The Murder of Elliot Sunday

a valiant attempt at murder

"Excuse me, Miss, do you have an appointment?"

I gave the secretary my best haughty glare and fumbled my badge out of my coat pocket. "Fordham Police."

The secretary's eyes widened. "Oh, by all means, go ahead!" He waved me towards the elevator, and I thanked him with a small nod.

I made my way into the elevator without my knees turning to jelly on me, but I sagged back against the wall of the elevator as soon as the doors shut me in. It wasn't that I was scared, exactly. But as far as first investigations went, this was a hell of an assignment.

I opened the camera roll on my phone and scrolled through the pictures I'd taken of the letter, my heart pounding harder than I would have liked. Not that this was my investigation, exactly. I was only here to collect initial information before the real team showed up.

But still. My very first assignment as a member of one of the biggest police forces in the country was a murder?

The elevator gave a mellow chime as it slid smoothly to a stop, and I straightened, pocketing my phone. I took a deep breath. This wasn't my first time out in the field, not by a long shot. So why did I feel so nervous?

Maybe because it's your first time since Brayban, a little voice in the back of my mind said. I squashed it down. This wouldn't be another Brayban.

I would make sure of it.

I shook my head and walked down the hall. It was almost eerily deserted. Perhaps the fact that their boss was dead had chased all the employees away.

The door to the office at the end of the hall was cracked open. Swallowing down my unease, I walked up to the door. The placard on the wall next to the entrance read Elliot Sunday, Head of Finances.

I pushed the door open and blinked.

The man standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back, didn't turn around. "Have a seat, Mr. Delton."

"Um..."

The man spun around, hands dropping to his sides in a distinctly defensive position. "You aren't Delton."

I felt a blush spreading across my cheeks, but I straightened, looking down at him as best I could despite the several inches of height he had on me. "I am not. Who are you?"

He tilted his head at me, considering. The sunlight streaming through the window behind him cast his face into shadow, reducing him to a silhouette against the city skyline. "I am not in the habit of introducing myself to mysterious office intruders."

I didn't need his help, though. "You're Sunday."

The man inclined his head towards me, though his stance didn't relax. "Indeed. And you are?"

I swallowed, working my badge out of my pocket again. "Liana Maybell. Fordham Police."

"Hm." Sunday moved away from the window, and I finally got my first good look at the man. Short, dark hair, skin a few shades darker than my own. High cheekbones, sharp jaw. Not muscular, though he didn't look unfit. I mentally shook myself. Focus. He wasn't a suspect. I didn't need to profile him.

Then again, were there any suspects at all? How could there be, if the man whose murder I was investigating wasn't dead?

"Ms. Maybell. What are you doing here?" The question was conversational, but his gaze was sharp. Settling down behind his desk, which was artfully decorated with a single plant, he watched me as carefully as I watched him.

I folded my arms. "I could ask you the same thing."

A small smile flicked across his face, though it was gone quickly enough that I wondered whether I'd imagined it. "This is my office."