Fatally Bound by Roger Stelljes

wish I could help you, I really do, but the night she was killed I was literally asleep five minutes after I finished the story for the boys.”
    Neither of the Burroughs noticed anything unusual in the days leading up to Hannah Donahue’s murder.
    Mac and Wire sat dejectedly on the steps for Donahue’s house, the yellow crime scene tape flapping in the light breeze, the sun beginning its decline in the west. Three marathon days of working the case and they had nothing to show for it.
    “Does it seem odd to you,” Wire mused, “that nobody in this neighborhood recalls seeing anything unusual in the last two weeks? I mean, nothing at all? Not an unusual vehicle? No suspicious people? How is that possible?”
    “Neighborhood full of busy people,” Mac replied with a yawn. “People with families who are so wrapped up in their own lives they don’t notice anyone else’s.”
    “I thought we’d have found something,” Wire moaned. “We got nothin’ and I have a message from the Judge, who apparently got a call from Donahue. I’m sure he was hoping for progress.”
    “I am starting to see why the FBI has nothing on this guy. He leaves nothing. We’ve talked to a lot of people and have zip. We’ve gone through her financials, e-mails, phone records, everything, and there’s nothing that pops out or gives me even a tiny thread to pull.”
    Mac was not accustomed to failure. He closed cases. That was his history. He’d never gone three days on an investigation without
any
breaks, without making
some
progress, without some
new
development or lead to follow. Wire yawned and he could tell she was getting worn down.
    “Tell you what,” Mac suggested. “Two nights in the hotel is enough. Let’s head back to DC, let the case percolate for a day in our minds and go from there.”
    “Do you have a plan from here?” Wire asked.
    “Not right now,” Mac answered as he pushed himself up off the steps. “In twenty-four hours, I will.”
    He pulled into the garage a little past sun down and found Sally relaxing in a deck chair on the back patio of the townhouse, a bottle of red open and two citronella candles burning to keep the bugs away. Mac walked up, kissed her and poured himself a glass of wine. He plopped himself down into the chair next to her, took a long sip of the Cabernet and shook his head in disgust.
    “That bad, huh?”
    “Don’t ask,” Mac grumbled, his frustration evident. “Please don’t ask. I’ll talk about anything
but
the case.”
    Talk they did, for an hour. She could always ease his mind and sometimes he liked to just listen to her talk and it didn’t really matter about what, something about her voice would soothe him. An hour later she walked inside and left him sitting on the patio to finish the last of the Cabernet. He closed his eyes, relaxed in his chair and listened to the hum of the neighborhood, the crickets, the light breeze through the leaves of the trees, the murmur of traffic in the distance. Fifteen minutes later he heard a window open above his head. He opened his eyes, looked up and saw Sally looking down from the master bathroom. “Come on up. Bring another bottle of wine.”
    Mac did as ordered, selecting another Cabernet from the wine fridge and making his way upstairs to find Sally waiting in the bathroom. She was in their large whirlpool tub, with candles arranged around the room. “Join me and relax. The warm water feels good.”
    They spent a lazy Sunday morning lounging around the townhouse. Sally had to watch the morning political shows and make a variety of phone calls. While she did, Mac took a long run to get a good lather going and to clear his mind. He ran from his home in Georgetown down to the Capitol and back, running along both sides of the Mall, past the reflecting pool and the Lincoln Memorial on his way back. After his run, he made waffles and they read the Sunday newspapers while sipping coffee and relaxing in the living room.
    In the afternoon, they