diagonally from the index finger to the lower palm. Paraffin test indicated nitrates on palm of left hand and none on the right hand."

    Outside, Keith Turner was coming in through the gate to the back yard carrying his forensics case. "Jamie, come with me outside." Heller and Kessler opened the patio door and joined Turner.

    "Look at this tree trunk." Heller indicated one of the large pine trees. "The bark has been scraped on the front and sides." He bent under the overhanging branches heavy with thick pine needles. "Ahhh...,look...,there." Heller pointed up. Dangling down between the branches was a gun wrapped in a towel and attached to the tree by a length of surgical tubing.

    "Get pictures, then bring it down and into the house. Give him a hand, Jamie." The detective went back into the house.

    "What’s going on, Heller?" Lieberman questioned.

    "Hold on a minute." He replied as he watched Turner climb into the tree. A few minutes later, Turner came in the house, carrying the baggy containing the find.

    Heller took the baggy and held it up so the contents were visible. "Mr. Freeman was dying from cancer. He knew the end would be something he didn’t want to experience, and he wanted his wife to get the full benefit of his double indemnity life insurance policy. Since the double indemnity only paid if the death wasn’t from natural causes, and cancer is considered natural, he devised a plan to make it look like murder. He brought the surgical tubing home from his store. It will stretch about ten times its length. He climbed up the tree and tied one end between the branches and the other end to the gun. That’s why he had bark and needles on his clothes. His shoes were scuffed from climbing and coming down the tree. He pulled the gun down and stretched the tubing so tight with his right hand, it left an abrasion on his palm. The towel taped over the slide of the gun would keep the shell casing from falling on the ground, but it also kept his right hand from getting nitrates on it. When he fired, the towel held the casing, the stretched surgical tubing recoiled back into the branches of the pine tree taking the pistol with it. The branches are so thick they almost totally hid the gun. He falls back with a gunshot to the chest. There’s no gun to be found; and, of course, the verdict would be death by unnatural causes. I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Freeman, it’s too bad he felt that this was his only alternative."