The Last Client
February 21, 2025
Detective Ryan Graves stepped into the dimly lit office, the scent of old books and expensive whiskey lingering in the air. Slumped over the desk was Daniel Mercer, a high-powered divorce attorney with more enemies than friends. A single gunshot wound to the chest. No sign of struggle. A half-empty glass of bourbon next to his lifeless hand.
Officer Beck flipped through his notepad. “Janitor found him at six this morning. No forced entry. Security cameras in the hallway were turned off between ten and midnight.”
Ryan glanced at the victim’s desk. A file lay open, Mercer’s own notes scribbled hastily across the pages. A name caught his eye: Eleanor Bishop.
“She was his last appointment,” Beck said. “Came in around nine last night. They argued, according to the night guard.”
Ryan sighed. “Let’s bring her in.”
Eleanor Bishop sat in the interrogation room, arms crossed. She was elegant, controlled. But her red-rimmed eyes told Ryan she hadn’t slept.
“I didn’t kill him,” she said flatly.
Ryan leaned back. “Tell me about your meeting.”
Eleanor hesitated. “Daniel was my lawyer. My husband and I are going through a messy divorce. Last night, he told me something that changed everything.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Which was?”
“He said my husband—Robert—was hiding assets. Offshore accounts, money I was entitled to.” She exhaled. “I was furious. I stormed out around ten.”
Ryan studied her. “Where did you go after that?”
“Home. Alone.”
Back at the crime scene, forensics handed Ryan a report. “Gunpowder residue on Mercer’s right hand. At first glance, it looks like suicide. But the angle’s off. Someone staged it.”
Ryan frowned. “Murder made to look like a suicide?”
The forensic tech nodded. “Also, there were two sets of prints on the bourbon glass—Mercer’s and someone else’s.”
Ryan turned to Beck. “Run them through the system.”
Minutes later, Beck returned, looking grim. “Prints belong to Robert Bishop.”
Ryan exhaled. “Looks like we found our killer.”
Robert Bishop was already waiting when Ryan arrived at his office, a cold smirk on his face. “Detective. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Ryan sat across from him. “Your wife came in last night. Mercer told her about your hidden accounts.”
Robert’s expression didn’t change. “That’s privileged information.”
Ryan smiled thinly. “Not anymore. You went to see Mercer last night. Your prints are on his glass.”
Robert chuckled. “I met with him, yes. We had a drink. Talked business. And I left.”
Ryan pulled out a photo of the gun. “This is registered to you.”
For the first time, Robert’s smirk faltered.
Ryan leaned in. “You killed him because he was going to expose you. You made it look like suicide, but you got sloppy.”
Robert swallowed hard.
Ryan stood. “No more hiding, Mr. Bishop. You’re under arrest.”
Case closed.