by R E Swirsky
It was a shock to Gerald when he found the front door ajar. Inside, the evidence of what he had done last night was everywhere. The muddy prints across the carpet and linoleum, yesterday's supper scattered across the floor, and the busted plate still on the table with the few drops of blood and food mashed and scattered about.
Gerald's demeanour suddenly changed to one of worry. He looked down the hall towards the bedroom and remembered how he had left Sarah unconscious on the floor. Had he gone too far? He couldn't remember it clearly. It was all just a bad, fuzzy memory. Why did she have to push his buttons all the time? His worry began to tip to anger as he made his way down to their bedroom.
By the time he made it to the end of the hall and entered the room, he was outraged. "If she's not dead, she’s gonna be after I'm done!" he thought to himself as he entered the room, but Sarah was gone.
Gerald punched at the wall and busted a fist-size hole through the drywall. He screamed in anger as he looked around the room. He had not yet noticed that some of her clothes were missing, nor that the little red suitcase was gone too. Gerald never would have noticed that the suitcase was gone because he never noticed it was ever there.
CHAPTER 17
News about the link between Tim Guenther's suicide and bullying traveled across the Web like wild fire. Earlier that morning, Detective Dean Daly's phone was ringing off the hook from reporters seeking any inside information they could squeeze out of him. He knew it was only going to get worse, so he had to make it look like he was taking the investigation of Tim's suicide very seriously.
School had let out, and he was on the south side of town at Willie Wahnkman's house. He was in the middle of interviewing Willie about the beating he and Doug Fisher (Doogie) gave Tim Guenther when he received the urgent call about the murders on Founder's Road.
Dean Daly was the only homicide detective assigned to the precinct in Bluffington. With the exception of the Gardener murder last year, Bluffington was a quiet community with very little crime on the magnitude of murder. Dean split time between regular patrol duty and detective work. The Gardener murder from last year was one Dean would rather forget. The prosecution's case against the defendant fell apart during the trial and resulted in an acquittal due to what was later called “a sloppy and incomplete police investigation.” Dean was furious that all the blame fell on him as the lead detective. His reputation suffered considerably from the ridicule of the police chief, the mayor, the crown prosecutor, the press and the community in general. It seemed as though everyone called his abilities and competency into question after that case.
Dean felt a sudden rise in his mood. He hung up his cell phone and looked down on poor Willie. Willie still looked very upset, and his long, scraggly, red hair hung down over his skinny shoulders. He was upset mostly because he didn't understand why he was even being questioned. All it took was one look at young Willie's fingers to know why people called him dense and thick. He was missing the fleshy tips of his first two fingers and thumb on his right hand. It happened last summer: Willie and Doogie were refilling gun shells while camping with Doogie's uncle just south of town at the Mosquito Creek campground. Willie and Doogie liked to act tough. They played with guns and would shoot the shit out of anything they could find. Of course they drank and smoked every chance they got. Doogie would drag Willie into the back county a few valleys back on foot to tent for a few days just so they could blast the shit out of the forest where no one was around to tell them to stop. Doogie liked his guns, and Willie liked what Doogie liked.
Willie had lit up a smoke once they ran out of shells to fill. He didn’t give it a second thought as he went to put his cigarette out in the same ashtray into which he had emptied the bag of gunpowder earlier. There was still a good mound of gunpowder waiting patiently in the ashtray for Willie, and it blew the tips of his fingers apart in an instant and scared the hell out of the surrounding campers. Doogie thought it was a riot and laughed all the way to the hospital. His uncle chewed both boys out for their stupidity, while Willie, with his hand wrapped in a blood-drenched towel cried, screamed in pain and thought he was dying.
Dean warned Willie to stay clean and said he would be back. This investigation regarding Tim Guenther wasn't finished. Willie nodded sheepishly and closed the door behind the detective.
Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Founder's Road. Another murder on Founder's Road and only four houses down from where the Gardener murder took place last year. He wished it were somewhere, anywhere else. He didn't want any reminders of the hell he had been through from the last murder on this road. He would have to drive by the Gardener house, but he would push those thoughts out of his mind. This was the opportunity he needed to restore faith and trust from his community. He quickly hopped into his vehicle and headed across town to the crime scene on Founder's Road.
CHAPTER 18
Sarah expressed her deepest gratitude to Brandy for her generosity. She thanked her many times for letting her stay at her place. She had nowhere else to go to feel safe. Gerald would certainly look for her at her sister’s. She had no one else. Sarah's parents had died in a car crash last summer; their deaths left her one step closer to the total isolation Gerald wanted for her. She really saw Brandy as a shining star through all of this, and Brandy vowed that she would be there for her.
Brandy was a counsellor and graduated with a degree in psychology like Sarah. The two shared the common interest in helping others. Their passion for helping others was evident in their work ethics and was the reason that they had become friends.
Some may have thought it strange that with her degree in psychology Sarah could become a victim of such serious abuse, but Brandy knew better than to judge her. No one is ever truly immune to what can happen over time in a relationship. That was the case with Sarah. It wasn't always this way with Gerald. When they met he was gentle, calm and very considerate, but he always had that macho image and that attracted Sarah when she was young. He was a nice, strong man, without a care in the world, but he always seemed to know what he wanted. He was a real decision-maker. There was nothing wishy-washy about Gerald.
"How's the arm now?" Brandy asked.
"Still aches a lot, but it is much better," she replied, and rubbed her free hand up and down the cast. "Thanks again, Brandy."
Brandy patted Sarah on the leg, "Don't you worry about it. You can stay as long as you need. I'll get your prescription for the drugs in the morning, but you need to get some rest."
"We both do," Sarah replied and smiled.
Brandy laughed and agreed. It had been a long night and an even longer day. Brandy had already pulled down the sheets in the spare room for Sarah shortly after she arrived home. She desperately wanted to know more about her relationship with Gerald and what happened last night, but she held herself back. Sarah would say what she needed to say in time.
"I heard you're not pressing charges," Brandy said.
Sarah's smile evaporated and she looked down sheepishly into her hands. She rubbed her fingers together and just shook her head. Tears began to come. "I just can't," she said.
"But why Sarah, why? He nearly killed you last night."
Sarah just shook her head. "I don't want to ever see him again." She looked up at Brandy. "I'm scared Brandy, real scared. You don't know him like I do."
"You can't let him get away with this. If it was me, I'd have his ass in jail at first chance."
"You don't get it! This is Gerald we're talking about! I ran off on him, and he's going to search for me until he finds me. I know him. He'll never stop. Never. And when he finds me, he's not going to just forget about all this, pull me back into his arms and take me home. Not Gerald. He'll never forgive me for doing this. I'm really scared that when he does find me he's going to make me pay for it. He'll kill me. I know him, and he will kill me if he finds me."
Brandy stared at Sarah in disbelief, her
mouth open, at a loss for words to rebut what Sarah had just told her. Certainly, no one could be this evil. Not even Gerald.
"You're serious? Really?"
"I'm telling you, Gerald will come after me. I don't want to add more fuel to the fire by having him charged. It's you I'm worried about now, and I'm not sure if I should even be here. If Gerald finds I'm here, you're in danger too!"
CHAPTER 19
Ricky and Bobby walked home after school to Bobby's house on Founders Road. Both boys were sickened and saddened by the news of their friend, Tim. They sat on stools in the kitchen and nibbled on pepperoni sticks while they discussed what they knew.
"I walked to school with Tommy today," Bobby said. It was unlike Bobby to gossip and retell conversations, but he was deeply bothered, and he had to let it out. "Tommy was really upset."
"About Tim?"
Bobby nodded and rubbed his leg unconsciously as he did sometimes when he was nervous. "He texted me before school and said he needed to tell me something important."
"So tell me," Ricky said, his interest peaked.
"It was about Tim." He looked down at his feet, not sure if he should really say anything at all, and decided to only repeat half of the conversation. He would keep the rest inside. Maybe later he would tell Ricky the rest, or maybe Tommy would tell Ricky himself. Bobby hated to repeat things said to him in private by others.
"So tell me already." Ricky pushed Bobby on the shoulder and Bobby looked up from the floor. Ricky could see Bobby's discomfort.
"It's just... He said some things last night that upset Tommy."
Ricky frowned. "You mean when he left us after the game?"
Bobby let out a sigh. "You saw how Tim was, and how he ran off when Tommy approached."
"So what'd Tim say to Tommy?"
Bobby hesitated and decided quickly how much he would share of the morning's conversation.
"Tommy didn't tell me exactly what he said word for word," he lied. "He only told me that Tim was very upset and wouldn't tell him why he was upset. Tommy assumed it was because of Willie and Doogie again. Those two always push Tim around every chance they get. Everyone knows it. In the halls at school, in the wash room, after school..."
"Those two are bad news. I avoid em' all the time too. Your sure Tim didn’t tell him anything more?"
Bobby shook his head.
"That really sucks! Tim didn't need to kill himself. I've half a mind to take a baseball bat to that fucker Doogie!" Ricky jumped off his stool and mashed one fist into the palm of the other. "I could probably take Doogie myself if I had to. Thinks he's so tough." He looked about anxiously as if he was ready to go confront Doogie immediately.
"You can't do that. What's that gonna solve? Nothing."
"If Tim killed himself because of those guys..."
"We don't know that. Maybe it was something else," Bobby said. He hated violence of any kind.
Ricky tried to read Bobby. Bobby looked back to his feet, took another bite off his pepperoni stick and only lifted his eyes momentarily to Ricky before he returned his gaze to the floor. Ricky sensed Bobby wasn't telling him everything.
"What else, Bobby? I know you. Tommy told you something else Tim said. What is it?"
Bobby shook his head and rubbed his leg again. "Nothing else. He just told me that he was really worried about Tim. That he had never seen Tim ever as upset as he was last night. Tim even slugged him and told him to just leave him alone. He kicked Tommy in the shins and ran off."
Ricky felt there was more to the story. He knew it yesterday as he saw Tim sitting under the streetlight in the parking lot. He also knew he should have followed his heart last night and gone with Tommy to talk to Tim. But that wouldn't have worked out either. Not with Tommy there. He really wanted to talk to Tim alone. The opportunity was lost forever.
"So where's Tommy now?" Ricky asked.
Bobby shrugged. "Home maybe."
Both boys turned to each other when they heard the unmistakable sound of sirens in the distance. They listened intently as the sounds grew louder and louder, finally culminating into an explosive chorus of sirens from multiple emergency vehicles. The boys rushed to the front window, Bobby a little slower because of his leg, and watched a number of emergency vehicles scream past Bobby's house with their lights flashing. The vehicles came to a sudden stop at Tommy and Jason's home.
CHAPTER 20
A small perimeter was already set up around the Oliver home when Detective Dean arrived on the scene. He stopped briefly to scan the crowd that was gathering on the street before he lifted the yellow crime scene tape over his head and walked up to the front of the house.
It was Constable Jackson Heavy Head, one of the two native officers on the Bluffington detachment, who met Dean outside the front door.
"Who's here?" Dean asked.
"You're the last. Paramedics have been inside, already." He nodded to his right at the two paramedics who stood beside their vehicle and waited patiently for further instruction. "Coroner’s inside. Mike Scott is with the boys."
Dean pointed to the house surprised. "The boys are still in there?"
Officer Heavy Head nodded. "You see what's inside and you'll understand why."
"Francesca here as well?" Constable Francesca Saldarriega and Constable Mike Scott were part of Dean's crime scene team. Francesca was the photographer. A flash lit up the doorway inside before Jackson was able to reply.
Dean looked around the street one more time. He glanced down to the east and could see the peak of the Gardener house jutting high above the trees into the evening sky. He once again tucked away the events that followed the murder over there. More people gathered, and he spotted the Bluffington News van heading his way from the end of the block.
"Try and keep the press as far away as possible on this one. Maybe block the road off completely a few doors down in both directions. Push everyone back. This place is going to be crawling with people and media in the next while."
Jackson knew the drill and handed Dean a pair of booties to put on before he entered the house. "You're really going to need these."
Dean slipped on the booties and stepped inside.
The Oliver home was a large, two-story Victorian with narrow hallways and tight corners, quite the opposite of the open space concept. All of the excitement was in the study down one short hallway that connected to the front foyer off to the left by another short hallway.
Dean stopped immediately as he turned down the hall that led to the entrance. Marie Oliver's body lay sprawled across the opening to the study. She lay on her back, very dead. The blood pooled around her body and down the hall some four feet towards the kitchen at the back of the house. He tried to comprehend what it was he was seeing. It was gruesome. He moved slowly forward to her body and made a number of mental notes.
He stuck his head through the doorway and saw Francesca busy taking more photos behind a large wooden desk to his right. The coroner stood solemnly next to her. The boys sat on a small settee near the front window. Mike Scott stood beside them.
Dean stepped gingerly around Marie Oliver's body and inside the room. It was difficult to know where to step. Bloody footprints were everywhere.
"Tommy Oliver and Jason Oliver," Mike stated, and pointed at each of the boys as he introduced him.
Dean nodded and put his hand in the air to halt Mike from speaking. It was the way Dean approached every crime scene. He wanted to make his own assessment of what he saw. He didn't want to hear any opinions or statements until he visually captured what was before him. What he saw was horrific. Both boys were covered in blood. Tommy's khakis were soaked with what could only be blood. The blood was everywhere on Tommy, covering his shoes, khakis, shirt, arms and face. Jason's appearance wasn't as horrid. His hands and shirt were spotted with blood, and blood-streaked smears, now quite dry, swept down his face from crying and wiping at the tears. H
e wasn't crying any longer and sat without any expression of emotion.
Dean moved around the desk to where Francesca was still taking photographs. He paused and looked at Francesca as she bent down to get close up shots of the pulverized remains of Peter Oliver's chest. Her face was ashen white, and she was clearly in great discomfort. She could only manage a glance towards Dean as she pushed herself to finish up as soon as she could.
The coroner acknowledged Dean and said he would be done soon. It was a horrible scene and nothing like the Gardner murder from last year. In that murder, Donna Gardener had been strangled in her own bed. There was no blood. Only the single guitar wire remained wrapped around her tiny neck as she lay naked, face down on the bed. Her husband, Dean's very close friend, was a few hours away on a business trip when the murder occurred. All Dean had to start with on that crime scene was the guitar wire, a pair of muddy footprints at the back door and some hairs found on her body. All of that evidence pointed to someone else, but Dean knew deep inside from the outset that it was his close friend, the husband, who was responsible for her death. He just wasn’t able to prove it, and every time he was reminded of that murder, it stung him like a pesky wasp.
In front of him here were two more murders. Ghastly murders with an abundance of blood everywhere, and two suspects who had supposedly already confessed to the crime. He looked at the carpet and could see that the boys had wandered back and forth around their father's body numerous times, even stepping up onto the hearth of the fireplace at one point.
