The Secret of the Stones by Ernest Dempsey (reading fiction .TXT) 📕

the officer working the perimeter. Nodding a thank you to the cop lifting the tape for him, Trent breathed in the mild city air. An array of odors mingled in his nose: restaurants, trees, car exhaust, and cigarette smoke from a couple of the other detectives already on the scene.

“What do we got here, Will?” He spoke as he neared a familiar face kneeling over one of the bodies.

His partner, Will Hastings, had been transferred to the department a few weeks ago. The twentysomething white kid had been a breath of fresh air to the investigation unit, and he and Trent had developed an instant chemistry. The younger cop had a go-getter attitude much like Morris had when he joined the police force. But something about the kid seemed seasoned, not too eager like so many rookies he’d seen.

Will turned at the sound of his name and stood up, pulling off the latex gloves he’d been using. “Hey, buddy.” He glanced down at the mess. “At least we got the call in the morning. Usually this kind of thing happens at the end of a shift.”

“Just thinking that myself, Brother. So what’s the story here?” Trent strode over to the body Will had just been inspecting and looked down. “This where they were done?”

“Looks that way. Shots were from up close. From the looks of it, they came from over there near that black car. This one’s fatal wound was to the head,” he motioned to one victim. “This guy here,” he pointed to the second, “was shot in the throat. Probably only took him a minute to die.” One victim lay sprawled on his back, arms splayed in different directions. The other was positioned facedown on the asphalt, in a pool of blood from the exit hole in the back of his skull.

“One fell forward, and the other guy just collapsed back.” Trent continued his partner’s line of thought.

“We know who these guys are yet?”

“We’re trying to ID them right now, but they didn’t have anything on them.”

“Robbed?” Trent was trying to piece this together as quick as possible. Hunger gnawed at him. As if hearing his stomach grumbling, a young beat cop walked up with a fresh cup of coffee from inside the shop. “Coffee, sir?”

“You read my mind, Kyle. Thanks.”

The young officer seemed pleased with the gratitude and walked back over to the perimeter to relieve the cop Trent had seen when he first arrived.

Will responded to the previous question. “I don’t think it was a robbery. These guys both had Glock 9 mm’s. Powder residue on their hands indicates they took some shots, too, and there are bullet casings all over the ground matching their weapons.”

“What kind of gun did them?”

“Ballistics hasn’t said yet, but I’d say it was probably a .40 of some kind. Sort of looks like a hit gone wrong.”

“Great,” Trent thought. That was the last thing the town needed on top of the rising level of gang violence. Through the years, Atlanta had seen its fair share of corruption, but for the most part, organized crime had not been able to take root. With so many international corporations transplanting to the growing city, there had not been room for the much more localized operations of the Mob.

“So, are we talking Mafia type? I mean, shouldn’t assassinations be someone we’ve heard of?”

“Doubt it. Got a witness over there. Said he saw the whole thing. Claims it was a man and a woman. The department’s artist is over there right now getting their description. He speaks with some kind of accent. Sounds like German to me, but I can’t really tell.”

Trent looked over at the witness sitting on one of the patio chairs and looking about as unnerved as a person could look. The guy had probably never seen a murder before, much less two. He was blond, late twenties/early thirties, probably around six-two, two hundred pounds. His jaw was distinct much like the rest of his bone structure. Wearing a police-issue blanket around his shoulders, he looked visibly upset as he described the suspects to the artist.

“Any sign of the weapons?” Morris took a sip of his coffee, pleasantly surprised that it was just how he liked it. He raised his cup in appreciation as he looked over at Kyle, who returned the gesture with a simple nod and a wave of the hand.

“Haven’t found them yet. We got a team going through the nooks and crannies in the surrounding blocks but nothing so far. Witness said that the two suspects hopped in a car and tore out the back entrance.”

“A male and a female? Did the witness get a good look at the car?” Trent dared to hope.

“I’ll go you one better. 1969 Camaro, silver with black trim, and the witness even got the plates memorized. So, odds are, we aren‘t going to need those sketches anyway.”

Trent could not believe what he was hearing. This might actually be over within an hour. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“No. But you can buy me a beer later instead.” Will returned the smile.

“Done. So who do the plates belong to?”

“Car is registered to a Sean Wyatt. Lives out near Dunwoody on the north side of town. No word on the occupation yet, but we got three units headed that way right now to check it out.”

“Good. Let’s get up there and see what this is all about.”

The two detectives turned and walked away from the victims, who were now being bagged in nondescript coroner body bags. Trent nodded again to Kyle as they slipped under the police line and opened the doors