A
partially eaten container of mandarin chicken, two slices of ham and pineapple
pizza, several empty soda bottles and a chocolate shake all littered the shiny
tabletop around which sat three of Port Charles’ law enforcement community:
the Assistant District Attorney, the Police Commissioner and his chief
detective.
Dara
Jensen glanced around the table and sighed heavily. “So…we are no closer to the truth now than we were
before.”
Her
husband reached across the table and laid his warm hand upon hers.
“No. Not yet.
But it’s still early. I’m
not giving up that easily.”
The
statement echoed the sentiment of everyone in the room.
Each person there was convinced that the answers to the questions
surrounding Justus Ward’s untimely death would be found right in Port Charles.
Someone within Michael Corinthos’ organization knew who was responsible
for Justus’ murder.
“There’s
something about all this that puzzles me,” Mac Scorpio said.
“Everybody knew that Justus was the organization’s lawyer.
And Sonny and Jason’s lawyer as well.
Don’t you think Sonny would have made some kind of move to exact
revenge on the people who did this? If
only to send a message to the person who ordered it?”
“You’d think so.” Marcus Taggert observed. “But we know that Corinthos hasn’t taken any action yet. Jason Morgan hasn’t left town since this all happened.” The detective ran a hand across his smooth head. “And I checked with a buddy of mine in The Bureau. Things are quiet with each of the rival cartel families.”
“Then there is something that we are missing. But I think that we are all too tired to figure it out right now,” Dara quickly added when she spied the weariness on the two men’s faces. “Why don’t we call it a night and think about it some more tomorrow?”
“Sounds good to me,” her husband agreed.
As one, the group rose and began to tidy up the table. The half eaten food was swept into a garbage bag. The empty soft drink bottles were set aside for recycling.
“Well, goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” husband and wife replied simultaneously.
Dara locked the front door after her friend’s departure. She returned to the living room and extended a hand to her husband of eight months. “Leave the rest of that stuff and let’s go to bed,” she commanded him softly. The sorrow that she had managed to keep at bay since the news of Justus’ death was now threatening Dara’s composure. “Right now all I want is for you to hold me.”
