Damage by Mark Feggeler

stretcher through the sandy soil, the medics decided to retract the wheels and carry the stretcher to the ambulance. The site of the them trying to hold their patient level was enough to set Ray in motion again to lend a hand. The driver stood at the head, hoisting up with a jerk before his partner had a firm grip on her end of the stretcher. Correen Wallace's eyes shot open and scanned her surroundings as she began to slide down toward the foot of the stretcher.
    "Put it down!"
    The female medic shot her partner a nasty look.
    "You wait for me this time. You, loud mouth! Where's your friend, the cop?"
    Ray called for Billy who was already in motion heading toward them at a brisk pace.
    "You two take the head," she told Billy when he reached them. "Me and loud mouth will take the feet. Everybody grab a corner and lift only when I say so."
    They carried the stretcher across the lawn and along the path to the back of the ambulance. The metal bar drove tiny splinters of broken glass further into Ray's palm. He thought about mentioning it to them, but he didn't want to delay their efforts to get Correen Wallace to the hospital. The fat man returned to pick up what equipment he could find and chugged back to climb into the driver's seat. His partner closed herself into the back of the vehicle with their patient. Ray watched the ambulance disappear into the canopy of trees, it's flashing lights and screeching sirens announcing to the squirrels and hibernating box turtles in the surrounding woods to stay clear of the road.
    "They should have grabbed your gun and shot her for all the good they did," Ray groaned, but when he turned to continue complaining he just managed to catch a glimpse of Billy disappearing into the house.

Monday, Part V

    The stocky detective in the snug grey suit from the break room was first to arrive, almost five minutes before the next deputy and nearly twenty minutes before Sheriff Redmond. He climbed out of his unmarked vehicle and took in his surroundings. Ray waited on the porch with Billy, ready to follow his cousin to greet the detective, but Billy didn't move.
    "Is the body gone?" the detective asked.
    "No," Billy replied.
    The squat man then walked the length of the gravel path to the porch, his nose pointed down and eyes scanning the ground as he went, before he stopped at the foot of the steps and surveyed his surroundings. He looked up into the house through the open front door behind Ray, then over his shoulder to where shafts of sunlight breaking through the low clouds lit the barn, then right to the driveway from where he had just come, and left to the matted grass and trampled camellias in the courtyard beyond the porch. His attention finally came to rest on the mix of tan soil and clay in patterned clumps on the porch steps.
    "How much of this dirt was here before you two entered the house?" he asked, looking up.
    Ray stood at the top step staring down at the detective's shiny, bald head. A glance at his sneakers revealed they were caked with red clay along their sides. Billy lifted his foot to find he also was guilty of contaminating the crime scene. The detective shook his head.  
    "Stay where you are," he ordered.
    Perhaps pent up nervous energy was finally getting the better of Ray, because he had to stifle a laugh when it dawned on him how much the detective sounded like his Aunt Cecelia, Billy's mother. He distracted himself from the similarity by trying again to recall the detective's name. Mitchell? Willard? He simply could not dredge it up from his memory.
    "Is that where the body was found?" the detective called when he reached the far corner of the porch. He pointed in the general direction of the spot where Correen Wallace had landed.
    "No," Billy said. He pointed over his shoulder at the door. "The body's in there."
    "That's where we found Mrs. Wallace," Ray added when he realized Billy wasn't volunteering information about the shattered glass and ravaged shrubberies in the