CAPRIATI'S BLOOD (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 1) (25 page)

He’s a war vet, the sergeant realized, warming to the kid. No wonder he’s so calm. Been there, done that. And up close, he didn’t look 25. Late 20’s probably, maybe even older. Trying to grow a moustache, none too successfully.

“Anyway, I detained her. She’s OK. Didn’t give me any trouble. Her gun is empty by the way. I checked.”

The guard had a bit of a drawl, the cop realized. Not from around here, that’s for sure. The sergeant glanced down at the revolver, a strange, clunky piece. He’d never seen one like it.  

“I handled it by the barrel only,” the guard added quickly. “Used a pen. Figured they’d want prints.”

“You touch anything else?”

“Nope. And I haven’t gone inside. She said she didn’t do it, but I figure I’d let you guys find out what she didn’t do. I’m taking the test for the academy in the fall. I don’t want to screw up a crime scene, if that’s what the hell it is.”

Sharp cookie, the sergeant thought. He turned to his partner.

“Frank, stay here, I’m going in. Call for backup.”

“Watch your ass, Pete.”

The front door was still open and the sergeant cautiously entered the center-hall colonial, sticking close to a wall to present a small target. The place was dark. He took a small flashlight from his utility belt and quickly found a switch in the front hall. He weighed the risks of smudging some prints against walking into an ambush.

“Fuck that,” he said to himself, and deftly using the barrel of his gun flicked up the switch. The hallway was instantly bathed in light. He let out a deep breath and started going room by room on the ground floor.

When he got to what appeared to be a study or den, there was enough light from the hallway and a roaring fireplace for him to see a form slumped in a weird-looking recliner facing the hearth. The flames flickered unevenly, creating weird shadow patterns on the walls and ceiling. The sergeant froze at the sight of a snarling wild animal across the room. He almost pulled the trigger. Using his gun again he flipped a wall switch. He laughed in relief. The wild animal turned out to be the stuffed head of a bear mounted above the fireplace. My kids have me watching too many vampire and werewolf movies, he thought.

As he approached the chair, he noticed a hand hanging toward the floor. Two bare feet rested on an ottoman in front of the recliner. They were splayed out from each other in an unnatural-looking ‘V’ shape. Underneath the hand was a toppled wine glass, surrounded by a dark purple stain. That will be a bitch to get out, the cop thought irrationally. The smell of cordite was intense and he was pretty sure what he would find when he got to the chair.

The sergeant walked around it and looked at the body. He was no rookie, but the “holy fuck!” came anyway. The man was naked, with a huge erection. Both the man’s eyes had been shot out, and the nose, chin and forehead also had bullet holes in them. Blood and brain matter were splattered over the back of the chair’s headrest. Five shots, at least. A remote control was clenched in the man’s right hand in his lap at the base of his penis. The sergeant looked around. There was no TV or anything else electronic anywhere in sight. Maybe the device was some kind of sex aid. They sold all sorts of stuff on late night cable. Nothing would surprise him. Why not a remote-controlled hard-on?

The sergeant was startled by a rustling sound and felt a breeze. He whirled to his left, his gun up. The door to what was probably the back yard was open and curtains on nearby windows were flapping. He heard sirens. Thank God. He wanted someone watching his back when he cleared the rest of the house. In fact, he decided to let someone else do it.

He went outside. Three more squad cars screeched to a halt. People started coming out of nearby mansions. He walked over to the woman, who was now standing docilely by the security guard and his partner. For the first time he noticed that she was blond and beautiful.

“What’s your name, Miss?”

“Elizabeth Olsen.”

Oh, crap. One of those Olsens? It was the country club, after all. Better do everything by the book. Let the homicide dicks handle the inevitable shit storm. He walked over to his partner and lowered his voice.

“Mirandize her, Frank, and cuff her. But go easy. Not too tight.” The sergeant shivered, only partially because of the late October chill. “And put Miss Olsen in the car, where it’s warmer.”

He turned to the security guard, whose nameplate said, “R. Ricks.” Pulling him aside, he said, “You did good, kid. After you give your statement, look me up. I know some guys at the academy.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Ricks said.  

If you would like to read LAURA LEE, here is a link:

LAURA LEE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lawrence De Maria began his career as a general interest reporter (winning an Associated Press award for his crime reporting) and eventually became a Pulitzer-nominated senior editor and financial writer
The New York Times
, where he wrote hundreds of stories and features, often on Page 1. After he left the
Times
, De Maria became an Executive Director at
Forbes.
Following a stint in corporate America – during which he helped uncover the $7 billion Allen Stanford Ponzi scheme and was widely quoted in the national media – he returned to journalism as Managing Editor of the
Naples Sun Times
, a Florida weekly, until its sale to the Scripps chain in 2007. Since then, he has been a full-time fiction writer.  De Maria is on the board of directors of the Washington Independent Review of Books, where he writes a regular column.