Massacre

by Steven Henry

  Erin kept going, following the voices. She pulled on a pair of disposable gloves from the roll she kept in her car. She came around the kitchen doorway and into the combination dining room/living room.

  “There she is,” Vic Neshenko said. “Welcome to the party.” He, Lieutenant Webb, and Doctor Sarah Levine, the Medical Examiner, were standing around a pair of bodies. The carpet was beige. Blood had pooled under the corpses, a dark maroon.

  “Some party,” Erin said. She saw a string of balloons that hung across the room with a “WELCOME HOME” banner in the middle. A sheet cake, like you’d buy at a grocery store, sat on the coffee table. Several liquor bottles surrounded the cake, accompanied by a package of red plastic cups. One of the bottles had spilled on the floor, making another dark stain on the carpet.

  “We’ve got preliminary ID on the victims,” Webb said. “Husband and wife, Frank and Helen Carson.”

  “The doc’s been here a few minutes,” Vic said. “Whaddaya say, Doc? What killed these two?”

  Levine had been making some notes and hadn’t acknowledged Erin’s presence at all. She looked up at Vic with mild annoyance, like he was interrupting her in the middle of something more interesting.

  “Both victims suffered multiple gunshot wounds,” she said. “Preliminary forensics indicate a large-caliber handgun, probably .45 caliber. It appears the male victim was struck first. As you can see, he was probably facing his shooter and fell on his back. From the angle of the bodies, the female victim was not standing when she was shot. I believe she was kneeling beside the male victim. She then fell forward across him. Death was instantaneous in both cases. The female was struck by three bullets, two in the torso, one in the cranium. The torso wounds would likely have proved fatal, as one transects the aorta and the other appears to have perforated the right lung. However, that is academic, as the third bullet destroyed the cranium. As you can see, the entrance wound is just above the right eye. The exit wound detached most of the back of the skull. Cause of death was destruction of the brain.”

  “Yeah, that’ll do it,” Vic muttered. “I’ve seen .45 slugs before. They do some damage.”

  Erin tried to retreat into the clinical detachment cops and doctors learned as a coping mechanism. She told herself these bodies weren't people anymore. They were just the shells people left behind when they died, shells the detectives could use to find out who’d killed them and why.

  Levine was still talking. “I haven’t been able to make a full examination of either body, due to their entangled posture, but I believe the male was also struck at least once in the torso, as well as a single bullet to the cranium. Cause of death is congruent with the other victim, with similar wound presentation.”

  “Brass?” Erin asked Vic.

  He nodded and pointed to the hallway that led to the bathroom and bedroom. Little yellow plastic markers with black numbers had been placed beside each shell casing. Erin counted six.

  “That’s a little weird,” she said.

  “Just means it was an automatic, not a revolver,” Vic said with a shrug. “Both can be chambered in .45 caliber.”

  “I mean the location,” she said. “It looks like the killer didn’t come in through the front door.”

  “Right,” Webb said. “He didn’t come in through the kitchen. They would’ve seen him. It looks like he came from either the bathroom or the bedroom.”

  Erin walked carefully around the shell casings. Rolf sniffed at them, catching the familiar scent of gunpowder, and padded alongside her. The bathroom door was ajar. She poked it open the rest of the way. Like the rest of the apartment, there was no sign of robbery or ransacking. She caught a faint, sour smell that reminded her of dirty subway stations, or the back of her cruiser after a night of transporting drunks. The window was small and unopened. She went to it and peered through. She saw the street four floors down.

  She came back into the hallway and, together with Rolf, tried the bedroom. The bed was neatly made. Very neatly, in fact. The corners were perfectly squared, the sheet stretched so tight she figured she could bounce a quarter off it. The bedroom window also overlooked the street in front of the building.

  “No fire escape,” she reported, coming back to the living room. “And no sign of entry through either window. They latch from the inside. I don’t think anyone could’ve climbed in.”

  “So we can rule out Spider-man,” Vic said. “But I guess he could be a ninja.”

  “A ninja,” Webb said, deadpan.

  “Sure!” Vic said defensively. “You know, an assassin, in those black suits. He sneaks in while the couple’s getting ready for their party…”

  “Ninjas don’t use .45s,” Erin said.

  “That’s your problem with this theory?” Webb asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “That was the first one I thought of,” she said.

  “Okay, probably not a ninja,” Webb said. “What I want to know is, who else was supposed to be here?”

  “For the party?” Erin asked.

  “Yeah,” Vic said. “Who was being welcomed home? And what about the rest of the guests?”

  “Let’s start by finding out who the Carsons were,” Webb said. “We’re just guessing this is who the victims are, since it’s their apartment. Facial recognition… well, that’s not going to be much help here. Levine, check them for ID. I want a positive identification as quickly as possible. Then let’s find out whether one of them was coming home, or if this cake was for someone else.”

  Erin was looking at the cake. Someone had decorated it with the words, “Welcome Back, Hero!” Beneath that was an American flag made of frosting, and little starbursts that might be intended to be fireworks.

  “Hero,” she said quietly. “I think maybe this party was for a soldier.”

  “Looks like a war followed our boy home,” Vic said.

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  If that's you, keep reading for your secret bonus recommendation.

  Today's selection is: Witty - Friendly - Funny

  With echoes of: Fawlty Towers

  And a hint of: Nuns

  Today's recommendation is

  Hubris Towers: The Complete First Season

  by Ben Y. Faroe and Bill Hoard

  "Astoundingly outrageously funny!"

  "had me laughing so hard that I had to put it down to catch my breath"

  Get it now

  Enjoy this bonus sample of

  Hubris Towers, Episode 5: An Inadvisable Employee

  looked down at the papers in the blue folder in front of him. He looked up at the man across the desk. The man was muscular and bald, with a complicated tattoo peeking out from under his shirt collar. He was glaring at Jimmy in what Jimmy was slowly realizing was the man’s default expression, not an indication that he was about to grab Jimmy’s head and do something painful to it.

  Jimmy swallowed.

  “Er. Describe your attitude toward minority cultural and/or spiritual costumes, headdresses, masks, et cetera.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed.

  “The f―I mean, what?”

  Jimmy tried to find a way to clarify the wording while retaining the essence of the question.

  “How do you feel about the hats and masks and clothes people from other countries and religions might wear?”

  “Might wear? What, like they might be naked?”

  “
No, no, no. I mean―” Jimmy hesitated, trying to remain inclusive. “Maybe. I’m not sure. I guess it would depend on the culture in question.”

  “Wait, so there’s religious nuts goin’ around naked in here?”

  “Well, no.”

  The man chuckled.

  “Dam―I mean, darn. And I spent all them years in a Cat’lic school full of nuns. Any of ‘em hot?”

  “The nuns?” asked Jimmy, doing his best to stay afloat in the conversation.

  “Naw, the religious nuts.”

  “No. Er. That is, many of our tenants are certainly attractive or otherwise possessed of positive qualities―” Jimmy had a tendency to revert to overly formal language when he was nervous, but he was beginning to realize that that might not be the most productive habit under the present circumstances. “I mean, they’re not naked. We don’t have naked tenants. I mean, I assume at some point they change clothes, but―” Overthinking it, his brain told him. “Er. Back to the point. Are you going to make a scene if someone’s wearing funny clothes?”

  “What, like them little Jew hats?”

  “Yarmulkes,” Jimmy corrected automatically.

  “I’m what?” The man raised an instinctive fist. He put it back in his lap. “Fu―Fudge. Sorry. I thought you was gettin’ smart. No, I won’t hit the Jews.”

  “Er.” Jimmy made a rapid calculation and decided that this could be considered a minimally acceptable response. “Good. Good.”

  He looked back down at his papers.

  “How would you explain the ethos of Hubris Towers in five sentences of one to three words each, or vice versa?”

  “What?”

  “What do you think we’re doing at Hubris Towers?”

  This gave the man pause.

  “Uh. Like. Runnin’ a fancy condo, right?”

  “Well, yes, but what’s behind that?”

  The man tried again.

  “I think there’s a Keno place on the next block.”

  “No, no.” Jimmy’s mind raced, trying to find a way to put it that would help the man reach the right answer. Or really almost any vaguely relevant answer. No need to be picky.

  “If you get the job, how do you think we want you to do it?”

  “O-o-oh,” the man grinned with sudden understanding. “Cut out all the cussing,” he said proudly. Jimmy reflected that one sentence of five words did technically fit within the “vice versa.” He nodded.

  “And don’t hit the Jews,” added the man with a confident nod.

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  About the Author

  Steven Henry learned how to read almost before he learned how to walk. Ever since he began reading stories, he wanted to put his own on the page. He lives a very quiet and ordinary life in Minnesota with his wife and dog.

  You can follow Steven's work by joining his list at tinyurl.com/StevenHenryEmail.

  Also by Steven Henry

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  Learn more at tinyurl.com/emberofdreams.

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  Learn more at clickworkspress.com/hts01/.

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  “Incredible. Starts out gripping and keeps getting better.”

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