Diane Rucho.

29

Swarms of people had gathered around Hijos Pub, forming a thick crowd that resembled a pool of water surrounding a swaying boat. The atmosphere was a mix of soft murmurs, loud police sirens, and the distant chirping of birds.

As he approached the entrance, Preston recognized Officer Duncan Wesonga in his uniform. Duncan was a patrol officer from the Traffic Station along Kenyatta Road. He was tall, with a broad chest that made him hard to miss. A yellow cordon line had been set up across the entrance to keep people out of the pub. The words on the yellow tape read: "DO NOT ENTER. CRIME SCENE."

Preston lifted the cordon, slightly bending his back and head as he stepped over the blinding shade of yellow.

"Duncan," he said, extending his hand from the pocket of his black khakis for a handshake. Officer Duncan took his hand and shook it - firm, calloused hands, cold and damp, Preston imagined it was due to the chill outside.

"Officer, not a good night today. Isn't it?" Officer Duncan said, scanning the crowd with sharp eyes.

Preston asked, "How many are inside?"

"Just one dead."

"Officers?"

"Two. Officer Nathaniel from Patrol Base and Officer Rita Angari from GCU." Noting Preston's raised brow, he added, "The control called in at the Department. She must have been around because she arrived earlier at the crime scene."

Officer Rita Angari was Michael's partner back at the General Crimes Unit.

Preston mouthed a thanks before pushing his frame over the threshold. As he entered the pub, the strong smell of sweat and spilt alcohol overwhelmed him. He felt his stomach turn and swell at the same time.

The place was in complete chaos. Bar stools had been knocked down on the tiled floor and slivers of glass were scattered everywhere. Although it appeared as if a fight had taken place, Preston suspected that the mess was a result of a stampede caused by the gunshot as the loud popping sound hit the low roof.

Preston caught both Officer Nathaniel and Rita by the cant of the pub. He watched his steps as he inched closer to them, careful not to catch a splinter up his thin-soled shoes. Then he saw the man on his back on the ground. Lifeless. Lying in a pool of blood. Stiff as wood. Blood-streaked clothes. Penetrative trauma of the neck. Large open hole. Shattered artery. He must have choked on his blood. A quicker way to die compared to an open wound.

The man's long face had taken a discoloured appearance, almost dark blue with swollen lips. The eyes were something else. Wide open. White as snow. Glazed. Almost fearful of death itself.

"How long has he been dead?" Preston asked, surprising Nathaniel and Rita as they were not aware of his presence.

Rita stole a glance at Preston before returning her attention to the man and replied, "It's been about twenty minutes. The coroner is on his way here."

Preston then asked, "Do we have any identification for the victim?"

Rita quickly handed a small brown leather wallet to Preston, but he noticed a few bloodstains on it and refused to touch it.

Rita sighed heavily and said, "The victim's name is Ezra Khayi, and he was thirty-five years old."

"What about the shooter? Was he identified?"

"He was seen wearing a ski mask just before the shootout. Afterwards, he must have blended in with the crowd because no one saw the masked man again," said Rita Angari.

"Pretty bold move," Nathaniel's voice piped up. "He could still be out there, watching the scene unfold. That's how these killers usually operate. They get a thrill out of watching their handiwork."