“Hard case?”
Dent emitted a low growl in the back of his throat. “They’re all hard. Especially when there’s kids involved.”
Tim nodded, prying his own eyes from the open folder. “I hear that. How old was he, anyway?”
“Eighteen.”
“Ugh.”
“What kind of monster could do something like this? And for what reason? There’s just no logical sense behind it. This guy had no enemies, no grudges, he wasn’t in a gang, there was nothing. He was clean.”
“Maybe one of those idiot kids from the Cove?” Tim suggested, hating himself for saying it. “I mean, he was a star player. Maybe it’s some kinda team rivalry.”
“Yeah,” Dent snorted. “And maybe they ate his organs to absorb his talent.”
There was a look between them then as they both mentally examined the insanity and yet plausible validity of the comment, then brushed it aside.
“I’m glad you’ve got this one and not me,” Tim admitted, tapping the top of Dent’s cubicle wall once. “I don’t think I’d be able to handle it.”
Dent sighed, glancing back at the file. “Look at this: ‘It is in the CS unit’s professional opinion that the victim was attacked with a large, two-edged blade with a hilt, driven directly through the victim’s right side.’ I mean, that’s a sword. That’s a sword, right?”
“Or a machete.”
“Who even does that? Really?”
“Dunno,” Tim admitted reluctantly. “But I guess now it’s your job to find out.”
He gave his friend a curt wave then threw his jacket over his shoulder and started toward the exit.
Carl watched him go, then picked up the file again, immediately re-absorbed in the disturbing photographs.
Sara stepped out in front of them, her shoes tapping along the sidewalk and her arms held just above her head as she turned the streetlight into a spotlight. Her jacket bobbed to the beat her feet created, flapping under her arms like the garments of some Broadway jazz dancer.
“What is she doing?” Mike laughed, walking slowly alongside Cathy and Xander. He’d been slapped on the arm by the former a few times already for walking too fast, his long legs making his strides command many more inches than theirs.
Cathy watched her for a moment, tilting her head to one side. “Hop scotch?”
“There’s no squares.”
“Invisible hop scotch then?”
“No, there’s a beat to it. Watch.”
Sara tapped and scuffed her feet as though she couldn’t hear their critique, mouthing along to the song in her head as she did.
Xander smiled.
“It has a long body to it,” Cathy said.
Mike nodded.
Sara continued to skip, the way her shoes worked along the pavement making different sounds, like morse code. Short short short short short short short, long long!
“Do do do do do do do, dah dah,” Mike repeated, in time with her as she started again. “What is that?”
“It’s Spirit in the Sky,” Xander said finally, unable to keep his mouth shut any longer.
Sara stopped, spun around, and glared at him. “Tattler.”
“They wouldn’t have got it.”
“Hey!” Mike spat, turning and pushing Xander with one finger. “It was on the tip of my tongue.”
“Sure.”
”It was!”
“Uh-huh.”
Cathy laughed, entwining her fingers into Mike’s as the three of them caught up to Sara and they began to walk in unison.
Xander paid particular attention to their legs for a moment. It seemed as though Mike, Cathy and Sara were unintentionally stepping in unison, like soldiers on the march. He tried for a moment to force himself to be in synch with them but could not and eventually gave up. Still, it nagged at him.
They walked like this often, most of the time with no particular destination in mind. On nice summer nights they’d walk from one end of town to the other, just enjoying one another’s company and making fun of anything they saw that had amused them that day and complaining about how none of them had a car.
They turned down Xander and Sara’s street, a long stretch of road that connected Norman’s Lane to Laird Street. Their houses loomed in the distance, the lights in Xander’s house all dark. From where they were, it looked abandoned.
All the lights were on in Sara’s house, blaring out into the night like it was on fire. Her mother’s silhouette could be seen in the window, staring out into the street like a fisherman’s wife looking out to sea.
Sara rolled her eyes. “I told her not to wait up.”
“It’s not even ten,” Mike drawled. “I’d lay wages she was up anyway.”
“You know what I mean.”
“She’s just worried,” Cathy said, her voice smooth as silk. “Everyone is. Everyone should be.”
“She’s always like this. Ever since the crash,” Sara continued, as though Cathy hadn’t spoken. “This just gives her a good reason. Now I can’t talk her out of it again.”
“Pity,” Xander smirked at her. “You might actually have to start being respectable.”
She punched him in the arm even as she started laughing, and continued to laugh as she did it more and more. He raised his hands to try and defend himself, but kept lowering them to clutch his sides as rolls of laughter came out of him as well.
Cathy smiled, watching the two of them play. After a moment she leaned in and kissed Mike on the neck, the highest point she could reach without stopping in mid-stride and standing on her tip toes.
He smiled as her hair tickled his collarbone, squeezing her hand lovingly.
When they reached the walkway to Sara’s house her mother opened the door, bathing the cobblestone in harsh bright light.
“Sara!” she snapped, her foot stomping a little when she did. It was a Johnson family trait, Xander had noticed, to talk with your feet. “You had
