"The Run and Go"

Chapter One

 It was the nineteenth of December and the year was 2017. Families were in their homes making hot chocolate for their kids and snuggling down to watch movies. Store employees were clocking out with fright weighing heavily in their hearts as they prepared to drive on snowy streets. Couples were placing presents under a Christmas tree in apartments and kissing each other whilst murmuring a Merry Christmas.

Anthony Cavanaugh would not be spending the nineteenth as others did. Instead he was stuck behind a desk in his cubicle at the Tahoe City Police Station. His fingers held a pen and made ink dance across police reports that ranged from automobile accidents to robberies. The station would have been empty if it weren't for his presence. No one had been comfortable to stay longer than work hours.

The time was 9:34 post meridiem and the moon was shining down on the town of Tahoe City, giving it an eerie effect. The atmosphere of the area didn't help Anthony in the slightest; his writing was messy from paranoia and his shoulders ached from being tensed for so long.

It was 9:37 when Anthony let out a huff and let his pen drop. His hand throbbed from the extensive workout it had just gone through. Reading his writing, Anthony found it barely legible. Frustration loomed in the back of his mind and only caused him to start writing again.

For a detective, Anthony was small and was always teased about his five foot and six inch height, but made up for it with keen eyes and a quick tongue. His dark brown hair always stuck up in a form of curls, but it did go along with the mocha pigment in his eyes. Usually, a stubble lined his jaw and went up to form a goatee around his mouth but recently it had been shaved. Anthony wore slacks and a dress shirt for work along with a light brown trenchcoat. It made him the classic detective.

It had been the seventeenth of December when Anthony was called down from his home in northern Tahoe City. He was off-duty at the time, but he was told the need for a detective was dire. On that day the first murder in 2017, for Tahoe City, was put in the records.

On Pine Avenue near 3:00 ante meridiem, the Tahoe City Police Department was called to come and investigate screams and gunshots heard from nearby residents. When on-duty police officers arrived on scene, they were directed to a house that contained the recently deceased body of Dean Fox.

The victim had been subdued and an artery in each thigh had been severed. Fox had bled out long before the police arrived. The death of Fox had shook up the town and had civilians in an uproar from the lack of the police's urgency. While most could see that the men on-duty were working as fast as they could, it hurt being berated by the rest of the public.

Two days passed and Anthony was still stuck on it. He had gone to the crime scene the day before and found little discriminating evidence. It was his first failing case as a detective and anxiety was already creeping up on his mind. He needed a lead and the reports from other officers provided little. The killer had covered up his tracks well. The only sign of crime-doer was the mistake of leaving the murder weapon behind. One of the officers had found a six-inch serrated knife next to Fox's body. The weapon gave the idea of maybe the officers could have caught the killer if they had been faster.

Anthony checked the time on his watch finding it as 9:43. He got up from his seat and pushed the papers on his desk into one messy pile. He proceeded to shove the papers in the right corner of his desk along with his hope of leaving his frustration there as well. He plucked a coat off the back of his chair and headed to the front doors of the station. Anthony clocked out as he left the station and had to hurry to his car to avoid the icy grip of the December air.

Snow crunched underneath Anthony's feet as he walked and his eyes only captured the ground and the distance between him and his car. Anthony did not see the male that entered the unlocked station behind him.

* * *

"Family stopped by and gave some more information. Fox was thirty-six, recently divorced."

Anthony looked down on the body of Dean Fox. He had worn a black polo with dark blue jeans at the time of his death and white shoes that were now smeared with blood. His eyes had been open but now had dulled brown irises. Above the collar of his polo, Fox had a wreath of red marks around his neck, most being near the shape of lines. It was evident that suffocation had taken a role in Fox's death.

"What was his orientation?" Anthony asked, turning to the officer that was giving him the report. The marks on Fox were from a male, they had to be. The red lines were caused by the constriction of fingers with the marks being too wide to be one of woman.

"Um, he was hetreosexual." The officer was puzzled at the question, "Why?"

"Because the marks on Fox were too wide to be done by a woman. The perp has to be a male." Anthony crouches down next to Fox and leans closer to the marks on his neck.

When he was closer, Anthony was able to see the indents from fingers and thumbs more clearly. The marks of thumbs were around Fox's windpipe and rest of the fingers were located on the back near the spinal cord. The perpetrator may have been looking to damage Fox's spinal cord or windpipe, maybe both.

Fox had been killed in the living room of his house, and the aroma in the room was getting progressively worse as the days passed. There was dried blood around Fox's legs, but the substance continued releasing an awful stench that made some officer's eyes water. Some items in the room had signs of a fight between Fox and his killer.

In the living room, there was a flat-screen television hung up on the wall, a couch near the front door of the house, and a coffee table in front of it. There was an end table next to the couch that held a couple photographs and coasters, and a rocking chair near another wall. Out of those items, three had signs of Fox and the perpetrator. The couch was tipped over, the coffee table had been knocked onto its back, and the television had a dent in its screen.

Somehow, Fox ended up on the outskirts of the room against a wall. The disturbed furniture was in the middle of the room or on the opposite side of where Fox was.

Officers were spread out around the room to try and find something that would be a lead on the killer. Over the two days, no one had found anything.

Anthony stood up and turned back to the officer he had previously spoken to. "Was there any sign of struggle besides the living room?"

The officer shook his head, "No sir, but no officers are trained in detective work. It could be possible that we missed something."

Anthony nods, "Thank you, Scott." He makes his way down an a hall adjoining the living room and turns into the opened room of the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, Anthony looks around and notices nothing irregular at first glance.

A cabinet was up against the wall opposite from the skin and a towel rack was next to it. The tile floor underneath Anthony's feet had specks of dirt in the cervices and an odd shine in some places. The bathroom sink looked like it had been cleaned, but the mirror above it had muck around the edges. A shower rested opposite side from the door with its curtain drawn to block the inside.

Anthony walked over to the shower, using a hand to pull back the curtain. The tub had loofa at the bottom along with a shampoo bottle. There was an attachable shelf in the corner of the shower that held a shampoo bottle and body wash. Maybe Fox had forgotten to put the loofa and shampoo back up?

Anthony sighed and turned away, walking out of the bathroom. Fox's house was a dead end. If the killer decided to strike again, they would have to be ready.

I guess this is a return to the screen.