The Reverent Dead, page 1
part #2 of Dirk Bentley Mystery Series
THE REVERENT DEAD
Bryan Nowak
Contents
1. Calling all Cars … Calling all Cars
2. The Archbishop of Charlottetown
3. Criminals Make the Worst Business Associates
4. Just Leave it to Victor
5. Oh Yeah, Dudette!
6. I Hear a Ring. Can You Answer That?
7. Formality is Underrated
8. The Scent of Stale Beer and Mistrust
9. Dilectionem Vestram, et Accusavit!
10. Bad Cops in the Receiving Department
11. And the Hits Keep Coming
12. Little Kids Playing Grown-up Games
13. The Fighting Dead
14. Even the Perfect Make Mistakes Sometimes
15. The Water Department and Other Dangerous Organizations
16. Bombs Never Discriminate
17. Who Knows What Evil Lurks in the Hearts of Men?
18. The Curiously Empty Offices of Center Point
19. Cat and Mouse
20. Hunters Become the Hunted
21. Burrito Night
22. Unfathomable Cold
23. Thirty Feet of Holy Rope to Hang Yourself With
24. Officer Down. I Repeat, Officer Down.
25. You Crossed the Wrong Man
26. The Cavalry Arrives to a Pool of Green Mud
27. Impassioned Pleas Fall on Sleeping Ears
28. Tears and Blood Flow Freely
Acknowledgments
Other Books by Bryan Nowak
Copyright © 2019 by Bryan S. Nowak
All rights reserved
Editing by Kelly Hartigan, XterraWeb;
http://editing.xterraweb.com
Bryan Nowak – Sterling, VA
www.bryannowak.com
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic means including information storage or renewal systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewing party, who may quote short passages in support of a review.
The information in this book is based purely on fictional events. All characters are fictional with the exception of certain historical figures. Any resemblance of the main characters to any people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.
First Edition
United States of America
1
Calling all Cars … Calling all Cars
Carrie tried to remember the old saying about sailors and skies as she drove toward the police station. Something about red sky in the morning and red sky at night. While the meaning escaped her, certainly the red sky at night stood out as the better of the two. If that was the case, the delightfully pink evening sky suggested the next day would be a gift.
Too bad I am destined to spend most of it sleeping after the night shift.
Following in the footsteps of her father, Carrie Pettygrew made her way through the police department with the encouragement of her friend, boss, mentor, and now police chief, Melonie Dixon. Every step of the way, she proved a quick study. Smart and quick on her feet, she was well liked on the force.
Only recently achieving the rank of acting detective, she threw her heart into the work. As the new detective, she drew the short straw and had to cover the dreaded night shift, an assignment no one ever took willingly. Still, Carrie wanted to make a good impression. Not one to mind the work, it gave her access to all the city's stranger late-night cases. She hated being away from home at night far less than her longtime boyfriend Dirk did, as he preferred to have her home at night.
While waiting at a red light, she checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her mother used to comment that her gray eyes looked troubled and stormy upon first glance and softer after you spent time with her. She once wanted to be a model, but being several inches short of the minimum ensured the runway was not a suitable career choice. Growing up in a cop family almost guaranteed her a spot at the police academy.
Crossing the intersection of Central Avenue and Fourteenth Street, she rolled down the window and breathed in the night air. It was intoxicating.
The police scanner had been eerily quiet while she dressed for work that afternoon. Any cop worth their badge allowed a sixth sense to inform them something was about to happen.
Dirk sensed it too. He seemed extra clingy this afternoon. She admonished him to stop pestering her so she could get on with her day, unwilling to admit to herself that she wanted him as close to her as possible. Without an active case to work, Dirk Bentley, in his role as private investigator, would not be allowed to ride along.
Carrie tried to calm her unsettled nerves. Outside the car’s window, a light breeze rustled the autumn leaves. The smell of decay played in her nose forced thoughts of Dirk to give way to ideas of caramel apples and spiced cider.
The radio broke in with the calm, sardonic voice of the county dispatcher. "Attention, all cars in the vicinity of Central and Twentieth, Center Point Security is reporting an intrusion at twenty-twenty-eight Central Avenue."
Reflexively, Carrie reached for the radio while glancing up at the street sign indicating she passed the intersection of Seventeenth Street and Central Avenue. "Fifteen-seventy-one to base, responding. You can show me on duty and on scene. Will wait for backup. Advise, no lights or sirens." Carrie, being the on-call detective, was the ranking officer by default on the night shift. Lights and sirens spooked criminals, and she did not want to chase someone down a dark alley, at night, on the first few minutes of her shift.
"Affirmative, Fifteen-seventy-one, I show you on scene and on duty." After a brief moment she continued. "All units responding to twenty-twenty-eight Central Avenue be advised no lights or sirens."
A block away, Carrie brought her car to a stop several houses from the address. The building, a gothic church built in the early part of the twentieth century, dominated the area. Sodium-vapor bulbs bathed the front of the church in an eerie yellow glow. The light breeze sent leaves whirling along the sidewalk to undeclared destinations. Nothing living moved, and there was no sign of anything amiss beyond the morose night scene of the urban landscape.
A few minutes later, a crackle erupted from her radio. "Detective Pettygrew, Officer Collins and Sergeant Davis here for backup. What's your play?"
Davis, a veteran on the force and someone you wanted to have your back in a fight, stood out as the model of a great cop. The executive officer of the National Black Law Enforcement Officer Association, local scoutmaster, and chairperson of the PTA, his call sign on the department was All American. Carrie's nerves steadied slightly, knowing the caliber of her backup.
Officer Collins, in sharp contrast, glowed goth-white, loved grunge metal music, and weighed in at about one hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet with rocks in his pockets. The patrolman struck Carrie as someone in constant need of more food, more exercise, and more time in the sun. With an uncanny inability to fill out any uniform, no matter how tailored the fit, the kid looked perpetually like an intern on his first day. However, the young patrolman's reports showed him to be a competent officer, and when not working, Collins spent much of his leisure time studying police procedure, and Davis trusted the rookie.
"Davis, I think there are two entrances. Have the new guy keep an eye on the front while we check around back. You head around your side, and I'll cross the front. Meet me at the rear entrance." Carrie had reservations about taking a new cop into a potentially dangerous situation. She and Davis understood the layout of the building. After the all clear was given, she planned to take Collins through to check the place out.
"Ten-four, Detective," Davis replied.
She watched the light inside their squad car turn on and both men step out. The patrolman crept to the front of the church, avoiding the illumination of the streetlight and ensuring no one looking from the windows would see the wiry officer lurking in the shadows. Davis, also avoiding the light, turned down the alleyway opposite the one Carrie now made her way down.
Drawing her weapon, she took careful steps as she picked through the broken bottles and abandoned shipping boxes left to rot. The last thing they needed was noise to scare off any would-be suspects. Clearing the side of the building, she scared a cat and almost disturbed the peaceful slumber of a homeless man snoring inside an old children's sleeping bag.
In the darkness, she breathed a sigh of relief, making out the form of the sergeant standing behind the church. Someone had broken the streetlight covering the entrance, giving Carrie a good idea where they would begin their search for an intruder.
Sergeant Davis pointed down a short flight of stairs. Carrie could just make out the steel basement door of the church. Its metal frame had been pried open like a tin can, dispelling any hope she had of a false alarm. Approaching the steps, pricks of moisture broke out on her skin while her heart raced like it wanted to jump out and run away from the scene of the crime. Not exactly how I wanted my workday to start.
Sergeant Davis, the consummate gentleman, motioned for Carrie to cover the door while he went in first. She nodded and said a silent prayer. The last thing she needed before her vacation was to get shot or beaten up.
Through the open door, the ambient light from the alley cast a rude glow into the church basement. The aroma of dust, rotting paper, and mothballs assaulted Carrie's sense of smell. It reminded her of her great-aunt Tilda's house. Nothing moved inside, and the door remained blissfully quiet as Davis opened it.
As Davis covered the hallway, Carrie entered and made her way into the d arkened room. Carrie had attended a dozen or more weddings, baptisms, and funerals in this church, so she knew the layout well. The kitchen featured pots and pans either hanging on hooks or stashed away in cupboards where they belonged.
After sweeping the room, Carrie moved to the next, a small library doubling as a youth room for the younger kids. Small plastic chairs and beanbags presented the largest impediments. The tiny chairs momentarily made her think of the children she hoped she and Dirk would someday have. Focus, Detective.
The next room on her end of the hallway stood empty, save for the stacks of chairs waiting to be used in the large banquet hall. Although she hated to give away her position, she removed her small flashlight and scanned the darker corners of the room. After confirming she was alone, Carrie put the light away and let her eyes readjust to the darkness.
From upstairs came a thud. It sounded like a pile of hymnals being knocked to the floor.
"Would you watch where you are going?" a voice cried out.
Sergeant Davis appeared at the end of the hallway, locking eyes with Carrie. They stood in silence, listening to the conversation taking place one floor up.
"Shut up, asshole." Another voice pierced the darkness. Neither of the men seemed to realize that a whisper inside a church sanctuary carried a considerable distance.
"Hey, needle dick, leave that shit. We need to go. We're taking too long."
Another loud crash, followed by unrestrained yelling, would have seemed comical if they were not trying to apprehend burglary suspects. Something moved across the floor, making a strange shuffling sound suggesting an object heavier than either man could lift.
Carrie risked a whisper, knowing the racket the men made would conceal it. "I may not be super cop, but I'm pretty sure the guys we' are looking for are upstairs. I'll go to the main stairs at the front. Take the rear steps. I’d like to try boxing them in."
Davis, who until now looked calm and collected, chortled lightly at her joke. A sudden gleam in his eye made him appear less like a police sergeant and more like a Labrador in a tennis ball factory. He beamed at the idea of collaring a criminal.
Carrie gave Davis a minute to reach the back stairs, which led up to the small room behind the altar where the priest changed out of his robes. Now, it served their purposes, ensuring one of them moved in coordinated fashion on either side of the church sanctuary. She ascended to the first landing, which would take her up to the coatroom near the church's entryway.
The shuffling of items along the floor stopped, and the two voices murmured to each other.
Carrie pulled out her cell phone and texted Collins: Two suspects inside. Davis and I moving to intercept. Be ready in case they bolt.
Collins responded with smiley face and thumbs-up emojis.
God, I hate millennials.
She climbed the rest of the stairs, pausing long enough to discern two figures moving around the dimly lit sanctuary. For the moment, the two were staring at a pile of items on the floor. Carrie backed away, doing her best to avoid the light streaming in from the doors.
A loud crash rang out from behind the altar, alerting everyone in the building to their presence.
Davis broke radio silence. "That was me. Sorry."
At once, the reverent silence became a chaotic tumult. The two suspects bolted in separate directions, tripping over everything in their path. Carrie reached the door to the sanctuary just in time to see one of the men bolt out a side door with Sergeant Davis giving chase.
Carrie flipped a light switch on the wall, the luminescence jumping to life just in time for her to see the second man lunge past her and crash through the front doors of the church. She followed the would-be burglar and was rewarded by watching Officer Collins execute a perfect roundhouse kick, putting the man firmly on his back, his head bouncing off the curb. Before Carrie even processed what she just witnessed, Collins turned the suspect onto his stomach and cuffed his hands behind his back. The lanky officer had not uttered a single word during the seemingly fluid action.
"Holy crap, Collins. That was friggin' awesome." Carrie detected the slightest smile from the lanky youth as he bowed to his bested adversary.
Carrie grabbed her handheld radio. "Davis, what's your location?"
"On my way back, boss. Perp got away." Disappointment seeped from Sergeant Davis’s voice. "Understood, American Dad. You'll get him next time. Come on back." Standard protocol in a chase at night was to pursue the suspect until it was no longer safe to do so. Dark alleys presented the most unsafe of all scenarios. Charlottetown was not a dangerous city, but it retained bad elements like any other.
Carrie made a quick call to inform dispatch what happened. She directed the crime scene unit and four other squad cars to help control the growing pajama-clad crowd exiting their homes at the sight of the handcuffed man on the sidewalk fronting the church. Sergeant Davis made his way back along the side of the alley to rejoin Carrie and Collins.
"That little ... idiot ... got away from me. I was literally six inches from grabbing him. He flipped over a fence and kept running. Too dark back there for me to keep up." He sighed. "I'm not as young as I used to be." Davis injected a humorous tone although Carrie knew he took losing a suspect personally.
"I think you mean that little shithead, but I hear you." Carrie put her hand on the large man's shoulder. "You did fine. More importantly, you came back in one piece. Too bad you missed your little buddy here karate kicking this guy and hog-tying him in what had to be record time. It was amazing."
The suspect, regaining consciousness after EMTs administered a smelling salt, wore the ubiquitous low-hung jeans and torn T-shirt of any garden variety dirtbag one would find on any city street. His appearance was marred slightly by the fresh slick of blood from an abrasion on his face.
"It was kung fu," Collins said.
Carrie cocked her head to one side. "What was?"
Collins straightened up. "Oh, forgive my insubordination. It was kung fu, Detective."
"No, that's not what I meant." Lights of the crime scene truck and several responding patrol cars lit up the sides of the buildings in a wash of red and blue. Uniformed officers swept the building looking for other potential suspects hiding in crevices the trio had been unable to search. "What I meant, Collins, is I'd like to know how you were able to perform that kick."
"As I said, kung fu, Detective," Collins said, shoving the suspect into the back of their patrol car and slamming the door.
"Oh, sweet Jesus, never mind." She shook her head and smiled. "Congratulations, Officer Collins, you go on record as making your first arrest. Now you get to fill out the paperwork. You two take Prince Charming for a quick examination at the emergency room to make sure you didn't scramble his brains too much. If he's all right, lock his ass to a table in an interrogation room. We can find out where scumbag number two got off to."
The parish priest, a fat little man with a nervous disposition, arrived and repeatedly attempted to enter the premises against the instructions of the officers present. Officers kept him out, insisting it remain untouched while the crime scene investigators finished collecting evidence, taking pictures, and dusting for prints. Davis and Collins left with the perpetrator for the hospital.
Carrie entered the church with the pudgy priest, systematically inspecting the first floor, looking for anything missing. Although the burglars appeared to linger in the building long enough to raid the refrigerator and make a pile of brass fixtures and expensive crystal, the alarm system did only half its job as the outside annunciator and the lights did not perform their critical tasks.
