Next-Of-Kin

"Assault"/huntemann                                                                                                                                             Page 14

Prologue
Scene [5]

Next-Of-Kin

Londonderry, NH
1995/04/07 Early Evening
         "I haven't been up here past Ted's Diner for years," the lieutenant said, as the Crown Victoria cruiser rolled through the frigid night.

         "We get a few calls a month," said the rookie. "Not much ever happens in this end of town. Too middle class. By the way, Ted died five years ago. His old place was refurbished and it’s called 'Poorboys' now."

         The lieutenant had done this many times, but it was the first time for the rookie. They were here to do a very unpleasant task; to notify next-of-kin. The task was as much on the job training for the rookie as it was necessary delivery of bad news.

         "I wouldn't say nothing happens," said the lieutenant. "When this ol' Crown Vic was new, and I rode this quadrant, we had some doozies up here. The Goss murder was just up the road a bit. And Pamela Smart got those kids to kill her husband back that-a-way a couple of miles in Derry," the lieutenant said as he poked his thumb back over his shoulder. "No, I wouldn't say 'nothing'."

         Londonderry has had six big storms this winter. Ice and snow remains in great long dirty mounds beside the roads. They are now coated with ten inches of fresh snow from the last storm two days earlier. Some of the side streets look like wide bobsled runs from the walls of ice on either side. Late season storms never get the attention for cleanup as December ones. By April, people are tired of winter and it shows with their lack of enthusiasm for clearing driveways and walks. A snowman hasn't been made anywhere in town since January.

         The town is out of money, too. One plow pass is all they could afford for the side streets. However, a day of sun has helped make the main roads reasonably passable.

         The lieutenant eased the cruiser, now retired as his supervisor's ‘01’ car, off Old Derry Road onto Longwood Avenue. The tires crunched through re-frozen slush and the ruts almost jerked the wheel out of his hands. He tried to call the house they were now looking for several times. No answer. So, they were making one final effort to complete the task given them by a Boston police precinct fifty miles to the south.

         "Few house numbers," said the rookie. "Number six on the right here."

         "Here's seven, we missed it," said the lieutenant.

         He put the cruiser in reverse and backed about thirty yards to the last house they had passed on the odd side.

         "This must be five," said the lieutenant as he continued backing into the wide driveway.

         "Well, they've been here since the storm," observed the rookie. "This drive was hand shoveled."

         The lieutenant left the engine running while the two policemen dismounted the cruiser and walked toward the house. An old rusted white pickup was half buried in the snow next to the driveway. It hadn't been moved all winter. A blue work van, completely cleared of snow, was parked on the left side of the driveway opposite the steps to the walk. Tracks beside the van indicated another car had been there recently.

         But, the house is dark.

         The lieutenant knocked loudly on the storm door. He waited a few seconds, then knocked again.

         "Hey, not so hard. That's a big friggin’ icicle right over your head," said the rookie as he punched the doorbell.

         The lieutenant looked up at the threatening structure, then moved a little out from under it. They both heard the bell ring inside... still, no response.

         The night was cloudless with no wind. Steam from the cruiser’s exhaust was filling the driveway between the confining snow. The men's breaths were clearly visible. They didn't want to wait too long outside in the numbing cold.

         The lieutenant knocked one last time. Then he separated a page from the back of his notebook, scribbled a message on it, and wedged it between the grill and the glass of the outer door.

         The men returned to the warmth of the cruiser where the lieutenant picked up the mike of the radio, “Dispatch, this is 01.”

         Dispatch: “Go ahead 01. Any luck?”

         01: “No, nobody around. I left a note on the door.”

         Dispatch: “Copy that. You want me to call that detective Boyle back?”

         01: “No, I’ll take care of that when we return.”

         Dispatch: “Ten-Four.”

         The lieutenant hesitated for a moment, then said to the rookie, "Let's go see how they've rearranged Ted's old place.”

         "Okay," the Rookie replied, "but it's not a greasy-spoon like I think it was in your day though, sir."

         01: “Dispatch, we’ll be ten-seven for a bit at...”

         “What’s the new name?” to the rookie.

“Poorboys.”

         01: “Ah, Poorboys.”

         Dispatch: “Ten-four.”

         “You know detective Boyle?” the rookie asked.

         “Yeah, Lance and I were Boston Academy classmates. He stayed on there, I came to Londonderry in seventy-six.”

         The cruiser pulled out of the drive, then rolled up the hill from which it came. Longwood is a dead-end street... possibly like one of the lives of a former resident tonight.


Pages: 5
Words: 862