Chris walked through the doors of the precinct, carrying a box of donuts.

"Morning, Sam. Breakfast is served."

"Good morning, Christopher," came the reply.

Setting the box by the coffee pot, he stopped to brush the remnants of an early-Monday-morning rain shower from his coat and hair, then took two jelly-filled donuts from the box, grabbed a couple of napkins, and set one of each on Rita's desk.

"Here you go. I'm pretty sure this makes up for Saturday night," he said with a wink.

"Thanks! Actually?...yeah, not even close," Rita replied, looking up from the papers on her desk and laughing. "I'm not sure, but I may never again accept any invitation from you that includes a ride in that car."

Their dinner the night before last had begun with Chris showing up at her apartment, in a coat and tie, to take her to the Seafood Bar. It ended twenty minutes later on the side of the road, with no power and a dead battery, courtesy of a failed alternator. And apparently, the towing company was really backed up, because the 'twenty-to-thirty-minute wait' stretched to nearly two hours. But the best part was the tow-truck driver, a greasy guy named Corey who smelled a little funny and couldn't stop talking about how his girlfriend had kept him up the previous night. His constant glances at Rita, who was wearing a beautiful ruby-red dress and was sandwiched between the two of them, were not only a bit awkward, but caused Corey to miss turns twice. In the end, the two partners ordered Chinese delivery and spent the evening in sweats in front of her TV.

"Come on, was it really that bad?" Chris teased. "Corey gave me a business card - I have it right here and I'm sure he'd love for you to have it." He laughed as he reached for his wallet.

"Uh, you keep it. I am positive my car won't need towed any time soon. As long as you have that classic, you and Corey will be going steady."

"Remember the girlfriend he couldn't stop talking about? He's already taken." Chris walked behind her chair, bent down, and whispered, "Thanks for letting me use your couch Saturday night, and for the ride home yesterday. I really appreciate it. My car should be fixed sometime today."

"You're welcome, partner...and that car will never be fixed. So who gave you a lift this morning?" Rita rather hoped she had pulled the duty, despite the extra time and distance it involved.

"That would be me," said a voice belonging to Officer Adams, who had a condo a mile from Chris. "He lives just a little out of my way."

Chris topped off Rita's coffee mug, then poured himself a cup, sat down, and let out a muffled "mmm" with the first bite of his donut. He pushed the power button on his laptop and looked at his pile of case folders, which due to a recent lull in activity, was down to just one. The Jensen double homicide was the only open case right now, and with the discovery of Stephen Wilson's revolver on Friday, it was going to be history before too long. It wasn't even nine in the morning, and this was already shaping up to be a week of twirling pencils, cleaning up cold-case paperwork, and extended lunches.

Rita looked across at Chris and said, "I have my information all documented for Jensen, so when yours is completed, I'll compile it for Donovan."

"I have a couple things to update as well and then I'm done," Chris replied, as he logged in to his machine. He looked across the desk. "You did great work - as usual - on this one. Finding his .38 in that secret compartment under the driver's seat was a stroke of genius. Wilson watched his alibi crumble in front of his eyes, and I think we've handed George a Murder One."

Thanks to the light workload, their morning meeting with Harry lasted less than fifteen minutes. By ten thirty, Chris had polished off the Jensen file and was driving his partner crazy. The rain had passed and while there were still spotty clouds, conditions had dried enough for an outside lunch. George caught up with Chris as they ate and was ecstatic with their work on the case.

"It's like a sauna out here! The humidity must be near 100%," George said as he put his food on the opposite side of the table and sat down. "Hey, that gun has pretty much made my case against Wilson. We had a crap-shoot with circumstantial evidence until you found it. Now I've got his lawyer calling me, all but begging for a plea deal." He looked at the clearing sky with a broad smile. "Yeah, it's a great day to be me!"

"You can thank Rita for the .38, George. She found it." Chris squinted, burger in hand, and asked, "So, any chance he pleads down?" Chris' concern was obvious. He and Rita had worked with Donovan for years and found him to be simultaneously tough and fair, but the District Attorney's office could really gum things up when it chose to. Wheeling and dealing was common on that side of law enforcement.

Donovan's response caused any skepticism to evaporate, despite the sticky Palm Beach air. "Don't be ridiculous, Lorenzo!", he said, frowning at Chris for a moment before softening to a half-grin. "Stephen Wilson had a well-established history with the Jensens. A B-and-E charge eight years back trying to steal that fancy diamond necklace of Edna's, A-D-W three years ago that was somehow reduced to a simple assault, and numerous minor altercations with Roger. This time, he went to their home angry, tried to go three rounds with Roger again, and got the crap beat out of him, which is what you should expect when you pick a fight with an ex-Marine. Now with your little discovery, we know Wilson responded to his TKO by losing his mind, putting five slugs into Roger, and killing Edna with a sixth through her chest on the way out the door. I saw the crime scene and it was grotesque! I'm tempted to go for Murder One on this, but Murder Two times two is an easy win with 'life and no parole' on the docket. I have to say, you kids made this one easy."

"We make them all easy, George," Rita said, smiling and putting on her sunglasses as the last of the clouds drifted away.

"You make some of them manageable," he corrected with a laugh. "The rest are just my expertise making up for your shortcomings." He took a quick peek at his watch, grabbed what was left of his chili dog, and stood up to leave. "Look, I'm due back in chambers in twenty minutes, and if I stay out here any longer, I'm going to need a shower. Seriously, you both did a great job on this one. I probably don't say thank you enough, so thank you! Stephen Wilson won't take another breath as a free man."

Rita turned to Chris as George headed off. "Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd say Donovan likes us." Looking up at the sky, she added, "It's turned into a beautiful day, and our number of open cases just dropped to zero. What are we going to do all afternoon?"

"Hold that thought," Chris said, raising a finger and reaching for his phone, which had started ringing. "Yeah, Sergeant Lorenzo...great! How much?...really?...ok, thanks for putting it together so quickly...bye." Looking at Rita, he asked, "How would you like to drive me to pick up my car? It's ready to go and a lift would probably guarantee you another shot at the Seafood Bar."

"Excellent! That pretty much guarantees me a second date with Corey-the-tow-truck-man. You know he will expect me to show a bit more leg and kiss him when the date ends. You going to kiss him, too, Sam?"

"Probably with some tongue," Chris replied, again flashing that blistering smile, and getting a "You're disgusting!" in response. He got up and tossed the last of his fries in her direction.

Rita drove Chris to the mechanic to get his car and, with his credit card $350 heavier, he headed back to the station. Harry had just returned from a late lunch and was feeling good, having eaten a cheeseburger and fries instead of the usual salad that Fran preferred. It took only a few minutes to convince him to give his homicide team the rest of the day off, and by two thirty, they were in the middle of an eight-mile run along the beach.

"You got any plans for tonight, Sergeant Lance?" Chris asked as he tried to catch his breath in their cool-down walk.

Rita smiled and answered with a question of her own. "Nope. What do you have in mind, Sergeant Lorenzo?"

"Well, I was thinking a shower, because you smell terrible, and then some kind of dinner...you pick and I'll pay."

"You should talk, Stink Boy!" Rita thought for a moment and said, "How about something simple, like pizza and a movie at your place...that sound alright?"

Chris didn't even need a moment. "Absolutely! You can shower first - you need to!"

When Rita finished getting cleaned up and dressed, Chris jumped in the shower. As he lathered his hair, he thought he could hear Rita on the phone with the pizza place...just keep the weird stuff off my half, he thought to himself. When he walked to his closet to dress, she came halfway up the stairs, and he could see she had changed out of her casual clothes and was wearing the one work outfit she kept at his place.

"The pizza didn't get ordered, Sam. Sorry, but we're back on duty. We have a customer cooling down over on Middle Road. I made us sandwiches and filched two Cokes from your fridge to have on the way. We can take my car until you can build up a bit more trust in yours. And grab your nose plugs - Diana says it's a brown banana."

"Middle Road? Wow! That area looks at million-dollar homes in the rearview mirror!" Chris had only driven past once or twice, but he knew it had some impressive real estate. "I'll be ready in ten, and thanks for the sandwich."

Rita's voice came back. "Yeah, they might live a lot differently over there, but they die just the same as anybody else."

The sun had nearly set when they arrived. The home was a palatial, two-story Mediterranean-style mansion that looked to be well over ten thousand square feet. One garage door was open, showing the tail end of a beautiful steel-gray Porsche 911, with the outline of an early-70s Camaro just visible in the shadow of one of the other five stalls. An S-Class Mercedes sedan sat in the driveway, along with a couple of Palm Beach police cruisers and the coroner's car.

A walk through the entry revealed opulence reserved only for the super-rich, and the faint odor of decaying flesh. Rita turned to Chris with a wrinkled nose and said, "Whew! She wasn't joking. Depending on where the body is located, this could be a pretty ripe scene."

"You're not kidding." Chris shook his head, as if to ward off the odor. "Let's find Diana and get this over with."

They walked into the master bedroom and Rita retched, covering her mouth and trying to hold her breath to keep the vomiting at bay. Chris' eyes got wide and he coughed several times. "God have mercy," was all he could manage as he choked. The stench was overwhelming. The body was lying on the bed in a pool of dried blood and gore. Diana turned and faced them. "This one's pretty gruesome and it's been festering for a while. Sergeants, meet Matias Garcia. His license was in his wallet on the dresser, along with several credit cards and three thousand dollars in a money clip. Hispanic male, forty-two, six foot two, two ten or so...well built and still in his pajamas. I'm guessing he died three days ago, give or take, so the Friday-night-Saturday-morning time frame. There are eggs around the eyes and mouth as well as both entrance and exit wounds. The maggots will be feeding in earnest in another day, so we need to get him - what's left of him - to the cooler quickly."

Chris covered his nose and checked the body. "We have a gunshot in the middle of his forehead and another through his heart - heavy caliber." He gingerly rolled the body over a bit, exposing the victim's backside, or what was left of it. He had to put his hand over his mouth. "Wow, this is nasty! These aren't exit wounds, they're exit tunnels...definitely large bore - .357 or a .45 and I'm guessing shredders for slugs. Ewwff! Our shooter wanted him dead badly. Two words come to mind - 'closed' and 'casket'."

Diana nodded in agreement. "There's nothing to speak of on the wall behind him, so he took this lying down."

Chris looked at the dresser and the cash. "Clearly not a robbery. It has the marks of an execution."

Rita, who had been speaking with one of the officers, walked over and joined them. "The 9-1-1 call was placed by the groundskeeper, who makes regular visits to the estate. He entered the house this afternoon to check the sprinkler timers, noticed the smell, got suspicious, and made the call. The officers are dusting for prints now. The alarm system was disabled and we have no sign of a break-in. The stench might be masking the odor of a pro hit, but it's here. The killer, or killers, did their job and left...so far, without a trace. But maybe we'll lift a print."

She looked over the corpse herself and added, "Hmmm...big-bore...maybe a statement killing. Officers have conducted initial interviews of the neighbors and no one remembers hearing or seeing anything unusual. Possibly a silencer. But a weekend killing means many of these people were on their yachts or at parties." She looked at Chris. "You and I should probably plan on speaking to them again. This one's not getting off to a great start."

Diana shook her head in agreement. "I'll try to help a bit. I'll get him on the table and see what else I turn up, though cause-of-death doesn't look too mysterious. Expect a preliminary report sometime tomorrow afternoon. It's getting late and I can't do more here. I need fresh air badly! Ok, guys," she said, turning to the officers next to her, "Let's bag him and drag him to the cave."

Chris and Rita spent a couple more hours studying the bedroom and talking with the photographers before walking outside. "We need to come back in the daylight to walk the estate grounds and interview the neighbors. I'm beat and all I smell now is dead guy!"

Chris looked at his watch and then his partner. "Same here. Look, it's nearly eleven. By the time we get to my place and you drive home, it will be really late. You want to just crash in my bed? I'll take the couch and you'll buy a couple extra hours of sleep."

"You know, that sounds great. Thank you!" Rita was rubbing her neck. "You alright with me using your shower again? I need to wash the stink off me!"

By the time Chris had showered and thrown on some shorts, Rita was sleeping soundly. He tossed their outfits in the washing machine - she would need hers in the morning - and set his alarm for six to put everything in the dryer. He walked over to the bed and looked at Rita, his partner and best friend, then whispered, "Good night, Sam. Sleep well." He grabbed his extra pillow from the other side of the bed and a blanket from the shelf and headed down to the sofa. He was asleep almost as soon as he was off his feet.