Story: Ten Little Indians: 3 of ?

Series: Speed-Burn

Setting: Speed-Burn: Las Vegas, Nevada: Thursday, July 21, 2005, evening.

Note: Nevada Police Codes: 425: Suspicious situation, 422: Officer down, 444: Officer needs emergency assistance, 428: Missing person, and 418: Kidnap.

Author’s Note: Not having seen what Greg’s home looks like, I gave him one. I’ve made it a one bed/ one bath/ one floor small home, with a living room, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen/dining room combo.

Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive. samwise_baggins@yahoo.co.uk

Webpage: http://www.geocities.com/samwise_baggins/index.html

“This is Brass. I need back up at...”

Tuning out the detective’s words, the camera he’d grabbed as he’d left his Tahoe clenched securely in his hand, Nick studied the streaks on the stoop. It looked as if someone had dragged something through food and other debris; and the deep blackish-red coloring indicated that blood might be liberally mixed into the mess. There was no sign of activity in the one-story home. The trail of debris and drag marks, however, ended in a pooling effect on the top step, with faint prints leading down the three steps to the gravel walkway. It was unclear from a cursory glance just where the trail lead or ended, but with the car missing, a fair assumption could be made that someone had taken Greg’s Volkswagen Passat from the crime scene.

There was the faint sound of voices coming from inside the house next door, some sit-com playing out its canned laugh track in an eerie, surreal splash of white noise. That vague sense of dread he’d been feeling since spotting the discrepancies out front had settled deep in the pit of Nick’s stomach, causing the acid to churn. Without really thinking about it, the investigator popped a stick of gum in his mouth, storing the wrapper in his jeans pocket. He pulled his revolver from its holster, tuning back into Brass’ radio call.

“I repeat, ‘we have a 425 with possible 422, requesting backup’. We are entering the premises to provide possible emergency relief.” With that, the homicide detective ended the communiqué with dispatch and turned towards the open doorway.

Brass didn’t even glance over his shoulder at the following criminalist. Rather, he cautiously, avoiding as much of the trail as possible, slipped up the three steps to the back door stoop. He could see through the open door into the lit room beyond, and what he saw was enough to solidify the sense that Greg was the injured person they were looking for.

“Police!” Brass was following procedure instinctively despite the urge to sneak up on whoever might be left in the residence. Law dictated fair warning.

Hearing the sure footsteps of Nick behind him, Brass took a steadying breath then proceeded through the door, eyes sweeping quickly over the room. To the right was an island counter someone could be hiding behind, on the right was a table pushed up against a window seat as if shoved willy-nilly. There was apparent blood and food debris, as well as what seemed to be pieces of thick china on the floor and counter; the refrigerator stood open.

For his part, Nick wanted to panic, but forced the sensation down. “Greg?” He listened carefully for any reply, any indication that his friend… or even the perpetrator… was there and had heard him. The only sounds were the slamming of his heart in his rib cage, Brass walking towards the kitchen island, carefully trying to avoid the debris, and that stupid sit-com next door; were the neighbors deaf to need it so loud?

“Clear,” rang Brass’ voice, startling Nick into almost swallowing his gum. He coughed into his hand, dislodging the sticky mass, and bit down on it hard, fighting the instinct to spit it out. This was an official crime scene, and there was no way Nick would compromise it.

Following the detective, Nick walked carefully toward the hallway, letting his eyes pick out the obvious drag marks and bloodied prints leading towards the next room. As they made their way through the carpeted hall, Brass suddenly signaled Nick to stop and gingerly peeked around an open door in the wall. He pulled back and shook his head calling softly, “Bathroom is clear.”

Nick nodded and resumed slowly following his friend and current partner, staying far enough behind to be out of the way, but close enough to help if needed.

After only a few steps, the hallway opened up into an equally carpeted living area. To the right were a couch, low slung coffee table, and vast entertainment system, all positioned comfortably near the front door, which remained closed, indicating that if anyone was still in the house, it was in another room he or she was hiding. To the left was a small niche with a comfortable office chair and a computer desk with all of the latest geek toys. Straight ahead was a closed door, on the opposite side of the room.

The pair paused briefly to take in the complete chaos of the room, centered near the coffee table and couch. The wall phone was off the hook, hanging down until it nearly brushed the floor with its receiver, a steady dial tone buzzing faintly like the drone of a lazy insect on the autumn night air. A laptop computer, damaged pretty heavily, lay on the floor in a pool of blood and bits of debris. The drag marks began there, but the faint footprints, which liberally crossed and re-crossed through the blood, led beyond the pooling towards the table and back. There was blood spatter marking the furniture, ceiling, and walls. The signs of struggle also included a single apple, bitten and trampled… a piece of evidence that was extremely noticeable for its oddity.

Jim brass signaled that he was going to cross towards that closed door. Nick nodded his agreement, fighting down the nausea that kept rising as he pictured the scene in his mind...

Greg opened the door from his bedroom, the sun beginning to set outside the windows of his comfortable home. He was moving as if listening to music, but there was no radio or television playing and he didn’t wear his oft present mp3 player. Greg was listing to some song in his head, moving to an energetic beat that only he could hear.

With a grin, he headed into the living room and put his laptop down on the coffee table followed quickly by his cell phone, then turned to head to the kitchen for a quick meal before leaving for work on the night shift. He moved quickly, hunger roiling in his guts; it would be a busy night and many of the shift would skip their breaks to get the evidence processed in a timely fashion.

Once in the kitchen, the young investigator opened the fridge and pulled out one object after another, looking for just that right snack to slake his hunger. Settling temporarily for a white, thick china bowl filled with leftover stew, the man turned, only to come face to face with the intruder. Startled, Greg dropped the stew bowl and it shattered on the hard tile floor of the kitchenette.

Thinking quickly as the man lunged for him, the thinner, quicker former lab tech turned and darted for the hallway, only to find his self slammed against the table. Somehow he found the strength to push back, despite getting the wind knocked from him, but it wasn’t enough. Greg’s strength was in his wiry speed, not in the muscled brawn boasted by his attacker. The investigator made another dash for the doorway, this time dripping blood from a gash received from his brief struggle.

Once in the living room, Greg reached for the phone but was tackled before he could do more than knock against it. Slamming into the floor, feeling his legs grabbed and yanked backwards, he kicked out, unsure if he made a connection of any worth or not. He crawled towards the coffee table, reaching for his cell phone.

The intruder, however, was too quick for the pain-dulled movements of the slighter man. Greg found himself slammed once more against the floor, as the larger man grabbed for the laptop and used it as a handy weapon of attack. Blood spattered as the investigator was struck repeatedly with his own laptop, finally falling unconscious. He was never aware that the intruder left him there to bleed as he headed into the kitchen once more to slake his own hunger with a stolen apple from the fridge.

After only a few bites, however, the intruder nervously determined he had to leave with his prize. The burly man grabbed Greg by the legs and dragged him back down the hall towards the kitchen and outside, the half eaten apple falling forgotten to the living room floor and trampled negligently in the invader’s haste. He hefted the investigator off the porch and towards the innocently waiting Volkswagen in the driveway. Fumbling the door open, the man dumped his precious cargo into the back seat then raided his pockets to retrieve the keys, which he used to start the car before driving away, uncaring that he left the lights on and the back door wide open in his haste to escape.

The blur of Brass moving forward once more drew Nick out of his dark imaginings. He shook off the worry and dread, determined to help his younger friend to the best of his ability. At the moment, that meant backing up Brass as the detective checked that last room.

Knowing Nick’s gun was trained on both him and the door, Brass reached out and turned the knob. It opened easily, the door swinging silently outward. The older detective drew in a deep breath, holding it in anticipation as he suddenly stepped forward and steadied his own revolver. He blinked once, the air whooshing from his lungs in anticlimactic near-disappointment.

It was a bedroom, with a single bed, bureau, and desk neatly lining the walls. In here, too, were numerous bookshelves as well as a floor to ceiling shelving unit containing DVD’s. Two rotating CD racks we fully loaded, sitting next to the desk innocently. The closet door stood wide open, clothes hung without any discernable pattern. The floor of the closet contained a laundry basket with bunched, tangled laundry in it, presumably clean and awaiting proper distribution to drawers and hangers. There was no sign of either victim or perpetrator, and one quick glance led the pair to the pre-assumption that the crime had never crossed into the sanctity of the bedroom.

They turned and headed back into the living room, sirens piercing the night air outside and rising as the requested backup came closer and closer.

The click and whir of a camera broke the otherwise almost deathly stillness in the room as Nick began to process the crime scene… his friend’s home.