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JWalker2406

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Wonder what he sent us this time. I thought as I hail down a taxi. My arm waving from side to side as if swinging to an unknown beat. My eyes were dropping as a taxi pulls up, waking myself up I hop inside and tell him my destination. Slouching I rest my elbow on the door, placing my chin on my knuckles. Probably another body part. Sick bastard. My eyes narrow, the world has a different view when riding inside a car. Peaceful, without anger or sorrow. The blur of different colors makes my head hurt, my bandage hand reaching up to rub my temples. I bet the captain hates calling me back. I know he puts me up there cause he knows I will lose it, then he can send me home for a couple of days. Only problem is, he calls me back because I’m the best he has. My thoughts get lost as I hear the car door open. Glancing over to a man stepping inside. Nodding I let him know I acknowledged him. He gives an uncertain smile, a gold tooth gleaming from the part between his lips. He has a scar over his left eyebrow, which makes his eye sag somewhat. He has striking blue eyes, that stand out underneath his shaggy dark brown hair.

"Your that cop." He said looking me over. Slightly nodding I pay more attention to the outside. "So, where you headed?" I look at him and sigh. What the hell is up with the 20 questions? The car halts outside of the precinct, a slight drizzle starting. Handing the cab driver his change I look back at the man and give him my half cocked smile. "I enjoyed the interview." He said as I step out. Turning back suddenly my eyebrow raising. He smiles, showing the golden tooth as the car pulls out. Standing there I watch it disappear blending in with all the other yellow taxis. Asshole. Turning my attention back to the building I stare up at it, the ugly grey structure, with its windows outlined in blue paint. The rain starts getting heavier, but I could care less, I did not want to go inside. Out of fear of what the killer had sent. My head still hurting I reach my hand in my pocket, my fingers searching frantically inside only to pull out linen. Shit, where is it? I place my other hand in my other pocket. Nothing. Patting myself down I realize that I have left them. I curse out loud sending other peoples’ attention towards me. I give a smile and mouth the words sorry. Now I really didn’t want to go in there. Almost drunk and with my head on fire. Scrambling up the courage I walk inside, the cool air of the AC hitting my wet face. I gaze around spotting Rick who motions me over to him.

"You need a towel?" He asks looking me over. I shake my head, ready to see what was so important. "Okay, well here is what we got." Rick said pulling out what seemed to be photographs and a piece of paper. He seems as though he did not want to give me the pictures. I snatch them out of his hand, looking at them. The first photo was of a family that he must have. Their mouths gagged, hands tied, tears on their cheeks. The mother wrapping her arms around her children as best she could. Where is the father? I wondered as I study the picture some more. They weren’t at their house but the wall behind them did not give me much clue as to where they were. It was painted white, no doubt by him, so it could make it harder for us to identify where they are. Flipping to the next photo, my breathing stopping, losing my balance I sit on the desk. I could feel the tears begging me to let them flow, but I kept forcing them back My bandaged hand reaching out to touch the faces of my wife and children. I finally lost the argument as a single tear found its way past the barricade. It didn’t get very far as I wipe it away. Her blue eyes pleading to be let go, my children huddle next to their mother for protection. And me, going out of my mind trying to find them. I close my eyes letting two more tears pass. I feel a hand on my shoulder, opening my eyes I see that it is Rick. His eyes showing sympathy. I brush my hair back, turning my attention to the note:

"I’ll call you back." He hangs the phone up, "You’ve read the letter?" He asks standing, placing his hat on his head.

"Yes, I’ve read the letter." I tell him, placing one hand on the back of a chair. "So, am I back on the case?" I ask, wanting him to tell me. It was my way of getting back at him for putting me up on the podium, when he knew I would blow up. It was my turn to humiliate him.

"Didn’t Rick already tell you that?" He said, not wanting to give in.

"Yeah, but I want you to say it." I smirk.

"I don’t have time for this non-sense." He hammers as he walks out from behind his desk.

"Well, then I guess I will go back home." I said turning sluggishly.

"Ugh, fine. Conners....You are back on the case as lead detective." His voice low, like he didn’t want anyone else to know he said it. I turn my head and smile.

"I know." I say as I walk back out. I can hear him muttering something as I come back over to Rick. Looking back at the pictures, my smile deflates like a balloon that has been left alone for days. I pick the pictures back up holding it close to my face. Staring hard at it, so hard that my eyes start stinging.

"Wallace!" I yell across the office to a woman standing by the water cooler. "I need this picture blown up, all different sizes, and different sections of it also!" She nods and starts trodding over to us. I hand her the picture and look back at Rick.

"Do we know who that family is?" I ask him. He shakes his head slowly. "Alright well as soon as she is done with blowing up the picture, we need to send it out over the media." Just then I remember the finger that he sent to use earlier today. I rush to the door in the far back, Rick close at my heels. Going down the corridor to the door that says "Laboratory". I open the door, the hinges squeaking. Walking over to the heavy set man who is busy with the half shoe print mold found at the other crime scene.

"This looks like an Adidas shoe print, or maybe New Balance." He says to himself, unaware that we were standing in the room. I clear my throat, startling him. He jumps up nearly knocking over the mold. I smile at him as he shakes his head. "Hello there Josh, you almost gave me a heart attack." he bellows, holding his hand to his chest.

"Sorry about that Alan. Look have you got a DNA sample of the finger that came in?" I ask, eager for the answer. Hoping that when we find out who the family is we will be able to go to their house and find something that the killer left behind.

"Ah yes, the wedding finger." He announces, walking over to a different table. The room filled with high beam lights. Microscopes set on various tables. Other gadgets that help to find the suspect fill the room. I turn my attention back to him as he pulls out a piece of paper. "Her name is Jessica Winters, she lives at 121 Pine View Road." He hands me the paper and goes back to the shoe molding. We go back to the main office and I leave a note for Wallace to contact me on my cell phone when she is done with the picture. We hop into Rick’s police car, typing in the address in our computer, which shows us the roads to take. My heartbeat thumping against my chest, my adrenaline racing through my veins. I tap my fingertip against the door, anxious. The rain had stopped, the sun trying to squeeze between to buildings. The humidity is dense, making it seem hotter then it really is.

We arrive at the house, white picket fence. The grass as green as an emerald. The house a dusty yellow with a white wrap-around porch. Plants guard the house, except for the steps up on to the porch. Windchimes sing a melody as the soft breeze plays with them. Shoes occupy the left side of the wall, letting people know that they take their shoes off before entering the house. I put my glove on, twisting the doorknob to find it unlocked. I tell Rick that we need to check and see if it has been tampered with. He nods slowly his eyes fluttering around looking at every detail. The entrance is huge, a single round table in the center, holding a masterpiece of flowers. Looking directly above it is a sun roof, giving it the amount of sunlight it needs. The hard wood floor shines even though no lights are on. Grand staircases can be seen behind the table the red velvet covering the polished wooden stairs. I tell Rick to search down here, and I’ll go upstairs.

Reaching the foot of the stairs, I peer up to the many flights ahead. The wall that twists along with the stairs is covered with paintings, and pictures. One single, massive window stands alone where the stairs begin to bend. The sun seeping through, showing stray lines of light. Not finding anything on the stairs I proceed to the second floor. Carpet greeting me at the last step. The pastel green carpet shows me the way to the four rooms that share this floor. The first room, a large bathroom. Fishes poking out from the blue tiled wall. Kids bathroom. Looking through the cabinets and drawers, studying the mirrors for any cracks. Finding nothing I go to the second room, a game room. A pool table sits along the far side, near the window. A Shelf to my right holds board games and puzzles. Air hockey sits to left side, up against the bright yellow wall. A table then sits a few spaces away from the shelf, on top of it an almost finished puzzle. I examine the pool table sticks and agree that he never came in this room.

I head to the third room across the hall, next to the stairs. The sons room. His bed in the shape of a race car. His bed sheets have tires and traffic lights sewed on to them. Miniature cars rest on his shelf above his bed. Posters on his wall of his favorite driver. Looking around, I see no blood, no sign of a struggle, nothing. I scrunch my eyebrows. This doesn’t make sense. I go to the room at the end, their other sons’ room. His bed is a plain full size bed, with a black comforter and white sheets. Pillows have a checkered black and white pillow case. Along his shelf, he has a signed football, and trophies of past victories. The posters on his wall are of his favorite football team and player. But no sign of the killer ever being here. Going back downstairs I look for Rick.

"Rick? You find anything?" I yell out, trying to find his location. No one answers me. "Rick?" I ask again to the air, nothing. I walk into the living room, stepping down two steps, white carpet all through this room. Black leather couch and chairs. Big flat screen T.V. almost taking up the length of the wall. Fucking rich people. I say in sheer jealousy. Still no sign of Rick. Where the hell is he? I turn to go to the other part of the house when I here a sound of something falling. I take my gun out, inching towards the sound in the room that has the door closed. "Rick?" My voice low, almost a whisper. Taking my gloved hand I twist the doorknob, pushing it open, only to find Rick picking up a box of items that fell from the closet. "God dammit Rick. Why didn’t you answer me?" I said, placing my gun back in the holster.

"Sorry man, didn’t hear you." He said smiling putting the box back up. "You find anything?" He asks brushing his hands off on his pants.

"No, nothing. You?" I ask looking around the parents bedroom.

"I found some blood in the kitchen, and a few strands of hair." He says motioning towards the kitchen. But is it the killer’s hair? And why is there no signs of a struggle anywhere else? And where the hell is the father?