Authors: R.D. Sherrill
-Five Days Before-
Sheriff Sam Delaney hated mornings, especially cold
mornings like this one. The chill invaded his aging bones reminding him that he
was not a spring chicken anymore. He hated the prospect that he was just a
couple of birthdays short of
fifty
. I
t was a
milestone he dreaded with a passion.
Of particular annoyance this morning was the slow pace at
which his patrol car’s heater cut the cold, leaving him seeing his own breath
for most of his cross-county trek. His lips were already going numb from the
biting cold as the cruiser’s heater belched out lukewarm air doing little to
stem the chill.
He navigated the winding country roads peering out through
the small circle he defrosted in the middle of his windshield. The limited
visibility slowed him to a snail’s pace as he spent twenty minutes reaching his
destination. The drive should have taken half that time. He was
paying for his oversight the night before when he neglected to cover his
windshield despite the frost
warning
. The garage at his house was reserved for his wife’s new
minivan. Sam had made a habit of parking his car outside his house anyway as
the mere presence of his patrol car tended to dissuade speeders in his
neighborhood. Having the sheriff living on your street was better than having a
neighborhood watch.
His arrival this morning, however, was not time sensitive
given the fact the body wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Yes, it took a dead
body to get the sheriff out of bed at such an obscene
hour
. H
is
standing
orders to his deputies were quite specific when it came to rousting him from
his sleep before eight o’clock on any given day. Homicides, jailbreaks and
major natural disasters were the only reasons for which Sam wanted to be called
in before his regular business hours. After all, he had loyally served the
thirty thousand citizens of Castle County for over twelve years. He had spent a
fourth of his life as sheriff, first winning election after coming back to his
hometown after a stint with the Army.
Arriving at the scene located off Walker Road, Sam saw the
yellow crime scene tape fluttering in the wind, the parameter around the small
house completely surrounded by the barrier. In the driveway sat one of his
department’s patrol cars, a rookie deputy in the driver’s seat, his door open
and the engine running as evidenced by the smoke rising from the tailpipe. Sam
pulled in behind the
deputy
. H
is
car was finally a pleasant temperature and his windshield
finally defrosted just in time for him to get out into the cold.
The young deputy quickly hopped out of the warmth of his
patrol car to greet his boss and make a quick report.
“What do we have Deputy Faulkner?” the sheriff asked as he
zipped up his jacket to keep the chill at bay.
“It’s definitely a homicide, sir,” the deputy answered.
“One of his co-workers found him this morning just after sun up.”
Sam wondered what brought the co-worker to the house at
such an early hour. It was way too early for a social call.
“Our victim in there is Andy Crouch,” the young officer
revealed. “He works second shift over at the Rockford factory. It seems he
didn’t show up for work last night, something that’s very unusual since he
hasn’t missed a night in years. When he didn’t call in and didn’t answer his
phone the foreman got worried and sent somebody over to check on him. That’s
when he found him lying just inside the door.”
The deputy noted he had already taken a preliminary
statement from the man who found the victim as to the circumstances surrounding
his grisly discovery.
“And you’re sure it’s a homicide, not a suicide, right?”
Sam
asked
.
The sheriff realized suicides were much easier to work
than homicides since in the case of suicides you already know the killer. The
rookie gave the sheriff a big grin as he assured his boss they were looking at
a case of homicide.
“Oh, I think when you get in there you’ll
agree
. T
here’s
no way
this is a suicide,” he declared. “Someone definitely wanted this guy dead and
they succeeded.”
The officer advised the sheriff that the crime lab was on
their way down from their headquarters, their arrival still about an hour away.
The investigators from the lab would look for trace evidence at the crime
scene, perhaps providing the sheriff a starting point in his homicide probe.
Given the relatively small size of Castle County, Sam depended on the help of
the state crime lab on the rare occasion there was an unsolved murder, the
number of which Sam could count on one hand during his entire tenure as
sheriff.
“Well, let’s get this over,” Sam said as he walked up the
steps to the small white house careful not to touch the door knob which might
still contain fingerprint evidence.
“Watch out when you go in, sir,” the deputy called out
from behind. “It’s pretty messy. You might step in something.”
Sam was immediately greeted by a scene of slaughter as he
pushed the door open a few
inches
. B
lood
was clearly visible splattered across the carpet and
back wall of the entry way.
“You weren’t kidding, were you?” Sam
said
give
n the
horrific scene
befo
re him.
Sam
looked
back at the deputy who still stood at the bottom of the
stairs. He was apparently not keen on seeing the hideous scene again. The
sheriff figured it was young Faulkner’s first body, something that could make
anyone a bit squeamish. Despite seeing his share of bodies over the years, the
initial shock was something he hadn't gotten used to.
The stiff remains of Andy Crouch, his body likely suffering
from the throes of rigor mortis and from the bitter cold, lie on the floor just
inside the door. The cause of his death was apparent. An ax laid buried deep in
his
forehead
. H
is
eyes were still open wide suggesting his death was
instantaneous.
“Yep, I think we got us a murder,” Sam agreed.
Sam squeezed past the body and pool of blood, being
careful not to leave his footprint in the evidence.
“The poor guy never knew what hit him,” the sheriff
noted.
Sam figured the victim was dead before he hit the floor.
The crime scene before him suggested he’d been surprised when he answered
his door, ambushed by whoever was waiting outside.
“Plus I don’t think our victim was in any condition to do
that,” Faulkner said, pointing toward a mirrored bureau in the living room of
the residence.
Given the shocking specter of the bloody victim lying in
the doorway, Sam failed to notice the mirror and the red letters written on it.
As the old-timers often say, “if it were a bear it would have bit him”.
“
Red Dog
,” Sam read aloud as he stepped over to the
mirror
.
T
he
words were written crudely on the glass, some of the
crimson ink running down to the bottom of the mirror from the letters.
“What do you think?” Sam asked the young lawman realizing
this was a perfect time to begin grooming the new officer for bigger and better
things in the department. “I assume this is your first homicide.”
The deputy shook his head. He readily seized the
opportunity to play the part of detective despite being the greenhorn of the
department.
“Looks like it was written in blood to me, sir,” he
responded. “Looks like whoever did this used the victim’s blood to write that
on the mirror for some reason.”
“Yes, I’d have to agree,” Sam said he took
a close look at the mirror. “And it appears they painted it on here
with their finger.”
“Why would someone do that, sir?” the deputy asked.
“It’s the proverbial writing on the wall, deputy. Whoever
did this was sending a message,” Sam answered.
Glancing down as he examined the writing on the mirror, the
sheriff noticed a wallet on the bureau. It was lying in plain sight, close
enough to the mirror that a couple of drops of the crimson fluid had
dripped on it.
“Seven hundred dollars and all of his credit cards,” Sam
noted as he looked through the wallet. “It doesn’t look like this was a
robbery. I mean if you’re taking time to use the man’s blood to scrawl out a
message on the mirror, I think you’d notice his fat wallet right there.”
Sam worked his way back out of the one-bedroom
house
care
ful not
to
disturb
anything. He
shut
the door behind him, leaving the scene sealed for the
crime lab.
“So he didn’t show up for second shift meaning this
probably happened sometime before seven last night,” Sam
said.
He was
familiar
with Rockford’s schedule since he had worked there for a short time after his
time in the army
.
“
That means he
was lying here all night until someone found him this morning. Who was it that
found the body?” Sam asked.
The deputy reached in the car and pulled out his notes.
“It was a guy named Eddie Young,” the officer began. “He
said our victim was just a regular guy who liked partying a lot. As far as he
knew he didn’t have any enemies, at least no one who’d want him dead. He said
the guy worked at the plant for nearly twenty years and was a good
employee. Aside from his drinking he was just your regular everyday guy.”
Sam took Eddie’s number and address with plans
to contact him later. He realized nothing more could be done at the scene
until the crime lab arrived, his tromping about making it more likely he might
contaminate the crime scene. A trip to his office and a hot cup of coffee would
be his next move.
“I need you to watch the place until the crime lab gets
here and then I’ll send out someone to relieve you,” Sam directed. “And one
more thing, keep what was written on the mirror quiet. We don’t want that
getting out to the public quite yet.”
“Yes sir,” the young officer responded. “What do you make
of it, sheriff? The only Red Dog I know of was the old bar that used to sit off
East Ridge Highway but that’s been gone, well, since before I was born. Folks
just use it when they give out directions and tell you go out to the old Red
Dog and take a left.”
“Some things never die,” Sam declared as he walked back to
his car, the sun finally getting high enough to offer a faint ray of warmth on
the otherwise cold morning. “The old Red Dog will always be there.”
Given the fact Eddie lived between the crime scene and
Sam’s office, the sheriff figured he may as well make a stop on his way to
headquarters to pick his brain for any details the young deputy may have not
elicited. After all, he was already wide awake and any chance of returning to
his slumber at this hour was null out of the question. Plus, Sam knew people
often think more clearly once they are removed from a traumatic situation,
their thought process clouded the closer they are to that trauma. Finding a
co-worker’s body with an ax sunk several inches deep in his head, like Eddie
did earlier that morning, would qualify as traumatic in Sam’s book. It was
certainly no way to begin one’s day.
The sheriff pulled into the driveway and made his way to
the
door
. H
is
first knocks on the door of the double-wide
trailer weren't answered despite Eddie’s truck parked outside his
residence. Surely he hadn’t gone to sleep already, especially after what he had
just witnessed. Sam knew it would be hard for a man to lay his head down and
fall into slumber after witnessing such a heinous sight.
After nearly a minute of knocking by the sheriff, Eddie
made his way to the
door
, the tall, dark-headed man with a scraggly graying
beard still dressed in his factory uniform.
“Come on in,” Eddie invited with a slight slur in his voice.
He motioned the sheriff into his messy living
room
where
the
smell of
liquor hung heavy. The host walked with a slight wobble.
“Care for a drink?” Eddie asked.
“It’s a little early for that don’t you think?” Sam replied
as Eddie refilled his glass with straight bourbon, taking a big swallow as he
sat down on his couch.
“It’s never too early,” Eddie retorted. “Don’t worry
sheriff, I’m not drunk yet. I’m just taking the edge off.”