New York Police Detective Louis Martelli pulled his unmarked Crown Vic to the curb in front of the Church of the Holy Redeemer in Lower Manhattan, blocking the funeral procession's lead vehicle and further heightening the tension among those on the sidewalk. The funeral director, family, and mourners, obviously puzzled by the unusual turn of events, were standing there, talking among themselves. None was allowed back into the church by the police, who were busy taking their names and other personal information in preparation for handing it to the lead detective - Martelli - for follow-up.
Martelli lifted his left leg over the driver-side door threshold, something necessitated by an old Iraqi War injury. Once out of his car, he made his way up the steps and into the sanctuary. Walking hurriedly towards the altar, he stopped briefly at a point halfway down the aisle to steady himself on a pew, genuflect, and make the Sign of the Cross before proceeding to the casket.
"Well, well, well, if it ain't Mrs. Martelli's wunderkind, Master Sergeant Lewis Martelli . . . War Hero, Master Detective, and all-about-town bon vivant! The last time I saw you and Antonetti together you were chasing the Headless Horseman in Central Park. Remember? It was the case of the serial killer who sliced and diced that pharmaceutical executive behind the Delacourt Theater."
Crime scene investigator Robin Peterson loved to spar with Martelli. A flirt who wore her flaming red hair long, stringy, and parted in the middle, she never let an opportunity go by to tease him.
"People at Headquarters are still wondering about you two, ya know." She chortled, referring to Martelli and Deputy Coroner Michael Antonetti, who was hovering over the corpse lying in the coffin to the front of the altar. "Are you two a couple, or aren't you? That's the $64,000 question."
Martelli laughed. "Peterson, are you still knifing guys in the back on Saturday nights so you'll get called to crime scenes and have something to do other than sit at home watching old movies? I mean, what was the last time you had a date?"
Antonetti scowled. "Come on, you two, have a little respect for the dead. This is a holy place of worship!" He was in the last stages of examining the remains in a coffin that was sitting on a mobile display cart.
Peterson resumed her work, taking pictures of the area around the casket and looking for evidence on the floor while Martelli approached Antonetti.
"Pardon me for asking, Michael, but what are we doing here? Obviously, the deceased is dead, he's been embalmed, and this was a funeral service intended to send him on his way to the Great Beyond. Yet, here we are, some of New York's Finest . . . one of New York City's most skilled deputy coroners, the best CSI in the business - he winked at Peterson - and Manhattan's top Detective-Investigator. You would think someone's been shot!"
"He was."
"Who?"
"The deceased."
"You've got to be kidding! When?"
"Based on what I know, some time in the last hour or so."
"Come on, Antonetti. The guy's been dead for days."
"I didn't say he was alive when he was shot."