Murder on the Ave
BK Jackson
She screamed so loud that the silence of that beautiful early Saturday morning on trendy Park Avenue caused even those taking the “walk of shame” to lift their heads. Those cutting into their eggs Benedict brought their knives to a halt. In fact, all of those seated at the coveted outdoor tables looked around. And at themselves.
What the hell was that? seemed to be the predominant thought expressed on all of the faces at at the corner of Park and Berkley.
****
She ran to the spare bedroom uselessly cupping the large wound below her rib cage but the blood was gushing now. As she slammed the door the room began to spin. She fell to her right knee and began to roll onto her back. The ceiling whirled above her. Then his face appeared. His filthy white t-shirt, covered in her blood. The knife still in his hand. Everything. Spinning.
Oh my God, no. Please no, no. She saw the knife being raised again in that bloody whirlwind of horror. There was no pain this time, just a thick heavy sensation that she had never felt before filling her chest. Cold…so fucking cold…and, finally, ….. the blackness took her away.
****
“Excuse me,” Martha Goodwin raised her hand to a passing server at the outdoor tables. “Did someone call the police?”
“Ma’am, I’m pretty sure the manager is on it. Hopefully, it’s just someone having a bad morning.” The pretty young server had only slowed down to respond and now picked up her pace again and disappeared inside.
“Bill, that was not a normal scream. And with 20 years in private practice I know screams,” Martha said, pushing a look of overwhelming concern into her husband’s bright blue eyes. “You sure do honey,” Bill replied, his notorious humor-laden sarcasm began percolating upward towards the second half of his sentence, “and after last night, I would like to give you a 5-star Yelp review on your performance”, he smiled (and winked) as he lifted his half finished flute of mimosa in a minute gesture of congratulation.
“Bill, stop it. I’m serious. We need to do something,” Martha pined.
“Honey, you stop,” Bill gently placed the empty champagne flute back on the table, “are we really going to go through this again?”
“What do you mean ‘again’ Bill?”, Martha asked.
“Um, my dear, have you forgotten that we had half of the Monroe County Sheriff’s department scouring our neighborhood last summer when you heard some glass breaking?” Bill asked.
Bill was looking for her acknowledgement but her eyes were now focused on two RPD cruisers squealing north onto Berkeley Street. Flashers. No sirens.
“I told you something was going on. Pay the bill, let’s go.” Martha said as she began to stand up.
****
Officer James Green came to an abrupt stop in front of 314 Berkley and opened his door. His right hand instinctively went to his holster as he exited the cruiser. Paul screeched up and stopped behind him. Officers Paul Verdi and James Green knew the neighborhood, the street and, unfortunately, this address. They nodded to each other as two other cruisers, lights flashing, abruptly arrived from the East Ave end of the street. No sirens. This was a ‘rape in progress’ call and they took no chance of anyone getting away.
Nods were exchanged between the four. James and Paul headed for the front door as the two other officers jogged towards the back of the house.
Paul repeatedly pushed the doorbell as James pounded on the heavy wooden door. Silence. Grabbing the doorknob James turned it with force and the door unexpectedly unlatched. Unlocked. Go time. The thought belonged to both of them. They gave each other one last glance, a glance that only cops know, and barged into the foyer.
****
“Wait up!”, Bill slightly raised his voice as he watched Martha take the corner and mini-serpentine between the last few tables on the Berkley side of the cafe. Looking up and past her shoulder, as he cleared the last table himself, he was surprised at all the commotion. There were four cruisers now. Flashers all around. Two in front, doors open. Empty. One parallel to block traffic from the north with a uniformed officer standing by and one just parallelling next to Martha to block traffic from the south. The officer in the nearest car jumped out and held his hand up to Martha, “Hold it right there ma’am, this is an active crime scene. Please back off.” She stopped in place just as Bill caught up to her and placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. She looked backed into his eyes, nervous but content, with an ‘I told you so!’ stare that would have made a dead hypochondriac proud.
****
James went in first pointing his Glock up the stairwell to the left knowing Paul would be covering the hallway that led to a kitchen on the right. “Police!”
He went halfway up the stairs, pausing on the landing with his gun still front and center pointing up the stairs. Paul quickly scoured the living room on his right with his eyes. “Clear!” He then quickly made his way back into the kitchen. His eyes everywhere. “Clear!” He quickly unlatched the deadbolt on the back kitchen door allowing the other two officers entrance. The three of them quickly headed towards the stairs in the front to join James.
The four officers climbed the stairs with guns drawn covering all angles until they reached the top landing. “Police!”, James yelled again. Silence. James entered the first bedroom on the right. “Clear!” Paul went into the bathroom in the middle of the hall, quickly pushing the shower curtain to the right with his Glock. “Clear!”
The two other officers made their way to the bedroom at the end of the hall while Paul and James were clearing the first two upstairs rooms. As they made their way back into the hallway one of the other two officers came barrelling back past them, his hand barely covering the contents of his mouth, and ran to the bathroom where he violently vomited what was left of his favorite lunch from Dogtown Hots.
As they entered the second bedroom Paul and James found the second officer, eyes bulging and mouth halfway open, gun still drawn, staring down at what would be the most horrific murder scene either of them would encounter in their careers. “Dear God,” James mumbled. Paul silently placed his hand on top of the other officer’s gun and pushed the muzzle towards the floor.
***To be continued………………
Mystery
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Ahh it was never continued! I need to know what happens next!