When I got to the living room, I grabbed my bag from where it leaned against the sofa.
I reached in and closed my hand around my gun.
Thank you, God.
As I called 911, I peeked through slits in the window blinds. The street looked empty, but I thought I saw something glinting on the front lawn. What was it?
I told the dispatcher my name, rank, and shield number, and that shots had been fired at 265 Sea View.
“Anyone hurt?”
“No, I’m fine, but call Chief Stark on this.”
“It’s already been called in, Lieutenant. The cavalry is on the way.”
Chapter 111
I HEARD SIRENS AND saw flashing lights approaching Sea View. As the first cruiser arrived, I opened the front door, and Martha bolted past me. She ran over to a snakelike object that was lying in the moonlight.
She gave it a sniff.
“Martha, what have you found? What is it, girl?”
I was hunkered down beside Martha when Chief Peter Stark got out of his squad car. He walked over with his flashlight and knelt down next to me.
“You okay?”
“Yep. I’m good.”
“Is that what I think it is?” he asked.
Together, we looked at a man’s belt. It was about thirty-six inches long and a half-inch wide, narrow brown leather with a squared dull silver buckle. It was such an ordinary belt; probably half the people in the state had one like it in their closet somewhere.
But this particular belt seemed to have some brownish-red stains on the metalwork.
“Wouldn’t it be grand,” I said, refusing to dwell on the terror of the last few minutes—how those shots had surely been meant for me—“wouldn’t it be something,” I said to Chief Stark, “if this belt was evidence?”
Chapter 112
THREE SQUAD CARS HAD pulled up to the curb. Radios sputtered and crackled, and all along Sea View, lights went on in houses, and people came out onto their doorsteps wearing PJs and robes, T-shirts and shorts, hair standing up, fear overriding the lines in their sleep-creased faces.
Cat’s front yard was lit by headlights, and as the cops exited their cars, they conferred with the chief and spread out. A couple of uniforms started collecting shell casings, and a pair of detectives began to canvass the neighbors.
I took Stark into the house, and together we examined the shattered windows, the splintered furniture, and the bullet-pocked headboard in “my” bedroom.
“Any thoughts on who did this?” Stark asked me.
“None,” I said. “My car’s in the driveway where anyone can see it, but I didn’t let anyone know I’d be in town.”
“And why are you here, Lieutenant?”
I was considering the best way to answer that when I heard Allison and Carolee calling out my name. A young cop with ruddy, protruding ears came to the threshold and told Stark that I had visitors.
“They can’t come in here,” Stark said. “Jesus Christ, is someone roping off the street?”
The uniformed cop’s face colored completely as he shook his head no.
“Why the hell not? Number one: Stabilize the scene. Get on it.”