Vincent lunged towards hie gun to try and retrieve it, but Devon tackled him to the ground and knocked the wind from his chest, their limbs intertwining as they clawed, and struck out at each other. Kicks and punches were thrown trying to wrestle for the gun. The one to retrieve it will be the last one standing.
Devon threw a hook to Vincent’s face. Vincent responded. The two of them exchanged blow after blow before Devon managed to land a solid punch.
Vincent kicked back and caught Devon in his knee; Devon fell to the ground as Vincent collected himself and began rushing in the direction of his gun resting five feet away.
Crawling on his hands and knees, Vincent got within reach of his gun as Devon stood back up, pulled a knife out his pocket and charged after Vincent screaming a primal and guttural cry. “I’m gonna kill you,” came out his mouth multiple times.
Vincent, out of options and out of time, reached out, grabbed his gun, rolled onto his back, took aim, and fired off a single shot.
The round landed square in the center of Devon’s head.
Devon collapsed on top of Vincent, no longer breathing, his pupils dilated as sirens could be heard ringing out in the distance. The sound of the sirens was like music to Vincent’s ears. He said to himself. “I’m getting too old for this shit!”
Vincent pushed, rolled Devon’s body off him, stood up, and saw the fleet of Bakersfield police rushing to the scene in a sea of red and blue.
He brushed himself off, held up his badge, holstered his weapon, and shouted, “Edgar Vincent! Hollow Green PD! Suspect down.”
24
Two Weeks Later
“Doctors have diagnosed Kelly with Stockholm syndrome,” Kelly’s lawyer told Vincent in his office at the Hollow Green PD. “There was a litany of things that Devon did to her during their relationship. I’ve compiled everything the psychologist has provided so you can take a look at a more in-depth analysis.”
“I hope this isn’t you saying you’re going to try to get your client off,” Vincent said.
The lawyer shook her head. “Kelly Moretti will be pleading guilty. The staggering amount of evidence you have on this case doesn’t work in her favor. I’m just disappointed Devon Palmer won’t live to see justice. His testimony would have been a big help to everyone.”
“Is what it is,” Vincent said. “Sometimes the bad guys get away. Sometimes they die.”
“Quite true, detective,” the lawyer said as she stood up and grabbed her briefcase. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up on where we’re at. And please know I’m working with you on this one, not against.”
“I appreciate that.”
“We’ll be speaking shortly.”
“I’m sure we will.”
The lawyer left the office. Vincent sighed at the pile of paperwork before him and hours he would have to spend in court in the upcoming months as the case played out. Ten minutes after the lawyer walked out, Detective Brandt arrived, wearing jeans and a white-collared shirt, which wasn’t that much different than her work clothes minus the blazer.
“You look a little worse for the wear,” he said.
Brandt motioned to her side. “Three more weeks,” she said. “And then I’m back on the job.”
She sat, and they comfortably shared the silence for a while. “Sorry about Devon Palmer,” Brandt finally said. “It’s a shame you couldn’t get him alive.”
“Yeah,” Vincent said with a sigh. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”
“You did the right thing. The guy gave you no choice.”
Vincent wasn’t so sure himself. He debated his effectiveness, which had been called into question more than once during this case. “You know,” he said, “he and Kelly Moretti could have gotten away with it.”
“You think?”
“Oh yeah. If he hadn’t gone through all that unnecessary trouble of cleaning the cash from the Moretti’s life insurance policy, they could have been on a beach somewhere by now.”
“Seems like the ultimate fate of a criminal,” Brandt said. “They always end up making some kind of a mistake.”
“Indeed it is. And Kelly will likely serve a life sentence as a result.”
Brandt whistled. “That’s where it’s at?”
Vincent took his time before replying, “That’s where it’s at.”
Brandt smirked.
She stood up and closed the blinds around the room.
“What are you doing?” Vincent asked.
“An experiment,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about our little…conversation back in Miami. About what it would be like to have something other than a professional relationship with you.”
Vincent stood up. “Okay,” he said. “And how does this ‘experiment’ work?”
All the blinds had been closed, the door to the office had been locked, and Brandt stood in front of Vincent as she drew a deep breath. “We could keep talking and going around in circles all day about the prospect of being together,” she said. “But there’s only one way to know if it will ever work.”
Vincent raised his eyebrows. “And what’s that?”
“Kiss me.”
Vincent grinned. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. And this is the only way we’ll know. If we do it and feel something…who knows what happens next. Are you game?”
Vincent took a long moment to think about it, equal parts excited and nervous. “I’m game.”
They inched closer. Vincent delicately cradled Brandt’s smooth and silky face in his hands and leaned in slowly.
“Ready?” he said.
“Ready.”
Vincent kissed her passionately. They stayed in their embrace, holding one another as they allowed their lips to explore and dance, the kiss seeming to last forever before they drew a breath, closed their eyes, and stood back.
Two seconds passed…
Three…
“Wow,” Brandt remarked. “That was… That was so—”
“Terrible,” Vincent said with a sour look on his face.
Brandt winced. “Yeah,” she said. “It was…kind of garbage.”
Vincent tried to shake off the feeling that he had just made out with someone more like a sister than a lover. “I did not like that. Not at all.”
Brandt wiped the residue of the kiss off her lips. “Same here, sport. Same here.”
They looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“I feel better, quite honestly,” Brandt said.
“Likewise,” Vincent said. “And we’ll never have to go through that exercise again.”
“Deal,” Brandt said. She extended a hand.
“Deal,” Vincent said as he shook it.
Brandt turned toward the door as Vincent opened his blinds. “Well,” she said. “I’ve got two more days’ leave. Got a bunch of old Law & Order episodes waiting for me back at the house.”
Vincent saluted her. “Have at it, detective.”
“Will do,” she said as she turned to leave.
Then she stopped.
“Hey,” she said, lowering her voice and gesturing over her shoulder to the patrolman that always watched her when she entered the station. “You really think that Harris has a thing for me?”
Vincent looked at Harris through the window. “Big time. and don’t be afraid to make the first move. First could be the last, I’ve always heard.”
Brandt cracked a smile.
And without saying another word she left his office and closed the door. Walking in the direction of Officer Harris.
Vincent sat at his desk looking over the spread of files. Some new, some piled on his desk for days, some for weeks, and others buried on his desk for months.
He took a deep breath and pulled a case from the pile. He paused and opened the folder. Two photographs fell out. One on his desk and the other on his lap. A murder had taken place up at the quarry, a man and a woman. He could hardly make out their identity because their faces were beaten beyond recognit
ion.
The killer was still at large, with his luck still in Hollow Green. He cracked his knuckles and his neck and grabbed a pen off his desk. “I can always count on you to keep me company can’t I?” He slowly shook his head. “Let’s get to work.”
The End
From The Author
Thank you for reading Hollow Ground.
If you’ve enjoyed Hollow Ground and you would like stories such as this one please leave a review as reviews are very important to an independent author such as myself, and it allows me to continue doing what I love to do.
Much Appreciated,
Hannibal Adofo
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Also by Hannibal Adofo
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