The Minds Eye Chapter Three

 

Chapter Three;
 Case# 70274-2 (working title)

    The noise in the hall caused Detective Robert Burstow to pour four Excedrin from the small green bottle into his awaiting hand. With reckless abandon he tossed his head back and gulped down the pills with no form of liquid at hand to ease their way down. Already in his late forties his patience wasn’t what it once was.

    Robert had transferred to the Cameron Police department twelve years ago. Of course that time had put its ware on his body. His once brown hair now a spattered salt and pepper, his youth ebbing away as he looked in the mirror each morning. The wrinkles on his brow and the crows’ feet at the corners of his mouth added that ‘distinguished’ look to his square jawed features.  Still an imposing man, six three with a large barrel chest and arms strong as they had ever been he took great pride in his physique.

    In his time, here in Cameron, he had seen the little town grow into a bustling metropolis. Each day more and more people moved here and brought with them all of their own problems. He personally had dealt with more domestic disputes since the influx of new residents than any one man should ever have too. For the most part Cameron was a quiet place that rarely had a problem more dangerous than underage drinking. As far as he was concerned it was a nice place it just grew a little too fast to keep up with itself.   The news he had received earlier, he would never have guessed in his life. They said at least one student and Teacher had been assaulted. Assaulted?  the scene before him was horrific at best. Never would he have thought that a crime like this could happen here, this kind of thing was made for big cities or films, not here, certainly not on his shift.

    “Sir, there’s more blood over here.” The deputy said over his shoulder as he took a sample with a cotton swab.

    “I know that Davis, there’s blood everywhere in here. Now get your a*s over here and stop screwin up my crime scene!” Robert spat at the rookie.

    He never liked to work with rookies. He had no time to hold someone’s hand and powder there bottom every step of the way. This kid was probably on the force for only a matter of months. He could feel his inexperience in his bones, taste it hanging thick in the stuffy hallway, and see it in every step he took. He reeked of new blood. Shivering with his annoyance he looked back at the comatose body of the Cartwright kid.

    In all his years in Cameron this was the most brutal attack he had ever seen. The kid looked like he had been beaten with a sledgehammer. One blow had severed his upper lip completely away, leaving only a few remaining teeth there, his nose was a mushy pulp-like substance that pulsed with each shallow breath he took. His eyes were swollen shut and in some spots the skin had clearly been ripped away from the boys skull. What would drive a seventeen-year-old kid to do something like this, he wondered as he watched the paramedics strap him down to the gurney. An inexperienced person would have most likely lost what ever they had eaten last, as Davis had done earlier.

    Snapping a white latex glove onto his big hand, the Detective stared at an ink pen the C.S.I. member was placing into evidence baggy.  Miss Ryddell was still sitting in the main office, a bandage wrapped around her thigh. The pen hadn’t done much damage; it only served to shake her up, still the medics crowded around her. Placing the pen into a small evidence baggy, Detective Burstow stood and walked into the office.

    “O.k., o.k. come on guys. Give Miss Ryddell some room. I need to ask her a few questions.”

    Female coaches. He thought to himself as he approached the older lady sitting on the desk, now a makeshift emergency table. She was overweight and in all facets of life would be mistaken as a man before she were ever considered a woman. The room cleared of everyone except she and he. He looked over her bulbous nose into those steely gray eyes and spoke again.

    “So Miss Ryddell, tell me what exactly you saw as you turned the corner. Please leave nothing out,” grabbing his pen and notepad, the Detective prepared to jot down her statement.

    “Well,” she began in her gruff voice.

    “I came around the corner and the kid was on top of the Cartwright boy.”

    “What was he wearing?” Robert interrupted.

    “Umm, I think it was a black T-shirt and some black baggy jeans, yeah that’s what it was.” she nodded, then without any provocation from the Detective, continued, “Now where was I? Oh yeah!”

    “Well at first I just thought they were having a little scuffle, then I saw the blood. It was all over the place, the floor, the walls, and the lockers, everywhere. I knew the Cartwright boy was hurt badly. I had to try and help. So, I ran up behind… Brian, yeah I’m sure that’s his name, Brian Dickerson or something. Well anyways I ran up behind him and grabbed him around the waist in an attempt to pull him of the boy. That’s when the little s**t stabbed me in the leg. I screamed, fell, and grabbed my leg. By the time I looked up again, he was gone. That’s pretty much it.”

    Pulling her leg up, Miss Ryddell got a little more comfortable as the Detective placed his pen back in the pocket of his brown blazer. Clearing his throat, he looked over his notes one last time before speaking. “So, you are sure that it was this boy Brian Dickerson, correct?”

    With a look that told him she was absolutely sure, she answered, “Yes, it was him. Now are you done with me?”

    Waving the Deputy over he pointed at the soccer coach. “Give Miss Ryddell a ride to the hospital so she can have that looked at. I need to talk to Principal Sanders.”

    “Yes sir” said the Deputy as he helped the coach off the desk. “After would you like me to come back?”

    Shaking his head slightly at the rookies question he just nodded his answer. He had no words to waste on the ignorant. Grabbing his radio from it holster on his hip he shook his head once more then made the call to dispatch. “Dispatch, Miranda are you there?”

    “Yes sir,” came a soft voice through the small box in his hand.

    “Miranda, I need you to put out an APB on a local boy. The name is Brian Dickerson, dark hair, about five ten, last seen wearing a black T and baggy black pants. He is wanted for questioning on the assault case at the high school. You got that?”

    “Yes sir, Brian Dickerson, got it, anything else?” she replied.

    “No doll that’s it for now, I’ll let you know if it changes.” Turning he left the office and approached the Principal. An older man, in his sixties, he was due to retire after this year. What a send off to have, His final year here and a student gets beaten within an inch of his life, maybe, he still yet might die, the way it looked. Widowed, his wife having passed some years back in a crash, Robert knew him well. He was the first on the scene that day. Ever since then the old man seemed different, less aware of his surroundings. Who really could blame him though? To old to find love in someone else and still too young to just give up. Robert sympathized with him; he too had lost his wife. She had been mugged and raped; when the cops found her she was barely alive.

    Shaking, he snapped his mind back to the matter at hand. The principal stood in the hall with a blank stare on his face as Robert approached him. “Mr. Sanders.” He said, holding out his hand to shake the principals in greeting. Mr. Sanders returned the gesture after a few moments.

    “I have spoken with Miss Ryddell, She, right now, is our only credible witness. She says that it was a student who did this to young Mr. Cartwright. I’m going to need to ask you a few questions about this Brian Dickerson kid. First though, I need you to get his home number for me.”

    Nodding, Mr. Sanders went right to the office and opened a filing cabinet. Nervously running his fingers through the little manila folders, oddly the man wasted no time in finding his file. Standing straight he handed it to the Detective and offered him a seat as he took one of his own. Why is he so nervous? Robert wondered to himself. How come he knew right where his file was? What was the real story of this kid?

    “May I borrow your phone for a moment?” He asked as he thumbed through the file. Maybe it was just the untrusting cop side of him but something lied beneath the surface here, he was sure of it.

    “Please, feel free,” He answered in a less than calm tone.

    Grabbing the receiver, Robert dialed Bryans home number, as he waited for a voice to pick up on the other end he couldn’t help but notice the Principal eyes dart sporadically from his eyes to the folder in his hands.

    “Hello” came a soft, almost seductive, female voice

    “Mrs. Dickerson? Is this Mrs. Janice Dickerson?” Giving his most authority voice he could muster.

    “Yes” she replied softly, to him it sounded more a question than stated fact. “This is she, can I help you?”

    This woman sounded so nice and… he almost regretted having to give her the news of what took place over the phone. A small part of him wanted to be there, to comfort her, to soften the blow. “Yes,” He began, with only slight trepidation in his aged voice. “Mrs. Dickerson, this is Detective Burstow with the Cameron City Police department. By any chance, would your son be home with you?”

    “No” she began slowly, Robert could hear the catch in her throat. He recognized it, not the normal concerned tone of a mother, no this was the sigh of a woman who was about at the end of her rope with her child. This Brian must have been a troublesome child. “He’s at school, Why, what has he done now?” she finished.

    “Well, to be honest Mrs. Dickerson, he is suspected of hurting a fellow student of his. The boy has been taken to the hospital for his injuries. We just need to ask Brian a few questions about what really happened.”

    “What! Brian did what?” Janice screamed into the phone. The Detective could hear the tears in her voice, again not of caring but… anger.

    “Mrs. Dickerson, please stay calm, were not saying he did it we just need to talk to him.” Robert plead.

    A tap on his shoulder brought his eyes up to stare at the face of Davis. “Channel Seven is here sir,” he mouthed as he pointed out through the office to the main hall and out the door to the quickly filling front yard of the school. Great, The f****n media, just what I need. The detective thought to him self. With a look of disdain he looked back up at Davis, nodded and waved him away. The shrill voice of the woman cussing on the other end of the line reminded him that he was still on the phone. “I am afraid I have matters that need my attention. Please Mrs. Dickerson, just if he does come home please bring him down to the precinct. We just need to talk to him.” Hanging up the phone he looked at the principal and pointed his finger at the man.

    “And you, I’m not finished with you. I need to ask you a few questions about all this. First though, let me deal with my new problem.” Turning he walked from the office out into the yard. He could hear voices shouting orders as to where to set up and he could see equipment being moved all over the place. With a sigh he reached into his blazer and pulled out a smoke. Normally he liked to be more professional but today was just getting him to that point. With a slow savoring toke he smiled.

    Force his jubilation lasted only a small time. The high-pitched voice of the all to annoying news reporter, one Denise Mirinew, came lilting on the wind like some carrion bird attacking its next meal.

    “Detective! Detective, please a moment of your time.” The cameraman ran bumbling behind as she made a dash for Robert holding her mic like a lantern in the air above her.

    “Is it true that a student was brutally beaten here today? Who was the student? Who attacked him? Is anyone in custody yet?” She yelled as she approached him in her slight Italian accent.

    “Mrs. Mirinew, at this time I am not able to make a comment about what has taken place here today. There is, at the time, nothing to say. However in a few hours you may get what you want. For now, no comment.” The detective took another toke from his cigarette and threw it to the ground. Stamping the cherry out beneath his boot he turned and walked back into the school.

    Denise tried to follow but right before she entered the school hall Davis appeared from the doorway and put a strong hand out to stop her. “This is an investigation and the press even isn’t allowed yet. Please.” He stated with a gesture for her to step back.

    Rolling her eyes, she had no choice but to do as she was told. Turning she made her way back to the station van and begun to transmit the knowledge she had over a live feed.

    ——————————————————————————————————————

    “Detective?” Davis said as he approached his senior officer, “While you were outside I took the liberty of trying to contact the boys mother again.” he paused for a sign from Robert to continue. Already irritated by the media being here Robert had no time to deal with a greenhorn who needed acceptance in every aspect of police work, “And what?” he snapped.

    Flinching at the outburst Davis stepped back a bit like he did when he was young and his father yelled at him. Blinking he thought for a moment about the idiocy in such an act and spoke. “Well sir, either she has been on the phone for a while, or something maybe wrong. It has come back busy for the past ten minutes.”

    Robert remembered the tone of the woman’s voice when he relayed the news to her. The detective could feel that feeling that cops get after years of being on the force. The knot in the stomach, hair rising on the back of your neck kind of feeling when something didn’t feel quite right, That intuition that kept him alive on a daily basis with this job.

    “Grab your stuff kid, were going to check it out.” Reaching in his pocket he grabbed his keys with one hand, the other, subconsciously went to his gun, the cold steel a reminder that it was with him, turning he walked out the door and to his unit, Davis quick on his heels.

    —————————————————————————-

    The yard was empty. The only thing Robert could see as he and the deputy pulled in was a brand-new car in the driveway, everything was, as they say, quiet.

    “Still no answer?”
    “No sir, I’ve been trying the whole time. What should we do?”

    The boy was nervous; this day had likely been the most active he had seen since joining the force.

    “Well first were going to go and knock on the door. I don’t hear any yelling or see anything out of place so that’s good. You stay behind me and stay quiet. This is a mother who just found out some pretty rough news; we don’t need to scare her. Got it.” a nod from the boy gave him the confirmation he needed. Opening the car door he stepped out onto the drive and began to make his way to the door when he noticed it open.

    “Wait” the word came out almost a whisper, a remnant of his days in the Marines just as pulling his gun from the holster was. Davis hearing and seeing this did what he was told. Fumbling slightly he unsnapped the button on his holster and pulled free his police issue 9mm.

    With slow deliberate steps the detective walked in a half moon threw the yard to position himself in front the door at a distance, his gun out before him. He could see inside the house a bit, no one seemed to be moving around so he stepped closer. One foot after another he made his way to the door and stepping to his side he placed his back to the wall beside him.

    “Mrs. Dickerson? This is Detective Burstow. We talked on the phone earlier. Mrs. Dickerson, is everything alright?” He waited and no reply came. With hand motions he signaled for Davis to circle around as he did and give him some cover. Apparently the boy had seen some cop shows in his youth, amazingly he did as he was told.

    “Mrs. Dickerson I’m going to come in O.K.” still no reply came. O.K. I’m coming in.”

    Slowly, Robert turned and entered the house. A small hallway with a doorway leading into the kitchen, he thought, lined its right hand side. Ahead it opened into a rather large living and dining area. The TV was on but muted and the slight sound of static could be heard coming from a radio apparently in the kitchen. That Feeling was back in his stomach, something was definitely wrong here. Locking behind him he could see Davis in the yard behind him, his gun held to his side like some movie cop stance. At least he was still there. With caution he moved to the opening on his right and peered inside.

    There on the floor in a pool of her own blood laid a woman maybe in her mid thirties at most. This had to be his mom. Mrs. Dickerson. Holstering his gun he rushed to check for any sign of life. She was gone. Shaking his head, he gently ran a hand over her eyes to close them while his other grabbed the radio at his hip.

    “Precinct this is Burstow, I need an EMT and coroner stat at 1227 Rigley lane.”