Suspense, Mystery, Horror and Thriller Fiction - Suspense Magazine

cocaine and doing neighborhood B &
Es to buy drugs when he was arrested,”
Emmitt said. “We never had any
evidence he was selling. Like I said, the
last I heard, he was off drugs and doing
well. Rierson thinks Juan’s death was
drug-related?”
“That’s the current theory.”
Emmitt stared down at the dead
boy. Drugs and violence often went
hand-in-hand, but these kids were
younger than the usual victims. It
was hard to imagine them as a threat
to anyone. “If you want help with the
notification, I’ll go with you. I know
Deshawn’s grandmother. She’s going
to take this hard.” The woman was a
member of Emmitt’s church, and he
had known her for more than twenty
years. She asked Emmitt for help when
the boy had been arrested.
Phoebe gave him a grateful look.
“Thanks, Emmitt. I really appreciate it.
I’ll give you a call when I finish here.”
***
On a Saturday afternoon a
couple of months later,
Phoebe called again. Emmitt was
mowing the grass. The weather was
unseasonably warm, and recent rains
had encouraged a growth spurt that
had the lawn looking scraggly. He took
the phone from his wife in one hand
and the glass of iced tea she held out to
him in the other and smiled his thanks.
“What can I do for you, Phoebe?”
“Emmitt, I hate to bother you on
the weekend, but there’s been another
shooting.”
“Another kid?”
“Yeah, I’m afraid so. He was
dumped in the Coliseum lot last night
or early this morning, over near the
Education Building. A worker coming
in to set up fair exhibits spotted the
body. No ID. I was hoping you could
have a look, see if you recognize him.”
“You think it’s tied in with the other
two?”
“Too soon to say, but he’s about
the same age, and the shooting looks
similar.”
Emmitt drank down the last of the
tea in two long swallows and set the
glass in the sink.
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“What’s going on here, Phoebe?”
“I don’t know, and I could use some
help. We haven’t made any progress on
the other two kids. Working a possible
drug connection hasn’t produced any
leads. Everywhere we’ve looked has
been a dead end.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he
said.
“Another boy’s been shot?” his wife
asked when he hung up the phone.
Emmitt looked into eyes that
mirrored his distress, “Phoebe wants
me to have a look. See if I know him.”
He showered and dressed in record
time and gave his wife a brief hug on
the way out the door.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be, but
I’ll give you a call if it looks like I’ll be
late for dinner.”
“Someone’s out there killing kids,”
she said, her eyes on their two youngest
sons who were shooting baskets on the
driveway, “dinner can wait.”
When Emmitt pulled into the
parking lot, he didn’t have to guess
where to go. A fire truck, an EMS van,
and a half dozen police cruisers blocked
access to the area near the Education
Building. He added his car to the mix
and threaded his way to the tape.
Phoebe spotted him and waved him in.
“Thanks for coming, Emmitt.” Her
welcoming look almost made up for
the scowl Rierson gave him when he
stepped closer to the body.
“What are you doing here?” Rierson
asked.
“I called him,” Phoebe said. Her
expression told Emmitt she was
embarrassed by her partner’s surliness.
“I thought Emmitt might help us make
an ID.”
Emmitt was struck by the similarity
to the scene in the park two months
earlier. The kid was in his early teens,
sprawled face-up on the damp, oily
surface of the lot. This time a white boy,
and Emmitt knew him. “Bryan Mabe,”
he said.
“Another juvenile delinquent.”
Rierson shook his head in disgust.
“He was only thirteen or fourteen,”
Emmitt said, glaring at Rierson. “He’s
been in trouble, but nothing to earn
him something like this.”
“I didn’t say he had. Just that none
of these kids were angels. They ran in
rough circles and it got them killed.”
Rierson stalked off before Emmitt had
a chance to reply.
“Sorry, Emmitt,” Phoebe said. “He’s
frustrated and taking it out on everyone
in reach. What do you know about
Bryan?”
“His mother contacted CCS for
help about a year ago when he was
arrested with a bunch of kids who were
vandalizing cars in West End. He’d been
skipping school and hanging with gang
members. She wanted to get him into a
program, get him turned around before
something more serious happened. The
last I heard, he was doing better.” Emmitt
turned to Phoebe. “If I remember right,
he was referred to the same church
group as Deshawn Reeves.”
“Then they might have known one
another,” Phoebe said. “We were never
able to find any connection between
Ramirez and Reeves. The Ramirez
family left town as soon as the M.E.
released the boy’s body. We couldn’t
locate them after Reeves was shot.”
“Did you talk to anybody at the
church about Deshawn?”
“Rierson did. The pastor told him
Deshawn quit the program a couple of
months before his death. Just stopped
coming.”
Emmitt thought back to the
conversations he’d had with Deshawn’s
grandmother after the boy’s death.
She’d been distraught and insistent that
Deshawn was doing well, staying out of
trouble. At the time he suspected it was
wishful thinking on her part; this news
pretty much confirmed it.
“It’d be worth checking to see if
Bryan ever attended the program,”
Emmitt said. “We might get a lead
that links these kids.” The first two
deaths had been connected by police
suspicions and, apparently, not much
else. This third shooting made it clear…
someone was out there killing kids. “I
want to be in on this, Phoebe.”
“There’s going to be a taskforce. We
can use all the help we can get.”
***
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