Page 6 of Wild Oblivion

“His name is Jürgen Stahl.”

4

Two bullets had been fired from the .38. There were four left in the cylinder. I was pretty sure this was our guy. I bagged the gun as evidence.

A triage nurse told me Jürgen was being treated and was unable to take visitors at the moment. “Apparently, he overexerted himself. I’d probably have a heart attack too if I shot someone.”

Hopefully, Jürgen would make it. I had questions for him. I couldn’t fathom why an 89-year-old man would shoot a random stranger. Unless the stranger wasn’t so random.

We left the ER and returned to the station. I logged the pistol as evidence, then updated the sheriff on our conversation with Klaus.

“Stranger things have happened around here,” Daniels said. “I wouldn’t spend too much time on it. Perp’s in the hospital. He’ll be lucky to make it to trial.”

It was one of the easiest cases we’d had recently. Open and shut. But there was just something odd about it.

JD and I grabbed some coffee and chatted with Denise, catching her up on everything. She ran background on Jürgen and found a few interesting details.

Afterward, we headed across the island to the warehouse district for band practice. Wild Fury was scheduled to headline at Sonic Temple.

The usual band of miscreants loitered out front, smoking cloves and drinking beer as we pulled into the parking lot. We hopped out and greeted the long-haired rockers, and there were high fives all around.

JD and I stepped inside the dim hallway that always had a unique odor. The clash of music from several bands seeped through the walls.

Dizzy, Crash, and Styxx noodled on their instruments as we stepped into the practice space. A few cute girls hung out on the couch.

We caught up with the guys for a bit, then Jack grabbed the mic. The band ran through their set, thundering out their brand of party rock.

After an hour of ear-splitting goodness, Jack treated the guys to dinner at the Bluewater Bistro. Afterward, we hit Oyster Avenue and indulged in copious amounts of alcohol and poor judgment.

Brenda called bright and early the next morning.

I reached a sleepy hand for the phone on the nightstandand swiped the screen. In a scratchy voice, I said, “What’s up?”

"The old man's gun is a match."

"I guess that's pretty much the end of it," I replied.

"Not exactly. There's something really strange about this whole thing. The victim has gold foil fillings. Extremely rare in this day and age. He's got a chromium steel bridge, and I would expect to see that in a much older person. Not a man of 35 or 40.” She paused. “There's something else. There are no hits on fingerprints in the database."

"That's not surprising for a foreign national," I said. "There is such a thing as a law-abiding citizen."

"True, but the guy’s got no social media presence. No criminal record. You should look into that. I'm going to keep running tests.”

"Let me know what you find out," I said.

"Will do.”

“Send me digital files of his fingerprints.”

"You got it."

She ended the call, and I pulled myself out of bed. I took a shower, toweled off, then got dressed. I stumbled into the galley and started fixing breakfast. By that time, Brenda had sent me digital files of Rudolph Weiss's fingerprints. I forwarded them to Isabella and asked her to look into him and Jürgen Stahl.

I hadn’t heard back from her yet. I figured she was busy. Notunusual. The woman was constantly doing something, putting out some kind of fire here or there.

Bacon sizzled in the pan, and the smell of fresh coffee swirled. It wasn't long before Jack joined me in the galley. We dished up plates of scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon, and toast. On the sky deck, we enjoyed the morning sun as we chowed down. I filled him in on Rudolph Weiss, and we kicked around a few theories.

After we ate, we headed over to the hospital to speak with Jürgen Stahl. When we got there, we found out he had been transferred to the NICU. Jürgen had suffered a mild stroke overnight.