Chapter 106

word count 1267

Gil and Hank were on the road traveling only a few miles when a call came in from Buzz. Hank answered.

"Hey Hank. It's Buzz. John just called me about what happened with the kids. Are you and Gil on the case?"

Hank stiffened. His blood pressure still rose every time Buzz came around. He couldn't get past what the bastard did to Jeannie. He answered in stiff, clipped phrases.

"Yeah, on our way to check a black sedan. Bullet hole in wind shield, blood, all consistent with the shot fired."

"Well, John called me because Adam was involved. Look, this is personal. I'm in. I called and got the home address for Mick. I'll go check it out and talk to his next of kin."

"Great. Keep in touch." Hank flipped his cell shut and stuffed it in his pocket.

Gil, who had been driving, looked over with an eager expression. "Who was that?" he asked.

"Buzz. He's checking out info on Mick."

"Good. We need all the help we can get."

***

"Looks like Mick did some high living for only making a detective's salary." Buzz murmured the words as he eased the car down Rosemoor St. The neighborhood of Upper Pines was a ritzy area, just on the edge of the city. Massively wide streets with maples all perfected lined up along the sidewalk greeted visitors like a storybook setting. The homes, or rather mansions, looked like million dollar babies with three stories full of windows dressed in colorful shutters. Red brick, yellow brick, all types were here as though each owner wanted his home to be different. Balconies jutted out of upper story windows so inhabitants could sit out alone. One wouldn't want to be like city people congregating on their stoops within yelling distance of each other. These residents prized their privacy, their dignity, their decorum.

Buzz shuffled through the notes he'd made which were scattered on the passenger seat in no particular order.

He found it, the house number on a ragged piece of paper, 718. Gazing at the street, he saw houses in the 600's. Speeding though the intersection, he slowed again in the 700 block. He found it on a busy corner. Although the rest of the neighborhood houses all had spacious lots, a half acre or more, this property was only half that large. And it looked like a solemn house, in dark red brick with dark blue shutters. The front door was equally depressing. There was nothing bright or contrasting in the colors of the place. And it was massive. Three stories loomed high, a foreboding fortress because of its dark hues.

Buzz parked and crawled out of the car, no easy task with his bum leg. Finally upright and ready, he pushed hard on the cane, taking small steps up the brick-lined path to the front door.

Pushing the door bell, he leaned on his cane to wait. The bell rang out Westminster Chimes on the other side of the door.

He stood and waited, ascertaining no signs of life until finally the door cracked open a few inches.

"Hello, may I help you?" The words came out stiff and uneasy. The voice was squeaky and high.

Buzz leaned forward trying to glimpse who was inside. The opening was too small to tell.

"Detective Miller, Albany Police. I'm looking for the family of Mick Johnson." He pushed his badge through the open crack.

"Why?"

"Er, well, are you related to him?"

A long pause filled the air until finally the small voice spoke. "I'm his mother. Did he do something wrong? He's a policeman, you know!"

"No, no! He didn't do anything wrong. May I come in, Mrs. Johnson?"

With hesitancy, she opened the door, first only a little, and then wide to accommodate Buzz's considerable girth.

"Thank you, Mrs. Johnson. I need to talk to you about Mick."

A darkened room awaited Buzz as he entered. Coming in from sunlight, his eyes ached before they adjusted to the dimness. When he could finally see, he blinked and took a second look. It was like stepping into your grandmother's parlor. Every table was graced with an ornate hand-crafted doily and decorated lamps with massive shades. It was a haven of flowery patterns and lacy what nots.

"Won't you have a seat?" she asked, taking a place herself on a rocking chair which she started to rock back and forth as soon as she sat.

Buzz chose the most old-fashioned sofa he had ever seen, held up on wooden legs and decorated with a flowered brocade. The cushion squeaked when he landed. When he glanced to the right, he spied shelves with row after of row of antique dolls with more lace, an obvious collection of some sort. The place was making him uneasy in its blatant femininity. And he felt like the dolls were staring at him, all lined up and pointed his way, dozens of little glass eyes. He shrugged it all off and got down to business.

"Mrs. Johnson, I'm here about your son. We found him with a bullet to the head. I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnson, but he is dead." He sat back, ready for the tears. He'd have to find a way to comfort the poor woman. But there were no tears.

"Mick is dead? Well, I'm not surprised! My idiot son couldn't do anything right!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Mickey! He was clumsy, stupid. I always wondered how he managed to survive this long."

Buzz stared at her, his jaw dropping, then continued. "I'm sorry, but he wasn't killed in the line of duty. He wasn't on assignment. It appeared to be a personal matter of some sort. We found his body in the junkyard on the other side of town."

"So someone tossed him like yesterday's garbage?"

"Well, I don't know if I would phrase it that way, but yes. Did he have any enemies that you know of, Mrs. Johnson?" He looked at the woman. She had caustic language for such a sweet-looking lady. White hair, tightly curled, graced her face while tiny silver metal glasses perched on her nose. She looked at him now with a childlike expression, full of wonder and expectation. She was obviously confused at the concept of her boy having enemies.

"No, my boy was awkward, not a lot of friends, but he didn't have any enemies that I knew of."

"So, he lived here at the house with you?"

"Yes. His room was upstairs. He was busy with work. I didn't see him all that much, except for Sundays. We always had dinner together on Sunday."

"That's nice...may I see his room, if you don't mind. I may be able to find some evidence of what happened."

"Certainly." She shot him a nervous smile, her mouth a tiny slit in the wrinkled face. "Come this way."

She went up the stairs first, with Buzz behind, taking one step at a time with his cane. Once she'd opened the door to Mick's room, she stood aside to let Buzz enter. As soon as the cop was through, she slammed the back of his head with a huge, metal candlestick from the hallway table. The thud of metal hitting bone was the last sound he heard before losing consciousness.

He dropped to the floor and never knew what hit him.