Obscure Blood

Chapter Six

Octa rose to his feet, gulped down his coffee and tossed the cup in the trash as he left the office. "Catch you later, Intel. Something in the old neighborhood."

They both jumped in the same car and Bob, who was driving, had his sirens on as they sped along the streets. Not long before they arrived, Octa realized they were returning to the house he grew up in.

"I don't understand," he said. "Why is the house burning?"

They pulled to a stop as close as possible with firetrucks blocking the street.

"Sir, sir," shouted an officer approaching the car. "A description was given. A male, with long, dark-gray hair, long coat. The man entered the house with multiple other men. About three to six. They were seen coming out with nothing in hand. The house burned once they left. They drove away in a red SUV."

"Was anyone hurt or killed?" Octa asked.

"Here, no. But by coincidence, we have an ambulance a couple miles away that's taking an old lady to the morgue."

"What's her name?"

The officer pulled a notepad from his pocket. "Hawoman Parish was the name found on her mail and confirmed by the neighbors. A robbery by the looks of it and killed, very probably, from fighting with the robber. Her head was smacked against the cement."

After taking the address from the officer, Bob drove Octa to her house.

The men entered the house, which had been ravaged and many household items had been thrown to the floor, although nothing of great value seemed to have been taken. They assumed it because her big-screen TV was still there, and maybe some other expensive items. She was a victim.

Octa sighed as he looked around the room. "After many years of peace, now she's been attacked and killed. I think I'm the cause of this... She probably told me too much. Or, my father fears that I might find him."

"Detective Octa, there was a chair in the living room that was on its side and a rope was found one foot away from it," the officer said.

She was tied, Octa thought. They needed something from her. I think she refused to give in. Then, the perpetrator decided to let her go, then kill her in the street.

What else you have? Octa asked.

"Somehow, she ended out in the street," the officer added.

They wanted to make people think it was a robbery that went bad, but it is the opposite, he thought. I'm dealing with my father's skill here. I might be wrong. I hope I'm not suspecting the wrong man.

"Thanks for the information."

Before the ambulance left, Octa jumped in and examined her arms, which showed bruises that would be indicative of rope pressure. He went out and walked toward the police officers on the scene. Showing his badge, he said, "Do you have any more information?"

The officer said, "She had visitors about half an hour ago, and the car appeared to be red. They then left. The lights went off. That was it. But waking up in the morning and looking through the windows, the witness saw her lying in the street."

"Were any unfamiliar characters reported?"

"The only unusual thing was a male who had long hair."

"If anything unusual comes up while you're investigating, contact me at this number. Do you have a business card, officer?"

"Yes," the officer said, as he reached inside his coat to hand one to Octa.

Then, Bob walked to him and said "I've to go back to the office. Chief Detective Albany wants to talk to me about something."

"Do you know what it is about?"

"No."

"So, I'm gonna have to drop you."

"No, I've someone picking me up."

"Cool."

Octa made his way to his car and parked it five hundred feet away from the house. He did not leave the scene. She dies not too long after I spoke to her, he thought. When the crime scene was secured and no one was left, Octa noticed Officer Outlaw Brinking, who was walking toward the old lady's house. He must have left his car somewhere else.

Officer Brinking is always on every scene, since I stepped in to investigate these child murders, Octa thought.

Octa stepped out of the car and made his way through the back door. No lights were shining inside. He did not hear any footsteps within. There was someone behind him. It was Officer Brinking. Octa must have entered the house before him.

"I should have known I'd find you here, Octa," he said.

"I didn't expect you, but I am not surprised," Octa said.

Octa turned around and Officer Brinking turned on the light.

"I wonder what your family wants from you," he said and pointed his 9 millimeter at Octa.

"What do you know about my family?"

"I wasn't paid to tell you anything, but I should kill you even though they want you alive, since you might be worthless."

He shot Octa in his left shoulder, which Octa clutched. Blood started trickling down Octa's arm, and he pressed his left hand over his wounded shoulder.

As Brinking lowered his weapon, Octa kicked him in the groin, picked up a pan off the floor and struck him on the head.

"Tell me about my father."

"I'll never tell you."

"Awesome." Octa hit him harder until he lost consciousness.

Octa dragged Brinking out and put him in the trunk. Octa's face was glistening with sweat. He held his left shoulder. Blood continued to spurt between his fingers, despite his efforts. He then drove to a hospital to take care of his wound. He had to make a police report. The doctor who took care of him was an old friend of his. After he put on a sling for Octa, he did not bother to get a report from him.