The night watcher, p.1
The Night Watcher, page 1
Take the best chrome hand gun and put it in the hands of a detective who wasn’t afraid to use it and you had a combination that put fear in the hearts of criminals.
He had earned his gold Detective’s shield the hard way, night school and in a uniform. Now the tall man who carried a weapon that was not standard, but could shoot through a car door, had a record of closing more cases with some of the toughest criminals on the streets.
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The Night Watcher
Copyright © 2024 M. Garnet
ISBN: 978-1-4874-4116-6
Cover art by SudaGraphics Inc
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The Night Watcher
By
M. Garnet
Dedication
Sometime the muse in me needs a nudge. Then my daughter, who is a great IT artist, draws me to her Etsy site and there it is. A cover she has created for sale to convince customers she can help them produce an eye catching cover for their book. But one on the ad page had a story in it for me, so I stole it and here it is.
Covers do sell books. Her site at Etsy is:
https://www.etsy.com/search?q=sudaGraphics&ref=search_bar
Remember to leave a comment about this book wherever you got it. Thanks so much.
www.mgarnet.com
Chapter One
It would be dawn soon and this world would change. Like part of the shadows, a drunken man stumbled across too much debris in the side street. The high street lights only gave a hazy glow to the cluttered sidewalk. He was fumbling in his pocket for his phone, with his puddled attention anywhere but where he was walking, when he fell flat over a low barrier on the pavement.
Rolling over with a groan as he felt the pain in one knee, he came face to face with a woman who looked in worse shape than him. Pushing himself away from the pale face, he worked to stand up, but accidently placed a hand on the lady. She felt cold and didn’t move.
“Damn,” he muttered, sick from his own breath. This woman was dead. Again, he worked to bring out the phone and punched in the 911. All he could do now was move over and lean against a wall.
Although the sirens could be heard in the distance, the drunk leaning on the wall was surprised when another man appeared out of the shadows and approached the death scene.
“Stay back. I’ve called the cops.” The drunk held up his phone as if it were a weapon.
The man with a light grey fedora low over his eyes, pulled his jacket back and flashed a badge attached to his belt. Then he began to pull on some latex gloves and knelt down next to the head of the lovely dead lady.
The drunk took a few steps sideways, glad for the wall for support. He really wanted to get away from this whole mad spectacle. He was looking at a beautiful dead woman and a cop who had appeared out of nowhere as if by magic. He thought he was going to be sick.
“Walk out to the corner to heave. We don’t want the crime scene disturbed.”
The drunk was surprised at the low order from the man down on his heels. But he understood the strange cop’s order and holding on with one hand move to the end of the building before everything in his stomach hit his shoes. Even with all the unusual smells in this dark neighborhood, his vomit made him heave again.
The glare of flashing red and blue lights made him close his eyes and wish he could close his ears from the loud sirens. There was more than one cop car with bright headlights on him and now down the side narrow street.
From the cars poured a number of people in the dark blue uniforms, some with weapons in their hands. A couple grabbed the drunk and others worked in alert motions toward the body. At that point the man in the grey fedora stood up and pulled his coat back again to show his gold shield.
“I was in the area and heard the 911 call. We need a Supervisor and a Crime Scene Unit. She has been dead for a long time and she was not killed here.” He spoke as he looked down at the body.
A couple of the uniforms approached and turned bright flashlights on to highlight the lady. One of them reached down, but the detective stopped him.
“Put gloves on. Don’t contaminate the crime scene.” Now he pulled out his own flash and began to look at the body’s feet and the area of the sidewalk.
The contrite uniform stood up and stepped back. “I need some gloves to check for body temperature.”
“What, idiot,” another uniform standing behind him spoke in a low voice. “You think she is still alive with her head bent like that? I’m putting thru the calls.” With that the smarter cop stepped away and spoke into his mic on his shoulder.
His buddy who was watching the detective work the sidewalk, turned and nudged his friend when he was done on the mic call. “Who is the detective that got here before we did?”
“Ah, he is a legend.” The second guy pulled his friend back away from the tableau. “That is Detective Damian Walker. It is whispered that he lives on these streets at night. Always seems to get to a crime scene before anyone else. He’s a real wild card.” The uniform tapped his weapon that was back in its holster. “His last two partners were killed on the job, so now no one will work with him.”
The first guy turned and looked in the brightness of the headlights at his buddy. “Good story but you are full of shit. I’m going back to the car for my coffee.”
Dawn did bring a different picture to this particular cross street. The flashing lights of the cop cars were everywhere as uniforms were going from door to door and upstairs to question individuals for information. A large Crime Scene Unit truck was now up front and in center position with all the yellow tape marking off a large area on both ends of the street where the body was covered by a sheet. Over the body was a portable tent on metal legs to prevent any moisture from the dawn’s mist to settle on the area.
Only two people were near the body and they were covered from head to toe in light blue protective clothing. On the back of the open doors of the Unit’s truck sat the detective and the supervisor.
The supervisor held out a fingerprint scanner. “We got a hit.”
The detective nodded and watched as she turned and opened a portable computer on the floor of the truck. It didn’t take her long to get on line with the latest equipment that the police department had supplied their staff. It actually took her longer to go through the internal system to trace for information on the name that had come up on the fingerprint ID. The detective sat quietly as the woman worked, looking out at the CSI people working.
“Ah, damn,” the Supervisor swore. “She is Caroline Becker, a third year student at Community College. What is she doing dressed like a hooker. The whore house is right around the corner from this spot.”
“They will find she has been redressed. She wasn’t a pro. It was made to look that way.” The Detective pointed at something one of the CSI guys was examining. The woman’s skirt was buttoned and zippered on the wrong side. Women’s clothes were manufactured that if they closed on a side, it will always be on the left. Someone had redressed the dead body.
“This is the third one in fourteen nights.” The Supervisor had a split screen up and there were pictures of two other women laid out on streets in similar poses as the girl in front of them. “We have a serial killer.”
“I’m going back to HQ and start on my report. I’ll send everything to you.” The Detective slowly left the scene, passing the corner. Usually at this time of the morning the special door of one business was closed up tight. Instead, it was open and a woman in a long silk wrap was standing in it, watching all the activity.
“Hey, Damian,” the woman called out. “Was it one of ours?”
Looking over at the working woman in her loose robe, the Detective shook his head. “Not this time, Rosy. Take care.”
Moving on past the clog of official vehicles, the tall slender man walked slowly on down the sidewalk, looking at the watchers. Sometimes a killer liked to stay around and watch the activity the dead body caused. But this time the Detective doubted that the killer was present. He had a hunch the perpetrator was too smart.
Several blocks away he approached his car. The low slung dark Charger with tinted windows came from the back of the police station’s garage where apprehended and unclaimed vehicles were temporarily stored. Detectives often could obtain vehicles from the garage if needed and if the cars were not involved in legal cases. What Damian liked about this muscle car was that when the strong engine was running, it didn’t roar, it purred. No one had made the mistake of putting the loud exhausts onto the mon
The only changes he had made to Detroit’s pride was pop up lights in the back windows and behind the front grill. Nothing showed until he hit the right buttons and then he got a siren and the red and blue lights to stop anyone. If someone was stupid enough to run, this car could take them down easily. Damian loved the low vehicle.
Pulling in behind the two story police station that took up most of the city block. In back of the large garage for parking on one side and the storage area for work for the mechanics. The area for the apprehended and held vehicles was behind on a separate block inside a high wire fence.
Parking in a Reserved place for officers higher in rank than Detectives, he made his way into the back door and through the well lit cubbies for the cops that deserved a place for their own work places. His was over one aisle and down a couple of slots. There was an empty place next to him since he did not have a partner, but the guy on the other side slid out and nodded.
“Hey Walker, another busy night, huh?” The guy was a young detective, but did a reasonable job. Damian liked the young man. Under the right circumstances the kid would make a good detective. He was teamed up with a guy who was near retirement and didn’t want to do anything but punch his time card. The older detective never came into the office this early, but the kid showed up in hopes of something interesting falling their way.
“Yeah,” Damian nodded as he slid down into the comfortable chair and brought up the screen on the desk computer. “I have a full report to fill in before I fall asleep. If I fall out of this chair, come over here and kick me.”
The kid laughed but had the sense to leave the busy man alone as he began to bring up standard forms to fill. It would be a long morning.
* * * *
It was a longer morning for a tired EMT workers who were returning to their apartment together after a longer than usual night on their job. He was the driver of the ambulance with a trained medical assistant in the front and she was a trained medical assistant that always rode in the back.
He was a large handsome muscular guy that got a lot of attraction from the females and usually had to handle anything that required pushing or pulling. She was a small but compact woman who could still handle any wheel chair or the rolling transport beds from their vehicle. The third man was a young guy on the small side and tended to be shy, but did follow orders from both of the other. They separated at the EMT station and the kid took a bus home while the pair took their small sedan to the apartment they shared.
As they entered the downstair basement apartment, she was the one who gave directions. “You go ahead and straighten up the bedroom. I will clean up the bathroom. I’ll be a while because the last one needed a lot of work.”
He dumped his heavy jacked over a hook at the door and started down the hallway. “You sure you want me to put everything away? We can have some fun of our own later.” There was almost a sexy question in his voice.
“Don’t tempt me.” She answered with a laugh. “You know I love it when you clamp those ties to my wrists. But I think I will be tired after I am done. Maybe tomorrow night we will let you be a Dom.” She hummed as she left him to begin to pull cleaning tools from a cabinet. She had not even pulled her jacket or boots off.
Stopping in the door of the bathroom, she looked at all the make-up and nail polish that was still out in kits standing on the floor. With a sigh, she set the bucket full of tools and mop down, went back to the entry and took off her jacket and boots. Now it was time to get serious and clean the bathroom. Men never understood how important it was to have a clean bathroom.
Chapter Two
At last Damian got to his apartment. Some would be shocked to visit this one room where the Detective lived, but it suited him. It was one large room with an equally large bathroom off to one side. One whole wall was cabinets from the high ceiling to the floor with an inset work space. Some of the cabinets had dial pads for a lock to open. On another wall was a built-in kitchen, everything in one place and narrow with fridge and stove and work area and open areas showing plates and pans and utensils.
Best of all, thought Damian, on the outside wall that was windows waist high stood a wide king size bed. It was all pillows and heavy duvets with no direct head or foot. Except for the bed the room and bathroom were extremely neat.
Pulling off his cap he nudged a handle less cabinet and it popped open. He hung the hat and took off his coat to put it on a large wooden hanger inside the same long cabinet. By the time he came out of the bathroom he was stripped down in comfortable loose pants. He hit a button on the wall near his bed and there was a loud banging as shutters slammed down over the windows and the room was in darkness.
It was the next midnight when the Detective was down in the basement of HQ. It was where the morgue was located and with no windows and all the bright lights, there was no day or night in this place. Due to the crime in this bustling city, the morgue had three shifts running all the time, with competent aides and good Pathologists heading up the staffs.
Now Damian was on first names with the Doctor in charge of the final shift as they both worked the eleven pm to seven am. That was the official time, but both often worked longer hours if cases piled up.
“Hey Jean,” the Detective spoke as he made his way through the aisle of bodies.
“Welcome Damion, I figured this lady was yours. You are too early, but I promise I will stay and look her over. They put her aside because they were swamped in here yesterday due to a house fire.” The Pathologist didn’t look up as she was doing something that he didn’t want to know about. “This is awfully familiar.”
“Damn. I thought the same thing when I saw her on the curb. Someone put on her make up and dressed her.” Damion leaned against another tall table in the cold room and watched his friend work. This was not an area he enjoyed. It was not his environment, not because of the dead bodies, but because he was a person of the dark. He needed to be out right now on the dark streets seeking the night crawlers who used the lack of light to prey on others.
“Damian,” the doctor talked as she stepped back and raised her face shield. “This killer has real deep problems. Please be careful.”
“Always am, Jean. Send me a copy of the report when you’re done. Thanks.” The Detective left to go up the stairs and out into the dark to find his car with a notice on the windshield. He knew what it was. It was a warning about parking in wrong place. As the car purred into action, he headed back to the crime scene for one more look.
For the night people, one o’clock was the right time for partying and hunting for hidden poker games and whores. All of it was easy to find in this part of the busy city. Actually, it was available in most parts of the city as overgrowth, poverty and lack of law made it the rule for the streets. This great metropolis that had once been a magnificent lady now had stained skirts. This Detective was down here in the dirt and recognized all the problems.
There was a tattered yellow police ribbon across the side street with one black and white parked in front to block it off. The doors of the cop car were open and one uniform leaned against the hood. Walker wondered where the guy’s partner was, off or coffee or in talking to the whores. The girls in the building on the corner with no outside lights or marker or name except for the number on the wall beside the door that was wide open. The red and orange bright lights made long streaks out onto the dirty sidewalk and was better advertisement than any sign.
Getting out with his two cup of coffee that he had picked up at the local drive thru, he usually drank both himself. But it never hurt to make a friend among the guys who were on the street as much as him.
“Did they leave you out here by yourself tonight?” The Detective held out the coffee and the cop seemed surprised. Most people with the gold shield always acted aloof around the uniforms. Damian remembered back to his time actually walking a beat.
