Page 1 of Darkness

Chapter One

Ambulances and cop cars flashed rhythmic strobes. Dark uniforms dotted the landscape, interspersed with yellow police tape. Lieutenant Morrisey James’s every instinct screamed for him to retreat.

Shut the fuck up! Morrisey shouted back to himself. Because of, or perhaps despite, his total lack of instinct for self-preservation, he exited the car, pulled himself up to his full lanky six-foot height, checked his trusty .38, Agnes, nestled in her shoulder holster, and waited for his partner, Will, to join him on the sidewalk. Maybe he wasn’t totally devoid of self-preservation if those instincts kept insisting that he’d need Agnes.

Heat and humidity seized Morrisey in a grubby fist. Summer would be hell if he already wanted to ditch the coat and tie in spring.

“This one’s gonna be bad.” Will brushed his fingers through his light brown waves, wearing a slightly rumpled suit and Morrisey's tie. Will was fastidious to a fault, so the ketchup stain on his would’ve meant going home to change. Morrisey had traded with him, not giving two shits about stained ties. Hell, folks expected him to appear unkempt. The thinning patches on Will’s head hadn’t been there when they’d teamed up six years ago. Neither had the sprinkling of white among the darker stands.

He’d just turned thirty-two.

The job took its toll.

“They’re all bad.” And growing steadily worse. Morrisey inhaled deeply. No need to imagine what he’d find. Each scene always exceeded his worst expectations, regardless of how jaded time and experience had made him. “Let’s do this.”

While not considered a good area to live in, this neighborhood on the outskirts of Atlanta was nowhere near the worst. A pall hung over the area, undeterred by any amount of afternoon sun. The small white frame house blended with many more on the street: paint peeling, shutter hanging at an angle, a tangle of knee-high weeds in the front yard. An aging Ford Bronco sat in the driveway, a dent in the front quarter panel. A bunch of brightly colored balloons floated above the mailbox. Not good. Balloons on mailboxes usually meant a kid’s party. Morrisey upped his estimate of how bad this day might get.

Together, he and Will approached the house. Blood spatter on the living room windows hinted at a troubling scene awaiting them inside. Morrisey exchanged a glance with Will. “Why do we do this again?”

Will shrugged. “Because somebody’s gotta.” Same question, same answer. Same haggard expressions on their faces.

Same shit, different day.

Anything to distract themselves from what they feared they’d see inside.

Their shoes clicked out a six-beat on the steps leading to the porch.

“Hy-yuck!” A uniformed cop retched over the porch railing, losing his lunch into the boxwoods by the door.

Yep, definitely not good.

The officer’s partner patted his back, making “there, there” noises. Rookies.

Another uniformed officer gave out gloves and booties by the entrance. “Detectives. Coroner ETA is ten minutes. Don’t touch the doorknob. Nothing’s been disturbed, and we’ve kept foot traffic to a minimum.”

Ten minutes to get first impressions before facts and medical jargon adjusted Morrisey’s views. The screen door lay on the porch. Torn off the hinges by the assailant? He lifted the edge to find slightly darker paint underneath. So, not a recent development. The front door stood open. Blood adorned the doorknob. “Our guy’s getting prints?” he asked.

The officer dipped her chin. “Forensics got here five minutes ago. Apparently, there was a party going on. A late arrival found the bodies. She had two small children with her.” The officer tutted and shook her head. “Those poor kids had to see this house of horrors.”

Will stiffened beside Morrisey. This would not go well for him. And while Morrisey wouldn’t allow coddling, he would shield Will when possible. No need for both of them to wake up screaming tonight. He said, more for Will’s benefit than his own, “Dispatch said kids were present but unhurt. At least not so anyone could tell at the scene.”

The officer nodded. “We found them unconscious but with no signs of injury. They’re being transferred to the hospital.” Which explained the ambulance moving from the curb, siren wailing.

Morrisey watched until the ambulance turned a corner, fading from view. “Where is the witness now?”

“She’s inside the neighbors’ house, a little hysterical.” The officer pointed next door, where an older woman stood gawking on the porch. Gawking beat a bunch of opportunistic YouTubers live-feeding the crime scene on the internet.

“I bet.” No one should have to see friends murdered, especially not kids. “Will? Would you speak to our witness, please?” Will was only a few more crime scenes from throwing his badge on the desk and running from the precinct. Besides, Morrisey required privacy to truly study the scene.

There didn’t appear to be a camera on the front door, an advisable protection in this rundown neighborhood.

A guy stood on a porch two houses down, staring intently, giving off creepy vibes. Morrisey spoke softly to Will. “See the guy on the porch over there? Question him, too. He might have seen something.”

Morrisey entered the living room. The stench of blood slapped him square in the face. An arm lay on the floor, golden bangles around the wrist, a modest wedding band on the ring finger, and nails painted a vivid green. It’s evidence, it’s evidence… Don’t think of the person it belongs to.

Not a robbery, then. Two-bit thugs would’ve taken the jewelry. They also wouldn’t have taken time to mutilate the body. This looked to be personal. Rage.

Or extreme sadism. Could this be the result of gang violence or a cartel? But why spare the kids? Morrisey would need to wait on a coroner's report to find the exact cause of death. Maybe the woman died before her body had been so brutally ravaged. A clean blow to the head?

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