Our Sick Inheritance (editing)

Chapter 4 - Too Close To Home

Detective Kyle Mason looked at his wristwatch as he slammed his car door shut with a swift flip of his wrist. The icy wind whipped across his face as if to slap him to pay attention. It was 2:06 in the afternoon. The sun smiled just enough to slowly melt through the blankets of snow covering the yards turning the thick bright white of a dove's feather into clear Swiss cheese slices. Snow on top of the roofs of the houses on the block looked like melting ice cream on a hot sidewalk.

Across the street red and blue lights flashed from several officers' cars in front of the small blue cottage house that sat its position in the center of the block. Kyle's eyes swept the yard that was barred with yellow crime scene tape. He groaned quietly as he also noticed the wet bright green grass was trampled by a handful of busy men in blue uniforms keeping bystanders at bay as well as the team collecting evidence. Kyle hoped for anything he could get if this case was indeed linked to the rest of the west coast murders.

Kyle was careful not to step into any street puddles as he moved a few feet away from his car and stood safely in the road as it was blocked off at one end. An officer stood guard at the entrance to the gate on the side of the blue house leading to the back yard, blocking anyone non-official from entering.

Kyle looked around at the neighbors on the sidewalks. All ten were trying to get a glimpse of what had taken place inside the house. Among the people, everyone seemed suspicious of each other but couldn't help whispering possible scenarios of their neighbor. He was sure their expectations created wild gruesome possibilities by the minute. With his cell phone, Kyle snapped pictures of each person while they whispered among themselves. He always paid attention to who was standing around. He knew sometimes killers liked to come back and see how others reacted to their work. He had often wondered what the percentage was of the culprits that had returned to crime scenes in his various past cases.

A few yards from Kyle, two twelve-year-old boys with skateboards in their hands stood staring at everyone from across the house. They were too young to be a physical threat, but not too young to have been witnesses. Satisfied that his memory, as well as with his camera held the image of each of the bystanders.

Careful not to slip on scattered ice, Detective Kyle crossed the street towards the yellow tape. Just as he passed the border, he glanced up at the highest window of the house that looked small enough to be a slanted attic. There he saw a lady with long blond hair stand between the lace curtains looking back at him. At first, he thought it was his daughter Stacy and his heart slammed against his chest. He tried harder to make out her features by squinting but once he focused, the girl was gone. Kyle shook his head and thought it must have been the glare from the sun hitting the windowpane at an angle.

Kyle sighed as he reached the uniformed men busy photographing and looking for possible evidence. His stomach clenched. It was always disarming, not knowing what you were going to find. No matter how violent and graphic in nature the crime was going to be, he was never sure if his stomach was going to hold in his lunch. What people don't get from television is the smell of a dead body decomposing, or the sight of shredded meaty tissue torn up from a hard, sharp object. Nor could television capture the soulless look in the victim's eyes he had seen on too many occasions. The worst was when the face was still positioned with the view of the last painful moments of his or her life. The story was often told in that final expression.

To his relief Kyle spotted Detective Cruz Miles, one of Seattle Washington's finest and lead in cases of difficult crime scenes for repeat offenders. He got called in if their Sergeant suspected a serial killing, as he had the unique talent for solving puzzles from minor details. Mile's body moved fast, but his eyes missed nothing. Mile's developing belly, which Kyle knew was the responsibility of his wife's great cooking, didn't slow him down. In three strides, Miles was upon him with a broad smile on his face. Though only forty-four, Miles had strong laugh lines that creased his eyes before he smiled. He explained his family gave them to him to remind him he has much happiness at home waiting for him at the end of every long day.