nothing, just standing in the middle of the living room, a mute.
Say something, Valerie.
The voice of a little girl came from behind her: Chloe. She was four years old and dressed in white pyjamas with little red flowers on them and a teddy bear in her arms.
She said, ‘Mommy.’
‘It’s OK, sweetie,’ said Lucy. ‘Go back to your room and get dressed for kindergarten. This is Valerie, she’s one of Mommy’s friends.’
‘I thought it was daddy.’
Listening to this little girl pine for her father broke Valerie’s heart. Tears broke through, trickling down her face leaving snail trails behind.
She turned away and quickly walked out of the apartment.
‘Hey!’ yelled Lucy. ‘Wait.’
Valerie left the building and got in her car, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand as she sat behind the wheel.
You stupid bitch. What are you doing?
Up on the seventh floor, Lucy was watching her through the large windows joining the stairs to each floor.
Starting the engine, she left the area.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Detective Niles Baker, a tall thirty five year old with short brown hair endured the many torments that being in the police force brought, especially with his top lip covered in a fuzzy, caterpillar. Colleagues mocked him with names like Natasha, which he expected, but he didn’t care, he enjoyed the banter and could give back as much as he could take.
He’d been with the Southbrook Police Department for eight years since spending three years with the Bridgewater P.D. farther south.
His suit flapped in the breeze as he walked through the barrier that had been erected around Saint Patrick’s church and towards Officer Anderson, a thirty eight year old, six foot four giant with a young face and a slight squint, earning him the name Columbo from his colleagues; another cop joke added to the list of many.
‘So what have we got?’ Baker asked.
‘Sir, it’s not pleasant.’
‘OK. So what have we got?’
‘Well, Father McGregor started the day as usual until he found a male in his mid to late twenties tied to the cross behind the altar of the church with a hole in his head. Poor guy almost fainted I hear. We haven’t been able to speak to him yet. We think he knows the vic.’
‘And the vic is?’
‘Father McGregor was too unstable to speak.’
‘OK, thanks Columbo. I’ll take a look inside.’ He turned and walked towards the church.
Inside, Freddie’s body was still on the cross and the crime scene guys were there doing their thing: taking pictures, dusting for prints, taking samples etc., before taking the body down and disturbing anything.
Baker looked around for Father McGregor, who wasn’t anywhere to be seen in the main hall or in the room to the left of the main door with the spiral stairs, the previously locked cupboard now wide open having been emptied.
A photographer was taking pictures of the blood in the centre aisle.
Baker asked her, ‘What can you tell me?’
‘Not a lot so far. Just that the victim has been shot in the face. Tests show it happened between eight and eleven last night.’ She pointed up towards the body and continued: ‘The exact weapon is unknown at this time. We’re still looking. I will say this though, there doesn’t seem to be any shell casings around, so either the killer knows what he’s doing or he used a revolver. You know, the ones with the round chamber that don’t eject shell casings. We did find the bullet. There was also an SUV parked outside that we think belonged to the victim. It’s been taken back to the station. The plates were fake.’
‘Well let me know when you find something useful.’
The photographer nodded. ‘Sir.’
‘Oh, one more thing, where’s Father McGregor?’
‘He was asked to wait outside while we dealt with the scene. I think he’s at one of the houses across the street. Irene Hex is the owner’s name. It was her phone he used
Say something, Valerie.
The voice of a little girl came from behind her: Chloe. She was four years old and dressed in white pyjamas with little red flowers on them and a teddy bear in her arms.
She said, ‘Mommy.’
‘It’s OK, sweetie,’ said Lucy. ‘Go back to your room and get dressed for kindergarten. This is Valerie, she’s one of Mommy’s friends.’
‘I thought it was daddy.’
Listening to this little girl pine for her father broke Valerie’s heart. Tears broke through, trickling down her face leaving snail trails behind.
She turned away and quickly walked out of the apartment.
‘Hey!’ yelled Lucy. ‘Wait.’
Valerie left the building and got in her car, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand as she sat behind the wheel.
You stupid bitch. What are you doing?
Up on the seventh floor, Lucy was watching her through the large windows joining the stairs to each floor.
Starting the engine, she left the area.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Detective Niles Baker, a tall thirty five year old with short brown hair endured the many torments that being in the police force brought, especially with his top lip covered in a fuzzy, caterpillar. Colleagues mocked him with names like Natasha, which he expected, but he didn’t care, he enjoyed the banter and could give back as much as he could take.
He’d been with the Southbrook Police Department for eight years since spending three years with the Bridgewater P.D. farther south.
His suit flapped in the breeze as he walked through the barrier that had been erected around Saint Patrick’s church and towards Officer Anderson, a thirty eight year old, six foot four giant with a young face and a slight squint, earning him the name Columbo from his colleagues; another cop joke added to the list of many.
‘So what have we got?’ Baker asked.
‘Sir, it’s not pleasant.’
‘OK. So what have we got?’
‘Well, Father McGregor started the day as usual until he found a male in his mid to late twenties tied to the cross behind the altar of the church with a hole in his head. Poor guy almost fainted I hear. We haven’t been able to speak to him yet. We think he knows the vic.’
‘And the vic is?’
‘Father McGregor was too unstable to speak.’
‘OK, thanks Columbo. I’ll take a look inside.’ He turned and walked towards the church.
Inside, Freddie’s body was still on the cross and the crime scene guys were there doing their thing: taking pictures, dusting for prints, taking samples etc., before taking the body down and disturbing anything.
Baker looked around for Father McGregor, who wasn’t anywhere to be seen in the main hall or in the room to the left of the main door with the spiral stairs, the previously locked cupboard now wide open having been emptied.
A photographer was taking pictures of the blood in the centre aisle.
Baker asked her, ‘What can you tell me?’
‘Not a lot so far. Just that the victim has been shot in the face. Tests show it happened between eight and eleven last night.’ She pointed up towards the body and continued: ‘The exact weapon is unknown at this time. We’re still looking. I will say this though, there doesn’t seem to be any shell casings around, so either the killer knows what he’s doing or he used a revolver. You know, the ones with the round chamber that don’t eject shell casings. We did find the bullet. There was also an SUV parked outside that we think belonged to the victim. It’s been taken back to the station. The plates were fake.’
‘Well let me know when you find something useful.’
The photographer nodded. ‘Sir.’
‘Oh, one more thing, where’s Father McGregor?’
‘He was asked to wait outside while we dealt with the scene. I think he’s at one of the houses across the street. Irene Hex is the owner’s name. It was her phone he used
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