Part Eight

Tom entered his oven-like apartment and went straight to the refrigerator for a cold drink. Deciding it was too early in the day for beer, his only other choice was orange juice. He poured a large glass and downed half of it before going to change into a cooler tank top and shorts. After finishing off his juice, he stretched out on the sofa to watch television while he waited for the repairman. Half an hour later, he woke to the persistent ringing of the doorbell. Feeling groggy and light-headed, he stumbled over to open the door.

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After staring at the photo for several seconds, Harry snapped back to his senses. "Get Ryan on the phone! NOW!" Cassy abruptly jerked back to reality at the sound of her captain's voice. Hands shaking, she retrieved the phone from the floor and dialed Tom's apartment.

Panic filled her voice as she reported, "Harry, he's not answering!"

"Try the cell phone. It's almost 10:30; maybe the repair guy's already been there, and he's on his way in," Harry ordered, fervently praying that such was the case. Cassy complied, desperately willing the captain to be right.

"No answer on the cell phone, either. Oh God, Harry! What if..." she couldn't bring herself to finish the thought.

"You stay here. I'll head over to Tom's with some uniforms and see what's going on," he commanded. "I'll let you know what's happening as soon as I can."

The clerk again entered the office, obviously excited and short of breath. "Captain, you need to take a look at this! Right now!" Harry was startled at the urgency in her tone.

Taking the slip of paper from her, he read it over several times. He turned to face Cassy, his face ghostly pale. "Report of shots fired. It's Tom's address."

"I'm going with you, and don't even think about trying to stop me," she hissed, daring the captain to contradict her. "He's my partner!"

Taking note of the steel in her voice and the fire in her eyes, Harry reluctantly agreed. "All right, but you stay out if it. I catch you doing anything besides observing, I'll have your badge," he promised. "Let's go!"

The majority of the ride to Tom's passed in tense silence, Cassy and Harry each struggling to understand what was happening and why. Finally, Cassy dared to speak. "So who is this guy, Harry? Why is he doing this?"

"I think it might be someone from my past in New York. The photo had a nickname I got during my time in the Big Apple. It didn't follow me down here. Beyond that, I don't have any idea. Could be any number of people. I'll make some calls after..." his voice trailed off, his mind unable to process the possibilities they faced.

Pulling up in front of Tom's apartment, they were greeted by flashing lights and swarming uniformed officers. Tom's department issued car was there in the Mustang's customary spot. No one was smiling. As Harry exited his vehicle, one of the officers slowly approached. He was unable to look the captain in the eye as he gave his report. "Captain, we've got a dead body inside. Close range shotgun blast to the face. Victim is about 6'2", athletic build, with sandy colored hair."

Cassy sagged against the car as everything around her took on a surreal quality. Her mind screamed at her, 'NO! NO! NO! It's not him! It can't be him! I won't let it be him!' She covered her ears, as if to stop the noise inside her head. She said nothing.

As the officer finished speaking, Harry's vision blurred and he heard nothing beyond the roaring in his ears for a brief moment. Recovering his composure, he questioned the officer. "Do we have a positive ID?"

"Well, sir, it sure looks like...I mean, there's no...it does appear to be Sergeant Ryan, sir. But we can't visually make a positive ID...there's no...there's not...I mean...sir, his whole face, it's...gone. The build looks right, but the lab will have to make the ID," the officer finally managed.

"Well, let's go see what we've got." Harry's legs felt like jelly as he slowly walked the thousand miles to the apartment door. He paused, dreading the scene he was about to enter. Gathering his strength, he slowly made his way inside.

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Harry stopped just inside the door to inspect the scene before him. There were obvious signs of a struggle. The stools which normally stood in front of the kitchen island were laying on their sides, one by the sofa, the other near the bedroom area. The body lay in the kitchen near the refrigerator, almost totally engulfed in a very large pool of blood. The blue kitchen cabinets were now covered with red splatters. A bowl lay on its side on the countertop, oranges having spilled out and rolled onto the floor. The butcher block with kitchen knives as well as the cutting board that normally sat on the island had been knocked onto the floor.

As soon as he spotted the captain, a very pale and shaken Sterling Morton from the medical examiner's office walked over to him. "Captain, you sure you're up to this? It's a pretty messy one, and considering who..."

Harry quickly cut him off. "Do you have a positive ID? Unless and until you give me something that says with 100% accuracy this is him, I don't want anyone making assumptions. Everyone clear on that?" Every head in the room nodded in understanding at both the captain's question and his emotional state. He slowly walked over to the body, Morton right beside him. Breath caught in his throat as he recognized the shorts and tank top on the body as belonging to Tom. The face and most of the head were missing, scattered in the red blotches throughout the kitchen by the shotgun blast. The rest of the body bore a strong resemblance to his detective, but Harry wouldn't yet allow himself or anyone else to identify the victim as Tom Ryan. They would wait for the lab to confirm it. It was the only way that he could ever accept what his eyes seemed to be telling him.

"There's something you should see back here," Morton pointed, indicating the back of the open door. Harry's knees almost gave out as he read the nursery rhyme, written in blood. 'Jack and Jill went up the hill...Jack fell down and broke his crown.'

After staring at the obscene message for several minutes, he turned to Morton. "Get your guys to finish up here. I have to go talk to Cassy."

Morton caught his arm as he turned to go. "Does she know...I mean, how's she doing?"

"Yeah, she's out by the car. How do you think she is?" Harry turned and left the gruesome scene giving no further answer.

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Cassy stood at the car, wanting to follow Harry, but her feet refused to move. She shivered with cold, though the temperature was in the mid-nineties. Her mind was stuck on a single thought, running through her head over and over. 'It can't be him. It can't be him.' When Harry reappeared at the door and walked towards her, she abruptly turned and got back into the passenger's seat. She stared straight ahead, fear not allowing her to look him in the eye when he got in the driver's side. "Is it?" was all she could manage to choke out.

"We have to wait for the lab to confirm the identity," was his only response. He started the engine and drove back to the station to wait, neither saying a word during the entire trip.

Harry helped Cassy out of the sedan once they arrived back at the station. Arm in arm, supporting each other, they made their way to Harry's office. Each officer they passed nodded a solemn greeting, then quickly looked away. Once they reached the office, each settled into a chair, silently staring into empty space as they waited.

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Two hours later, Morton appeared at the door to Harry's office. "Good news and bad news. We haven't been able to make a positive ID yet, but the victim is definitely not Tom Ryan. The prints don't match."

Harry slumped back in the chair, visibly relieved. Cassy did much the same, the tears she had been struggling to hold back finally finding release. Harry was quick to recover. "So what's the bad news?"

Morton was slow in answering. "The nursery rhyme was definitely written with blood. Human blood. But it didn't come from the victim. I double-checked the results myself. It was Tom's blood. There's no question about it."

End Part 8

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