"Purge the Evil" - a novel

by Bill Dunn

(Note: this is a work-in-progress attempt at writing a novel. Feedback, critiques, plot suggestions are more than welcomed.)
 

CHAPTER 19

Friday, November 12th, 6:05 p.m.

            Marlene Strasser steered her Audi into the driveway of her home. It had been a stressful day at the office, and all she wanted to do at this point was take the shoes off her aching feet, pour herself a large glass of wine, and think about what she might do for fun on Saturday. Anything would be fun, she thought, as long as it was something far away from her house and far away from her sex-offending pervert of a brother.

            As she walked in the dark toward the back door, she noticed that no lights were on in the house. He’s probably sleeping, she thought with disgust, enviously wishing she had the luxury to nap whenever she felt like it. Or else he’s locked himself in the bathroom again with his dirty magazines, doing… She couldn’t even bring herself to complete the thought, as the mental image of her lustful brother made her nauseous. For the millionth time she thought, What was I thinking when I agreed to let such a monster—brother or no brother—live under my roof?

            Marlene pulled open the screen door. In the darkness she did not notice the slice in the screen. She fumbled with her keys, then was surprised that the wooden door was not locked. She pushed it open and heard an odd noise, as if the door bumped against pieces of a broken plate or coffee mug. She stepped across the threshold carefully and reach against the wall, searching for the light switch. When she flipped the switch, the entire kitchen was instantly bathed in bright light, which caused her to squint for a few moments as her eyes adjusted. Finally she was able to focus, and she saw the broken glass on the floor and the jagged hole in the small pane on the door. A wave of fear swept over her. A burglar! her mind screamed. What if he’s still in the house?!

            Fear urged her to run back to her car and drive away. Fear also paralyzed her. She stood motionless and listened for any sound that would indicate an intruder might still be in the house. The only thing she heard was her heart pounding in her chest. After a few minutes, which seemed like an eternity, Marlene’s fear subsided a bit. If someone broke into my house, he wouldn’t do it at this time of day, she thought. He’d do it when I was still at work.

            Gradually anger and curiosity replaced fear, and Marlene finally took a tentative step forward. As she completed the slow and careful journey across the kitchen, she called out in a stage whisper, “Victor? Victor? Where are you?”

            She stepped into the hallway that separated the kitchen from the living room. The light from the kitchen did not reach far enough to reveal what was in the living room. Marlene again reached out, her hand searching for the hall light switch. She flipped this switch, and now could clearly see the chaotic scene that was her living room. Her brother’s body lay motionless in the center of the floor, with dried streaks of blood on his head and face, originating from a single spot in the center of his forehead. Items from the bookshelves were scattered on the floor, and a couple of drawers were hanging open, their contents noticeably disheveled.

            Marlene let out an involuntary scream. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” she yelled, as she scanned the horrific sight. She immediately turned to her left and ran down the hall and then up the stairs toward her bedroom. “My jewelry! My jewelry! Please, God, no! It’s not insured!!!”

#

It was almost midnight when two state troopers and a senior official from the coroner’s office zipped up a body bag and wheeled Victor Stasser’s corpse out the front door to a waiting van. Because of Victor’s infamous and high profile status, reporters and camera crews from the local TV stations swarmed the street in front of Marlene Strasser’s home, their floodlights illuminating the neighborhood as if it were high noon. At the sight of a body on a stretcher, a dozen cameramen scrambled forward for better angles while two dozen reporters hurriedly thrust microphones toward the cops demanding a comment. “Is that Victor Strasser?!” “Was he murdered?!” “Who killed him?!” “Do you have a suspect in custody?!”

            Yellow crime scene tape was ignored and trampled underfoot in the chaotic rush.

            “Damn leeches!” Capt. Ray Bradford muttered as he looked out the open front door from the living room. “We should arrest every last one of them,” he said to no one in particular.

            At Bradford’s words, Marlene Strasser strode across the living room and peered over his shoulder. “Oh hell!” she yelled. “They’re ruining my front yard. Can’t you do anything?” she said to Bradford.

            Capt. Bradford swore under his breath, then replied, “Yes, ma’am.” He spied two West Hartford cops walking from the hallway toward the kitchen. “Wilson! McGee!” he called out, “Get over here.” The two young officers hustled to their captain. “Get those reporters off the property and back onto the street,” he ordered. Bradford and Marlene stepped aside so the cops could pass by. As they were about to exit, Bradford held up his hand; the cops paused. “Even though they deserve to be cracked over the head,” Bradford said quietly, “be gentle. There will be 20 cameras recording your every move. That’s the last thing we need, understand?” The cops nodded, then left the house.

            Exhausted and exasperated, Marlene swore out loud. Capt. Bradford said, “I’m very sorry, ma’am. I know you’re tired of answering all our questions, and I’m sure the death of your brother is devastating for you.”

            Marlene stared at the police captain. That’s the only good thing to come of this! she thought to herself. That, and the fact the jerks didn’t even find my good jewelry. After a lengthy pause, she realized glee would not be a good emotion to display at that moment, so she cleared her throat and said, “Well, uh, of course. Devastating. I feel so violated. Criminals breaking into my house, for God’s sake. Um, when will you be through? When will all these people get out of my home?”

            “We’re just about finished,” Bradford answered. “Let me check with my detectives. I think we have everything we need.”

            For the better part of five hours, beginning soon after Marlene made the 9-1-1 call, more than 40 public safety officials examined every square inch of the premises. Every surface that might contain a fingerprint was dusted; hundreds of bits of evidence were carefully tagged, bagged, and sealed; and thousands of photographs were snapped.

            Capt. Bradford walked into the kitchen, where Det. Mike Cavanaugh had just finished giving instructions to three cops. “Cavanaugh,” Bradford said gruffly, “We done yet?”

            “Yeah, I think so,” Mike said. “We’re starting to pack up our stuff now.”

            “Good. Tomorrow morning, first thing,” Bradford said, “I want on my desk a list of all known B&E perps in the area, convicted or suspected.”

            “OK, Captain,” Mike said. “But just breaking and entering? I mean, it’s probably nothing more than a robbery gone bad. You know, they didn’t know he was here and then he startled them, and then they panicked and shot him, et cetera, et cetera. But—”

            “But what?” Bradford said, obviously agitated.

            “But Captain, this guy was real high-profile. You saw all those TV trucks out there, didn’t you? A lot of people wanted him dead. And many of those would’ve gladly volunteered to pull the trigger. Don’t you think we should widen the scope of our investigation, at least at first, until we rule out that it was nothing more than a random break-in gone bad?”

            “Look, Cavanaugh,” the captain growled through clenched teeth, his nose now mere inches from Mike’s nose, “I’m getting sick and tired of your insubordination crap! I give the orders around here, understand?!”

            Mike nodded.

            “And your job is to obey my orders, nothing more, nothing less. This is obviously a break-in gone bad. And that’s the way—the only way—we’re gonna investigate it. Do I make myself clear?”

            Mike nodded again. He weakly added, “Yes sir.”

            “Good,” Bradford said. He turned and began to walk away. “First thing! On my desk!” he shouted without turning back.

            “Oh my God,” Mike whispered, shaking his head. “That man is truly nuts.” He looked up and noticed five young, suddenly self-conscious cops. Each quickly turned away in an attempt not to make eye-contact. They were embarrassed about what they had just witnessed. The combination of humiliation and bewilderment, mixed with a fair amount of exhaustion, caused Mike to do what he usually did in tense situations. He laughed out loud.

            The five cops turned their heads back toward him and smiled. Mike shrugged his shoulders, smiled at them, and said, “Welcome to the funny farm, fellas.”

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