Office

Richard called me from his office. The next morning. Picketers had gathered outside PPS demanding an arrest. Also, PPS stocks had dipped. Stock market specialists blamed it on bad press surrounding Richard and the murders. He asked me to meet someplace private.

That evening, Richard’s driver, Assad drove us to the Blackbird Restaurant. When we arrived at the exclusive eatery, a wild crowd had gathered in the street outside their doors as if they knew we were coming.

“Mr. Mackenzie, you might want to see this,” Assad suggested. He had trimmed black facial hair that only guys in their twenties can pull off.

With cameras and cell phones raised, people filled the sidewalk and alley. Someone held a large photo of Dr. Schakowsky high in the air. Signs read:

Find the Killer!

Who Killed Dr. Schakowsky?

JT Mackenzie is a Murderer!

From the Mercedes, we peered out at the insanity. Four news cameras and several boom microphones hovered in the air. From the entrance of the restaurant, a young r