by Zach Lamb
“I wasn’t going to do anything to him, but the asshole attacked me, so something has to be done with him.”
“I will find you and—”
“No need for empty threats, Detective. We’re at home and eagerly await your arrival,” Bobby said, and hung up the phone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The last thing Don wanted to do was go and save Greg. Mary was dead because of him. If he would have told everybody from the beginning, like any normal detective would, they could have stopped The Suicide Killer from killing Mary and possibly Laura Cline as well. Now their blood was on Greg’s hands too. But this may be his only chance to catch Mary’s killer and to hell with Greg Burns. Don was wrestling with what to do when the call of multiple gunshots being reported in Greg’s neighborhood came over the radio in his car. Don left his house when they took Mary away, and he hadn’t been back since. He stayed in a hotel that night and when he woke this morning, the only thing he could think about doing was getting back to work so he could find her killer. He didn’t expect for her killer to find him and then tell him where he was. It was probably a trap, and all the responding officers were about to walk into it. Don picked up the radio.
“This is Detective Don Murphy. All responding officers proceed to 1356 North Oaks Drive. I am in route. Do not enter the house until I arrive.”
The radio crackled, and various reports of 10-4 filled the cab of his car. Don drove in silence. The emotionless shock he’d been in for the majority of the day was starting to wear off and anger took its place. Sweat rolled down his face and into his eyes. He turned the air conditioner on high, but it didn’t seem to blow cold enough. He rolled down the car window and stuck most of his head outside. The rest of the drive the world came toward him on tilt.
Don arrived at Greg’s house to a sea of flashing blue lights. He got out of his car, and six officers surrounded him.
“Okay, listen up everybody. This house is Detective Burns’. He’s one of ours. Let’s do this right. I need Wilkes and Garner in the house with me. The other four of you spread out around the house and don’t let anybody leave.”
It made Don’s stomach roll to call Greg one of them, but he was willing to use the cop in distress as motivation to assure the killer’s capture. Don ran up the front steps, flanked by the two officers. Wilkes stepped up and slammed the Enforcer into the door. Garner went in first, followed by Don and then Wilkes. They walked into the kitchen and into the living room, pointing their guns around corners as they went.
“Looks like we found the shootout. How’d you know?” Wilkes asked.
It was a lie, but Don was nothing like Greg. There would be plenty of time to explain later.
“Lucky guess,” Don said.
They walked through the living room, following the path of the fight. Don walked down the hall and motioned for the officers to follow him upstairs. The door to Greg and Shelly’s bedroom stood open. Don stepped into the room, and the breath caught in his throat. A young woman laid on the bed covered in blood. Streaks of crimson sprayed up the walls in a grotesque graffiti tag.
“We’re going to need an ambulance and the coroner,” Don said.
Garner stepped back into the hall and radioed for the extra units. Don walked to the bed and felt the woman’s neck for a pulse, even though he knew she was already gone. Her face turned with the pressure of his fingers, and for a split second, he thought it was Shelly. The young woman looked remarkably close to Greg’s wife.
“We need to find Burns if he’s still here.”
A shuffling noise came from the closet. All three cops snapped their guns in the direction of the door. The sound grew louder and sounded like somebody trying to beat their way out of the closet. The two uniformed officers looked at Don, waiting for instructions.
“Come out of there, or we’re coming in after you,” Don yelled.
The knocks only grew louder and more persistent.
“Wilkes, open the door and fall back.”
Officer Wilkes walked to the door and slowly turned the knob so that whoever was behind the door would not hear him. He put three fingers in the air and dropped them one at a time. The final finger dropped with his fist, and he jerked the door open and stumbled back behind Don. At first, there was no movement in the closet. Don and the officers took a step toward the open door, but only saw clothes. A flash from the left side of the closet and a person wearing a black ski mask, dressed in solid black clothes and boots stomped into the room with a gun in his hand.
“Drop your weapon now,” Don yelled.
The figure stopped but did not drop the gun. He waved the gun up and down and roared like a muffled bear.
“I said drop the gun now, or I will shoot you.”
He dropped to his knees with his hands held in the air. The man’s arms quaked like he was having trouble keeping them up. Garner moved toward the man to disarm him, and he dropped his hand holding the gun. Two shots rang out, and Garner jumped back out of the way. Both bullets hit the man in the chest, and he fell on the floor. Don approached him, gun still drawn. He tried to kick the gun out of the suspect’s hand, but his entire arm moved with the kick. He bent down and pulled the gun, but his arm moved with it.
“What the hell?”
The gun was taped to his hand. Don rolled him over and pulled off the mask, revealing Greg Burns’ face. His mouth had been taped so he couldn’t warn them. Don pulled the tape from Greg’s mouth, and blood trickled from the corners.
“No, no, no. I didn’t know it was you,” Don said, patting his face. “Greg, stay with me.”
Greg fumbled with the radio at his side.
“Damn it. We’ve got an officer down. I need the paramedics here now,” Don screamed into the radio. “There was nothing I could do. I didn’t know it was him.”
Wilkes put his hand on Don’s shoulder.
“We know you didn’t know who he was, Detective. He couldn’t drop the gun. I thought he was going to shoot us too.”
Don blamed Greg for his wife’s death, but he didn’t want him to die. Not like this. They had been partners for ten years. He considered Greg family. He held Greg’s head in his lap. A folded piece of paper stuck out of Greg’s shirt pocket.
Don pulled the paper from Greg’s shirt, already knowing it would be another note from the killer.
“I hear the sirens as they echo closer, covering the distance of the night. Are they finally coming for me this time? Know that if I ever made any mistakes that caused pain, they were never in my plan. N.”
Don balled up the note and threw it against the wall. Greg began to cough, and Don held him up to keep him from choking on his own blood.
“Don’t worry. Help is on the way. You’re going to be okay.”
Don cursed himself for holding Greg as he was dying, and the only thing he could think to say was the typical false words of hope they had both given many times before. Greg gargled blood and pushed it from his mouth. He was trying to say something, but Don couldn’t make it out. He leaned in closer and put his ear up to his mouth.
“Attic,” was all Don could make out before Greg died in his arms. Don gently placed Greg’s head on one of the pillows lying on the floor.
“What did he say?” Wilkes asked.
Don stood and forced himself not to look at the ceiling as he walked to Wilkes.
“He said attic. I think he means the guy who did this is hiding up there,” Don whispered.
The two officers walked out of the room and found the attic entrance. Garner ran up the stairs, followed by two paramedics. Don pulled the door open for the attic. The springs protested every inch he pulled them. The ladder clacked open and Wilkes started up, followed by Don.
Don grabbed the outside rung in time with each step of the officer in front of him. Wilkes stuck his gun through the hole and waved it around. He eased his head through the opening and put his hands on the edge of the entrance to hoist himself into the attic.
A bright flash and gunsh
ot startled Don, and bright red blood fell on his upturned face. Wilkes’ body fell down the stairs, carrying Don with it. Don landed on his back with Wilkes’ body twitching on top of him. Every tremor of the body covered him with more blood.
He pushed Wilkes off of him and sat against the wall, wiping blood and skull fragments from his face. A loud crash that sounded like a window breaking came from the attic. Don jumped to his feet and raced up the ladder.
He didn’t stop at the top to give anybody a chance to aim before they fired. He landed on a piece of plywood acting as flooring between the ceiling rafters and swung his gun in all directions, looking for any movement. The attic was quiet. Don skipped across ceiling rafters to the large window in the back of the attic that looked out over the back yard.
Broken glass jutted like the teeth from a monster shark, leaping from the water with its meal in its mouth. The glass had been cleared from the bottom sill so the killer could climb out. Don could barely make out bloody boot impressions on the wood. It would be a tough escape, but a more athletic person than Don could manage it.
Don watched out the window as the flashing blue lights illuminated the backyard. The only thing he saw were two uniformed police officers looking back at him.
Chapter Thirty
Bobby opened the door to his waiting SUV and fell into the driver’s seat. After forty-five minutes of searching, and another thirty by a different officer, Don finally believed that Bobby had gone out the window and gave up the search. When they finally closed the attic door, Bobby slid out from behind a piece of drywall that he’d hung on the bare wall. He hid between two studs in the gable of the roof. Many times the police walked past his hiding spot, and each time he was ready to shoot at any sign that his hiding place had been compromised. Police were still working in the house, and he had to wait a while longer until they finished. He lost track of time, but the dim glow of sunrise forced its way through the attic window when they finally drove away. Bobby emerged from the attic soaked through with sweat. He felt ten pounds lighter.
The screen door slammed as he walked out the back door and down two streets before he turned toward the subdivision exit and his waiting vehicle. He wanted nothing more than to lean the seat back and go to sleep, but he didn’t want to end up getting caught because he couldn’t stay awake.
It was still too early in the morning for any of the protective mothers to see him when he entered the park and stumbled through the woods. When he reached the edge of the cliff, he pitched over the side and slid to the bottom. Rocks and chunks of red clay fought to hold him back, but he resisted and came to rest at the roots of the fallen tree.
He rubbed his hand over the destroyed heart and then over the newly etched memorial. Danielle’s grave looked like a wild animal tried to dig her up. The grave must not have been deep enough to hide her scent. He dropped to his knees and swiped as much dirt as he could back into the hole. Exhaustion threated to overtake him and he resided to return later when he wasn’t so tired and fill the hole with rocks and then cover them up with more dirt to make sure nothing found her again.
As much as he enjoyed visiting Danielle, there was somewhere else he thought he needed to be. He climbed back up the hill and back into the park. The mothers were now arriving with their children. Most of them sat in their car and watched him walk across the grass like he was a zombie, coming to feast on their children. The few mothers who were already out of their cars got back in and waited for him to pass. He climbed into his Bronco and spun tires out of the park to give the gawking mothers a bit of a show.
It felt like he’d won the game. That’s what it’d been all along, right? One huge game, so it goes. But as with any game, there was the potential for setbacks and he’d had a few of those as well. The loss of Emily and Danielle were more than setbacks to his game. But for each loss he incurred, he’d struck back and enacted justifiable counter moves.
He pulled onto the narrow winding road and followed it to the back of the cemetery. Nobody alive in the cemetery tracked his movements. He placed a handful of wild flowers he didn’t remember picking against the headstone.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and collapsed on the grave.
He curled up and wrapped his arms around the cool granite. On the breeze, floating through the trees, he heard her sweet voice say, I knew you would come back for me, my love.
THE END
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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty