CHAPTER TWO-3
630 Words
AT HOME, PERCY’S CELL rang as he was locking up for the night. He connected quickly when he saw who it was. “Bud.”
“Percy. You need to come down to the station.”
His pulse surged. “Is it Brita?” Percy was already looking for his shoes.
“She’s missing. And it’s worse. A lot worse. Don’t tell anybody else. Just get down here. Fast.”
“Fifteen minutes,” he told Bud. And then he grabbed his shoes and keys and ran out the door, a sense of dread riding him hard. Percy blew through a few traffic lights and exceeded the speed limit all the way to the precinct. As soon as he drove up and parked across the street he knew something was terribly wrong. Brita’s crappy little car was parked on the street in front of the station. Uniforms were swarming all over it and barriers had been erected in the empty street. He jumped out of his car and ran over, his heart in his throat.
“What’s going on? Is she all right?”
“Percy.”
He turned at the sound of Hinks’s voice. “Bud. Why are they searching her car?”
Bud motioned for Percy to follow him. “Keep it down, Honeybun. If anybody finds out I called you I could lose my badge.”
Bud put a hand on Percy’s arm and guided him toward the front doors of the long, two-story, red brick building that housed the Southwest District of the IMPD. “She was here earlier. We have her on tape going into Sergeant Cline’s office. We also have her prints all over the upstairs hall bathroom, where the uni who’d been manning the front desk was found with his throat cut.”
The dread that had caused Percy’s pulse to pound escalated to full out terror. “What the hell, Bud?”
“It gets worse.” Bud held his fist in front of Percy, uncoiling his fingers to reveal a delicate metal chain. It was the charm bracelet he’d given Brita before the wedding.
He reached for it as all the blood leeched from his face. The clasp was broken. “Where did you find this?”
“On the floor in the bullpen, not too far from the body of a dead cop.”
Percy grabbed Bud’s arm. “Tell me she’s all right.”
Bud frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t know if she’s all right or not, Percy. I’m sorry.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means we haven’t found her yet.”
Bud led him to the bull pen. He stopped Percy at the door. “Don’t come any farther.”
Techs wearing shirts emblazoned with the letters CSU moved through the large room wearing paper booties and latex gloves.
Percy’s gaze slid to the blood coating the copier where a photographer was busily snapping pictures and setting markers. “Please tell me that’s not from her.” Percy’s throat closed off and he barely got the words out.
“We won’t know for sure until it goes to the lab. But at least some of it belongs to Detective Red Gordyn.” He put a hand up, signaling for Percy to wait. Bud walked across the room, stepped into a conference room, and came out carrying something small and wriggly. Moxie yipped when she spotted Percy and started to whine.
Tears burned his eyes. He took the tiny doxie from Bud and pulled her close, burying his face in her fur as she whimpered pathetically. She smelled like Brita’s shampoo. “What’s Moxie doing here?”
“Close as we can tell Brita brought her in with her. The cameras captured Brita coming in through the front doors with her gun drawn and heading right to the stairwell. Just moments earlier Brent Madris had come out of the bullpen and headed for the stairs, probably going up to ask Sarge if he wanted anything. He did that every night.” Bud’s voice caught and he shook his head. “We found Brent in the restroom upstairs with his throat cut.”
Percy felt sick. He’d met Madris a few times and remembered him as a likeable guy with a family. “And Sarge?”
Bud’s gaze darkened, color suffusing his fleshy cheeks. “Dead. Shot with a Glock nine.”
Percy held Bud’s gaze for a beat and then swore. “You don’t think...”
“Of course not. But darn it, Percy. This doesn’t look good.”
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- Writer
