Sexy Savior: A Hero Club Novel

by Kayt Miller

  Pulling into the parking lot of the Social Apartment complex, I park. Grabbing my notebook and pen, I jot down the time, 2:37 AM, then I slide it into my breast pocket. A strange time for a welfare check. Whoever called it in may have tried to reach this resident for a while and just gave up. It happens. Outside my squad car, I scan my perimeter. It’s the middle of the night so the lights they’ve got on the parking lot are enough to allow me to see a good distance. Walking past one building, I note the address number. I’m looking for the one with 1320 on the sign and see it head.

  Opening the door, I step into a spacious area with couches and tables. This place is still pretty nice considering the people who live here. College students can be hard on a place, another reason for me to buy my own place. I found a fixer-upper that was dirt-cheap. Over the last few years, I’ve almost re-done the whole place. All I have left to do is finish the basement and rebuild the garage. The garage isn’t in terrible shape, but I’d like to use it as a workshop and there’s just not enough room in my current one-car structure.

  I’m up on the second floor in no time searching for apartment 2-1-3. Strange. I know this apartment. I’ve been here before. Raising my hand, I knock, lightly at first. Waiting a few seconds, I knock again. “Police.” I say in my normal voice. “Welfare check.” When I get no response, I press the button next to the door and hear the chime. Still nothing. Whoever lives here is either asleep or gone but I’m going to have to enter the place to be sure. I hear a squeak behind me and quickly turn and scan the hallway expecting to see someone leaving their apartment. It’s the middle of the night but there’s no such thing for some of these college kids. Besides, people commonly leave for work, the gym, or even class at this time of morning.

  I ring the bell again and wait. When I hear nothing from inside, I reach for the knob and turn and am shocked to feel it give. Who leaves their door unlocked these days? Nobody should, that’s for sure. No matter how safe your neighborhood is, lock your damn door.

  When it unlatches, I slowly push the door open and repeat. “Police.” I take one step over the threshold, then another into a short hallway. To my right is a small kitchen. I peer inside and see dirty dishes in the sink and what looks like a pan on the stove that’s burned dry. I move closer and see not only has it burned dry with some sort of burnt, hardened pasta inside, but the burner is still on. “Not good.” I mutter to myself. Lucky the place didn’t burn down. Reaching out, I turn off the stove.

  Back in the short hallway, I repeat, “Police. Welfare check.” Walking slowly, I enter a smallish living space. There’s a sofa, chair, television stand, and a small dining table with two chairs. The furniture looks nice. Top of the line. I know because I just replaced my living room furniture and that shit’s expensive. Yeah, that furniture in this place is way too nice for a student apartment.

  When I note the room is clear, I approach a closed door. Bedroom. Reaching up, I knock. “Police.” Again. No response. Since the door isn’t shut all the way, I reach up toward the top and push it open and freeze for only for a moment. She’s there. I rush to the form on the floor. The one face down with blood pooled around her head. Reaching out, I place my fingers on the neck to feel for a pulse. Nothing.

  I knew it. I’ve seen bodies before in the service and one other time here in Ames. There are tells like the odor, the deep reddish-brown color of the blood on the floor, the body temperature. She’s cold but rigor hasn’t set it completely and the odor isn’t overwhelming. Not yet.

  Reaching for the radio on my shoulder, I press the button. “11-44. 1320 Coconino Road. Number 2-1-3. Officer needs assistance.”

  “10-4. 11-44. 1320 Coconino Road. Number 2-1-3. Units responding.”

  As soon as the call is in, I stand and back out of the bedroom making sure I don’t touch anything else. My hand as been on the top of the bedroom door, the front doorknob, and the stove. I’ll have to report that as soon as the others get here.

  Stepping out into the hallway, I turn so I’m facing the door across the hall. This is where I’ll wait for the homicide team which will include the coroner, the detective on duty, and several uniformed officers. We’ll need to start knocking on doors soon so we can start asking questions. The more people we have on hand, the faster that will go. It’s then that I see movement to my right, followed by the sound of a click; like someone just shut their door. The source of the sound is across the hallway and one over. Walking to that door, I raise my hand and knock. The sound I heard earlier, before I entered the decease’s apartment came from this location too. Whoever lives in this place has been watching me. “Police. May I speak to you?”

  When there’s no response, I knock again. “Police. Open up.”

  I hear the clicking sound again and realize it’s the deadbolt sliding open. I stare down at the knob and watch it turn slowly. I’m about to knock again because I’m getting impatient when the door begins to open. Begins is the right word for it because it only begins. The thing is open between one quarter to one-half inch. My line of sight follows the opening until it meets one eye. One eye that’s peeking out the sliver of an opening. “Yes?” the voice says so softly it’s barely audible. It’s enough, though, for me to tell the voice is female. Good thing because I can’t tell from the eyeball peering back at me.

  I point to the badge on my chest. “Officer Golden. Ames P.D. What’s your name?”

  There’s a long pause. Is she trying to figure out what her name is?

  “D-Daisy.”

  “Daisy? Daisy what’s your last name?”

  “B-Buchanan.”

  I reach into my front pocket and retrieve my small notebook and pen quickly jotting down the name. Funny, the name sounds familiar.

  “Daisy Buchanan? Can I speak to you for a moment?” The eyeball moves up and down. I’m going to take that as a yes. “Would you mind opening up the door?”

  The eyeball moves up and down again.

  Okay. I guess she doesn’t want to open the door.

  “I’m not dressed.” Her voice is now above a whisper but only slightly.

  “Can you get dressed so I can speak with you? It’s urgent.”

  “I-is she okay?” The eyeball looks to my left. Toward the open door of the apartment with the deceased.

  “I’m not at liberty to say at this time. Can you please get dressed so we can ask you some questions?”

  “We?” she squeaks. Why does she sound terrified?

  “Yes. We. There’ll be more police here soon.”

  “Wh-what?” she says sounding terrified. “Why?”

  “If you’ll get dressed, I’ll be able to tell you more after you answer a few questions.” Which isn’t entirely true. I can’t tell her anything other than her neighbor is dead. The rest she’ll have to find out with the rest of the world.

  Without another word, the door shuts and I hear the latch click back into place.

  Great.