Riverwatch

Chapter Seven - Wilson

Damon Wilson was on duty in Harrington Falls when the call came in. As Sheriff of Algonquin County, he was responsible for the safety of the inhabitants of not only Glendale, but also Harrington Falls and the other similar mountain communities within the county limits. He had two men out sick, so he was covering their shifts himself, patrolling in his Bronco.

"I'll take it, base. I'm in the vicinity."

"That's a roger, Sheriff. See Jake Caruso at the site."

"10-4."

Damon replaced the microphone and headed for the Stonemoor estate.

Back when he was on the force in Chicago, calls like this had been a fairly commonplace occurrence. They were called into abandoned buildings and derelict lots all the time, especially during the summer months when the stench of decomposing corpses would disturb the denizens of even the roughest neighborhoods. The winters weren't so bad; a body could lie in the dark for weeks without being discovered. He'd seen his fair share; that was certain.

But here in Harrington Falls? He couldn't remember the last time there was a violent crime up here. Glendale was a bit different; a little more modern, more bad apples. Harrington Falls seemed to have missed all of that, nestled as it was in the mountains. The people were quiet folk. They kept to themselves and generally obeyed the laws. Aside from the occasional loud drunk or teenage shoplifter, the patrol in Harrington Falls was considered incident-free.

Which made the call even more interesting.

As Damon pulled up in front of the house, he saw two men sitting on the top step of the porch, obviously waiting for him.

* * *

Jake watched as a large, heavy-set man got out of the Bronco. Roughly six-foot two, he had to weigh a good two-fifty. His hair was salt and pepper, right down to his beard and mustache. Both were carefully groomed and short in length. The man was dressed in the brown uniform of the Sheriff's department, with a pistol clearly visible on his belt.

Jake and Sam rose to greet him.

"One of you Jake Caruso?" Damon asked.

Jake said, "I am," and extended his hand in greeting.

"Damon Wilson, Sheriff's Department." The Sheriff shook Sam's hand also. Turning back to Jake, he asked, "I understand you've found a body?"

Jake nodded. "Down in the cellar."

"Mind telling me what you were doing out here in the first place?"

Jake explained to the Sheriff how he came to be there that morning, going back to the events of the day before. The Sheriff listened closely, made notes every few minutes, but otherwise left Jake to tell the story without interruption. When Jake was finished, the Sheriff turned to Sam and asked him if he could remember any other details.

The Sheriff then suggested that Sam wait outside to direct the coroner to the scene, before asking Jake to lead him to the body.

The two climbed the steps to the house, passing through the foyer and the kitchen, until they reached the stairway to the basement. The smell of mildew and decay from below reached Damon. For just a moment, he had a vivid picture of bodies lying for days in forgotten Chicago tenements, the memory of another time, another place. He quickly slammed the lid closed on that particular memory before it could escape the Pandora's box of his mind. Chicago was a long time ago and Damon definitely wanted to keep it that way.

Jake headed down the steps and Damon followed.

"Sorry about the stench. When we began renovations this entire level was flooded. My men pumped out the fetid water the other night but the smell will probably linger for a while."