Chapter 1 - Bloody Morning

 

Captain Mackelroy stared at the crumpled body of Sergeant Tindale. He could still smell the residue of gunpowder in the air, the scent of fresh blood, and the damp odor of decay and age which pervaded the filthy, abandoned warehouse. Other homicide detectives drew chalk lines around the corpse along with taking photographs of the crime scene. Tindale was lying face down with several bullet holes in his back and head. Blood and brains were splattered over the floor and body.

Mackelroy observed that Tindale’s gun was still strapped in the holster.

His voice rasped in the sullen silence. Anger and disgust competed for possession of every word when he stated the obvious to his friend and right hand man, Lieutenant Tanner. “Well, Frank, the poor bastard never knew what hit him. He was deliberately ambushed. With all those bullet wounds, I’d say there was a lot of anger in the killer, perhaps fear also.”

He glanced around at the grim-faced men who were investigating the scene. “I want the son of a bitch who did this. Ted Tindale was a good friend of mine and a damned fine cop. By the looks of things, he didn’t even have a chance to defend himself.”

The sullen Worcester city cops just nodded. Words weren’t needed. Mackelroy continued to take in the depressing scene. Amid the detritus that always accumulates in deserted buildings, Mac soon noticed some shell casings and pointed them out. The detectives drew more lines and picked up the casings with tweezers, carefully placing them into plastic evidence bags.

Over the years, he’d seen his share of death, and he’d never really gotten used to it. But this particular fatality struck him to the core of his being. In morbid curiosity, he knelt down and felt Tindale’s lifeless left hand. It was still warm. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to control the sickening feeling in his stomach. Losing the struggle, Mac went over to a nearby corner and promptly splattered the wood plank floor with the remains of his breakfast.

 

***

 

“Misses Tindale, my name is John Mackelroy and this is my assistant, Mandy Buskirk. May I speak with you for a few moments?” The attractive blonde recognized the tall, thin man standing in front of her at the apartment landing. She did not know who the police woman was, although she looked quite becoming in her tight fitting blue uniform. He was well-dressed in conservative gray, being a plain clothes man. His thin mustache leant dignity to an already serious face, and his ice-blue eyes were downcast and lacking in enthusiasm. She replied, “What is it?”

They’d met briefly at some social function sponsored by the policeman’s union a few months previous. Mac vaguely remembered her when she’d attended the event with her husband, Ted. He removed his hat and asked, “May I come in for a few minutes? I've got some bad news about Ted.”

For the first time, fear jumped inside Ann’s throat like a snarling tiger, as she glimpsed tears in Mackelroy’s eyes. “Oh my God! Is Ted okay?”

She motioned for them to enter. The police woman quickly shut the door behind her. His voice was soft and full of grief’s singular awareness. “Forgive me for being the one to have to tell you this, but Ted is dead. He was shot.”

The blonde’s face was a study in shock, disbelief, and grief. Her mouth was open, but no words would emerge. He continued, “I’m so sorry, Misses Tindale. As far as I can tell, your husband was killed instantly by some bastard who shot him from behind. It was the act of a cowardly monster.”

She collapsed to the floor and wailed and screamed in anger and grief. Her words were incoherent, and she was racked with sobs that she couldn’t control. Her fists hit the carpeted floor with impotent rage and despair. Mac watched helplessly with a face devoid of expression. The only sign that the police captain was stricken was the insistent trickle of tears that slid down his five o’clock shadow cheeks.

At last she recovered enough to speak. Her hand shook as she pointed to a doorway. “Get me a drink! It’s in the fridge!”

He motioned to the assistant to retrieve the beverage. Moments later, she found the bright, tidy kitchen and discovered a bottle of bourbon in the refrigerator. Officer Buskirk proceeded to fill a glass and bring it to the wailing woman, kneeling and gently placing it in her trembling hands. Mac supported her by gently placing his arm around her back, helping her sip the strong liquor until the burning sensation assaulted her throat. The grieving woman coughed and finally gained some composure. “I’m sorry I made such a scene. What the hell happened?”

Mackelroy replied in his gentlest voice. “He went to a warehouse this morning. Somebody was waiting for him and they shot him in the back. He never had a chance. So go ahead and cry. It’s perfectly all right. Do you want another?”

She nodded, “yes, please.”

Moments later, she imbibed another 100 proof drink, and he said, “I know that, for you, this is a tragedy I can’t begin to feel or understand. I’ll say this: Ted was a fine man and a damned good cop. I’ll find the son of a bitch who did this if it’s the last thing I do.”

Mac looked into the tear-stained green eyes of the grief-stricken woman. Her chin grew tight, and anger flared from her face like a flaming torch. “You do that, Captain! I want to see that murderer shot to bits! I told Teddy time after time to leave the force. Damn him and damn the killer and damn you! Get out and leave me be!”

Mackelroy stood up and, in a choked voice, replied, “all right ma’am. I’ll be going. I just want you to know that the department will help you in any way it can. Good night. I think it would be a good idea of Mandy stayed with you awhile.”

Ann nodded, permitting Mandy to help her to the sofa.

He quietly shut the door which barely lessened the sound of hysterical weeping which seemed to follow him as he left to begin the hunt. Mac silently vowed to himself with each descending step that he would get that miserable mother fucker, come what may.