The Runaway by Peter J. Thompson

Author:Peter J. Thompson [Thompson, Peter J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Peter J Thompson
Published: 2019-01-30T16:00:00+00:00

27

Marshal OJ Carter reached the home just as the EMTs were moving his partner up to their ambulance. The whole street was lit up with flashing lights: red, blue and white. Besides the ambulance, there were already four police cars blocking off traffic and keeping the scene intact.

OJ hurried over and looked at the still body stretched out on the gurney. It was Victor, his partner. His face was visible, and he looked calm, almost as though he was napping, though the cheeks were fading toward white, already losing their color. He caught the eye of one of the EMTs, an older man with a stiff moustache. OJ pleaded wordlessly with his eyes, wanting to hear some good news. The EMT shook his head. It was too late.

OJ let his breath out and gulped in another big lungful of air. Vic was gone. His partner died, and he hadn’t been there to help him. He closed his eyes and tried to stay calm. He should be worked up, he thought. This was his partner. His friend. But he wasn’t angry, he wasn’t sad. He just felt empty, like it was someone else watching them take away the body. OJ moved away and watched as the EMTs closed the back door to their ambulance and headed out. Their siren wailed as they pulled off along the street, though all urgency had died along with Scarlini.

OJ trudged over the little patch of grass near the street and ducked down under the yellow police tape.

“You can’t be back here,” barked a young uniformed police officer, standing near the steps to the home.

OJ flashed his badge. “I’m Marshal Carter, US Marshal Service. That was my partner.”

“Oh,” the young cop said, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, man. My condolences.”

OJ continued to the far edge of the police tape near the front porch of the next home over. He stared at the blood, some of it smeared in a line where Victor had pulled himself, trying to get help, OJ supposed, and then an area where it all pooled as his life leaked away. OJ still felt detached. Even looking at the blood pool, he felt nothing. He climbed the steps of the house. The young policeman looked away as he passed.

The front door stood wide open. He hesitated before entering. Was Victor the only one? What happened to the kid? Where was the girl? The first thing he heard as he stepped inside was crying. He passed through the entranceway and into a neatly furnished living room. A uniformed officer was sitting sideways on a beige leather couch talking with a middle-aged woman in a blue dress with a pearl necklace. The mother, he was sure. She was crying, almost out of control, and the officer looked lost as he nodded. He had a pocket notebook in his hand, but he wasn’t writing anything.

He walked further into the home and saw another ribbon of yellow tape across the sliding door at the back of the room. This was clearly the original point of entry.

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