Sins of the Mother-Chapter 2 Critique Wanted

Chapter 2

The storm clouds on Howie's face had disappeared by the time they got back to the station. Pulling into the parking lot Howie turned to Frank.

"I need your help on this one Frank, and not just as a friend. We haven't had anything like this happen around here since... I don't even remember when. I have 2 part-time deputies that aren't worth the paper their paychecks are printed on. Vance is as good a cop as anyone but he is the only one I can trust to stay at the scene and not going rummaging around looking for "clues."

"Let me think about it. I need to talk to Gloria and...well I am ..."

Howie cut him off, "Frank do you know what happens now? In big cities things like this are common, death, murder, robbery it might happen across the street but unless you know the person you have to read it in the paper. That is if it makes the news...here you know your neighbors and to think of one of them as a killer. This will shake up these people's lives...they will hear a killer with every creak of their stairs....they will see him around every corner...I need you, I will deal with the rest later."

Frank felt his skin tingle. The thrill of the chase. He was supposed to be retired and he enjoyed his life, his time with his wife but he missed the excitement.

The rest of the day was spent fielding and making phone calls. The state crime lab couldn't get anyone there for at least 3 days...yes they were sure...they were backed up as it was and well the body had been in the basement for awhile now...right... a couple more days wouldn't hurt...they understood there were only 2 full time and 2 part time police in Alma but that really wasn't their problem. Just make sure to keep the scene intact as much as possible...they would be there as soon as they can, in the mean time try your best.

"Damn it I hate when they pull that, I know you're a bumpkin but if we talk really slow maybe you'll catch on to part of what we are saying, crap." Howie said out loud.

After more calls and more shouting Howie arranged for groups of three men to guard the house. They would change shifts every four hours, but under no circumstances was anyone to go into the house. The groups were armed with police issued cell phones and cameras, but no one was to have any weapons of any kind. Howie explained. Don't need anyone shooting his foot off.

Frank handled the incoming calls.

"Have the police found the killer yet?"

"Do they have any suspects?"

"My neighbor has been acting really strange lately. Do you think maybe he did it?"

"Some new people moved into the house next door to me. They are really vague about where they came from, maybe Chief Howie should go talk to them."

The phone had rang all day, Frank had tried to explain that they had not ruled the death a homicide and until they do that there will not and should not be any suspects. They should go about their business and their neighbors are the same people they were before a body was found. By 5pm Frank was ready to go home. Gloria promised some hot chili and cold beer.

"Frank I'll give you a lift home." Said Howie.

The two men walked out together.

They drove to Frank's house in silence.

"I'll pick you up at 7 tomorrow morning Frank."

Frank could see the storm clouds brewing on Howie's face again.

He could see Gloria waiting for him in the porch. A beer in her hand. Frank almost ran to the house.

Howie walked into the dark house. He stood in the quiet for a minute. He knew the house was too big for him but he had grown up and live his whole life, except for the year that he was away at college, right in this house.

Why had he told Frank about Cris? It was that house. He had received complaints from parents...parties there...beer drinking...maybe sex...and drugs? It was his responsibility to make sure their kids were safe so as Chief he needed to have that house burned to the ground. But that would destroy his memories and they were the only things he had left. Tonight he was lonely. He used to have a dog. Maybe he should get another one. Someone to come home to.

Frank was on his second bowl of chili. This was the retirement they had planned and talked about for 4 years. In Philadelphia they were lucky to afford a 2-bedroom apartment in a decent neighborhood on his pension. He remembered the look on Gloria's face when they signed the papers on this house. For the first time in their married life they were homeowners. The first night in their house they had made love and talked till early in the morning. Something they hadn't done in ten years. Did he really want to get involved in a murder investigation? His life was quiet and simple now. He was comfortable. He had answered his own question. Yes he would get involved. He was a detective and a good one, but it was more than that. He has come to think of Alma as home. He felt like he belonged here. Someone was threatening his world and he didn't like it. He felt safe here and he intended to keep it that way.

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He knew where the dog was; he had always known where the dog was. He would stand outside the house watching through the windows, making sure the dog was o.k. Sometimes the dog would be outside on a chain. He had thought about just taking the dog but didn't want the owners coming to his house asking questions. Looking around. Wanting to talk to his mother. The dog knew he didn't forget about him. The dog knew he would be coming back for him. Looking through the window he saw that only the woman was there. He wished the man would have been there too but this would have to do. The man probably wouldn't remember about the dog anyway. He had seen the man hit the dog many times and he had been angry...so angry. He wanted to show the man what punishment for his sins would be, and later on, after he had the dog, he would, but tonight only the woman would find that no sin goes unnoticed.

He knocked on the door. The woman would let him in he was sure. She may wonder why he is coming over but by then it would be too late. He might even sit down and have coffee with her. Maybe the man would come home by then. He felt goose bumps on his arm. He felt powerful. Did the woman realize what was going to happen? Did she sense anything different? This time he would look into her eyes. Eyes are the windows of the soul. What would he see?

"Oh it's you," the woman said, "with all the commotion going on I didn't know whether to answer the door or not. Come in but please try and make it fast...I am very busy."

The woman wanted fast and that is what she got. She didn't see the first blow. Her back was to him. For the second she turned around. He didn't see anything in her eyes. No fear. No surprise. Nothing. Now they were two dead pools of water. Just as he had with his mother he made sure she would never see his sins again. He picked up the dog and left.

Tom Bruzzard, Buzzy, to his friends and drinking buddies sat at the bar. Knowing he should go home and not caring if he did or not. He asked the bartender for another beer. The only other person in the bar was a washed out looking red head who smiled every time he looked over at her.

That's all I need, he thought, more women problems. Or more problems period.

Damn the IRS.

Damn his wife Ginger.

And damn Amber.

Damn the whole world for all he cared.

He had been the high school football star. People were surprised when he started dating Ginger. He could have had his pick of women. Ginger was short, skinny as a rail, and flat chested. He wondered if Ginger ever realized why he married her.

Back then, like now, the only thing that turned him on was girl's...young girls. Ginger had saved him. She was the same age as him but looked like a 12 year old...had the body of a 12 year old. That didn't stop him from still wanting. A business trip to Minneapolis...cruising down Hennepin Boulevard...they were there, young, ripe and ready for the taking, with no angry father to press charges.

It was all going to blow up in his face.

His business partner Ted had invited them over for his 4^{th of July picnic and there she was, Amber, his 13 years old daughter. Always wanting to sit on Uncle Buzzy's lap...she knew what she was doing. He tried to resist...he tried using Gloria but nothing worked He hadn't really done anything wrong. Just some kissing and hugging. She said she loved him. She has said yes to so many times, he thought it was a game when she told him no. After all they had come so close before. How much could she expect him to take? She was torturing him, so if he hurt her a little...well she deserved it. Now she was threatening to tell her dad. She started it, anyone can see that, she may have the face and body of a 13 year old but her thoughts were older, much older.}

Ginger hadn't made his life any easier either. It was one complaint after another. Most of it centered around her dog. So he'd had a little bit too much to drink one night and the dog got out. That old lady that found it had given it back so really no harm was done. What a nasty old bitch she was. The way she talked about her kid. He thought at first he might have a shot there but, he shook his head at the memory ...strange family. Besides that was almost a year ago you'd think she could get over it by now. He had bigger fish to fry. The IRS had been breathing down his neck. Something about questionable business expenses. Hell wining and dining was part of the game. He had the most successful used car dealership in town and he planned on keeping it that way. Well maybe not the most successful but...someday. All he need to do was get over this slump then he would tell them all to go to hell.

"One more for the road." He said to the bartender. Whatever didn't cure him hopefully would kill him.

As long as that dog didn't bark Buzzy figured Ginger wouldn't wake up and catch him coming home drunk again. He went through the back door into the kitchen. So far so good. No Ginger. He didn't dare turn on the light she could hear a pin drop in her sleep and that was sure to wake her up. The farthest he figured he could make it was the living room couch. Ginger could care less whether he slept with her or not. He would lie down for a couple of hours, get up and go to work. Maneuvering around the couch was quite an effort in the dark. The last thing he remembers is tripping over something on the living room floor. The coffee table right in front of his face but he was too drunk to move fast enough to put out his hands. His world went dark.