It Happened on Cemetery Road

Mickey Minner

mickeyminner.com

Copyrighted February 2015

Pacific Northwest District

United American States (UAS)

Summer 2075

CHAPTER ONE

“Nine one one, what's your emergency?”

“He did it,” an aggravated female voice responded. “I can't believe the bastard did it.”

“Ma'am... do you have an emergency?”

“You could say that. Send the ME to one five three Cemetery Road . And point your best detective over here, too.”

“Ma'am, are you injured?”

“Damn, I absolutely cannot believe he had the balls to do it,” the voice exclaimed in amazement then the call disconnected.

Sydney Ferguson drove into the driveway of a small, dilapidated structure. Switching off her vehicle's power circuit, she pushed the door open and stepped out then paused for a moment to take a cursory scan of the property.

In days well past, the neighborhood would have been referred to as a company town and there would have been a long row of identical company houses lining both sides of the street. Occupants of the homes would have been the families of the men and women working at the factory once located on the banks of the nearby river. Few people remembered the existence of the small community; most of its buildings having collapsed or been torn down decades ago leaving only this one house still standing— a lonely beacon to a time long past.

Sydney made her way across the yard of weeds and overgrown bushes toward a dangerously tilting porch.

“Inspector,” a young police officer walked toward her. “Hey, that's nice,” she said indicating the vehicle parked at the end of the gravel driveway. “One of the new solar jobs?” she asked. “Where did they hide the panels?”

“In the paint.”

The officer's nose scrunched up as she tried to make sense of the comment. “Doesn't that make it hard for them to absorb the sunlight?”

“The paint absorbs the sunlight, twit,” the inspector snapped annoyed at the rookie's curiosity over the car. “Is there a reason I'm here?” she demanded sharply.

“Uh?” Oh, yeah,” the officer muttered jerking her head at the house. “DB… inside.”

“I only get called when there's a dead body, twit,” Sydney growled. “Have you got anything else?”

“Uh, no… not really,” the officer stammered. “Haven't figured out a cause of death yet.”

The Inspector shook her head in frustration. “What the heck are they teaching at the Academy these days?” she asked striding away from the rookie since she wasn't much interested in any insight she might provide.

“Inspector,” an older officer, bearing sergeant strips on his uniform, acknowledged Sydney as soon as she entered the house.

“You have a useless partner, Lewis,” Sydney said bluntly walking across the room, the decaying floorboards squeaking loudly with each step.

“Yeah,” Sergeant Lewis agreed. “She's pretty green alright. Fresh out of the Academy.”

“I already deduced that,” Sydney grumbled. “Where's the DB?”

“Bedroom.”

“Scene secured?”

“Yes. Taped it off as soon as I got here. Only the EMRs have been in there,” the sergeant said pointing to a door across the room. “One female,” he continued walking with the Inspector. “Approximately thirty five… no identification… cause of death unknown. Hell of a lot of blood though.”

Sydney stepped through the doorway rubbing her nose as she took in the scene.

The afternoon sun, attempting to filter through the filthy panes of a pair of curtain-less windows, cast the space in eerie discolored shadows. The victim was laying face down, one arm stretching out above her head. Rivulets of blood ran from underneath the body in various directions on the uneven floor. On the wall between the windows, a blood smear began halfway up the wall then tracked all the way to the floor where a large pool of sticky red liquid was slowly dripping through the warped floor boards.

“Looks like she was standing against that wall when it happened,” Sydney observed to no one in particular. “Losing that much blood, she must have been dead when she hit the floor.”

“That's what I figured,” the sergeant agreed.

“You also figure how she managed to end up in the middle of the room?” Sydney questioned in a less than friendly tone.

Lewis frowned. “No… guess I missed that,” he stated apologetically.

Sydney shot the sergeant an exasperated look.

“Hey, you get paid to do the thinking,” Lewis protested.

“Any idea as to COD?” Sydney asked easing her way around the corpse.

“It sure wasn't natural,” one of the medical responders answered sarcastically.

Ignoring the man's attempt at humor, Sydney asked, “Weapon?”

“Definitely not a knife.”

“All that blood would indicate otherwise,” Sydney noted bending over to peer at the blood smear on the wall.

“True,” the female EMR spoke. “But I doubt you could cause the damage to her face with a knife. Hell, half of it is gone.”

Sydney tilted her head to look at the woman. “Gone?”

The woman nodded. “We're done here,” she told Sydney . “You want us to bag her?” she asked after standing up.

“ME on the way?” Sydney asked moving away from the wall.

“Yes.”

“Leave her.”

The male EMR stood. “Guess she's long past caring,” he said apathetically bending over to pick up his equipment.

“Nice,” Sydney muttered frowning at the man who shrugged then left the room.

“He's seen a lot of DB's,” the other EMR said making a half-hearted attempt to explain her partner's attitude.

“So have I,” Sydney stated. “But I still try to see them as people and not just a DB.”

“If it works for you,” the woman said before following her partner.

Waiting for the medical examiner's arrival, Sydney was casually, leaning against the door frame as she curiously surveyed the bedroom. Four water stained walls, their faded layers of wallpaper almost undistinguishable, surrounded a room devoid of furniture. Glancing up at the ceiling, she spotted the bare wires where a lighting fixture had once hung. Her brow creased.

“You looked puzzled,” Lewis commented.

“I take it the electricity is off.”

Lewis nodded. “Probably disconnected years ago when the power poles were removed.”

Sydney pondered a moment. “No power… no phone.”

“Is that a problem?”

“I thought dispatch said a witness called this in.”

Lewis pulled a small notebook from his shirt pocket. “Female caller… never gave a name… said to send the medical examiner and our ‘best' detective.” He smirked. “Guess you got the call instead.”

“Ha, ha.” Sydney pushed away from the door frame. “She say anything else?”

“Something about not believing the bastard had the guts to do it,” Lewis said placing the notebook back into its pocket.

“What bastard?”

Lewis shrugged. “Never said.”

“Sounds like she knew both the vic and the bastard,” Sydney muttered wandering around the room being careful not to step in any blood. When she returned to the doorway, she walked out of the room. “What's in the other rooms?” she asked noting a pair of doors on the opposite side of the front room.

“One's a kitchen… the one on the right is another bedroom. Bathroom is accessed through there too.”

“Hmmm,” Sydney murmured heading for the kitchen. Pushing the door open, she heard a creak then a distinctive cracking. “Damn,” she exclaimed as the door broke free from its frame.

“Lucky thing you caught it,” Lewis said after rushing over to grab hold of the splintered board.

“Thanks.”

“This could have given you a good whack on the head,” the sergeant said leaning the splintered boards against a wall.

“Nothing too unusual in here,” Sydney commented after making a quick examination of the kitchen.

“Hard to believe people used to need all of this to make a meal,” Lewis observed forcing open the rusted oven's door.

“A lot has changed since the turn of the century,” Sydney agreed walking out of the room. She crossed to the second door and, with more care, pushed it open. To her relief, the door's hinges squealed but held. “Another empty room,” she said not bothering to enter the space. “Makes you wonder what the hell she was doing here.”

“ME is here,” the rookie announced appearing at the front door.

“Good,” Lewis said. “I'd like to get out of this place before the damn floors cave in.”

“You could wait outside,” Sydney offered.

“And miss all the fun,” Lewis said shaking his head. “No way.”

“Detective, you've got yourself a real problem with this one,” the medical examiner told Sydney as soon as he rolled the corpse onto her back.

“What's that?”

“I haven't seen damage like this since medical school… and then it was only pics from a book scan.”

“What are you trying to tell me, Calvin?” Sydney asked impatiently.

“That the holes in her were caused by bullets.”

“Kinda what I was figuring,” Sydney told the man kneeling beside the body “Any idea the type of gun?”

“That's impossible,” the rookie blurted out.

Sydney turned to glare at the woman standing just inside the bedroom door. “I agreed to let you observe … so keep your trap shut. Or you can go back outside, twit.”

“I'm surprised you'd guess that,” Calvin said.

Sydney turned back to the medical examiner. “When I was bumped up to detective, I was sent to special training and shown pics of gunshot wounds. I was supposed to know what they looked like… just in case.”

“They actually thought you might see one?” Lewis asked surprised.

Sydney nodded with a shrug.

“I thought that problem was dealt with decades ago,” Lewis said. “All the guns were gathered up and destroyed; manufactures put out of business; factories bulldozed. Seems pretty unlikely you'd ever come across a gunshot victim.”

“And yet I have,” Sydney stated, her voice a mixture of curiosity, confusion, and dismay.

CHAPTER TWO

The following morning, Sydney was sitting in her office at the Regional Safety Enforcement and Investigation station listening to a recording set on a perpetual loop.

“He did it. I can't believe the bastard did it.”

“You've got a visitor, Detective.”

Without raising her eyes from the pad she was writing on, Sydney pointed across her desk to a pair of chairs.

Officer Belinda Harris eased into the room then settled onto one of the chairs.

“Ma'am... do you have an emergency?”

“You could say that. Send the M.E. to one five three Cemetery Road . And point your best detective over here, too.”

“Ma'am, are you injured?”

“Damn, I absolutely cannot believe he had the balls to do it.”

“Is that the 911 call?” Belinda asked hesitantly.

Ever so slowly, Sydney raised her eyes to glare at the woman sitting on the opposite side of her desk. “What the hell are you doing here, twit?” she demanded throwing her pencil down on her desk and punching the button to pause the recording.

Leaning forward, Belinda placed a sheet of paper on the desk. “Orders,” she stated hoping she sounded more confident than she was feeling at the moment.

Picking up the page, Sydney scanned the neatly typed lines. “What the hell is this?” she snapped. “I don't train rookies, twit. Get your ass out of my office,” she bellowed. Sucking in a breath, she was about to continue her rant when the phone on her desk rang. “What?!” she yelled after lifting the handset to her ear. “I was just about to call you,” she snarled recognizing the caller's voice. “What the hell is this crap, Captain?” She listened for a few moments.

Belinda squirmed in the chair, more than a little uneasy with the Detective's reaction.

“I don't care if it's coming down from District, I'm not carrying a rookie around on my back. Hell, she's barely out of the Academy.” Clenching her hand into a fist, Sydney crumbled the rookie's orders into a tight wad. “I want it on record that I'm against this,” she growled into the phone. “And I'll be damned if you, or District, try to pin blame on me when she gets herself killed,” she yelled slamming the receiver back onto its cradle. Then leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms and glowered at the rookie.

Twitching under the detective's scrutiny, Belinda smiled nervously.

“You got friends at District, twit—”

“Harris… Belinda Harris.”

“What?”

“My name… Belinda Harris.”

Sydney scowled. “As I was saying… Twit … District thinks I need a shadow. Why?”

“I don't know.”

“Don't know or not saying?”

“Detective, for the record, I didn't ask for this assignment… in fact, I tried to talk my Commander out of it—”

“You should have tried harder, twit,” Sydney snapped. “Damn, saddle me with a rookie,” she grumbled standing up. Stepping to a panel on the office's side wall, she pushed a button. Approximately a foot square, the dark tinted glass panel slid open and she placed an empty coffee cup inside. “Coffee… black,” she said then watched the panel slide back into place. She waited impatiently for the panel to again slide up then reached for her cup, now filled with the requested hot liquid.

Enviously, Belinda eyed the steaming cup as the detective returned to her chair. “Would you mind if I…?” she asked motioning toward the panel.

“Oh, by all means, make yourself at home,” Sydney muttered derisively.

“Thanks.” Belinda stood.

“Okay, let's cut the bull,” Sydney said when the rookie walked to the nutrition station. “Who do you know? And why do they want you on this investigation?”

“Cup… coffee… cream… light sugar,” Belinda told the machine before responding to the detective. “I don't know anyone at District. And, I told you before, I'm as unhappy as you are about this assignment.” She carried a freshly created cup filled with coffee back to her chair.

Sydney studied the rookie's face looking for signs of deception. “I smell a rat,” she muttered.

“If you do… it's not me.”

“I guess time will prove that to be true or…”

“Or?”

“You may just disappear down a hole somewhere.”

“Is that how you deal with anyone you don't like?”

Sydney shook her head. “Only the ones that try to bury a knife in my back,” she declared with a sneer.

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“Make sure you do, twit,” Sydney said standing. “Come on,” she told the rookie as she walked around her desk. “I want to take another look at the crime scene.”

Sydney drove up to the ribbon of yellow tape stretched across the driveway then waited for the officer assigned to protect the area to raise the tape so she could park closer to the house. “Any problems? She asked as soon as she exited her vehicle.

“Had to chase away some press hounds… otherwise, it's been pretty quiet. Not too many folks venture to this part of town.”

Sydney nodded as she made a mental note of the officer's comment. “We'll be inside for a bit,” she told him.

“Be careful,” the officer warned. “For an empty building, that place sure creaks and groans a lot. Must be why they stopped using wood for building material.”

Another nod then Sydney headed for the porch.

Following the detective, Belinda acknowledged the officer with a smile as she walked past. Carefully climbing the wobbly steps, she entered the house. “Shouldn't we be looking at the crime scene?” she asked finding the detective heading for the kitchen.

“We are, twit.”

“But it happened in there,” Belinda objected pointing toward the bedroom.

Coming to an abrupt stop, Sydney spun about to face the rookie.

“Ok… Rule number one, twit— don't waste my time asking me stupid questions,” Sydney informed the rookie sternly. “The crime took place in this house… therefore, the entire house, and property, is our crime scene. Or do you think the victim and her killer just magically materialized in that room?” She waited for a response.

“I guess they had to come from some place, uh?” Belinda finally muttered timidly.

“Good guess,” Sydney quipped nastily. Before you make any more useless comments, start thinking big picture. If you're only going to think about the small stuff, you can wait in the car,” Sydney said spinning back around. Stepping through the kitchen's door-less opening, she walked across the room to a door leading outside. “Don't touch anything, twit,” she snapped hearing a drawer being pulled open behind her.

Yanking her hand away from the drawer, Belinda frowned. “Are you always pissed off or is it just because I'm here?”

“Yes,” Sydney responded opening the door. She stepped out to a small porch attached to the side of the house then hopped down off the warped wood planks. “Ground is pretty soft,” she observed lifting her right foot to see a perfect impression of her boot sole in the dirt. “Take a walk around. See if you can find any prints leading to or from the house. And make sure of where you're walking, twit. I don't want any evidence destroyed,” she said already moving toward the back of the house.

“Hey!” Belinda bellowed at the detective. “You can call me Rookie… or Officer Harris… or Hey You… but don't call me twit again,” she barked.

With her back still toward the rookie, Sydney grinned. Then, replacing the smile with a look of annoyance, she slowly reversed directions. “Excuse me?”

“You are an arrogant, self-centered, jerk,” Belinda exclaimed angrily. “You may be the super detective in this region with a record of clearing tough cases as long as my arm—”

“Longer,” Sydney stated matter-of-factly.

Belinda ignored the comment. “But I'll be damned if I'm going to be treated like a piece of dog crap on the bottom of your boot. You don't like me… fine. I don't much like you either. But, until I can get this assignment changed, we're stuck together. And just for your information, I do have a working brain. So drop the I'm the alpha bitch attitude and cut me some slack. You might find out I can be of some help with this investigation.” Forced to stop berating the detective due to a lack of breath, she sucked air into her lungs.

Sydney chuckled. “So the rookie has fangs. Holy crud, I think you broke the all time record. Most idiots I get stuck with don't last more than a few hours before they go running into the night never to be heard from again.” She chuckled. “Well done, rookie… well done.”

Belinda looked puzzled. “This was a test?” she asked, half confused by the detective's change in attitude and half aggravated by it. Stewing, she remained on the porch, clinched hands on hips. “You were just playing with me, weren't you?” she asked heatedly.

“I never play,” Sydney declared taking a couple of steps closer to the porch. “Look, the cases I get assigned are pretty nasty… as you've seen. I've found it better to get rid of dead weight as soon as possible… makes my life a hell of a lot easier. So don't get your knickers knotted… I needed to know what you could take. I've got a gut-full of feelings about this case and none of them are good. The last thing I need right now is a wimpy rookie who can't handle the shit when it starts to fly.”

Belinda glared at the detective. “You're pretty good at throwing the shit, aren't you?”

“Yeah, I am.” Sydney smiled smugly. “Okay, now that we've got that behind us, you ready to get to investigating?”

Hesitating for several moments, Belinda finally stepped off the porch. “Yes.”

“Good. Take a walk around. Two people were in this house… they had to get here somehow.”

“You don't think they arrived by car?”

“Most likely; but it's best to make sure.”

“Okay,” Belinda said as she started away from the house.

“I hate missing evidence, Harris… so take it slow and don't be afraid to get your pants dirty.” Watching the rookie walk a zig-zag pattern about fifteen feet from the house, her body bent over as she searched the ground, Sydney grinned. “Maybe she's right about having brains,” she murmured happily resuming her own search alongside the house.

Having completed two full cycles around the property and finding no sign of foot prints other than her own, Belinda made her way back to the house and found the detective in the bloody bedroom.

“Anything?” Sydney asked slouched against the wall opposite the blood smear.

Belinda shook her head. “No prints… boot or tire.”

Sydney turned her head to look at the rookie. “Very good, Harris. Most rookies wouldn't think to look for anything but what they were told.”

“I figured I'd avoid giving you the pleasure of sending me back out to look for tire tracks,” the rookie said grinning.

“Gee, thanks for spoiling my fun.”

“You're welcome.”

“You check the front of the house?”

“Yes. No foot prints except for goon boots,” Belinda stated using the mocking epithet for the investigators that dealt with the most serious of crimes. If there were any others, they got wiped out by all the cars in and out of here since yesterday. Too bad the driveway wasn't roped off before the goons arrived.”

Sydney laughed then pointed at the rookie's regulation issued boots. “You forget you're one of us goons now?” she asked pushing off the wall and pulling a small digital camera out of her pants pocket.

“I thought the M.E. took pics,” Belinda said watching the detective move about the room taking meticulous photos of anything and everything that garnered her interest.

“He does,” Sydney said kneeling beside the pool of dried blood. “I like working with my own.”

“Of course, you do,” Belinda mumbled.

“Watch it, rookie… you don't want to get back on my bad side.”

Smiling, Belinda moved closer to the wall with the blood smear. “What caused this hole?” she asked bending down to get a better look at the perfectly round opening about the same diameter as her thumb.

Standing, Sydney approached the wall. “Good question,” she said focusing her camera on the hole. “Doesn't look like it's been here long,” she added squatting then tilting her head close to the wood panel. “Hmmm, she murmured before leaning back away from the bloody wall. Straightening up she paused to take a final look around the room.

Moving to stand in front of one of the room's dirty rooms, Belinda peered through the filth. “Funny, this one house out here all by itself,” she thought aloud, “must have been pretty lonely living here without neighbors.”

“Don't you know what this place was?”

Turning to face the detective, Belinda shook her head.

“Carlyle Industries… one of the largest ammunition manufactures in this part of, what used to be called, The United States. There were a bunch of these houses built for the company's employees. When it was decided to close the weapon factories, these company towns were also bulldozed.”

“Odd that this house was left.”

“Yes, it is,” Sydney acknowledged heading for the door. “You notice any other inconsistencies in here.”

Diligently, Belinda let her eyes scan her surroundings. She looked at the blood stained wall then the blood stained floor. “She was moved.”

“Already noted and documented,” Sydney said leaning against the door frame.

Belinda continued her examination of the scene. “How was she moved?”

“Explain.”

Cautiously, Belinda approached the large smear on the wall. “There's blood here,” she pointed at the floor at her feet. “And there's blood there,” she pointed at the dried stains several feet away in center of the room. “But there's no blood between them. Not a single drop.”

Sydney smiled. “Our mystery keeps growing.”

“But if she was already dead, why move her?”

“Why indeed?” Sydney blew out a lungful of air. “Let's go see what the M.E. found,” she said leaving the room.”

Sitting in Dr. Calvin's office, Belinda glanced around at the piles of reports on his desk and every other unclaimed surface in the room and she marveled that the man hadn't been buried under an avalanche of paper.

“Give me some good news,” Sydney said after enduring several minutes of uncomfortable silence while the medical examiner read through several sheets of paper.

“This one is a real pickle, Detective. Let's start with what I'm relatively sure of.”

“That doesn't sound good,” Sydney said taking her notepad out of her pocket.

“She was shot twice… first shot in the abdomen; second in the head. I have no clue as to the type of weapon, other than it was some sort of firearm… I believe that was the proper terminology at the time.”

“Tell me you at least got an ID.”

“I wish.”

“Come on, Calvin. What came back on her prints?”

The doctor shook his head.

“That's not possible. Everyone gets printed at birth… her prints must be in the system.”

“I'm sure they are. I just have no way of checking.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The tips of her fingers were smooth. I couldn't get a reading.”

“How's that possible?” Sydney asked examining the tips of her own fingers with their covering of ridges and swirls.

“Sandpaper.”

Sydney and Calvin turned to the rookie.

“I read a book a while back… it was an old one written around the turn of the century. It described how a burglar made sure not to leave fingerprints at his crimes by rubbing sandpaper against the tips of his fingers,” Belinda explained.

“Is that possible?” Sydney asked the doctor.

“I suppose it could work. Of course, depending on how hard and long you rubbed, it would only smooth down the top layers of skin.”

“So the prints would grow back when new skin grew?”

Calvin nodded.

“Don't suppose there's much chance of that happening with our vic,” Sydney muttered gloomily.

“I could try to regenerate her hands,” Calvin said. “But that's still pretty experimental so I wouldn't count on it being much use.”

“How about eye scans?” Sydney asked.

“Did you find them?” Calvin asked.

Perplexed, Sydney stared at the doctor. “Find what?”

“Her eyes… they were removed.”

“Oh, yuck,” Belinda groaned repulsed at the revelation. “That's gross.”

“Tell me about it,” Calvin agreed. “Detective, whoever is behind this went to great pains to make sure you couldn't ID the vic.”

Sydney chewed on her lower lip for several minutes. “You got anything else?”

“No. But I'm heading back to the crime scene to look for prints the old fashion way. Maybe we'll get lucky.”

Sydney stood up. “Try not to make too big of a mess,” she said motioning the rookie toward the office door.

CHAPTER THREE

Leaning back in her chair, Sydney raised her legs and rested her booted feet on the corner of her desk. “Okay, we've got a DB.”

“Yes, we do,” Belinda agreed waiting for the nutrition station to complete her request for two cups of coffee.

“And we've got a manner of death… unlikely though it may be.”

“Murder by firearm,” Belinda provided retrieving two steaming mugs after the wall panel slid open.

“We've got no ID… and the possibility is that we'll never get one.”

“Hard to get ID without prints and, or, eyes,” the rookie said walking back to her chair on the far side of the desk. “Wish we had another option,” she muttered reaching across the desk to set one of the cups in front of the detective.

“Thanks,” Sydney said picking up the mug. “We would if the damn courts hadn't decided testing for DNA was an invasion of privacy.” She shook her head in frustration. “I still can't believe the judges deemed DNA must be kept confidential.”

“Too many transplanted organs and such,” Belinda commented. “Too many mixed-up blood lines causing too many mis-identifications… wasn't that their justification.”

“Yeah.”

“So, now what?”

“Good question… How do we solve a puzzle with so many missing parts?”

“With good old fashion detective work. Isn't that what you get paid for?”

Both women looked toward the door where a stocky man stood smiling.

“Michaels?” Sydney curiously acknowledged their visitor.

“Afternoon, Sydney ,” the man said cheerfully then stepped further into the detective's office. “Still refuse to stand on protocol, I see,” he stated good-naturedly indicating the relaxed position Sydney had retained. “And you are?” he asked turning to the second officer in the room.

“Officer Belinda Harris,” she responded tossing Sydney a quizzical look.

“Rookie, this is Commander Steven Michaels from District,” Sydney casually made the necessary introduction while closely observing the rookie's reaction.

Belinda jumped to her feet. “Oh, sorry, Sir,” she immediately apologized when coffee sloshed over the lip of the cup in her hand.

Jerking backward to avoid the hot liquid, the commander smacked into the metal doorframe. “Shit, that hurt. Relax, Officer, before you cause some real damage,” he snapped reaching back to rub his hip.

“I see you've still got your cat-like reflexes, Steven,” Sydney said, amused by the man's clumsy reaction. “Sit down, Harris,” she told the panicked rookie. “He's more bark than bite. You want some coffee?” she asked dropping her feet to the floor.

“In a cup, preferably,” Michaels responded glumly then he bent over to check his pants for coffee stains. “You're lucky you missed me, Rookie,” he grumbled straightening back up.

“Give it a rest,” Sydney stated as she stood up. “You deserved that for not giving me a heads up so I could warn the rookie you would be making an appearance,” she said moving toward the nutrition station. “Cup, coffee, double sugar,” she told the machine before turning to study the man still standing mid-way between her desk and the office door. “You could sit down, Commander,” she said nodding toward the rookie and the empty chair beside her. “I'm sure Officer Harris won't cause you any further harm,” she added.

“You sure about that? I heard she's already taken a piece out of your ass.”

Sydney smiled. “She's got spunk,” she declared carrying a cup of coffee to the commander. “I'm surprised that tidbit has already made it to District,” she stated glancing at the rookie suspiciously.

“Any time someone stands up to you is news that spreads fast,” Michaels replied settling on the chair. “At least, she's still on the job.”

“Is that why you're here?” Sydney asked reclaiming her chair then leaning back to place her feet back atop her desk. “Checking to see if I've run another brain dead rookie into the night?”

“I prefer you run off the brain dead ones,” Michaels stated agreeably. “I heard your vic had a rather unusual COD,” he continued casually while lifting the cup of coffee to his lips.

“You came all the way down from District to discuss my vic's cause of death?” Sydney asked. “You could have just picked up the phone.”

The commander chuckled. “Don't flatter yourself, Detective. I had a meeting with the Regional Council, so I decided to drop by.”

Sipping from her cup, Belinda observed the exchange with a mixture of confusion and fascination.

“Was it a gunshot?” Michaels asked.

“Calvin thinks so.”

“That's not good.”

“You don't sound too surprised,” Sydney said neutrally.

Michaels took a moment to respond. “I'm sorry to say it's not the first time it's happened in my district.”

“I thought all firearms had been destroyed.” Belinda spoke for the first time. “Weren't they?”

Michaels shook his head. “We've tried. When it became apparent that the old guard wasn't going to be successful in maintaining power, rumors began to circulate. And one of the most repeated was that the new government would shut down the firearm factories and all privately owned weapons would be confiscated and destroyed. Of course, that didn't go over too well and many people started to stockpile guns and ammo in hidden stashes. We're working on finding these but it hasn't been easy... that's not to say that we've stopped looking for them.”

“I don't suppose District is working on anything in this area?”

Michaels sighed. “Sorry, Sydney … you know I can't comment on our investigations. I can't risk my agents being exposed.”

“You think I'd blow their covers?” Sydney asked indignantly.

Michaels drank the last of his coffee then set the cup down on the desk. “Can't take the risk,” he stated standing. “Let me know if I can be of any assistance,” he told the detective then turned and headed for the office doorway.

“Well, that was interesting,” Sydney murmured after Michaels left her office.

Utilizing the kitchen sink at the crime scene, Dr. Calvin vigorously scrubbed his hands.

“What happened in here?”

Startled by the unexpected voice, Calvin jerked his head around and spotted an officer standing in the main room.

“Damn, I thought Ferguson told you to stay out of the house,” he barked in annoyance.

“Oh, she did,” the officer replied seemingly unconcerned he was breaking the detective's orders. “So, what's all the black stuff?”

“Finger print powder,” Calvin explained returning to his task.

“Why not use a scanner?” the officer asked strolling into the kitchen.

“They're not calibrated to work on wood. I had to borrow an old finger print kit from the history museum.”

“I heard about those. Hey, are these the prints you found?” the officer asked excitedly as he headed for the kitchen table.

“Don't touch those,” Calvin shouted. “You need to go back outside, Officer,” he added firmly.

“I wasn't doing any harm. You've been in here a while and I was worried… that's all.”

“Thanks for your concern but I'm fine. You can return to your post... now .” Calvin watched the officer casually stroll across the kitchen to the back door then step outside onto the porch.

“You holler out if you need anything,” the officer said before pulling the door shut.

After the officer walked toward the front of the house and out of his sight, the medical examiner gave up on cleaning the stubborn stains off his hands. Instead, he grabbed a towel off the sink, drying his hands as he moved to the kitchen table. Spread out on the rough surface were numerous small white cardboard cards with pieces of adhesive tape stuck to them. Each piece of tape exhibited a single print, its curls and loops highlighted in black powder.

“This should be fun,” Calvin muttered unenthusiastically while he carefully gathered up the cards to place them in his attaché case. Then he picked up the brown leather box he had set on one of the chairs earlier and carried both the box and his attaché out of the kitchen. “Sure hope Sydney appreciates the migraine I'm about to give myself,” he said heading for the front door.

After the visit from the District's Commander, Sydney had decided to return to the crime scene to check in with the medical examiner. Just as she turned her car into the driveway, her communicator buzzed. Lifting her foot off the accelerator, she snatched the mic off the dashboard. “ Ferguson ,” she stated into the fist-size unit.

“Detective Ferguson ?” a female voice asked.

“Isn't that what I just said?”

“You are the lead detective on the Cemetery Road case?”

“I'm the only detective on the case,” Sydney snapped. “Is there a reason you're bothering me?”

“I have a question—”

“I don't answer questions,” Sydney barked into the handset. “And I don't talk to the press. You can direct any questions you have about this case to District,” she stated harshly before punching the button on the back of the mic to cut the connection. Placing her foot back on the accelerator, she continued up the driveway.

The communicator buzzed again.

“Damnit,” Sydney blurted out reaching for the handset. “ Ferguson .”

“I'm not a reporter. And if you want to solve your case, you won't cut me off again.”

Slamming her foot on the brake, Sydney brought the car to an abrupt stop. “Identify yourself,” she demanded.

“Let's just say I'm someone who has a lot riding on your investigative skills.”

Sydney sneered. “Let's just say I don't play these kinds of games,” she snarled. “So you either tell me who the hell you are or quit wasting my time.”

“Be careful who you trust.”

“That's easy— I don't trust anybody… not even you.”

An uneasy chuckle came through the radio. “Unfortunately, Detective, I have no choice but to trust you,” the voice declared then the line went dead.

“What the hell?” Sydney exclaimed staring at the mic in her hand.

“That was odd,” Belinda commented.

“Thanks for your insight,” Sydney grumbled tossing the mic back onto the dashboard. She shut off the engine and set the parking brake then pushed the driver's door open. “Come on,” she told the rookie.

Calvin was walking out of the kitchen when Sydney stomped into the house. “You look like someone stuck a burr under your saddle,” he told the obviously agitated detective.

“This damn case gets stranger by the minute,” Sydney grunted looking around at the front room's walls covered in black smudges. “Crap… what a mess.”

“Couldn't be helped,” Calvin explained unapologetically.

“Please tell me you didn't do this everywhere,” Sydney said gloomily as she headed for the bedroom.

“I left the bedroom alone,” Calvin responded setting his box and attaché down to follow the detective. “I figured anyone who might have left prints in there probably left them in here or in the kitchen. Besides, I can always do it later… if I need to.”

“Good thinking,” Sydney said relieved to find her crime scene unspoiled by inky blobs. “How long to process what you got?”

“Ah, hell, Sydney , I don't know. If I can get a scanner recalibrated… maybe a few days; if I have to go through the cards by hand it could be months.”

“Can't you speed things up? I need something.”

“I could if I could still access a computer. But I can't,” Calvin said frowning, “thanks to the new government's Improvements for a Better Life .”

“Can't really blame them for that one,” Sydney commented. “All the time people spent on the damn things playing games and on… what did they call them… social networks?”

Calvin nodded. “And web surfing.”

“Yeah… It's amazing how quickly the economy crashed after the internet really took over people's lives after the turn of the century. Government had to ban computers just to get people to go back to work.”

“Ban them for the masses but, damn it, let me have access to those databases,” Calvin groused.

“I could send Harris to help you.”

Calvin glanced across the room to where the rookie was standing beside a window and looking non-too pleased with the offer. “Thanks,” he told the detective, “but there's no sense in two of us going blind. I'll suffer though this alone.” He scratched his nose. “Though it's probably a waste of time considering how long this place has been vacant. Chances are if I do find a match, it will belong to someone who is very old or a resident of one of the graves across the street.”

“I'll take that chance,” Sydney assured the medical examiner.

Walking out of the bedroom, Calvin retorted, “Easy for you to say.” He stopped at the doorway and turned around. “You might want to remind the officer out front about your orders to stay out of the house.”

“He was inside?” Sydney asked surprised by the suggestion.

“He was.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Staring out one of the bedroom's dirty windows, Sydney chewed agitatedly on her lower lip.

Leaning against the room's door frame, Belinda watched the distracted detective for several uneasy minutes. “What's bothering you?” she asked timidly.

Remaining silent, Sydney kept her attention on the view through the window. With the exception of the cemetery across the street, she saw nothing but weed infested ground devoid of any structures. “What's the matter? You don't think our unidentifiable DB and unusual COD is worrisome?” she asked finally turning away from the window.

“I do,” Belinda responded. “But I… I get the feeling that it's more than that.”

Sydney studied the rookie. “Good catch… my skin is twitching,” she commented walking around the dried blood stain on the floor, “and I don't like it. Come on… let's get out of here,” she told the rookie as she brushed past her.

Giving the obviously distracted detective plenty of room, Belinda followed her toward the front door.

Stepping out of the house onto the front porch, Sydney paused a moment to locate the security officer; eventually spotting him disappearing around the corner of the house. “Wait in the car,” she said reaching into her pocket. She tossed her key ring to the rookie. “I need to have a chat with our inquisitive guard,” she explained hopping off the porch.

Belinda snatched the keys out of the air then watched the detective head for the corner of the house. Wondering how severe the guard's butt-chewing would be, she stepped off the porch and walked toward the detective's car.

Cautiously easing his way along the outside wall of the house, the guard stopped at the kitchen window, peered inside then continued to the back porch.

“You seem to have problems following orders, Officer Bentley,” Sydney stated startling the man as he reached for the door knob.

Abruptly, the guard's movements stopped and, with his hand still frozen in air inches from the door, he slowly rotated his head in the detective's direction.

“Bentley… that is correct, isn't it?” Sydney asked crossing her arms and glaring at the man who nodded nervously. “I'm curious,” she continued, “is it because you missed your Academy classes on chain-of-command and obeying senior officers?” she asked while closely watching his reaction. “Or is it,” her tone grew menacing, “because you're in somebody's back pocket?”

“I don't know what the hell you're talking about,” Bentley snapped pulling his hand away from the door. “My job is to make sure the place is secure,” he needlessly informed the detective. “I was just making sure the door was locked.”

Sydney released a sound more snort than laugh. “That door hasn't locked in decades. Don't tell me that's the best you could come up with,” she said scornfully.

“Just doing my job,” Bentley repeated in a nervous mumble then he backed down the steps keeping his eyes glued to the irate detective. “I have to get back to my post,” he said taking a step toward the front of the house.

Sydney shifted to block the guard's progress. “You surprise me, Bentley,” she said softening her tone. “You see, I would think keeping watch on a deserted house must be a pleasant change after being assigned to Regional with senior officers ordering you about all day,” she observed genially.

Confused by the detective's sudden change in tone, Bentley nodded tensely.

“And, it would seem to me, that a low grade officer like yourself would do every thing you could to keep this posting,” she added. “Like keeping a pretty low profile and not drawing attention to yourself. But you've done just the opposite… you've disobeyed my orders and entered my crime scene. And I find that peculiar... as well as,” her tone hardened, “incredibly stupid. So how about cluing me in… who's got you spying on me?”

Bentley eyed her apprehensively. “I don't know what you mean?”

“Oh, I'm pretty sure you do. And trying to play innocent is only pissing me off,” Sydney barked. “So I'll give you one chance to come clean before I call Dispatch and have you reassigned.”

“You can't do that,” Bentley protested. “You don't have the authority.”

Sydney chuckled, the sound lacking any hint of humor. “I'm always amazed when punks like you think that,” she said grabbing his shirt and yanking him toward her until they were nose to nose. “I don't know who's pulling your strings,” she snarled, “but when I find out, I'll bury both of you. No one… and I mean no one… screws with one of my investigations,” she shouted into his face. “Now, get your ass out front and stick there until your transport gets here,” she ordered shoving him away from her.

Bentley stumbled for a few steps before regaining his balance then spun about to face the detective. “You'll regret this,” he told her angrily.

“Doubt it,” Sydney snapped dourly and gave the guard another shove.

“Hang on, I'll have to go get her,” Belinda told the voice on the radio. Setting the mic down on the console, she pushed open the passenger door, stepped out, then set off in search of the detective.

Rushing around the corner of the house, Bentley smacked into the rookie. “Hey, get out of the way,” he shouted angrily before continuing at a full run to his official post at the end of the driveway.

Setting a much more leisurely pace, Sydney was a few steps behind the fleeing guard. “You okay?” she asked the rookie.

“Who put a stick up his butt?” Belinda asked rubbing her shoulder.

“Me,” Sydney said smugly. “Thought I told you to wait in the car?”

“You did… you have a call.”

“Who?”

“Wouldn't say but sounds like your mystery caller from before.”

“Hmmm,” Sydney murmured heading for the car. Reaching the vehicle, and not bothering to open the car door, she stretched her arm through the open window to retrieve the mic. “ Ferguson .”

“Detective, I would like to have a private conversation with you.”

“Nope… not until you tell me who you are.”

“As I said before, I believe it best not to reveal my identity.”

“Look… whoever you are… I've got enough mysteries on this case. I sure as hell don't need to be dealing with a secretive woman seeking clandestine meetings. So we're not talking until you provide me some details.”

“Detective, I'm across the road. If you want to know what I know, you'll make the walk over here.”

Sydney straightened up to peer over the top of her car. “The graveyard?” she asked in surprise.

“Yes.”

“Why there?”

“I'll wait for you. And, please, come alone.”

When the call disconnected, Sydney dropped the mic onto the driver's seat.

“You're not actually thinking of going over there, are you?” Belinda asked suspicious of the caller's motives.

“She could be our 911 caller,” Sydney said gazing across the street.

“She could be a set-up,” Belinda countered. “Or have you failed to notice she always contacts you by police radio?”

“I noticed,” Sydney said shifting her gaze toward the rookie. “You're not worried about me… are you, Harris?” she asked grinning.

“Heaven forbid,” Belinda muttered. “I'm just saying—”

“Thanks for the concern… but I'll be okay.”

“What am I supposed to do while you're over there setting yourself up for who knows what to happen?”

“Give Dispatch a call; tell them I want a change in guards… I'll fill out the paperwork later. Stick around until the transport comes and make sure the replacement understands crime scene protocol.”

“Okay.”

“I should be back by then.”

“You want me to check on you, if you're not?”

“No.”

“You know, I could sneak over in a few—”

“I want you to follow your orders, Rookie,” Sydney snapped. “I don't need you screwing this up by scaring off whoever is over there.”

Frowning, Belinda watched the detective stroll across the street. “Watch your back,” she warned.

After crossing the wide, empty expanse of concrete, Sydney walked alongside the fence surrounding the old cemetery and soon found herself standing in front of the long neglected gate. For several minutes, her eyes wandered over the ornate wrought iron as she found the curls and twists strangely attractive. “Sure beats the sterile crap they design today,” she muttered reaching for the gate's rusty latch. It took more than a few tugs to loosen the bolt but she finally managed to gain access into the graveyard. Closing the creaking gate behind her, she started a cautious walk up the gravel path.

The cemetery was huge; its endless sea of tombstones and monuments spreading over several acres. Glancing at the tangle of knee-high grass and overgrown plants covering the graves, Sydney speculated it had been some time since anyone had paid attention to the graveyard. Following the path deeper into the cemetery, her eyes never stopped moving as she looked for any sign of her reticent caller.

“Here, Detective.”

The closeness of the voice was so unexpected that Sydney almost let out a startled squawk. Taking a deep breath to calm her suddenly racing heart, she turned toward the sound to see a woman, not more than ten feet away, standing beside a grave bearing an elaborate tombstone.

“I'm glad you decided to meet my terms.”

Sydney smiled. “I guess you could say my curiosity over-ruled my good sense,” she said. “Now, that I'm here, what is you have to tell me?”

“Straight to the point.”

“I didn't come here to waste my time,” Sydney replied coolly. “Talk or I'm leaving.”

“Your investigation is an unusual one,” the woman said.

“Old news,” Sydney grunted, intently peering at the woman. “Do I know you?”

“I do not believe so.”

“You seem awfully familiar.”

The woman smiled. “Do I?” she asked shifting to stand directly in front of the tombstone. “Tell me, Detective… does the name of this tombstone mean anything to you?”

“Robert Michael Miller,” Sydney read the tombstone's engraving. “Nineteen Hundred Eighty Nine… Two Thousand Fifty Nine.” She shook her head. “Can't say it does… why?”

“Mr. Miller has a rather interesting history.”

The long blast of a transport horn burst through the cemetery causing Sydney to look over her shoulder in the direction of the street. When she turned back, the woman had disappeared. “Dammit,” she spat out, “I hate cases like this.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Closing the cemetery gate then sliding the latch into place, Sydney wondered why bothered considering it was rather unlikely the graveyard would be having any unwanted visitors. Turning away from the gate, she spotted Belinda standing in front of the transport having an animated conversation with Officer Bentley, his back to the street. Lips tightening into a grimace, she headed across the street.

“You've been relieved,” Belinda again told Bentley.

“She has no authority,” Bentley shouted.

“You're insubordinate, Bentley. Get in the damn transport,” she ordered angrily.

“Problems?” Sydney asked casually.

Bentley spun about to find the detective standing inches behind him.

Stepping lightly, Sydney had approached the pair unnoticed by the defiant guard. “You have two seconds to get into the transport or I'm going to throw your ass in,” she growled.

“You wouldn't dare.”

For a brief moment, Sydney simply smiled at the man. Then without further warning, she twisted Bentley around and grabbed the back of his shirt. Yanking him over to the transport's door, she unceremoniously shoved him into the transport.

“Damn, you have got to be a full-fledged idiot,” the transport's driver commented dryly looking down at the guard sprawled at his feet.

“I'm filing charges,” Bentley screamed pushing awkwardly up to his knees. “You're a witness… you saw what she did to me.”

The driver squatted down to be at eye level with the guard. “See these strips, boy,” he said pointing at the insignia on his sleeve. “I've put my years in dealing with jerks like you and my time is almost done. I have a really nice retirement party planned for next month; so you want to report the Detective, you go right ahead and do it… but I didn't witness anything . Now, I suggest you plant your butt in one of our nice cushy seats before she decides to help you with that, too.” He stood then nodded to Sydney standing just outside the transport's door. “I'll take him the long way back to headquarters… it'll give him time to cool down.”

“Don't waste your time, Sergeant,” Sydney said watching Bentley stumble toward the back of the transport, “his kind never cool down.”

“Yeah, you're probably right about that,” the sergeant responded settling back into the driver's seat. “I'll be taking off if you're done.”

“Hang on for a second… you can give me a lift back to headquarters,” Sydney told the driver before walking over to Belinda. “You lay out the rules to the new guard?” she asked of the nervously fidgeting man standing a few feet away.

“Haven't had a chance… though I doubt I'll have much trouble convincing him of the importance of following those rules now,” she noted with a grin.

Sydney chuckled. “You're probably right.”

“You expecting more trouble from Bentley?” Belinda asked having heard the Detective's instructions to the driver.

“I need you to do something,” Sydney said ignoring the question. “Are you familiar with the District Archives?”

“I did a few research projects at the library while I was at the Academy.”

“Good. Take the car, go to the library, and find whatever you can on this house and the factory that used to be here. And look up a Robert Michael Miller… died in fifty nine.”

“He buried across the street?”

“Yeah,” Sydney said turning toward the waiting transport. “Grab some food on the way,” she called over her shoulder as she stepped inside. “I don't want you leaving the library until you've found everything there is to find.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Belinda muttered watching the transport back into the street.

Belinda parked the Detective's car in a mostly empty lot then stared at the massive complex of buildings that made up the District's Library and Archives. After the change-over in governments, all surviving official records spread throughout the District were consolidated and moved to the Archives. A system for cataloging the records had been created but the immense volume of paper quickly overwhelmed the process and archivists were still attempting to clear the back log.

Stepping out of the car, Belinda groaned dejectedly. Being quite familiar with the chaotic piles of endless boxes inside the buildings, she did not relish the thought of spending hours searching for the information the Detective wanted. “Maybe I'll get lucky and they've cataloged what I need,” she muttered closing the door and locking it before walking to the Archives main entrance.

Two burly guards challenged her as soon as she reached the solid metal door. “Officer Harris from Regional Safety Enforcement and Investigation,” she told the men while pulling a leather case from her pant's pocket. She opened the case to display the badge inside. “Homicide.”

One of the guards looked up in surprise. “Homicide… we don't have any DB's inside.”

“You sure?” Belinda asked sardonically.

The guard grinned. “Good point. With all the piles of paper in there, who knows what could be buried under it.”

“Purpose?” the second guard asked officiously.

“Research,” Belinda answered returning her badge case to her pocket.

“You'll need to sign in,” the second guard instructed unlocking the door.

Belinda nodded. “I know the drill.” She waited for the heavy door to be pulled open then entered the small foyer. She had barely taken a step when she heard the door slammed and locked behind her. “Wonder who they think would come in here and steal this stuff,” she mumbled crossing to the registration desk, her boot steps sounding exceptional loud in the quiet room.

“Badge number, unit, records to be accessed,” a woman wearing the same uniform as the outside guards said sliding a scanner across the counter at the officer.

Belinda entered the required information. “Have these records been cataloged?” she inquired hopefully handing the scanner back.

The woman flipped through pages in a notebook then typed several codes into the scanner and placed it back onto the counter. “Some are, some aren't,” she replied indifferently. “I've cleared you for rooms four-eighty-seven to five-fourteen; and loaded the cataloging that's been completed on those. I've also given you access to room six-forty-two… sorry, no cataloging on that one as yet.”

“What's in there?”

“Records on Carlyle Incorporated… they owned the factory on Cemetery Road .”

Picking up the scanner, Belinda asked, “Newspaper records included with this?”

“Everything turned in for that area,” the woman stated. “Do you know the way?”

“Yeah, I've been here before,” Belinda said moving toward a door at the far side of the lobby.

“Good luck.”

After hearing the distinctive click of a lock opening, Belinda opened the door. “Thanks,” she entering a dimly lit hallway that seemed to stretch for miles. At least, I don't have to walk all the way down there , she thought pushing a button on the wall and setting the center of the hallway's floor into motion. She entered the number of her first assigned room on the keypad then, holding tight to the scanner, stepped onto the moving floor.

“I don't care who chose Bentley for the post,” Sydney bellowed into the phone. “I don't want him there.” Having been screaming non stop for several minutes, she was forced to pause to suck air into her lungs. “If I find him back there,” she started yelling again, “I'll make sure any chance he might have had for an investigative position is just a bad memory!” She slammed the handset back onto its cradle.

“I'm surprised that thing hasn't shattered into a million pieces by now.”

Sydney looked up to find Commander Michaels standing just inside her office.

“I've destroyed a few of them,” Sydney admitted sheepishly. “You want coffee?” she asked standing.

“No, thanks,” Michaels declined.

“Coffee, black,” Sydney told the machine as the Commander claimed one of the chairs in front of her desk.

“What is it with you and rookies?” Michaels asked casually.

Waiting for her coffee to materialize, Sydney studied the Commander. “What is it with you showing up every time I have a problem with one?” she counted as the panel slid open.

“I was in the area.”

“Convenient,” Sydney stated carrying the steaming mug to her desk.

Michaels grinned. “You can't be suspicious of me,” he protested.

Sydney sat in her chair, leaned back and lifted her booted feet up to rest on the corner of her desk. “This case has got me suspicious of everybody.”

“That's what makes you my best detective.”

“Can I have that in writing?”

Michaels chuckled. “If it will improve your mood… sure.”

Sydney took a deep breath then slowly blew it out of her lungs. “Sorry, I've had one too many people question my motives today,” she apologized grateful the Commander had not seemed to take offense to her earlier outburst.

“No harm. So what was the deal with Bentley?”

“He violated the crime scene,” Sydney said raising her mug to her lips.

“He was warned?”

“More than once.”

Michaels frowned. “Not good.”

Sydney nodded.

“He's filed a grievance.”

“Are you going to give it credence?”

“He says you shoved him… more than once.”

A nod.

“And that you heaved him into the transport?”

Again, Sydney nodded.

“I take it you had justification.”

“He refused to obey my orders. He refused to accept his reassignment. He was insubordinate to me and mouthed off to Officer Harris enforcing my command.”

“That's not good,” Michaels admitted shaking his head. “It seems a refresher at the Academy is in order for Officer Bentley.”

Feeling no further need to comment, Sydney sipped her coffee as the Commander stood.

“Always good to see you, Detective.”

Sydney watched the man walk out of her office, a perplexed expression on her face.

A few moments later, Sydney reached for her phone. “District Archives,” she told the dispatcher who answered as soon as she placed the headset against her ear. “I want to talk to Officer Harris.”

It took a few minutes before the rookie's voice came over the line. “Harris.”

“How's it going?” Sydney asked.

“I'm up to my armpits in dusty, moth-eaten boxes,” Belinda grumbled.

“Does that mean you've found something or you haven't?” Sydney snapped.

“Sheesh, Detective,” Belinda moaned. “I've only been here at this a couple of hours.”

“Damn, I was hoping—”

“Yeah, so was I,” Belinda cut off the Detective. “But these records are a mess… and only some of them have been cataloged. This is definitely going to be an all nighter… at best.”

“You want some help?”

Belinda stared at the phone in her hand. “Ah… sure.”

Sydney smiled at the rookie's stammered response. “Don't act so shocked. I've done more than my share of research over the years. Did you get some food?”

“No. I figured I'd take a break later.”

“I'll bring some.”

“And coffee… lots of coffee.”

“On the way.”

CHAPTER SIX

Yawning, Belinda replaced the lid of a box. “That's the last one,” she noted even though she was the only person in the room. “Wonder if Detective Ferguson had any luck,” she added gathering up the pages of notes spread out on the room's desk. Walking to the door, she made a final visual check of the room then exited into the hallway. Pressing buttons on the keypad beside the door, she stepped onto the conveyor and yawned again as it started in motion.

Hearing the lock released, Sydney looked toward the door. “You look as tired as I feel,” she commented after the rookie entered the room.

“Thanks,” Belinda replied with yet another yawn. “I think I could sleep a week.”

“Too bad we don't have that luxury.”

“Did you find anything?” Belinda asked. While she had focused on the Cemetery Road community records, the detective spent the night searching the records of the Carlyle Corporation.

“A few possibilities,” Sydney responded tiredly. “But my brain is too exhausted right now to delve into them. Let's go home, get some sleep, and we can compare notes this afternoon.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Walking across the room, Sydney tucked her notepad into her pocket. “Let's go,” she told the rookie then led her out of the room.

The officers rode the conveyor in silence as it carried them back to the lobby, neither having the energy to reveal the results of their research or their thoughts on the information they uncovered. When the conveyor stopped, they waited to hear the lock released then opened the door and entered the foyer.

“Goodness,” the officer at the front desk exclaimed when Sydney placed her scanner onto the counter. “I thought I was going to have to send security in to check on you.”

“Would have taken a lot less time if we didn't have to search through boxes,” Sydney grumbled as the rookie added her scanner to the counter.

“Tell me about it,” the guard agreed. “Don't think we haven't asked District to give back our computers. Begged them, actually,” she said typing on her keyboard.

“Never happen,” Sydney groused. “Too many bigwigs are afraid us simple folk will stop working again.”

“So true,” the guard agreed looking at her screen. “You're cleared to go,” she told the detective and rookie.

“Thanks,” Belinda said turning away from the counter. She followed the detective across the lobby and out the building's front door.

Nodding at the pair of guards, Sydney continued down the steps. “Come on, Rookie. If I don't see my bed soon, I might end up sleeping in my car.”

“I'll call for a transport,” Belinda offered knowing by having to drop her off first, the detective's drive would be twice as long.

“Get in the car,” Sydney ordered pulling the driver's door open. “I'm not leaving my partner in a parking lot to wait for a transport,” she stated gruffly.

Not wanting to anger the exhausted detective, Belinda silently complied. But as tired as she was, she didn't fail to notice the detective's reference to her as her partner. Settling onto the passenger seat, she let her head fall back to rest against the seat as the corners of her lips slowly turned up.

Sydney stopped the car alongside the curb in front of a non-descript four story building constructed from steel beams. Intended to make the structure look less sterile, metal siding of various colors covered the outer walls. “Same old blah,” she muttered looking through the windshield.

“What?” Belinda muttered struggling to stay awake.

“You're home,” Sydney told the rookie.

“Oh.” Belinda pushed open the passenger door then forced her body out of the car. She was about to close the door but, instead, leaned down to peer back inside the car.

Eyes closed, Sydney 's head was resting on the steering room. “Problem?” she asked not bothering to sit up or open her eyes.

“Um...,” Belinda paused, chewing on her lower lip while she considered what she was about to do. “Listen… I've got a two bedroom unit,” she said hesitantly. “You're… um… welcome to the second bedroom… if you want.”

Sydney rolled her head and opened one eye to peer at the nervous rookie. “Yeah,” she said after several moments of uncomfortable silence. “I'd like that… if it won't be a problem.”

Belinda smiled. “No… no problem, at all. It's all set up. There's even a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. Never been used, of course,” she added quickly.

Sydney unenthusiastically sat up. “Where should I park?”

“Turn in that driveway,” Belinda said pointing down the street. “My stall is number thirty six.”

“Gotcha,” Sydney acknowledged lifting her foot off the brake.

Belinda watched the car move down the street and turn into the driveway that led to the parking area at the back of the building. She nervously waited until the detective reappeared a few minutes later.

“You keep an overnight bag in your car?” Belinda asked of the small leather bag the detective was carrying.

“Never know where a case might take me,” Sydney explained following the rookie up the steps to the landing at the building's entry. “It's a practice you might want to follow,” she advised.

“I will,” Belinda said placing her open palm on a scanner mounted on top of a waist-high post in the middle of the landing. As soon as the doors swung open, she led the detective inside.

Despite her uncertainty over the wisdom of having the detective in her housing unit, Belinda had fallen asleep almost before she managed to stretch out under her blankets. And would have remained in that state had it not been for an annoying buzzing that invaded her slumber and refused to be ignored. Rolling over and reaching for the nightstand, she pried one sleepy eye open then gave her alarm a irritated tap. The buzzing continued. “Damn it,” she growled smacking the alarm again.

“That won't shut if off.”

Belinda shifted to look at the grinning detective standing just outside her bedroom door.

“Come on, Rookie,” Sydney said silencing the alarm in her hand. “We've got a murder to solve.”

“Ugh,” Belinda exclaimed falling back onto her beckoning mattress. “I need a minute,” she groaned. “Why don't you grab a shower while I try to unscramble what's left of my brain.”

“Already showered, dressed, and I've got breakfast started,” Sydney said. “So get your butt in motion or I'm eating everything,” she threatened walking back to the kitchen.

Belinda glared at the now empty doorway. “Already showered and dressed… Why doesn't that surprise me?” she wondered rolling to the edge of the bed to stand on unsteady legs. “Making breakfast, too… unreal,” she muttered trudging toward the bathroom.

“Ah, feeling better?” Sydney asked when the freshly showered and dressed rookie entered the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Belinda muttered gazing hungrily at the scrambled eggs, honey ham, and buttered toast filling a pair of plates set on her kitchen table. “Boy, am I suddenly hungry,” she said sitting down.

Sydney added two cups of steaming coffee to a pair of glasses full of juice. “I think I requested too much… there's enough food for a dozen people,” she commented sitting on the chair opposite the rookie.

“Thanks for cooking,” Belinda said lifting a forkful of eggs to her mouth.

Sydney laughed. “Cooking? All I did was tell the replicater what I wanted then put the food on the table once it was done. Can't really call that cooking.”

“Not like the old days, uh?”

Sydney studied the rookie. “Harris, are you saying you think I'm old enough to have actually made meals the old fashion way?”

Attempting, her best look of innocence, Belinda asked, “You mean you're not?”

“Ha, ha,” Sydney said dryly. “For the record, I am not. However, I do remember my grandmother telling stories about it. Seemed like a lot of work just to have something to eat. Different times,” she noted with a hint of regret.

Belinda drained the last of the juice from her glass. “It won't take me long to clean this up,” she said standing. “Then, I suppose, you'll want to head to the office.”

“Actually, no.”

Neatly stacking the dishes to return them to the replicater, Belinda paused. “No?”

Sydney shook her head. “Too many eyes and ears there.”

“You think someone is keeping tabs on your investigation?”

“It's possible… Mind if we talk here?”

Belinda smiled. “Not at all. Let me get rid of these and get my notes,” she said placing the used dishes and utensils in the replicater. “Refresh,” she spoke to the panel which instantly slid shut. Then she left the kitchen to retrieve her notes.”

“ Cemetery Road was just one of Carlyle's operations,” Sydney said referring to her notes. “Carlyle liked to build their factories in desolated areas… thought it made for better employees since they had little, if any, outside distractions. The factory was ordered destroyed in 2053. And since there weren't any other employment opportunities in the area, the government ordered the housing destroyed too… encouragement for people to move to towns with available jobs.”

“But the crime house…”

“I'm getting to that,” the detective said before taking a drink of coffee. “Robert Michael Miller was listed on the corporation's pay list as a third tier plant manager. He started at the Cemetery Road factory right after high school and worked there until the plant was closed.”

“Wait,” Belinda blurted out searching through her pages of notes. “You said he was born in eighty nine… supposing he graduated in eighteen years,” she paused to do the mental calculation. “Damn… he worked there almost fifty years.”

“And, supposedly, that's why the house was allowed to remain. His employee jacket recorded that he, and his wife, were in failing health at the time of the closure. Due to his health and his age, he wasn't exactly employable so Carlyle, to reward his years of service, asked for and was granted permission to let the Millers stay in the house until death.”

Looking puzzled, Belinda considered the information. “That's an odd request… especially since the rest of the neighborhood was bulldozed. They'd be out there all alone. But… maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe that explains some of what I discovered.”

“Such as?”

Belinda took a few moments to glance through her notes and refresh her memory. “ Cemetery Road was a pretty normal community… nothing out of the ordinary stood out except for one family.”

“The Millers?” Sydney ventured.

Belinda nodded. “Around the time it became apparent the old regime was not going to be able to retain power, rumors began about a series of weapon thefts at the factory.”

“People were starting to stockpile weapons and ammo.”

“Police carried out several raids in the community but nothing of substance was ever found.”

“Not surprising… the old government actually encouraged people to do it since it was believed those weapons could be used if a counter takeover was ever mounted.”

“True. But District performed its own raids after the change-over and also found nothing. That's when they ordered all the housing destroyed as well as the factory.”

“Seems like every answer we find, we uncover a dozen more questions,” Sydney huffed. She stood up and paced around the room in frustration.

“There's more.”

“I'm listening,” Sydney said stretching her legs and back.

“Mrs. Miller was married and divorced before they met. She had a son from that first marriage… he was just under two years when she married Miller; who raised the boy as his own son. From what I read, the boy idolized his step-father and would do anything for him.”

“Are you leading up to something?” Sydney asked returning to her chair.

“According to news articles I found, Miller was continually questioned about the weapon and ammo thefts; even after the plant was closed when illegally obtained weapons were still being traced back to the Cemetery Road factory. But he always had an alibi that made it impossible to charge him with any crime.”

“And?”

“A lot of those alibis were provided by his step-son; if he told investigators Miller wasn't involved, the matter was dropped.”

“Without question?” Sydney quizzed.

“Seems so.”

“Why was his step-son able to provide indisputable alibis?”

Belinda pulled a blank sheet of paper from her pile and wrote a name on the page. She slowly pushed it across the table to the detective.

After reading what the rookie had written, Sydney raised questioning eyes to meet Belinda's.”

“That's the name of Miller's step-son.”

“Son-of-a—” Sydney exclaimed slapping her hands on the table. “You sure?”

Belinda nodded. “I verified it with birth records.”

“Have you got any more worms to add to this mess?”

Belinda nodded. “But this one I'm not too sure about since I only found the one reference and I wasn't able to verify the intell.”

“Let's hear what you've got.”

“After one of the raids on the Miller's house, a reporter was nosing around and found a couple of boys willing to talk to him. The kids would have been around the same age of Miller's step-son at the time of the interview. When the reporter asked if they thought Miller had anything to do with the thefts, they laughed then said he most likely was involved. When the reporter asked, if that was true, then why did they think the investigators had found no evidence in the house… one of the kids asked--,” Belinda paused. “Hang on, I don't want to screw up the exact quote… let me read it off my notes. After a moment, she continued, “Did the cops check under the trap door.”

“Trap door?”

“That's what the article said.”

“I guess we better find those kids. Chances are they're still living in the District.”

Belinda shook her head and frowned. “It's weird… I looked everywhere and could not find any mention of them after that interview. It was like they just… fell off the earth.”

“That's not possible. Did you check their families?”

Belinda nodded. “They continued to live in the neighborhood until the factory closed then they left. But, after the article came out, they never mentioned even having had the kids. Even the boys' school records stopped without explanation.”

“Maybe we can find that reporter.”

“He was killed in a car accident less than a week after he wrote the article.”

Sydney stood then slowly walked to look out the window over the sink. “Witnesses disappearing… alibis not being verified… what the hell is going on here,” she said in an almost inaudible whisper. After several minutes, she finally turned back around. “I've been played for a fool, Harris,” she exclaimed. “Come on, we've got a crime to solve… and, I swear on my gold shield, I'm not going to let anything… or anyone, stop me.”

Belinda started to quickly gather up her notes.

Sydney moved to stand beside the rookie and placed a hand on her shoulder. She waited for the rookie to stop and look at her. “From here on, you talk to no one about this case but me. I don't care who's doing the asking… you tell them I gave you a direct order. And, if they don't like that, you tell them they can take it up with me.”

“Okay.”

Sydney pointed to the piles of note-pages. “Burn those… we keep all of our intell up here now,” she said tapping her head.

Understanding the reason for the detective's somber tone, Belinda didn't question her command. She carried the stack of papers to the kitchen's steel sink, dropped them inside, and turned to face the detective. “Sorry, I don't have anything to start a fire,” she said glancing around the kitchen that contained no stove or appliances of any kind.

Sydney left the kitchen only to return a few moments later carrying her overnight bag. After placing the bag on the table, she rummaged around inside of it. “Here,” she said holding up a thumb-sized object. “Comes in handy sometimes,” she said walking across the room and reaching into the sink.

Belinda heard a slight click then watched as the lighter's flame linked at the papers. “I thought those were illegal ever since smoking was outlawed,” she said watching the detective add her notebook to the flames.

Sydney grinned. “They are.” She waited for the flames to die out then she filled the sink with water. Using her hand, she stirred the mixture until she was satisfied only ashes remained. “Ready?” she asked turning off the water and watching the sink drain.

“Just a sec,” Belinda said hurrying out of the room. By the time she returned, the detective was waiting at the unit's front door. “Thought I better bring this,” she said holding up an overnight bag. “I packed it last night.”

Sydney smiled. “You're starting to grow on me, Rookie,” she said opening the door.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Stopping the car at the driveway, Sydney switched off the engine.

“I'm guessing we're here for a reason,” Belinda ventured after several minutes of watching the detective sit quietly while eying the dilapidated house.

“We are,” Sydney responded. “I want to know why that house is still standing,” she said turning her head to look at the rookie. “And we aren't leaving here until I have my answer.”

“Where do you want me to start?”

“Search every inch of the foundation. If you see anything that looks like a way underneath, check it out.” Sydney reached for the door handle. “There's a sledge hammer in the trunk,” she said pushing the door open.

Belinda opened her door and stepped out.

“I hope you're not afraid of getting dirty,” Sydney added after exiting the car.

“I'm not,” Belinda assured the detective then she walked to the rear of the car to retrieve the sledge hammer. “If there's a way under that house, I'll find it.”

Sydney smiled as the rookie walked determinedly toward the old structure. She started to follow Belinda then stopped and turned to look across the street at the cemetery. She stood for a few moments to consider her options then with a slight shake of her head she turned back around and walked toward the guard standing midway between the house and street.

“Morning, Detective,” the guard greeted as Sydney approached.

“Is it still morning, Officer?” Sydney asked disbelievingly.

The guard grinned. “Just barely.”

“Anything going on I need to know about?”

“It's been quiet.”

“Good.”

“Can I help with anything?” the bored guard asked. Keeping watch on a deserted house in the middle of nowhere made for long, tedious days.

“Make sure nobody disturbs us,” Sydney told the disappointed officer as she continued across the weed covered yard. She mounted the porch steps then entered the house and closed the door behind her. Looking around the bare living room, she breathed in a deep breath then released it. “Okay, if I were a trap door where would I hide?” she pondered aloud before moving into the kitchen.

Belinda's uniform was covered in dirt, grime, and sweat long before she worked her way around the entire perimeter of the house. Making good use of the sledge hammer, she had put several holes in the concrete foundation but had found nothing but more concrete. Breathing hard and in desperate need of a drink, she leaned the sledge hammer against the side of the house. “Hey,” she called to the guard, “have you got any water?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the guard immediately responded. Grabbing a ceramic flask, he hurriedly carried it to the rookie.

Belinda said accepting the offered container. “Thanks.” She took a long drink of the cool water. “Relax Officer Kunie,” she urged having noted the name on the man's badge.

“Sorry… I'm just a little nervous with the Detective around,” Kunie explained worriedly. “I saw what happened to the other guard… I sure don't want to piss her off like he did.”

“That's understandable,” Belinda said smiling. “But do your job, stay out of her way, and you'll be fine,” she assured the young officer. “Mind if I keep this?” she asked holding up the flask.

“Sure,” Kunie responded, “I've got more of them. I've got food too if you're hungry.”

“Thanks… we may take you up on that.” Belinda left the officer to his duties and, carrying the water flask, climbed the porch steps. Entering the house, she paused to listen hoping to discover where in the house Sydney might be. But the house was quiet. “Detective?” she called into the silence.

“In here.”

Surprised to hear Sydney 's response coming from the one room that had been thoroughly investigated more than a few times, Belinda walked to the bedroom. She found the detective sitting on the floor in a corner of the room.

Sydney 's right leg was stretched out on the floor while her left leg was pulled up near her chest, her left forearm resting on the bent knee. Her head was resting on the wall behind her. “Find anything?” she asked when the rookie entered the bedroom.

“Lots of concrete… this house seems to have a solid concrete foundation. What about you… any luck?”

“Nope.”

“So we're back at square one.”

“Interesting you would say that,” Sydney commented.

“Why's that?”

“I keep going back to my original question— Why move the body?” Sydney raised her left hand just enough to point across the room at the bloodstained wall. “She was standing over there when she was shot,” she said letting her hand drop back into its relaxed position. “M.E. said she died instantly. She fell against the wall and slid down it to the floor. So… why move the body?”

Belinda considered the question. “To destroy the eyes and fingerprints,” she suggested after a few minutes.

Sydney shook her head. “Could have done that where she fell,” she countered.

Belinda thought some more. “Whoever shot her was planning to remove the body and, for some reason, changed their mind… or got interrupted and had to take off before they could.”

Sydney shook her head. “Why remove the body? Chances are she would have never been discovered if our mystery lady hadn't called it in. And moving the body would have been messy… all that blood would have increased the odds of the shooter being spotted.”

“There isn't any reason to have moved her,” Belinda finally commented when she could think of no other reasonable explanation.

“Ah,” Sydney exclaimed pushing herself up off the floor. “But there is a reason… a very good reason,” she declared stepping closer to the blood stain in the center of the room.

“Which is?”

“Uh, uh, uh… You have to figure it out… you've got all the facts, put them together. That's what detectives do.”

Baffled, Belinda looked at the amused detective as she allowed every fact, no matter how insignificant, roll around her brain. “The trap door scenario appears to be a dead end.”

“Start with what you know,” Sydney snapped.

“Okay,” Belinda agreed adjusting her train of thought. “Female vic,” she started to list the known facts. “Cause of death… gunshot. Ability to identify the vic impossible due to her eyes and prints being removed.” She thought for a moment. “Vic knew the shooter,” she said cautiously.

“Explain.”

“I don't think a woman would have come to such a desolate place to meet anyone she wasn't familiar with.”

“Quite probable.”

“And the 911 caller… she said I can't believe the bastard did it . That implies some personal knowledge of the shooter and a possible relationship with the vic.”

“Very good. Okay, that's what we know about the vic. What else?”

“The house… the owner, Miller, had ties to the factory and was suspected of dealing in weapons and ammo… even after the factory closed. And his step-son—”

“Is a first class bastard,” Sydney sneered.

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“That's how the caller described the shooter.”

Sydney smiled. “So she did.”

“But I'm still lost… we have limited info on the vic. We have nothing on the shooter except that he, or she, knew how to eliminate the possibilities for identifying the vic. So, we're still at square one.”

“Let's rethink your trap door scenario.”

“We've searched this place… inside and out, and found nothing,” Belinda blurted out in frustration.

“Not quite.”

“What am I missing?” the rookie asked forcefully.

“Think! Why move the body?”

Belinda looked quizzically at the detective then she slowly moved across the room to stand beside the large stain on the floor and peered down at it for several moments. “I'll be damned,” she murmured dropping to her knees.

The floor's ill-fitting wood planks, having been withered and shrunken by decades of neglect, had swelled after soaking up the victim's blood.

Being careful not to touch the dried blood, Belinda traced a barely visible outline with a finger. “The answer was here the whole time,” she said looking up at the detective.

“It sure was.”

“Are we going to open it?”

Sydney nodded. “We definitely are.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Squatting in the middle of the bedroom, Sydney again examined the blood stained floor boards. “I don't see anything that looks like a handle or hinges,” she noted glumly. “So, how do we go about getting it open?” she wondered aloud.

“I'll get the sledgehammer,” Belinda said heading for the doorway, having left the heavy tool on the front porch.

Sydney stood up. “Hold on,” she called out. “Let's try something else first,” she told the rookie walking out of the bedroom. “I'd rather not beat it open if we can avoid it.”

Standing near the bedroom door, Belinda watched the detective walk into the kitchen then reappear moments later casually flipping an object in her hand.

“Found this when I was searching the kitchen earlier,” Sydney explained holding the object up for the rookie to examine.

Belinda recognized the shape of a kitchen knife under a layer of tarnished discoloration. “Isn't it too rusty to be of any use?” she asked following the detective back into the bedroom.

“Wouldn't want to try and cut a steak with it,” Sydney said kneeling on the floor to work the blade into a barely discernable gap between two boards. “But I think it might work to pry these boards loose.” Concentrating on not putting too much pressure on the corroded knife, she muttered, “Come on you bugger,” and gingerly forced the blade deeper into the crack.

Belinda grimaced when the knife blade began to bend under the stress. “Careful,” she warned.

Just as the trap door started to rise, the knife snapped in half. The women froze hearing an eerie creaking followed by a long hiss.

Momentarily startled by the ghostly sound, Belinda shivered. “That was creepy,” she exclaimed.

“Get your heart beating, did it?” Sydney teased glancing up at the unnerved rookie.

“A little,” Belinda admitted. “That noise didn't bother you?”

“Its just old wood complaining,” Sydney said focusing back on the floor planks. “Good news is… it's no longer stuck,” she said raising the trap door.

Belinda took hold of the wood panel. Shifting it a few feet away from where Sydney knelt peering into the newly revealed opening, she gently lowered the door down to rest on the floor. “Damn, it's dark down there,” she commented after rejoining the detective. “We'll need some way to light it up.”

“Good call, Sherlock,” Sydney replied mockingly. Inching her way around the opening, she cautiously felt along the wood frame where the trap door had rested.

“What are you looking for?”

“I doubt Miller was in the habit of having to look for a flashlight whenever he needed to go down there. Ah, here you are,” Sydney exclaimed when her fingers found a switch.

“The house has no power,” Belinda reminded the detective only to see the basement immediately flooded with bright light. “How'd you know?” she asked the smirking officer.

“Instinct,” Sydney boasted.

“Ha,” Belinda mocked.

“Okay… then years of experience,” the detective offered.

Grudgingly acknowledging the truth of the statement, Belinda still doubted that the detective actually believed the basement lights would be working. “I'm guessing you were lucky,” she said bending over the hole to get a better look. “Hey, stairs,” she announced spotting the steep series of steps.

“Damn… I was hoping I could make you jump down there,” Sydney told the rookie then grinned. “You stay up here while I do a look-see.”

“Wait a minute,” Belinda exclaimed. “You can't go down there alone—”

“Stay up here, Harris,” Sydney cut off the rookie's protest while she warily placed a booted foot on the top step then bounced lightly to test the tread's strength. “Give me a couple of minutes to see what's down there,” she told the frustrated rookie. “Then you can come down.”

Belinda watched the detective slowly make her way down the stairs being careful to avoid the dried blood that had dripped down from the bedroom floor. “I'm coming down in two minutes,” she declared firmly when the detective was halfway down the steps, “whether you give the okay, or not.”

“Getting a little uppity, are we?” Sydney muttered. Reaching the basement floor, she paused to sweep the room with her eyes looking for any sign of possible danger.

The basement roughly matched the floor plan of the house but lacked interior walls leaving it open space with only strategically placed columns supporting the weight of the structure above. And, unlike the house constructed of wood, the basement consisted of concrete floors and walls. Lining the walls, shelving units reached from floor to ceiling and waist-high tables were arranged in neat rows in the center of the room.

Sydney breathed out a low whistle in amazement.

“You okay?” Belinda yelled down through the opening in the ceiling.

“Come on down,” Sydney told the anxious rookie who had almost reached the basement floor before the words were out of her mouth.

“Wow!” Belinda exclaimed looking around. Stepping closer to one of the tables, she was puzzled to find that its top wasn't smooth as expected but divided into recessed sections of varying sizes, each displaying a unique item. “What is this?” she asked picking up one of the objects.

“That, Officer Harris, is a hand gun,” Sydney informed the baffled rookie.

“This is what killed our vic?”

“Or something like it.”

“Hmmm,” Belinda murmured thoughtfully placing the gun back in its cubby. She moved to the shelving where numerous boxes, approximately the size of a desk phone, were neatly stacked. Lifting the lid of one of the boxes, she removed a small tube-shaped piece of metal about the size of her pinkie finger. “What are these?”

Sydney stopped her own examination of the items on the shelves to see what the rookie was holding. “Bullet… it's the ammo used in the guns.”

Belinda studied the piece of metal in her hand. “I would have expected something bigger considered the vic's wounds.”

“That's what made guns so nasty… didn't take much to do a lot of damage.”

“All of this stuff is illegal… right?” Belinda asked doing a quick calculation in her head. “Hell, there must be thousands of guns in here,” she estimated noting that the weapons covered not only on the tables but also many of the shelves. “And who knows how much of the… what did you call it… ammo? Are there really that many people wanting to buy these?” she said skeptically.

“Probably not any more,” Sydney responded. “But at one time… before the change-over, yeah, there were a lot. People thought if they owned weapons, they could prevent losing control.”

“Did it work?”

“No.”

Belinda fingered a larger pistol. “So why did Miller keep stealing from the factory.”

“Lots of hoarders went underground after the change-over. District managed to shut most down but a few, like Miller, managed to stay in business with the help of his cronies.”

“Not to mention his step-son,” Belinda said frowning. “But why wasn't it destroyed after Miller died? Seems pretty risky to leave this much contraband sitting around.”

“But very profitable to keep the family business going.”

“I would think that would be pretty dangerous… even for him. Maybe he just left everything in place hoping it would be forgotten and left to rot with the house above.”

“I don't think so,” Sydney disagreed. “This place is too clean for being deserted for decades. And these guns are being taken care of,” she added spinning a cylinder on one of the revolvers. “Add to that, the electricity still works… someone has to be arranging for that. What do you think, Rookie?”

Belinda faced the detective across the room. “You know what I'm thinking… I'm thinking you've already figured it out, haven't you?” she asked with a knowing look.

Sydney grinned. “I've got some ideas that I think will prove out. But I've still got some questions,” she said setting out on a slow methodically walk around the basement to inspect every nook and cranny. “Like how did Miller get all of this in here?” she asked. “Bringing it through the front door wasn't an option… he was suspected of gun dealing and would have been under surveillance. There has to be an outside door.”

“No way,” Belinda protested. “I pounded a hundred holes into the foundation and all I found was concrete. Now, I know why… these walls must be two feet thick.”

“Miller stole weapons and ammo from the factory…” Sydney continued her thoughts. “If not by the front door… and not by a secret outside door… then…,” she paused in front three crates piled in the corner of the basement and looking out of place. “Harris?”

“Yes?”

Sydney tentatively pushed against the top box; it moved but barely. “Help me move these crates.”

Working together, the women lifted the top crate off the pile and tossed it aside.

“A door… what a surprise,” Belinda said when another hidden access was exposed.

“This case is full of them, isn't it?” Sydney asked as they removed the second box. Placing her booted foot against the side of the last crate, she gave it a firm shove to move it out of the way.

“Sounds like that one is hiding something,” Belinda said after hearing a noise inside the crate.

“Goody, another surprise,” Sydney said kicking the side of the box as hard as she could. The wooden panel caved in and she bent over to peer inside. “Looks like an ammo box,” she said reaching inside the crate. Holding the small box in one hand, she lifted the top with her other. “Oh, shit!” she groaned snapping the lid shut.

“What?”

“Good thing I haven't eaten since this morning,” Sydney told the rookie. “Otherwise, you'd probably be wearing my lunch right now.”

Belinda reached for the box. “Let me see.”

“No!” Sydney yelled. “You don't want to,” she added in a calmer tone.

“What's in it?” Belinda demanded.

Reluctantly, Sydney slowly re-opened the box; her face clearly displaying the revulsion she felt at having to do so. “They're pretty shriveled up but I think we found the vic's eyes,” she said after verifying what she wished she hadn't seen the first time she'd lifted the lid.

Incredulously, Belinda stared at the detective. “He kept them? Why in hell would he keep them?” she asked fighting down the bile rising in her throat.

Sydney closed the box. “Bastard probably wanted a trophy,” she sneered placing the box on top of the crate.

“That's sick,” Belinda hissed.

“Agreed,” Sydney said slamming her eyes shut in hopes of erasing the sight from her memory.

“Let's hope there aren't any more surprises like that behind this damn door,” Belinda said easing around the crate to approach the door. Hearing no objection from the detective, she grabbed the handle and twisted it. “It's unlocked,” she said glancing back over her shoulder at the other officer. She was surprised to see Sydney watching her but saying nothing. She turned back to the door and pulled it open. “It's a tunnel,” she said seeing a long passageway stretching into darkness. “Aren't we going to check it out?” she asked when the detective made no move to investigate the passageway.

“No… at least, you're not.”

“You're not going in there alone, Sydney ,”

Neither woman seemed to realize the rookie had addressed the detective with her given name.

“I need you to take those,” Sydney pointed at the small box, “to the M.E. Hopefully, he can get enough from them to ID the vic.”

“I'm not leaving you here alone.”

“Harris,” Sydney barked. “If I have to make that a direct order, I will. Those need to get to Calvin. We need to know who the vic was. Do you understand?”

“I don't like it.”

“I don't care.”

“I'm coming right back.”

Sydney smiled. “Not until you have an ID… that's an order.” The rookie reached for the box only to have her hand grabbed by Sydney . “Don't look inside,” the detective implored. “You don't want that memory.”

Belinda nodded then, once her hand was released, hesitantly picked up the box. “I won't,” she assured the detective. She started to turn around then stopped. “Do you know what's at the end of this tunnel?”

“Don't you?”

Belinda didn't have to consider an answer. “The factory,” she replied instantly.

Sydney nodded. “Most likely.”

“But the factory was bulldozed, so the end of this—”

“Is probably buried under a ton of dirt,” Sydney concluded the thought.

“So there's no reason for you to stay here alone.”

“It still needs to be checked out.”

“I don't like it.”

Sydney smiled. “”Worried about me?”

“Yes.”

“I'll be careful. Go on, get that to Calvin.”

With the box tightly grasped by both hands, Belinda turned and walked to the stairs then carefully climbed up the steep steps.

Sydney listened to the rookie's fading boot steps move out of the bedroom and across the living room. Then the front door was opened and, moments later, closed. She turned to face the tunnel. “I'm going to nail you, you sick bastard,” she swore, smiling grimly as her oath echoed down the length of the passage.

CHAPTER NINE

For some time after the rookie left, Sydney stood in the entrance of the tunnel. Breathing deeply, she took the time to sort out the jumbled thoughts competing for her attention. “Ah, what the hell,” she finally muttered then turned around to return to the basement.

Doctor Calvin looked up from the papers he was reviewing as his office door opened and Officer Harris rushed into the room. “I was just about to call Detective Ferguson … I've finished my analysis of the finger prints... I don't think she'll be too happy with the results.”

“Forget that,” Belinda said hurrying across the room to set the box on the medical examiner's desk. “You need to check these out right away,” she told him vehemently. “ Sydney thinks they may belong to the vic.”

“And what is it you've got in here?” Calvin asked pulling the box closer.

Grimacing, Belinda swallowed hard before replying. “Her eyes.”

Startled by the declaration, Calvin looked up at the dismayed rookie standing beside his desk. “You're not kidding… are you?”

Belinda shook her head.

“Where did you find them?” the doctor asked turning his attention to the box and gingerly placing his fingers on the sides of its lid.

“There's a basement under the house. That's why her body was moved… to hide the trap door down to it.”

“These are in pretty bad shape,” Calvin said after opening the box. “I'm not sure I can do anything—”

Belinda slammed her fist down onto the desk. “Dammit, Doc… you've got to get an ID from them,” she insisted. “I can't go back to the crime scene without one,” she explained frantically.

“ Sydney 's orders?” Calvin asked though he was already sure of the answer.

Belinda nodded.

“Is she in danger?”

“She says no.”

“But you think she might be.” It was said as a statement and not a question.

“Yes.”

“Okay, let's get these to my lab.”

Lit by a single strand of LCD lights hanging overhead, the tunnel formed an almost complete circle around the detective; the curvature of the walls designed to restrict passage to a single person along the narrow, flat path along the tube's bottom. Except for cracks caused by the shifting of ground over the years, the concrete surface was unbroken.

“Here goes,” Sydney said grimly as she started down the passage. Reaching out her left hand, she let her fingers trail along the hard surface. Then she stretched her right hand out and found, unsurprisingly, she could easily span the tunnel's breadth. “Good thing I'm not claustrophobic,” she muttered with a slight shudder. Then pulling her hands back, she estimated the distance between the crime scene behind her and the site of the demolished factory she anticipated finding at the end of the tunnel, and started counting her steps.

Belinda paced while the medical examiner removed a half dozen bottles from floor to ceiling cupboards along one of the lab's walls. “Can you fix them?” she asked, nervously watching his actions.

“I've never dealt with eyeballs this far gone,” Calvin answered pulling an empty open-mouth beaker from a rack at the end of the counter where he had assembled his collection of items. “And I can't get a usable scan unless they're back to some semblance of eyeball shape,” he continued opening the box the rookie had brought him. Using a set of forceps, he gingerly lifted the eyes out of the box and placed them into the beaker. Then he grabbed an empty bottle, set a funnel into its mouth, and started mixing together various amounts of different chemicals in it. After several minutes, he stood back to observe his foul smelling, reddish-green concoction.

“What is that?” Belinda asked holding her nose.

“Something to, hopefully, re-hydrate these,” Calvin said picking up the beaker containing the desiccated eyeballs.

“Does it have to smell so bad?”

“You won't be complaining if it works,” he replied before carefully pouring the odd colored liquid into the beaker until the eyeballs were completely submerged in it. “If we're lucky,” he told the rookie giving the beaker a gently swirl, “the eyes will soak this stuff up and return to normal… or close enough to get a scan from them.”

“How long?”

“There's no way of knowing how long it may be.”

“Damn it, Doc,” Belinda snapped. “There isn't time to just stand around waiting.”

“Back off, Rookie,” Calvin retorted angrily. “I know you need to get back to the crime scene but I'm a medical examiner… not a miracle worker.”

“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” Belinda muttered resuming her pacing.

About the same time Sydney realized the tunnel floor was beginning to slope uphill, she observed that the tunnel seemed to bear to the right about fifty strides ahead. Slowing her steps, she cocked her head to the side and listened for any sound other than her own breathing. Hearing nothing in the unsettling, tomb-like silence, she warily continued toward the bend.

“Anything?” Belinda asked anxiously.

Bent over, Doctor Calvin was concentrating on the scanner he was holding over a round, flat, glass dish. Moments before, he had gently transferred the still distorted eyeballs from the beaker to the dish and was trying to get the scanner to take a reading. “Hold onto your knickers,” he snarled, frustrated with both the rookie's impatience and scanner's unwillingness to cooperate. “I can't get a reading,” he grumbled setting the scanner onto the counter then straightening.

“Maybe if you try individually,” Belinda suggested after noting the scanner's reluctance to recognize the pair of objects for what they were. “The one on the left seems to be rounder.”

Calvin considered the idea. “Might work,” he said opening a cupboard above the counter to retrieve a second glass dish. Using forceps, he gently moved one eyeball to the new dish. “Cross your fingers,” he told the rookie as he picked up the scanner then positioned it above the dish and tilted it slightly. Holding the scanner as steadily as he could, he pressed the button to begin a scan.

Belinda held her breath as she watched a single thin red line appear at the top of the scanner's otherwise dark screen and begin an agonizingly slow sweep to the screen's bottom. She heard a beep then the line disappeared. “Come on,” she urged the scanner, encouraged that it had signaled a successful scan.

“I don't think it worked,” Calvin said dejectedly after several minutes without any further response from the scanner.

“Damn—” Belinda cut herself off when the screen suddenly burst into life to reveal an image of the eyeball morphing into normal form as the scanner's programming reshaped it.

After a moment, a message appeared under the eyeball in large, bright red letters— ID CONFIRMED!!

“Yoohoo,” Belinda shouted dancing an awkward jig of joy. “Who is it?”

Calvin pressed a button on the screen then silently watched as the eyeball image was replaced by several lines of text. “Oh, shit!”

Belinda's dance came to an abrupt stop. “What?!” she demanded.

“We need to get to Sydney … and fast,” the doctor exclaimed.

“Who is it?” Belinda screamed.

The medical examiner held the scanner so the rookie could read the provided information.

“Dammit,” Belinda swore vehemently. “I knew I shouldn't have left her there alone.”

“Wait for me,” Calvin called out to the rookie running toward the lab's door.

“Get your ass in motion,” Belinda called back, “I'm not waiting for anybody.”

Rounding the turn, Sydney suddenly found herself standing in a room approximately twenty paces square. Unlike the tunnel, the room's cement walls were flat with a ceiling well above her head, and the detective found she was grateful to put the confining passage behind her. Her eyes scanned the room, noting a door on the wall opposite where she stood, the wooden shelves similar to the ones in the basement, and the desk at the center of the room where a man sat casually leaning back in a chair with a humor-less expression on his face.

Sydney sighed deeply. “Why am I not surprised?”

CHAPTER TEN

“You act like you were expecting to see me?”

“I was sure I'd find you at the end of this rainbow sitting on your step-daddy's pot of gold,” Sydney replied confidently.

“Cute,” the man muttered. “You think you've figured it out, don't you?”

Leaning against the wall, Sydney casually crossed her arms over her chest. “I think so. And, if I'm right, it will sure answer a lot of questions I've had about you over the years.”

The man appeared unsettled by the detective's relaxed demeanor. “Such as?” he asked guardedly.

“Like how you managed to graduate from the Academy,” Sydney responded. “Not to mention, you should have never been accepted in the first place.”

“I met the qualifications,” the man retorted angrily.

Sydney chuckled dismissively. “Hardly… but you still managed to get in. And, amazingly, you graduated. That was a definite shock considering your lack of success in class. How many courses did you have to retake?”

The man glared but remained silent.

“And what about your meteoric climb up the promotion ladder.” The detective paused a moment for her ears to focus on the tunnel behind her. She was hoping that keeping her adversary talking would give Harris time to return. Hearing nothing, she continued, “I've always wondered how you received so many promotions so quickly. It was odd how you always managed to leap-frog right over more qualified candidates. By the way… that pissed off a lot of officers— even some in other UAS districts. Or haven't you ever wondered why most officers don't like you?”

“What's your point?”

“Just wondering how many UAS officials you and step-daddy paid off?”

“There was no shortage of United American States administrators willing to have their palms greased,” the man huffed.

“Bet Daddy was really proud when you finally managed to buy the chair in the District Commander's office. That sure as hell must have made it easier for him to keep selling his stolen weapons and ammo. And it definitely explains how raids to uncover illegal stashes in this area never managed to find his.”

Michaels glowered at the smirking detective. “Anything else?”

“What's wrong, Steven? Did I leave something out?” Sydney wryly prodded the fuming Commander.

“Think you're so smart, don't you? That's always been your problem, Sydney — even back at the Academy, you always thought you were smarter than everyone else.”

Sydney grinned. “In your case, I always was.”

“You're such a smart ass,” Michaels sneered.

“Beats being a dumb ass,” Sydney responded scornfully.

“Damn it… I knew you'd be trouble for me on this case.”

“Then why have it assigned to me?” Sydney asked curiously.

“I didn't. Dispatch dropped the ball and failed to notify me when the 911 call came in. By the time I found out, you were already at the crime scene.”

“You still could have re-assigned the case to another detective,” Sydney said then chuckled. “But I guess that would have raised a lot of questions… especially since the caller said to send the District's best detective… uh?”

“I should have just yanked your ass off the case and told any complainers to shut the frick up,” Michaels growled.

“Not very professional behavior for a District Commander,” Sydney commented disapprovingly. “So, I suppose, since you didn't have the guts to take me off the case, you assigned Harris to be my tag-along?” Sydney asked hoping to put any lingering misgivings about the rookie to rest.

Michaels smirked. “Still think she's reporting to me?”

“The thought occasionally crossed my mind.”

“I should tell you she is just because I know that would really mess with you… but, in fairness to Harris, I won't. I signed the paperwork for her assignment weeks before all this happened. She needed to complete her final Academy classes for it to take effect. The timing just happened to fall in with this case.”

Sydney felt the weight of her last doubt lift effortlessly off her shoulders. “Good to know.”

“Why? You got a thing for her, Sydney?”

The detective frowned. “You're a sleaze bag, Steven. One of these days someone is going to wipe that smirk off your face.”

“Well, one thing is for sure… you aren't going to live long enough to see it happen,” Michaels said opening a desk drawer and removing a revolver that he set on the desk in front of him.

Uncrossing her arms, Sydney shifted slightly to wipe her suddenly sweating palms on her pants. “You can't just kill me, Steven,” she told her senior officer, trying to keep her voice calm. “Too many people will ask too many questions.”

“Not this time, Sydney . No one is going to think anything except that you died doing your job. You'll end up being a hero… get a big, fancy funeral parade and everything.”

“Why go to so much trouble?”

“You don't want the parade?”

“I don't want you to shoot me.” Sydney felt everything was happening too fast, she needed to do something to stall the commander. “Harris knows everything I do,” she blurted out.

Michaels laughed. “Getting desperate, Sydney … everyone knows you don't share case intell with your tag-alongs.”

“She knows,” Sydney insisted. “Hell, she uncovered some of it on her own.”

“Nice try. But, then again, on the odd chance you're not lying to me, I'll just have to kill her too.”

Crap , Sydney thought. “There's other ways to solve this, Steven.”

“Not this time,” Michaels said shaking his head. “Keeping all of this hidden is getting more difficult all the time,” he explained. “I've got to get rid of it and I've arranged one final deal to clear the place out. Unfortunately, you stepped into the middle of my plans.”

Alarmed by the Commander's admission, Sydney straightened. “There aren't too many in the underground able to swing a deal like that,” she said angrily, taking a step toward the desk. “Unless…”

Michaels lifted the gun off the desk causing the detective to stop. “Unless?” he urged the upset officer to continue.

“You're talking about selling to the Dissenters.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“Steven, you're an idiot if that's your plan. That group of rag-tag militia wanna-bes have no chance in hell of overthrowing the new regime. And, if they try, a lot of people will die before their revolt is put down. You'll be responsible for those deaths. Why do it?”

“Because it's a win-win for me,” Michaels gloated. “The market for weapons is drying up fast— the penalties are increasing and there's talk of an amnesty program to get the hoarders to voluntarily turn their weapons over for destruction.”

“So wait for the program and turn all of this over—”

“Now, who's the idiot, Sydney? If I did that, I'd be in prison before the day was out. No, I need to get rid of this stuff and the Dissenters are the only ones stupid enough to think they can keep their stashes hidden until they can launch their revolt.”

“Don't you care how they plan to use these weapons?”

“They'll never have a chance to use them. I'm not as dumb as you'd like to think. I sell them the weapons then I'll send my squads of special agents out to raid their stockpiles… unfortunately, some Dissenters will have to die. But then what's the old saying— Dead men tell no tales. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?”

Astonished, Sydney studied the smirking Commander. “You won't get away with it. People will wonder how your agents suddenly found so many illegal stockpiles that they couldn't locate in all your previous raids. You'll have UAS investigators all over your ass. Come on, Steven… even you can't be that stupid.”

“I guess we'll just have to wait and see which of us proves to be smarter,” Michaels said standing up with the revolver gripped tightly in his hand. “I'm expecting my buyers soon so it's time I dealt with you.”

“This ought to be interesting,” Sydney muttered.

“Oh, it will be,” Michaels assured the detective. “See, through your superior investigative skills, you've uncovered the weapon stash and the tunnel. And as the good detective that you are, you decide to follow the tunnel to see where it leads. And that's when things go bad,” he smiled, “for you.”

Hearing a low, faint whistle, Sydney instinctively glanced back at the tunnel's opening.

“You aren't planning on running, are you?” Michaels asked in annoyance.

“What would be the point?” Sydney responded turning back to look at the man pointing a gun in her direction. Cautiously, she slightly turned her head hoping to hear more sounds emanating from the tunnel. “You'll just follow me and shoot me anyway.”

“Oh, no,” Michaels protested in jest. “I'm not going to shoot you, Sydney . My buyers are going to shoot you. You see, you're going to have the misfortune of running into them in the tunnel. Sadly, one unarmed detective won't have much of a chance against well-armed weapon smugglers. Your funeral will be talked about for years— officer hero dies pursuing justice. How tragic that your murderers will escape capture.”

“I die in the tunnel… mysteriously shot by unknown perps,” Sydney stated incredulously.

“Yes. Just like your vic.”

“Except my vic wasn't shot by unknown perps... she was shot by you, wasn't she, Steven?”

Michaels smiled. “Just another bitch officer too smart for her own good.”

“Who was she?” Sydney asked tersely when she heard the muffled scrape of leather boots against the concrete floor of the tunnel. “I, at least, deserve to know that before I die.”

“Special Agent Victoria Bartholomew,” Belinda stated emerging from the tunnel, “a member of the Commander's secret undercover squad assigned to ferret out any remaining weapon stashes in the District.”

“How the hell did you figure that out?” Michaels demanded.

“You should be more careful where you leave your trophies, Commander,” Belinda snarled at the man. “And, by the way, taking her eyes… that was a really yucky thing to do,” she added grimacing.

Smiling, Sydney spoke directly to the rookie, “Good work.”

Belinda grinned. “You said not to come back without an ID.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Sorry, it took so long.”

“I think you timed it just right. Thank you.”

“Thank the doc… he was amazing.”

“Too bad you won't have the opportunity,” Michaels snapped. “You should have stayed away, Harris…” he paused to consider how the rookie's unexpected appearance worked in his favor. “But, then, you just saved me the trouble of having to figure out a credible way to kill you. Now, you can die with the detective.”

“Damn, that's going to ruin my plans for dinner tonight,” Belinda said in mock displeasure.

“Something special?” Sydney asked.

“I was thinking of asking you to join me.”

“SHUT UP!” Michaels bellowed pointing the revolver at the officers. “Get back into the tunnel… NOW!”

Sydney turned to face Belinda. Slowly, she raised her hand and placed it tenderly against the rookie's cheek. “Sorry about this.”

Belinda sighed. “Not your fault.”

“You have the makings of a good detective.”

“Thanks.”

“ENOUGH!” Michaels screamed. “Get into the damn tunnel.”

Sydney gently patted Belinda's cheek then turned to glare at the Commander. “No,” she stated defiantly.

“What?” Michaels asked incredulously. “If you haven't noticed, Sydney , I've got a gun pointed at you. You saw what it did to Bartholomew so quit screwing around.”

“Make a note, Officer Harris… we just found the murder weapon.”

Belinda pretended to remove a notebook from her pocket. Then using an invisible pen, she wrote in the invisible notebook. “Noted.”

“ Sydney , I'm not going to tell you again,” Michaels growled.

Shifting her body, Sydney tried to push Belinda behind her but the rookie refused to budge.

“He can't shoot both of us,” Belinda said easing a step away from the detective. “When he fires, I'm taking him down. And everyone in the UAS is going to know what an absolute jackass he is.”

Sydney laughed. “You heard her, Steven. You want to shoot me… shoot me. But you do it here… I'm not dying in that tunnel.”

Michaels shrugged. “Okay, if that's the way you want it.” He looked at Belinda. “First Sydney… then I'll take care of you,” he vowed lifting the revolver to eye-level and taking aim at the detective's forehead; his finger tightening on the trigger.

Diving for the floor, Belinda jerked Sydney down with her.

BANG!!

The blast echoed off the concrete walls, the sound intensifying until it finally rolled into the tunnel and gradually faded away.

Expecting a second shot, Sydney remained frozen in place. She had landed on top of Belinda and wasn't about to move and expose the rookie to possible death.

“You can get up. It's over.”

The familiar, yet unexpected, voice surprised Sydney . Doubtfully, she rolled her head to the side, forcing open one eye and allowing it to swivel upward. “Doc?”

“The one and only,” Calvin replied stretching an arm down to the detective.

“I guess I forgot to mention he was with me,” Belinda said pushing up onto her knees as soon as Sydney rolled off of her. “That was close,” she stated.

“Too close,” Calvin agreed.

“Too damn close,” Sydney added firmly, letting the medical examiner pull her up to her feet. “Thanks.”

“Good thing I found your note in the basement,” Belinda told the unnerved detective.

“Even better that you took the time to put bullets in this,” Calvin injected holding up the revolver in his hand. “I might have figured out how to fire the damn thing but I never would have known how to load it.” He bent down to pick up the Commander's weapon then placed both revolvers on the desk.

“What the hell happened?” Michaels asked weakly staring disbelievingly at the fist-sized hole in his side. The force of the gunshot had lifted him off his feet and propelled him back into the wall. He lay crumbled on the floor, a growing pool of blood forming around him.

“You took too much time to aim,” Calvin informed the injured man after kneeling down to inspect his wound. “Gave me time to get off a shot.”

“You did pretty good for a first time shooter, Doc.”

“I got lucky, Sydney . I pointed the revolver in the Commander's direction, closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger.”

“Holy smoke,” Belinda exclaimed. “We were standing between you two.”

“Technically, you were on the floor,” Calvin corrected. “I wasn't aiming down.”

“Good thing,” the rookie grumbled. “Guess we should call for medical transport. Any chance you think that phone might be working?” she asked of the instrument resting on the desk. “It'll take a few minutes to run back to the car.”

Sydney shook her head. “Doesn't matter,” she said quietly.

Belinda glanced down at the bleeding man. “He's not going to make it, is he?”

Calvin slowly shook his head.

“I guess, in the long run, that'll be better for him,” Belinda observed.

“Yeah.”

Michaels coughed painfully. “ Sydney , you've got to get out of here.”

“Save your breath,” the detective replied, “you'll just tire yourself out faster.”

“If you don't get the hell out of here, my buyers…,” Michaels fought to get the words out.

“Don't worry about your buyers,” Sydney told the dying man, “I plan to give them the welcome they deserve.”

Michaels groaned in pain.

Sydney knelt down next to Calvin. “Was he worth this, Steven?” she asked softly.

Michaels struggled to fill his lungs with air. “Yeah… he was worth it,” he murmured as his eyes closed for the final time.

Belinda watched the medical transport drive away carrying the Medical Examiner and the Commander's life-less body. “What a waste,” she commented with a sigh.

“What?” Sydney was slumped beside the rookie on the house's front porch steps.

“Agent Bartholomew's death… Michaels killed her just to protect the family legacy.”

“Some people will do anything to protect family,” Sydney said forcing her exhausted body to stand. “I guess we should leave the clean-up crew to their job.”

“I'm curious about something, Detective,” Belinda said remaining in her seated position.

“Yeah?” Sydney said warily.

“The note you left for me… how did you know how to load and shoot that revolver? I thought you said you only studied pics of weapons.”

With a sigh, Sydney dropped back down onto the porch step. “My grandfather was a hoarder. He taught me.”

Belinda's head whipped around. “ Sydney , you can get in big trouble—”

“Calm down,” Sydney told the distressed officer then took a moment to recall the elderly man whose death put a hole in her heart that had yet to heal. “Grandpa's stash was destroyed years ago.”

“Did you turn him in?” Belinda asked hesitantly.

“Didn't have to… When I graduated from the Academy, I told him I had taken an oath and I couldn't betray that oath.”

“Good for you.”

Sydney 's face took on a pensive expression as she looked down at her clasped hands. “He surrendered his hoard but I don't think he ever forgave me,” she said in a voice full of conflicting emotions.

Belinda reached over and covered the Detective's hands with one of her own. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm not. He thought I'd betrayed him but, in truth, I was protecting him. If he had been caught, he would have ended up in prison. Instead, he got to live out his years surrounded by his family.” Sydney sighed. “He hated my guts but…”

“It was the right thing to do,” Belinda said softly.

Unwilling to continue thinking of the past, Sydney stood up. “Come on, let's get out of here.”

“Still can't figure why Michaels thought Miller was worth it,” Belinda pondered as she followed the detective away from the house. “The guy was a thief, sold guns to anyone who could pay the price, and put Michaels and his mother in danger living on top of his stockpile. Doesn't sound like much to be admired for to me.”

“Maybe he treated Michaels like a real son,” Sydney offered. “Maybe the little boy that was Steven needed that.”

Belinda yawned. “Maybe.”

“Long day, uh?”

“Longest day of my life,” the rookie admitted.

“I guess dinner's out,” Sydney said, a touch of disappointment in her voice.

Belinda smiled. “Actually, I'm really hungry. So if you're up to it…”

“I'm up to it,” the detective replied glancing toward the cemetery. “Give me a couple of minutes… I've got something to do.”

“Where are you going?” Belinda asked as the detective set off across the street.

“I want to make sure the book is finally closed on this case.”

“I thought it was.” Puzzled by the detective's explanation, Belinda followed Sydney 's progress across the street then down the cracked sidewalk to the rusty entry. “What the heck could be over there that has anything to do with this case?” she muttered watching the detective pull open the gate.

Walking along gravel paths, Sydney made her way to a large oak tree in the center of the cemetery. As she anticipated, sitting on an ornate iron bench under the tree, a woman quietly watched her approach. “ Victoria ?”

The woman's head bowed in agreement. “I wasn't sure you'd come over, Detective,” she said raising her head to look into Sydney 's eyes. “But I'm glad you have… I wanted the chance to say thank you.”

“I wish I could have stopped him before… You didn't deserve what he did to you. I wanted to tell you that. I'm so sorry.”

The woman smiled sadly. “When I told him I'd found the stockpile, he ordered me out of the house. He said I was messing up a bigger operation. Just get out and forget what I saw.”

Sydney stood quietly and listened without comment; she understood the Agent needed her side of the story known.

“But I couldn't do it. Something about it gnawed at me and I had to go back. He must have heard me moving around upstairs. He came up through the trap door and before I could react, he…” Victoria stopped unable to say the words.

“He shot you.”

“Yes… just like that. I still find it hard to believe.”

“I know it's not much but I'll make sure you receive the proper credit in my reports for uncovering his horde.”

“Thank you.”

More than a little uncomfortable with her current surroundings and companion, Sydney said, “I need to go… someone is waiting for me.”

“Detective?”

“Yes?”

“If I could bother you one more time.”

“Of course.”

“This is most likely where I'll be buried. I must admit that I don't look forward to spending eternity so close to the Commander and his step-father.”

“Can't blame you for that,” Sydney agreed.

“My parents live in the South-Eastern District. Perhaps you could arrange—”

“I'll make sure you get home, Victoria ,” Sydney said. “All of you.”

The woman smiled. “Thank you.”

Waiting until the apparition faded into nothingness, the detective turned around and headed back to the cemetery's gate.

Sydney closed the gate then turned to walk across the street. She smiled spotting the anxious rookie leaning against her car.

“What was so important in the cemetery?” Belinda demanded as Sydney got close.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” the detective responded opening the passenger door.

“Try me.”

Sydney dropped into the seat then buckled her safety belt. When the rookie remained standing beside the car glaring at her, she rolled down the window and flashed her sweetest smile at Belinda. “You mentioned dinner.”

Frowning, Belinda walked around the car then pulled open the driver's door. “Are you going to tell me?” she asked settling onto the seat.

“Not tonight.”

“Is that why you don't have a permanent partner?” Belinda asked backing the car out of the driveway. “You can't trust anyone.”

Sydney let her head fall back against the headrest and closed her eyes. “My luck with detective wanns-bes isn't very good. Most don't last more than a few days.”

Belinda took a moment to glance at the officer. “You don't suppose that has anything to do with how you treat them, do you?”

The corners of Sydney 's lips twitched into a sly smile. “I always found it better not to waste time on rookie's who will never make detective.”

“But if one did… you might give them a chance at being your partner?” Belinda asked guiding the car toward the end of Cemetery Road .

Sydney opened her left eye and peered at the rookie. “You got something on your mind, Rookie?”

“You said I'd make a good detective.”

“I was under a lot of stress at the moment.”

“But you still said it,” Belinda said smiling.

“Hmmm,” Sydney groaned re-closing her eye.

“We're here,” Belinda announced bringing the car to a stop and turning off the engine.

Opening her eyes, Sydney sat up and looked around. “Isn't this where you live?”

“Yes,” Belinda answered pushing open the car's door. “I figured it would be easier having dinner here where we could fall into bed after.”

Sydney 's brow creased. “You're not thinking tonight is going any further than dinner, are you?” she asked uncertainly.

Belinda laughed. “Oh, heavens… I barely have the energy to walk from here to my unit,” she said stepping out of the car. “I figured you could use the spare bedroom again… or you can go home.”

Sydney opened her door and stepped out only to find the rookie looking at her over the top of the car. “Problem?”

“Just wondering if that was some kind of back-handed suggestion,” she said wryly.

“Nope,” Sydney said with a vigorous shake of her head. “Just making sure we're on the same page… that's all.”

“You've got no worries there, Detective,” Belinda declared cheerfully. “No worries at all.”

THE END.

Return to the Academy

Autor's Page