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Dr. James Mctiege sat in front of his computer, researching Jennifer Buella and Rosario Kelly’s associates. He yawned, stretched his arms, then rubbed his exhausted eyes. For the past several hours, he had alternated between being glued to his laptop, and making copious phone calls. He talked to some people he already knew, and others he had never heard of before. His efforts had not uncovered any information about the elusive, powerful criminals.
When the doctor let his arms fall back down, a shadowy figure was revealed right behind him. The person was in black clothing from head to toe, including a ski mask. An arm shot in front of Dr. Mctiege with almost imperceptible speed. He barely had time to look at the materialized appendage before it moved again. The hand slashed across his throat in one fluid motion, a sharpened blade flashing in the darkness.
James fell forward in death. Blood gushed from the massive wound, splattering his computer screen and desk. Shredded organs hung limply from his throat, crimson liquid flowing out of them and onto his shirt and lap. Both carotid arteries and his jugular vein had been severed. He would die from a lack of oxygen to his brain before his heart would stop from the blood loss. His head hit his desk as he collapsed, then his motion ceased, arms hanging lifelessly on either side of him.
The killer unslung a black backpack, closed the laptop, and put it inside. Retrieving Dr. Mctiege’s wallet and cell phone from his pockets, they were put there too. The assassin walked around the house, unplugging the landline phones and taking them. The work was finished with one final, thorough check. Before leaving, the killer checked the doctor’s pulse to make sure that his final breath had left his body, and slunk out of the house without a trace.