Twins of Prey II: Homecoming

by W. C. Hoffman

  Tower took another step before coming to a complete stop. Only this would be the last step backward that he would take. Lowering his right hand to the front buckle area of his pants caused Henderson to demand his hands return to the top of his head.

  “Put your hands back on top of your head, I will not ask you again!”

  “Don’t shoot me I have to scratch my nuts, they itch really bad.”

  “Hands up!” She replied.

  “Come on bitch, you ain’t got a set so you don’t know.”

  “Put your goddamned hand on top of your fucking head, now!” If Tower had not taken the tone Henderson’s voice as being serious before, now there was no doubt.

  “I thought you said you weren’t gonna ask me to do that again?” Tower replied as he swung a small .22 caliber pistol out from his pubic line and began running forward. Henderson swung the patrol car door to the side around her hip and pushed off against the dirt road with all the traction her duty boot’s rubber sole could muster. Exploding towards her fleeing subject as if she was an Olympic sprinter Henderson closed the distance between her and Tower within a few steps.

  The down side of her adrenaline-pumped takeoff was the clumsiness of her gun belt dragging against the side of the car, bumping her spotlight’s aim into the sky and off of the stolen car ahead. As she headed towards the Sunfire, she was only guided by the illumination that her headlights provided from behind. At this point the fact that the fleeing shirtless man had a gun was still unknown to her.

  The short pop-cracking sound of the .22 pistol being discharged was barely audible over the noise of Henderson calling out the foot pursuit over the radio. Her shoulder mic still being tied into both the dispatch center and her vehicles loudspeaker caused her to hear a slight delay and her own voice over the radio. As drowned out as the sound was, the bright flash that erupted from the short barrel made up for it in the dim night. Tower had never turned to shoot at her as he ran forward but trained the barrel of his weapon towards Jacoby still seated in the passenger seat. Tower had pulled the trigger while simultaneously jumping over the V-area where his stolen car’s door met the frame. Showing Henderson she was not the only supposed Olympic athlete tonight on that dirt road, thus using the door as a shield for his body as he continued sprinting into the woods. Henderson may have had him in the sprint, but she never expected to be racing after a hurdler.

  The car door shield proved to be effective as it absorbed two of the .40 caliber return fire rounds that Henderson had sent down range. However it was the third trigger pull that found its target. Henderson watched Tower drop with the impact against the back of his body, but had no idea where the round had struck him. The wound’s location was evident though as Tower regained his balance and continued running into the woods with blood pouring down his naked back from the area where his left shoulder met the neckline. His blood mixed with the sweat, glistened against the skin in the reflections of the red and blue lights with each flash from the top of her patrol car’s roof.

  Sheriff Henderson fired two more rounds upon reaching the Sunfire’s open driver side door at Tower as he vaporized into the darkness. Neither of them she expected to strike her intended target but it kept him moving away from her which was her motivation in order to check on Jacoby. Just as quick as the traffic stop had turned into a gun fight the mission was now about saving a life, not taking one.

  7 Message

  Henderson reached across the front seats interior to check the pulse on the boy she knew as Jacoby. It was there but hardly registered against her fingers. Going around to the other side of the vehicle was not an option for that would not give her any cover in case Tower was just inside the wood line waiting for an open shot at her. She removed the tactical knife kept in the laces of her right duty boot and cut through the seat belt which was the only thing keeping the boys slumping body from falling flat against the dash.

  Grabbing onto his shorts at the belt line she pulled him across the open front seat and out onto the packed-dirt roadway. Just as she got Jacoby settled onto the hard ground, she looked up to see another set of flashing lights arrive. This car only had one single red beacon light fixed atop its roof. It was clear as could be in the dark night air that her help was now there. An MSP trooper had arrived.

  Trooper Common was a welcome sight to Annette. Having being assigned to cover a multicounty area that included Pine Run meant that Common and Henderson had been on multiple calls with each other over the years. Common was a former minor league hockey player from the Toronto area who had hung up his skates for a career in law enforcement after a series of injuries. Exiting his cruiser he rushed to Henderson’s side. The tall and well built man proudly wore his Trooper-style crowned hat which gave him a few more perceived inches in height. Trooper Common was the poster child for what a Michigan State Trooper should look like, literally. The state often used his image when it came to marketing materials and his face could be seen all over the state on multiple bill boards. Trooper Common was a bit of a local celebrity.

  “Is he a K?” Trooper Common said asking if the boy had been killed.

  “Negative, but he is not the shooter there is one more. Left on foot into the woods. I think I hit him, at least once but I lost him in the dark.” Henderson replied.

  “Just watch my back until rescue gets here,” she asked.

  Trooper Common got back into his vehicle positioning the headlights and every adjustable spot beam he had onto the woods. Soon the front edge of the woods was lit up like a grocery store parking lot. If Tower was coming back they would see him without an issue.

  “Annette, rescue is here,” Common said motioning down the road.

  The ambulance rig pulled up to the side of the road and the EMT riding shotgun hopped out walking towards Henderson who was there still trying to get Jacoby’s heart started again with multiple breaths and thrusts against the boys rib cage.

  “Trooper Common shining for deer again?” the EMT asked in regards the illuminated woods.

  “Negative Kayce,” the Trooper responded.

  “You guys know each other I take it?” Henderson asked in between chest compressions.

  “Yea, he is my brother-in-law,” Kayce responded. And then got down to business, “What do we got?”

  Unimpressed with the fact that the Trooper’s sister-in-law was also there, Henderson gave her the rundown.

  “Juvenile male with a gunshot wound to the head. He had a weak pulse which is now gone. He is all yours I tried what I could.”

  “Thank you, sheriff, we will take it from here,” Kayce said while loading Jacoby’s lifeless body on the stretcher with her partner. They wheeled the young man into the rear in order to finish the bagging and tagging process from within the safety of their rigs back cabin.

  With Jacoby’s blood stained across her tan uniform Henderson looked at Trooper Common while opening the trunk of her car and removing the buckshot loaded 1973 Mossberg 500 20-gauge shotgun. A gun that was special to her as it had belonged to her grandmother years ago. This gun had a history of its own. Many a deer, rabbit, and squirrel had fallen from its barrel. The gun even had served useful against more than a few intruders in the night that had been sent off running from the unmistakable sound of its action racking a shell into the chamber.

  Henderson loaded shell after shell into the weapon. Pressing her thumb against the cold brass of each round, feeling the pressure of the barrel tub magazine’s spring grow with every ounce of lead she loaded.

  “Let’s go hunting,” Henderson said with a half-cocked smile .

  “Yes ma’am!” Trooper Common said with the sling of an assault rifle of his own slung over his right shoulder draping the weapon across his chest.

  “You ready, Rambo?” Henderson asked half joking at the impressive amount of firepower Common was carrying into the woods versus her grandmother’s old trusty shotty.

  “That’s how we do it in Toronto,” Common said making Henderson smile knowing that was his
smartass answer to almost everything.

  As they left the bright comfort of their lit up position amongst the patrol cars and ambulance rig it was the quietness of the woods that was remarkably present. No radio chatter, no whirling mechanical sound of the lights as they blinked, flashed and rotated. Just silence. Had they not been searching for a wounded murderer, the moment would have been nice. A cool breeze kept the mosquitos down and allowed the croaking of the nearby swamp frogs and frolicking crickets to pierce the silence.

  “Blood, smeared here on this leaf,” Common said tracking the killer like it was nothing more than a wounded deer.

  “Looks like he kept on in that direction,” Henderson answered nodding her head deeper into the woods towards the swamp.

  “No, the blood is this way I bet, down this trail some more,” the Trooper insisted.

  “No he went this way,” Common said.

  “You are wrong,” Henderson said trying to end the short debate.

  “If the blood says he went this way, then he went this way, follow the evidence, sheriff. How are you so damn sure he went that way? A hunch? I am not going parading through the darkness on your hunch,” Common said.

  “The blood says he went that way yes, but now he is over there,” Henderson explained.

  “What?” The Trooper asked.

  “The blood says he went that way yes, but now he is over there,” Henderson stated, again.

  “I heard you damned well the first time but what I meant is why do you think that?” The Trooper was no longer doubting Henderson, he just was honestly curious.

  “Your said you heard me right, well then use that sense of hearing. What do you hear down your trail?” Henderson asked him.

  “Frogs,” he said.

  “Exactly, and what do you hear down my trail?” She asked making her point.

  “Nothing,” he said catching her drift.

  “The frogs shut up when someone or something disturbs them and gets close. We have two trails. Both going into a swamp full of frogs. One of them is silent and that is the one he went down, blood or not,” Henderson said this time turning her back on the Trooper and heading slowly down the path of her choice.

  “That is one hell of a neat little trick, where did you learn that?” Trooper Common asked.

  “That’s how we do it in Toronto!” Henderson replied turning the Trooper’s own line against him.

  “Good answer,” said Trooper Common.

  Continuing deeper into the swamp, the soaked ground became mushier with each step. Although they were still on a well- matted down game trail, if not for the blood they had again started to pick up both would have turned back at this point and waited for daylight. But they had blood, and blood meant they were getting closer with each soggy step they made across the switch and saw grass that populated the swamp.

  Reaching the edge of the wetland area, the officers came to a muddy bank. The blood stopped there as did all other semblances of the track. There were no footprints in the muddy bank or signs of Tower having attempted to climb it. No brush or grass appeared to have been pushed aside or disturbed in any way. The track had just vanished as if into vapor.

  Crack, snap...

  The both heard the loud sound of the twig breaking as if someone had taken a step on the bank above them and as they swung their weapons up to the edge it was clear as to what had made the noise. There above them, silently perched as if watching everything below unfold before him was the biggest tom turkey either had ever seen and as their barrel mounted flashlights hit his eyes, the tom let out a resounding,

  Gobbbbllleee, Gobbbbblllllleeee, Gobble.

  Henderson and Common both had heard plenty of turkeys gobble in their lifetimes but none from so close. The sound echoed across the swamp’s watery baseline filling the entire valley with a chorus of sound. The turkey’s shock gobble was met with the cackling of every nearby crow. Swamp wide not a single frog croaked having been sufficiently disturbed and it all returned to silence just as quick as it had arrived. The noise was gone and they were back there in the same spot with no blood, no trail and no clue.

  The turkey still remained perched above them on a limb which visibly annoyed Trooper Common.

  “Damned stupid-ass turkey scared the shit out of me ha ha,” he said chuckling as he bent down grabbing a loose stone from the embankment’s dirt wall. Trooper Common then heaved it up at the bird striking it in the chest. The impact of the swamp rock against the hollow-breasted chest cavity knocked the tom from its comfortable roost down to the ground with them.

  Suddenly there amongst the wet swamp floor and the two of them was a furious ball of feathered hate. The turkey regained its composure and with its ground-sharpened razor beak he began to pick and strike at both of his human adversaries. Flapping wings and feathers flew as the bird reared up its legs with each jump attempting to gore his way free from the enclosed area utilizing the one-and-a-half-inch spurs he donned as self defense weapons.

  Not wanting to kill what was an innocent bird just trying to sleep, neither of them fired a shot. The close proximity of them all combined with only being able to see the bird amongst the brief flashes of light as they all bounced around made doing so unsafe anyway.

  Reaching for the can of OC spray on her duty belt, Henderson flipped the cap and released three short blasts into the night air aimed at where she thought the turkey’s head was at the moment. Much to the surprise of both Sheriff Henderson and Trooper Common the spray had hit the intended target and the turkey’s attention had shifted off of them as it jumped one last time taking flight only to travel a mere twenty yards before crashing into the tall swamp weeds from its burning disorientation.

  Hearing the bird thrashing around away from them was a welcome sound as they both were now wet from having been knocked to the ground by the tom. They each suffered multiple cuts and scratches from where the birds spurs and beak had found its mark on their bodies.

  “You okay?” Trooper Common asked.

  “Yea, I think so,” Henderson said reaching out to his hand which was lowered in an effort to pull her up off her back to regain her footing.

  “You’re bleeding,” Common said pointing to the scarlet red streak across her tan uniform shirt.

  Looking down shining her light on her chest it was immediately clear that they needed to refocus after the turkey incident.

  “It’s from the victim, not me.” Henderson said.

  Her tone was enough of a reminder for the both of them that somewhere in the woods ahead of them was a murderer with a gun and at this point nothing to lose. They both wiped away what they could of the mud and water and started looking to the bankside for a way up.

  Shining her light up the bank again to where the turkey had been, Henderson was caught off guard at what had taken the fowl’s place. The fight or flight instinct took over and being that the turkey was the only one who could fly, Henderson’s subconscious chose to fight. The trusted twenty gauge’s firing pin held true to its maker as the shot rang out, the pump effortlessly slid back echoing another blast into the night.

  Henderson never consciously pulled the trigger. Even racking the pump action slide backwards along its metal rockers and then forward again slamming the second shell into the actions chamber was nothing more than pure reactionary instinct.

  Yet there she stood, having fired two rounds of buckshot into Tower before Common could reach her and push her off target. Falling into the swamp grass the third shot rang out just as fiercely as the previous two into the side of the embankment.

  The trooper stood over her yelling, “He’s dead, he’s dead Annette. Jesus Christ, the scum bag already killed himself.”

  Killed himself, she thought in her head but looking up at Tower’s lifeless body, she saw clearly what Common was referring to. He was hanging from the limb with some form of rope or twine wrapped around his neck. Noticing his missing shoe, she quickly assumed it was one of his laces that provided the means for making his own noos
e. This type of attempt was often used at Lucky Trail by kids who had lost hope.

  Yet still, Tower hung there, where the turkey was and neither of them could explain how they didn’t see him, only chalking it up to the fact that they were focused on the bird.

  Tower hung there with the original pistol shot wound that Henderson had inflicted upon him. Tower hung there with multiple new buckshot wounds that expelled no blood proving they had impacted his already lifeless body. Tower hung there, his own shoelace wrapped around his neck but Henderson knew something did not add up.

  Why did he hang himself when he still had a loaded gun in his waistline? Why were there no claw marks on his neck from his finger nails digging into his skin as he grasped at the lace clinging on to the last fledging remains of his life. Why was there no blood around the cord on his neck where it cut into the tightness of his skin as it sucked his life away? Why were there no blood vessels popped in his eyes from the pressure of his fall? This was not Henderson’s first hanging, but it was the first one where the above evidence was not present.

  Sheriff Henderson knew almost immediately that Tower was hung there after he was already dead and it was not her gunshot to the back of his shoulder that killed him. Henderson knew that Tower’s body was also not there when they first spotted the turkey, she was sure of it. How it appeared from nowhere was at this point unexplainable.

  During the traffic stop she knew that Tower was shirtless with no jewelry. Therefore why now was there a necklace draped over his head. Tower was adorned with a thin strap made of brown soft leather around his neck which hung down to the middle of his chest. The leather at the bottom neatly came together in an artistically woven fashion around a stone arrowhead. One of her brother’s stone arrowheads. They were there, in the woods, part of the swamp, among the shadows of the moon’s light that probed through the clouds in the night sky, watching her.