Detective Korman

15:40 HOURS

"This is bullshit, Kelly," snapped Maxine. "What the hell is going on? And why are there five bags of grass clippings cut open? They reek." She said.

At first, I didn't answer her but shushed her instead. I took in the backyard, scanning from the fence to our left across to the side patio door leading to a once screened-in porch.

"This is all fresh, Max. The deer, the pigs, and the bags of grass."

"You mean this guy went looking for people who cut their lawn?"

I looked at the dirt, kicked up some dust, and smiled.

"Okay, that was stupid," she said, shaking her head.

I could feel the air clinging to my skin, causing me to break out in a sweat and struggle to take deep breaths.

"These are defensive barriers. And the smells throw off the scent of whatever is hidden from the dogs."

I stepped back, requesting Maxine to do the same. I nodded for her to help me take the broken gate and lean it against the front of two dead rose bushes. As we laid it down, I stepped onto it and heard the snapping and cracking of the dehydrated vine and thorns.

"How long have we been getting noise complaints from this location?" I asked. She didn't hesitate in response.

"Since my first roll call. And I remember how everyone complained."

I closed my eyes, hoping to understand better why my shadow sense was raging. Something wicked, something tragic, had happened in this backyard. And maybe all those noise complaints were the tip of something dreadful.

Maxine broke my concentration. She stepped toward me, put her hand on my bicep, and I could feel her breath on my ear.

"Did you hear that?" she whispered. Maxine pointed at a decaying window frame as I blinked my eyes open. Its paint-stained glass, smothered in grime and chipped wood, was like looking into the depths of a masked evil that fought to stay anonymous.

"I heard something," she said. "It sounds like moaning. Kelly, I think there might be someone inside."

The air was stale and refused to move. The train tracks that ran a stone's throw from the back fence were dead silent. Max was stiff, inclining her ears to listen to what she thought was a human moan. But I didn't hear it.

This was when I had to rely on Max's instincts, trusting that she would lead us in the right direction. My mind was filled with a whirlwind of thoughts, debating whether I had trained her correctly or if my affection for her had clouded my judgment.

"Central," I said into my collar mic. "I need Bravo and Charlie to come in stealth with no visual on the structure. Proceed to the address on foot. We might have someone inside."

After I finished my broadcast, I heard the faint hum of a Dodge Charger and the crunching gravel and dirt from behind. I was quick to look over my shoulder while maintaining a state of readiness in the backyard.

A stocky detective stepped from a navy-blue unmarked car, his shoulder holster tight to his ribs, and his handcuff sling held them to the front of his belt. Pushing five-eleven he was wearing khakis and a black button-down short-sleeved shirt. He rolled back his shoulders as he approached Max and me.

I felt unnerved when I saw his nickel badge with blue enamel emblazoned with Detective and Staff Sergeant.

"Major Case, huh?" I said. "This is probably way below your pay grade, my man."

He didn't respond. He looked at Maxine, but not sexually. I can tell he was trying to size her up as a uniform.

He stepped toward the rotting porch door, putting both hands on the frame.

He waved me over with his finger and looked away. It seemed like he was listening, trying to keep situational awareness.

"I heard your broadcast," he whispered. "Why do you think someone's inside?"

"My partner said she heard something. I don't know, maybe a moan?"

"Did you hear it?"

"No."

He was quick to hush me by putting his finger to his mouth. His movements were sudden as he pointed at Max to withdraw from the backyard and drew his .40.

"Back out but say nothing," he said. I followed his command and drew my .40. We crouched low and withdrew beneath the window toward the bushes. He pulled his weapon close to his chest, just below his chin, careful not to cross over his steps and remain balanced. With his non-gun hand, he reached back, stiff-arming me for a tactical withdrawal through the skeletal rose bushes, the broken patio littered with cans, and the broken gate.

"She's right," he said, reaching for his back pocket. "Something's happening in there. Tell your units to keep their distance and proceed on foot. Send one to the tracks and the other to the north side of the house."

I watched him take his cell phone and, with his left thumb, find the contact he wanted.

"Yeah, this is Korman," he said. "I think we've got contact with Skeleton One. Two-Zero-Six, Fifth Avenue."

As he continued, I backed away, waving Max toward me. She had not yet drawn her pistol, although she kneeled several yards from the corner of the house.

"Get in the RMP and take it around to the back. Use the access road near Egan's. Take your time and make it look like you're clearing the scene. Call it in as unfounded."

Max nodded and reached for my belt. I was still drawn with both hands on my pistol. A tug on my belt keeper followed a tiny jingle as she detached the keys from their clip.

"Kelly," she said. "I don't like this. Something's going to happen. I can feel it." Her voice was stilted as her gaze switched between the house and mine.

Running thoughts flashed through my mind. They were fast-moving and out of control. Whatever Skeleton One meant, it unnerved Detective Korman and escalated forthwith up the chain of command.

I saw Max's widened eyes, drawn face, and stiff shoulders. When I noticed her flushed face, I shushed her and dipped my head to keep her eye contact with me.

"Listen to me," I whispered. "All you need to do is stay frosty and stay alert. That's it."

She remained motionless under my intense gaze. The rotting house, horrific stench, and broken gate held an oppressive silence as if crying out in agony. We were on the brink of an unknown event that surpassed our understanding, which terrified me. I had to conceal my fright from her, for she relied on me, just like any boot, to exude composure and assurance. But deep down, I knew the truth.