Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (rooftoppers txt) 📕

on a curb by the local community college on her second day in town. She had paid a couple of young men twenty bucks to bring it over and place it under the window, creating a living room of sorts.

She opened the curtains, flopped down, and peered through the window. From her angle, not much could be seen, only what few stars had dodged both the cloud cover and ambient light of the town, and then her eyelids fell. Had she adjusted her gaze slightly, though, Maureen may have seen the thin column of smoke beginning to rise in the northern sky.

FOUR

Manny pulled up to the pale gray colonial home, slammed his truck into park, and jumped out, pulling his sport coat on and tightening his tie. The call from the station had woken him up just before six, and he had hurried over as quickly as he could. His morning stubble itched his face, and he had to pop in two pieces of gum to cover up for not brushing his teeth. The sun was low on this usually quiet subdivision street, and the houses cast long shadows over the swarm of squad cars, fire trucks, and neighbors who had spilled from their homes. Hanson, Yancy, and Collins, he noted. Everyone on the force was there besides Wentworth and his gang. Figures, thought Manny. Must be sleeping off last night. Not that their absence mattered much to whatever was going on. Several of the deputies from County and the four fireman from Station One had swelled the ranks so that the Sycamore Hills Police Department only seemed to serve in the role of crowd control.

From what dispatch had told him, there had been a pretty significant fire spotted in the Parkside Ridge subdivision at a little after four in the morning, and the fire department had been dispatched to the scene. It was they who initiated the emergency tree out to the rest of law enforcement after discovering the body. The information had been hurriedly given to him, so, while he had a vague idea of what he might be walking into, he knew that much of details surrounding the previous night’s occurrence would need to be gleaned from the firemen on scene and from the county crime scene investigator, who he was sure was called in before him. He was already scanning the crowd for Stacey. He’d never met her but, considering that she was likely going to be the only woman on the scene, he was certain he would spot her.

Manny caught the eye of Yancy as he weaved through the crowd and nodded to him. Yancy received it with a nod of his own and waved Manny over, lifting up the police tape to allow him through.

“Morning, Benitez,” Yancy greeted him in his usual laconic way. Carl was one of those by-the-book officers, more interested in getting the job done than being likable. That wasn’t to say he was outright hostile to others. He simply had a knack for keeping the personal out of the professional, used as few words as would do the trick, and was interested only in facts.

“Yancy,” he returned, “what’s the story on the ground?”

“Just like you see it. I’ve been here a little less than an hour. Arrived about the same time as County. The boys from the firehouse say they had the blaze out for only about twenty minutes, maybe half an hour, by the time we got here. CSI went in right away, and the boys from the sheriff’s department had us all come out front so she could work.”

Manny glanced up at the front of the house. “Doesn’t look like there was really any damage out here,” he said. “Was the fire in the back part of the house?”

“They didn’t tell you?” Yancy seemed surprised. “The fire wasn’t in the house period. Word is, it was a big blaze in the backyard. I didn’t get a good look.” Yancy turned for a moment to remind the crowd trying to press in for a closer look to remain back.

Manny glanced back at the house then around at the crowd that continued to swell in numbers on the street. “No idea about the body then?” he said, turning back to Yancy.

“That’s your job, pal,” Yancy returned, stiffly, his eyes still trained on the crowd.

“You’re a picture of professionalism, Carl.” Manny snatched a notepad out of his pocket and left Yancy to deal with the crowd. For some reason, he felt compelled to walk through the house and into the backyard rather than head around the outside. He pushed through the red door and into the front foyer. The walls were lined with at least a dozen and a half framed pictures. His eyes held one longer than the others: an 8” x 10” family portrait. Mother, father, a boy of about eight or nine, and a girl at least three years younger were posed under a large tree. Their smiles spilled out of the two dimensions of the photograph. They seemed truly happy. A woman’s loud sob shook him from his spell and told Manny that the happiness of that day would be difficult for this family to ever remember again.

He followed the hallway back until the house opened up into a family room and kitchen. The family from the picture sat upon a white sofa, flanked on either side by two deputies from the sheriff’s department. Most of the family members were there; the boy was absent from the gathering. A deep stab hit him in the pit of his stomach as he began to assume what the family already suspected. The body that he would soon face was their son’s. The woman held a tissue to her nose and spoke through it, nodding occasionally to the questions one of the deputies posed to her. The daughter laid her head on her mother’s lap, clearly confused by everything that was happening, while the husband sat with