Chapter Four
John Tate walked up to the responding unit’s car, looking for the two police officers. The car was empty, but one young officer appeared to be talking to an old man in a robe and slippers on the sidewalk. Walking confidently, he approached the two men deep in discussion.
“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” He asked.
“See here, young man!” the old robed gentleman barked, “I’m very worried about that house.”
The police officer interrupted, giving the dark-suited man he assumed to be a detective the look that conveyed “this old man’s an escapee from the loony bin.”
“Sir, Mr. Rosenfrend claims to have heard noises coming from next door. Everything is dark inside, but nobody answers the bell when we ring. My partner is searching around back.”
“I heard the radio call as I drove home,” John Tate said to explain his sudden appearance on the scene of what appeared to be nothing more than a prowler.
“Hey Johnson!” The second police officer came huffing and puffing into view, clearly agitated.
“Please excuse us, Mr. Rosenfrend,” John Tate smiled at the old man before he and Officer Johnson walked over to the red-faced officer.
“Dead body. Back stoop. Dead.” The officer was out of breath and tried to get the words out.
Tate issued orders to the others about securing the scene and calling in more units before walking back to investigate the scene himself. The dead man was a late-thirties Caucasian dressed professionally in a suit. He couldn’t tell if there were any wounds, the coroner would do that. He didn’t disturb the body, but went to talk to Mr. Rosenfrend.
“Mr. Rosenfrend, I don’t want to alarm you but there is a dead body at the back door of your neighbor’s home.” Tate tried to break the news easily, but there was no good way to deliver that news.
“What? Oh Lord in heaven, what shall I tell her father?” Mr. Rosenfrend was greatly distressed. “I just made her a sandwich earlier today.”
“Sir, the body is male, not female.”
“She could still be alive! We’ve got to get to Reagan! She could be hurt!”
“Sir, calm down, you say a young woman lives here? Alone?”
“Yes! Wait…I have a key inside somewhere. Wife waters her plants sometimes.” Mr. Rosenfrend wobbled hurriedly into his home and returned shortly. He gave the key to the detective and stood back waiting for the man to take the initiative and save his neighbor.
John Tate drew his nine millimeter from its holster and lifted the key to the deadbolt with his left hand. The key slid neatly into the lock and the door opened on a whisper. Tate silently sidled into the dark foyer in a ready stance. He quickly adjusted to the darkness and began a thorough search of the bottom floor.
Near the back of the house he discovered the kitchen. The lights were on, but nobody was present, or so he thought until he searched the other side of the island.
There, on the floor, covered in white powder and bleeding from a head wound was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Soft, flowing, shoulder-length honey-blonde hair, albeit matted with scarlet blood at the temple, was enough to make him draw a deep breath. But her face, too, was beautiful. Beautiful, but blank. The white silk night gown nearly undid him. It clung to her extremely fit body in all the places men are concerned with. A creamy white thigh could be glimpsed from what the night gown’s slit failed to cover in her disheveled state.
“God, please don’t let her be dead,” he thought to himself. He touched her neck to feel for a pulse.
It was there.
