Budlick shook his head and then rubbed his face. He was disgusted to find his hand was covered in their blood and it was now smeared across his face. “Shit, I gotta clean myself off.”
“It’s all over the back of your jacket and pants,” Carlson said.
“Fuck,” Budlick muttered and slowly stood up with help from Stanwick. “Never seen anything like this in my entire life.”
Carlson looked at the doorway into the bedroom. He walked over to it and closed it. “Chief, there’s something that I noticed in there.”
“How could you not notice it?”
“There’s only one body,” Carlson said.
“And you know what that means don’t you?” Budlick said.
Stanwick looked at them. “It wasn’t the husband, then? He didn’t do this.”
“There was somebody else here,” Budlick said. “Somebody else came in here and killed this poor family. Then he, for whatever sick reason, took the body of Mr. Wheeler.”
“We should check for any prints,” Carlson said.
“NO!” Budlick hollered. “We need to secure the area and wait for the forensics team to get in here. They’ll handle that part of it.”
“There’s something that doesn’t add up, though,” Carlson said.
“What’s that?” Budlick barked.
Stanwick suddenly tottered on his feet and looked like he was about to faint. “I’m going back down into the kitchen. I can’t stand the smell up here.”
Budlick looked at him. “Let’s go. There’s nothing more to see up here. The detectives will look at it when they get here.”
Carlson continued with his explanation as the three of them walked back down the narrow staircase into the kitchen. “What I mean, Chief, is that I walked around the other rooms of the house and checked all the windows and doors and there doesn’t appear to be any signs of forced entry into the house.”
“So?” Budlick demanded.
“So, how did this other person get into the house and kill this family?” Carlson said. “And, on top of that, how did he get the body of Mr. Wheeler out of here without any trace of blood on the walls or floors?”
“But there is blood in the hallway!” Stanwick said.
“There is, but it’s from the kid’s rooms into the master bedroom,” Carlson said. “After he killed them he went into his own bedroom. There’s no trail of blood down the stairs to the first floor.”
“Nonsense!” Budlick barked. “Whoever did this did it very carefully. There might have been more than one of them and they planned it out to look like this Mr. Wheeler suddenly decided to kill his own family and himself.”
“But then why did they take the body?” Carlson said. “That doesn’t make any sense!”
“I don’t know why. They obviously need it for something. Maybe they wanted to keep it like a trophy or something. You never know with these sick bastards these days,” Budlick said.
“I don’t believe it,” Carlson said. He turned and looked out the window. The snow was coming down very hard now.
“Don’t worry about it,” Budlick said and let out a soft chuckle. He was confident he was right. “The forensic evidence will prove it.”
4
Fred and Sam’s mother cooked a big pile of scrambled eggs over the kitchen stove. She was a small woman in her mid-thirties but had a loud mouth, as Fred and Sam were well aware. The two of them clambered down the stairs, just as their mother finished the eggs. When she saw them, she plopped a good amount of the gooey stuff onto their plates.
“Good morning, boys! Eat up!” she cried with a grin that made them both cringe. “Looks like school’s open after all?”
They both muttered an indifferent “Good morning, Mom” and frowning, sat at the table.
“I hope they cancel it,” Sam finally said, shoving a thick forkful of the egg into his mouth.
“Maybe so…” she said and then shouted. “Hey Charles, you want any of these eggs?”
Their father was planted in front of the television in the living room. He slowly looked up from the morning news and shook his head.
“Don’t worry about me. I had a sandwich,” Charles called back, sounding rather disinterested.
Back in the kitchen their mother scraped the remaining egg from the pan, tossing it onto a plate for herself. She shoved the pan into the sink, on top of several filthy dishes already submerged in the dirty water.
“Hey, Charles!” she cried. “Could you turn that thing down?”
Charles didn’t budge at first, but then reluctantly grabbed the remote and turned it down, just a bit.
“It’s hard to hear anything in here with all your yammering,” he called back.
“You want to hear some yammering?” she shouted, a grin slowly spreading across her pudgy face. “You haven’t heard nothing yet.”
“No, please,” he said with a smile. “I want to keep my hearing at least a few more years.”
“Good luck with that,” she said smiling and shoveled some of the eggs into her mouth.
Fred and Sam were commiserating each other about school when they glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was ten minutes until seven. They would soon be leaving.
“Mom, do you think they’ll close school before we go?” asked Sam.
She looked up at the clock.
“Well, I don’t know, Sammy,” she said. “We’ll be leaving soon and I haven’t heard anything. Dad’s over there watching the news. I’m sure they’d say something about it on the news.”
Fred suddenly slammed down his cup, startling her and Sam. He stood up from the table.
“What’s the matter, Freddy?” she asked. “Are you feeling okay?”
“We’ll probably get stuck out there and freeze to death!” Fred shouted.
“Freddy! Don’t talk like that!” his mother cried. “You know everything will be fine! It’s just regular old nor’easter, nothing we haven’t been through before!”
“Have you bothered to look out the window?” Fred replied, pointing to the kitchen window which was fogged up with condensation. Deep white mounds of snowdrift were visible.
“Of course, honey,” she said, and then matter-of-factly: “But I’m sure the plows are keeping the main roads in good shape.”
Fred hastily washed his hands at the sink and with a bitter look of disgust on his face went back upstairs without a word. Sam watched as his mother shook her head and sipped some of her coffee.
“What’s the matter with him?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Sam replied and ate a little more of the eggs.
“He’s not doing drugs is he?” she suddenly asked.
Sam looked up at her, shocked. “No!”
“Must have a big test today or something,” she said reassuringly.
5
It was a few minutes after the news vans arrived and Carlson went out front to talk to them. Stanwick, standing at the back window of the kitchen, noticed the blood on the lawn in the back yard. Murray was sitting at the table when Stanwick shouted.
“Everything alright?” Murray muttered. He was reading the comics section of an old Connecticut Post that had been lying on the Wheeler’s kitchen table.
“Shit, man, look at that,” Stanwick said. “How did we not notice it before?”
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s blood on the snow back there,” Stanwick said. It was hard to see, since fresh snow continually fell on it from the dark sky, but he could definitely see it.
Murray got up from the table and came over to the window. “See it?” Stanwick asked. Murray squinted. When he saw the blood, his eyes suddenly flew wide open. “Oh, yeah! Shit.”
“I have to tell the Chief,” Stanwick said.
Budlick was in the downstairs bathroom washing off the blood and taking a leak when Stanwick came up to the door and started knocking on it.
“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute for crying out loud,” Budlick shouted. He smeared t
he blood on the bathroom faucet as he washed his hands and face and hardly gave a damn that he was messing up the crime scene. He had already accidently smeared some blood from his dirty uniform onto the wall of the downstairs hallway.
“Can’t even have a minute to take a piss,” Budlick muttered to himself.
“Chief?” Stanwick shouted outside the bathroom door. “You might wanna take a look at this.”
“Can you hold on a minute?” Budlick barked as he finished washing his hands. He wiped them on the towel hanging next to the sink and opened the door. “What the hell is it?”
“There’s blood in the back yard!” Stanwick said. He was all giddy like a school kid before recess. “It's right beneath where the bedroom window is.”
Budlick’s eyes lit up and he barged past Stanwick. He went over to the window where Murray was still standing. He pushed Murray aside and peered through the window. “Shit, I don’t believe it!”
“They tossed it out the window and then probably washed their shoes and hands not to leave any blood on the walls and floors. They came downstairs, went outside and carried the body away,” Stanwick said in the throes of his deep mental revelation. “That’s how it must have happened! You were right, Chief!”
“Of course I was right,” Budlick said. He turned around and realized what he must now do. “I need to see if that blood leads anywhere.”
Murray looked at him. “Shouldn’t we let the forensic team deal with that?”
“Fuck the forensic team,” Budlick said. “I bet you that blood trail will lead right to the sons of bitches that did this.”
Murray frowned at him.
“You’d better keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you,” Budlick said. He turned to Stanwick. “Come on Stanwick. Let’s go see what we can find.”
Budlick opened the back door that led out into the yard and pushed through the deep snow with Stanwick following. The wind swept across their exposed flesh as they trudged up to the spot of red snow. There was a few spots on the side of the house, leading up to the window. The perpetrators had clearly dropped the body out of the window. There was also a trail of blood spots and a very faint set of footprints that came around the side of the house and out toward the back of the property and into the woods.
“You stay over here,” Budlick shouted through the gusts of wind. “I’m going to see where this goes.”
“Are you sure?” Stanwick said. He trembled from the bitter cold.
“Yes.”
Stanwick nodded but Budlick was already off and following the trail of blood. Murray watched them from the kitchen window and saw Budlick trudge through the deep snow and disappear into the woods. “What an idiot,” he said to himself.
6
Charles Caldwell sat quietly on the sofa still watching the news. The male newscaster was about to transition over to the weatherman for the forecast when he stopped for what appeared to be a breaking story. One of the interns behind the camera stepped forward and dropped a white piece of paper on the desk in front of the newscaster. The newscaster quickly snatched it up and then looked up at the camera with an uncomfortable look on his face.
“Well, folks, it unfortunately appears there will be one less, uh, snow plow driver out there today,” the newsman said awkwardly. “Not that it would make much of difference. I…excuse me…that wasn’t what I meant…what I meant to say…”
Charles started to rise from the sofa to prepare to leave but stopped when he heard the next line: “Police had been called to a Rockland house early this morning to discover the dead bodies of a city plow driver and his family. Apparently, and this is only speculation at this point, the man had chased down each member of his family with a gas-powered chainsaw and severed their heads. He then ended his own life by sawing off his own head.”
Charles stared at the television in complete silence for a few moments and then uttered: “My God.” He knew most of the city drivers; he worked in the D.O.T. office. His mind mulled over each of them, wondering which one of them could do such a thing?
After a moment he heard his wife calling him.
“What is it?” Charles called back.
“Wasn’t your friend Vince supposed to be here by now?” she asked.
“Yeah, he should be here any minute,” Charles said as he checked his watch. He thought about mentioning the gruesome news report to his wife, but thought better of it.
Sam looked up from his plate; half the mashed egg lay uneaten. “Is that the guy that’s picking Dad up?”
“Yes it is,” she said. “Daddy gave me the truck to take you boys to school. Hope it’ll start.”
Sam said bitterly: “I hate school.”
“Oh, for crying-out-loud, don’t be such a baby,” she said and rose from the table dumping her plate in the sink. “Everyone’s got to go to school, whether they like it or not. Even me and your Daddy went to school a long time ago.”
She said this with a hint of pride, even though she had dropped out of high school her junior year. She now worked in a toy factory, putting together cheap little disposable plastic playthings for babies. The pay was miserable but she put in a lot of hours.
She suddenly peered through the window, wiping off some of the condensation with the palm of her hand.
“Charles, I think Vince is here,” she called and laughed loudly. “My goodness, how can he keep from crashing that thing driving it the way he does?”
Sam got up from the table and rushed over to the window. He could just make out an absurdly large blue SUV sliding sideways down the street just beyond their driveway. All four wheels of the truck were spinning and the engine roared loudly as the driver struggled to regain control. He finally caught some traction and turned the truck onto their driveway.
“Looks like it’s coming down harder now,” she said as Charles entered the kitchen.
Charles put his empty mug in the sink and grabbed his heavy winter coat.
“Don’t worry. We’ll be alright,” he said. He could sense her uneasiness. “I’ve got to go. You know my job.”
She helped him with the coat.
“Be careful, okay?” she said. “Tell Vince to take it easy with that truck of his.”
“We’ll be alright,” he said, grabbing his lunch box and the steel snow shovel by the door. “You be careful, too. I want my truck back in one piece.”
“No problem,” she said and smiled infectiously. “I want you back in one piece, too, so you can have a piece of this tonight.”
Sam, who was sitting back at the table, suddenly felt a little awkward and mildly disgusted.
“You can be sure of that,” his father said, giving her a hug and kiss goodbye. “Hey, Sammy, see you later. Keep an eye on your mother for me, will ya?”
“Sure…okay. Bye, Dad,” Sam said.
His mother opened the door and with the lunch box in one hand and the shovel in the other, his father rushed out into the bitter cold. A freezing cold draft blew into the kitchen and she quickly closed the door. As a chill ran up her arms she leaned against the window and watched as the two men cleared some snow from behind Vince’s truck. The snow appeared to be falling now at a rate of several inches per hour. She had an odd feeling watching them out there. Maybe the boys were right. Maybe it was a bad idea to go out there. It looked like it was only getting worse.
7
Shit,” Budlick growled. He had followed the trail through the woods all the way to another road where the blood disappeared in the tire tracks. He crossed the road and looked around but couldn’t find the trail reappearing anywhere. “Can’t believe it.”
He turned around and started to make his way back, cursing to himself all along the way.
8
“Did you hear what happened?” Charles shouted at Vince, trying to raise his voice over the howl of the wind. They were trying to shovel aside some of the snow behind the truck’s rear wheels.
“The thing about one of the plow drivers?” Vince shouted, shiel
ding his face with one of his gloved hands. He looked up at Charles.
“Do you know who it was?” Charles asked.
“No,” Vince shouted. “But whoever it was must have had a few screws come loose up in the head.”
They finished shoveling away some more of the snow and climbed into the cab of the truck. They looked tired and miserable. Shivering from the cold, Vince turned the heat up as far it would go.
“I can’t imagine anyone doing a thing like that,” Vince said, with a sour look on his pallid face.
“Me either, it’s almost too much like a bad movie or something,” Charles said and rubbed his cold hands together. “Jeez, it’s cold!”
“I think my ass is numb!” Vince shouted.
Sam watched as his mother finally stood back from the window and outside he could hear the sound of Vince’s truck fade away in the distance.
“Mom?” Sam called. She hardly noticed. “MOM!”
“What honey?” she said and glanced up at the clock.
“Isn’t it almost time—”
“Oh, right! I’ve gotta clean up this mess! Don’t just sit there, put your boots on!”
She hurried over to the sink and began to clean the dishes. Sam went over to the closet next to the door and pulled out his rubber boots. He hated wearing them; they were stiff and too big. He had hoped it would never get to this point, but it looked like school was inevitable today.
“Where’s Freddy?” his mother asked as she quickly worked through the dishes.
“Upstairs,” Sam said and then asked: “Can I go outside and make a small snowman?”
“Why don’t you wait till after school? Then you’ll have more time and make a big snowman.”
She worked through each plate, washing them one by one and placed them in a plastic holder to dry.
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