“That makes sense. She was asking me about the dress code. She was glad to hear long hair and tattoos were allowed once you make detective.”
“I have both of those now,” she told him as she pointed to the bedroom. “Shall we do some police work?”
“I’d rather hang out and talk to you.”
“I’m sure you would,” Margot replied, thinking she might enjoy hanging out and talking to him as well. Sadly, it was common for her fellow cops to hit on her, but he either wasn’t really hitting on her or was being so casual about it she could hardly tell. Either way, she found herself liking it. She added, “It’s not pretty in there,” just in case he wasn’t.
Shaw stepped in first and saw the body. It was a male who was about six feet tall—when he had a head attached to his neck, anyway. His brains were splattered against the wall beside the body. A bullet hole revealed how he came to lose his head. Beside the body was a snub nose thirty-eight revolver. On the nightstand was a used syringe and bent up spoon that’d been heated up with a disposable lighter one too many times.
“You’re right, he’s probably not going to complain about your lack of a search warrant. I’m guessing when the kids called this the shot house, this wasn’t what they had in mind,” Shaw remarked as he surveyed the scene.
“I see what you mean about the I.D., though I don’t think many ten-year-olds have that many jailhouse tats,” Flynn said. “Did older brother have a record?”
“Not that I know of, but he hangs out here, so it’s not impossible.”
“Suicide?” Detective Flynn said as he pointed at the gun on the floor.
“You ever see a thirty-eight disintegrate somebody’s face like that?” Shaw replied.
Flynn shrugged. “I’m not an expert, didn’t see a lot of headshots working major crimes and even fewer working narcotics, not near enough for me to be determining bullet size by the damage. I take it in your experience the answer is no.”
“You are correct. As much as I wish he did shoot himself, he’d have to do it like three times to do that much damage,” Shaw explained.
Margot pointed to the opposite wall where a smaller hole than the one by the dead man’s brains was visible and then to the ceiling at another hole about the same size.
“I’m just a uniform, but it looks like he was shooting at something other than himself. Plus there’s more to see in the other room.”
Shaw nodded. “I bet we dig a couple of thirty-eight caliber slugs out of the wall. What’s in the other room? Another body?”
“Nothing that bad,” Margot said as she led them out of the bedroom. They went through a small living room that was mostly decorated with empty take-out containers and beer cans, though there was a decent looking couch, a gaming system, and a large flatscreen on the wall.
“I’m guessing we can find all this stuff on a theft report somewhere,” Shaw said.
“Even the couch?” Flynn asked.
“Kids these days will steal anything not nailed down.”
“Probably took it from a Goodwill drop-off,” Margot told him.
She pointed to the wall behind them.
“More bullet holes,” Shaw said.
“Bigger,” Flynn added.
“I’d say they emptied the whole clip,” Shaw said as he counted at least a dozen.
“There are a couple more on the other side of the room,” Margot said as she pointed that way.
“Either someone fired back, or somebody was just shooting up the whole room,” Shaw commented.
The sliding glass door leading to the backyard was open. Margot pointed to the bloody handprint on the window.
“I’m not expert, as I said before, but I don’t think the guy in the bedroom had the kind of wound that would have him wandering around the house,” Flynn said.
“Someone bled on the porch as well,” Margot added as they stepped outside.
The porch she referred to was a square slab of cement that seemed to be there mostly to keep the weeds away from the door. She pointed down and both detectives saw what she was talking about.
“There’s another handprint on the fence,” Margot told them.
“So, with all the shooting, somebody hit somebody,” Flynn said. “This should make it a little bit easier.”
“I just hope it’s not my missing kid or his older brother,” Margot remarked.
“Chances are, it’s whoever was doing the shooting since it looks like somebody was shooting back and not just the dead guy,” Flynn told her.
“It might not be the shooter who got hit,” Shaw replied. “We can’t say for sure how many people were in the house or if all the shooting took place on the same day. At worst, it’s a witness though. I’ll put out a B.O.L.O. for anybody showing up at the ER with a bullet hole or two. You got anything else to show us, Harris?”
“I think that’s it.”
Shaw nodded. “I think Flynn and I can secure the scene. The crime scene crew should be on their way.”
“Do you need me for anything else?” Margot asked. “If not, I’ve still got a kid to look for.”
“Nah,” Shaw replied, “we can handle this one.”
“Alright, you two have fun.”
Margot was at the door when Flynn called to her, “Hey, Harris.”
Margot turned.
“Do you have a first name?”
“Margot.”
“Nice meeting you, Margot. I’m Mal.”
“Thanks, nice meeting you too, Mal.”
“You never asked me my first name,” Shaw said to Flynn as Margot headed out to finish her shift on patrol.
Chapter 2
Margot was out of uniform and on her way home when her phone buzzed. She was considering spending some of her off-hours looking for the kid, Sean, since after whatever happened at the shot house, he still hadn’t come home. Margot’s efforts to help seemed to have backfired; all she had achieved was to worry his mother more. Even though she was driving, she checked the face and saw her sister, Melanie, was calling. Margot answered and put her on
