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around.’
    â€˜Meantime, we’re due at the range,’ Martinez said.
    Sam grimaced, always a little antsy about the yearly State Qual.
    Shooting not his favorite pastime.
    Especially when the targets were human.
    At the seven-bay range on the fifth floor of the Miami Beach Police Department headquarters building, waiting with Detectives Mary Cutter and Joe Sheldon for the range master to give his first order, Sam’s mind returned to the odor he’d smelled in the victim’s bedroom last evening.
    â€˜I still can’t nail it, and it’s bugging me.’
    â€˜The FLPD and Duval got noses too,’ Martinez said. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
    â€˜You’re right,’ Sam said. ‘Not our problem.’
    â€˜Let’s hope it stays that way.’
    â€˜You’d better believe it,’ Sam said, putting on his headset.
    â€˜Make your weapons ready, and holster.’ The range master’s voice came through loud and clear.
    Sam, Martinez and the other detectives loaded up their magazines, moved to their respective bays, made ready and holstered their firearms. Unloaded again, reloaded, holstered.
    Sam was tense now, his mind clear, knowing the routine – holster, fire, holster; good with his weapon, fast and effective, but never complacent.
    â€˜When the target turns, you have two seconds to draw and fire two rounds from the hip position, cover your target, then holster,’ the range master instructed them. ‘Ready on the line.
Gun
.’
    The target turned.
    Sam fired.
    â€˜I think you might need glasses,’ David Becket told his wife, Mildred, as they sat in their backyard on yet another gorgeous morning, reading and drinking coffee.
    Both in their mid-sixties, they had only married a year before. A second marriage for David, Sam’s adoptive father and a retired pediatrician; a first for Mildred, whose life up until a couple of years ago had been far from easy.
    They were very happy together.
    â€˜I do not need glasses, old man,’ she said. ‘I can read as well as I ever could, maybe even better.’
    â€˜Uh-huh,’ David said.
    â€˜What does that mean?’ Mildred set her book on her lap.
    â€˜Just that you’ve been peering at things lately. And frowning too.’ He paused. ‘Look down there.’
    â€˜What am I looking at?’
    â€˜That bird to the right of the pond.’
    â€˜What about it?’
    â€˜Describe it to me.’
    Mildred’s mouth tightened. ‘I’m not a child.’
    â€˜You can’t see it, can you?’
    â€˜Of course I can see it,’ she said. ‘It’s a bird. It has wings. Now lay off.’
    â€˜It’s a white-winged parakeet,’ David said.
    â€˜Whoop de doo,’ she said.
    â€˜You’ve never been nearsighted before,’ he said.
    â€˜I can see the damned bird,’ Mildred said.
    David looked at her sideways. ‘Mildred, are you having problems with your eyes?’
    She sighed. ‘You want me to have an eye test.’
    â€˜I don’t think it would hurt,’ he said. ‘I’ll come with you.’
    â€˜I may possibly need glasses’ – Mildred was scathing – ‘but I am far from helpless.’
    â€˜I’m glad to hear it, but I’d still like to come.’
    â€˜You didn’t come with me the last time.’
    â€˜You said you preferred to be independent, as I recall.’
    â€˜As I still do,’ Mildred said.
    â€˜Who was it you went to?’
    â€˜I don’t recall offhand.’
    David smiled. ‘That’s OK. We can go to my optometrist.’
    â€˜I’d prefer to go to my own,’ Mildred said.
    â€˜What’s going on, Mildred?’
    â€˜Nothing is going on, except that you’re starting to get me mad.’
    â€˜Why?’ he persisted. ‘I’ve expressed the mildest concern that you might not be seeing as well as you used