Excerpt of Jury of One by Laura Bradford

8:45 p.m.
Monday, June 7

IT HAD BEEN one of those days that made him doubt his decision to become a cop. Where were the opportunities to make a difference?

Where was the excitement? Where were all those heroic reasons his dad had felt were worth dying for?

Surely it wasn't in the stack of paperwork he had spent the past three hours working on, or the petty theft cases a preschooler could solve. And it sure as hell wasn't in the courtrooms where perp after perp got off because they were so and so's second cousin removed.

Mitch Burns exhaled slowly and ran his hand through his hair. One thing was for certain. Now was not the time to spend soul-searching. His head was throbbing and the only thing that could stop it was a plate of food. A huge plate.

Fortunately for him, the answer was just a few steps away.

Mia's Chinese Food could cure just about anything, including the Monday blahs. In fact, he found it funny how his stride quickened at the same spot every week.

The string of bells above the door jingled as Mitch pushed his way into the dimly lit restaurant. His head was starting to feel better already.

"Hi, Mia, how ya doin' this evening?" He leaned across the register and kissed the woman's gently lined forehead. A hint of soy sauce on her skin made him smile. No matter how long the day had been, somehow it always seemed insignificant when he stepped inside her restaurant. Maybe it was the inviting smells or the genuine smile she always had for him. Maybe it was the knowledge that despite a hard life, she was always positive and upbeat. Or maybe she was one of the angels on earth Aunt Betty always spoke about.

He squeezed Mia's hand and smiled.

Her dark eyes searched his face closely. "I am fine, but you look tired, Mitch."

And she could read him like a book. "I am. It's been crazy around the department the past few weeks." He leaned his weight against the counter and traced a faint crack along the muted gold Formica with his index finger. "The chief's a bit on edge these days with a new boss to answer to. And when the chief is on edge...look out."

"I take care of you, Mitch. Cashew chicken, white rice and egg roll?"

"Predictability probably isn't such a great personality trait for a detective, huh?"

"You good detective. I just know your favorites."

"That you do. Thanks, Mia."

There was something comforting about living in a town where people knew you. Your likes, your dislikes. Now if only a few available women would move in, Aunt Betty would be thrilled. And frankly, so would he.

A copy of the latest Ocean Point Weekly waited for him on his usual table. He sat down, draped his leg across an adjacent chair, and unfolded the newspaper with casual interest. The front page was fairly predictable; an article on the new mayor, a photograph of Dave and Pat's kid with another spelling bee trophy, and...

His shoe hit the ground with a thump as he sat up straight in his chair. The headline was a dead giveaway. Johnson and Associates was at it again. Although his eyes read the words in front of him, Mitch's head practically wrote the story. And it was the same old thing it had been last year. And the year before that. Good old Danny boy Johnson was trying once again to win support for his proposed luxury condominium complex.

The thought of more vacationers squeezing into Ocean Point, New Jersey, each summer was not Mitch's idea of fun. More tourists meant more problems, and more problems meant more work for him and everyone else in the department.

As he turned the page, Mitch's eyes fell on the small headshot of an attractive young woman. Wishing the photograph was in color, he found himself eagerly reading the brief biography that accompanied it.

Elise Jenkins, 22, has joined the editorial staff of the Ocean Point Weekly. Jenkins graduated this spring with a Bachelor's Degree in Journalism from the University of Missouri. Jenkins will be covering both news and feature stories in and around the Ocean Point community.

Aunt Betty's prayer group must have been praying hard lately.

He looked again at the young girl in the picture. Wavy dark hair, high cheekbones, beautiful lips and a killer smile.

"She pretty, Mitch."

Damn it! Apparently hearing wasn't one of his strong points either. He turned the page quickly. Slowly, he raised his head and looked up at Mia, furrowing his brows as convincingly as possible.

"Who's pretty?"

"Now Mitch, I see you look at picture of new reporter. It be our little secret, no?"

So much for his acting debut. He prayed silently for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Barring that, he would simply settle for his face to return to its normal shade.

"Now don't go being shy. You need someone special in your life."

"You've been talking to my aunt, haven't you?" he said, knowing full well there was no sense in arguing. Aunt Betty was always after him to "find a nice girl". It was best just to nod stupidly.

He cleared his throat and pointed at the plate of food the woman held. "That looks great, Mia."

"You can change subject, but you know I right," she said quietly. She carefully set his plate on the table in front of him and then headed back to the kitchen.

Trouble was he did know she was right.

With a determined sigh, Mitch reached for the chopsticks Mia had placed beside his plate. Carefully crossing the bottom portion of the wooden sticks, he triumphantly picked up a small piece of cashew chicken. As he moved the food toward his mouth, small tremors vibrated his fingers, wrist. And like clockwork, the chicken fell into his lap. Too hungry to try anymore, he reached for the fork Mia always left for him "just in case."

It didn't take long for the food to work its magic. The headache that only 30 minutes ago had seemed like it would never go away was disappearing almost as quickly as the food on his plate.

And, like any good medicine, it cleared his thoughts of all things bothersome. Including paperwork.

The crackle of his radio snapped his attention back to reality.

"D-1, do you copy?"

He grabbed the radio from its holder and held it to his mouth. "D-1. Go ahead."

"We've got a human J-4 at 115 Sea Wave Drive. Suspicious circumstances, please respond immediately."

"D-1 in route," he answered quickly.

Mitch Burns stuffed the last bite of egg roll into his mouth and leapt to his feet. His heart pounded in his chest. A suspicious death in Ocean Point? It was almost too hard to believe.

"Gotta go, Mia. Duty calls."

9:55 p.m.

NOTHING AT THE academy could have prepared him for this moment.

Sure, he had seen dead bodies before, but in Ocean Point they usually belonged to 80-year-old nursing home patients. Not young women in their mid-twenties.

He made a mental note of the victim's fully clothed body.

Not a rape. Her car keys were still clutched in her left hand, her hair matted with blood. A botched burglary?

He bent down and studied the woman's body, his eyes stopping on her right hand. The index finger was fully extended.

How odd, he thought. "She must have been nagging some poor guy when she bought it, huh?"

Mitch turned to see Troy, the department's rookie, standing behind him.

"What are ya talking about?" Mitch asked, his voice dripping with irritation as he once again turned back toward the victim.

"Her finger. My wife shakes her finger at me like that all the time when she's nagging me about something. But then again, you're not married, so you haven't had the pleasure yet, have you?"

It was amazing how there always seemed to be enough females around for a loser like Troy.

"Any sign of forced entry?" Mitch knew his question was biting in tone, but he had little use for guys like Troy. They were so used to their cocky frat-boy attitude getting them places in life. But it wasn't going to fly with him.

"Nope. Looks like the perp walked through the front door just like your average Joe."

Mitch reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a tiny recording device and stood up. He walked around the body and knelt beside the woman once again. A tiny sliver of wood near the woman's head wound caught his attention. He pushed the record button and began speaking.

"Female victim. Mid-twenties. Body discovered by a neighbor. Face down. Looks like she was hit with some sort of wooden object to the back of her head."

He looked around at the small apartment. "Victim found in her kitchen. No sign of a struggle."

An open door at the end of the hallway obviously led to the woman's bedroom. He stood and walked the short distance to the neatly kept room. A wooden jewelry box stood on the dresser to the left of the bed, several necklaces visible through its small glass opening. A bank envelope nearby contained a withdrawal slip and ten crisp twenty dollar bills.

Mitch raised the recorder to his mouth once again and spoke slowly and clearly.

"Money, jewelry, possessions seem to be untouched. Robbery does not appear to be the motive."

When he walked back into the kitchen he was relieved to see that the officers assigned to fingerprint and photography detail had arrived.

"Hey, guys, thanks for getting here so quickly. And, Sorelli, make sure to get lots of shots of the victim from every conceivable angle. Thanks."