Chapter 11

Old and new


    Detective Sheldon Glock pulled up to the old warehouse at around three a.m., He turned off his recently issued new car, a Ford Crown Victoria. He sighed, then stepped out into the cold. He pulled out his small Maglite and looked around the narrow alley. He pointed it towards the ground, he noticed a few drops of blood spatter, then knelt down to get a closer look. His partner got out of the car and stepped across from his position, adding light from his own flashlight.

"You gots somethin' Glock?" asked Detective Roddy Denton, the senior of the two detectives. His gruff and raspy voice echoed in the silent alley. Glock looked up at the fifty five year old detective.

"Not so loud, old timer, what if he's still here?" replied Glock.

"Theres no sign of his Lincoln, and by the looks of it, he had a visitor, and now both of them are gone." Denton walked towards the adjacent lot behind the ware house, it was about forty feet across wide, and eighty feet deep.

"Big enough lot? Looks like whoever parked here, had company," he waved his flashlight around, noticing remnants of James' and Ambers footprints.


"You think The Man killed someone, then took them to their car, drove off, and then came back, and took off again?" asked Glock.

"I don't think so son." said the old cop.

"Doesn't really fit what we know so far." he added.

"And what's that?" asked Glock.

"That he's a tricky sonovabitch." He turned, looked at Glock, then nodded towards the warehouse door at the top of the small flight of stairs.

"Let's go" he said.

They walked in and immediatly pulled their guns out. The stench was intense.

"Jesus fucking Christ, what in the hell is that smell Rod?"

"Smells like a Blond reporter who had an Autopsy," His flashlight was pointed directly at the reporter, Barbara Lund.

"Well this doesn't make any sense man, what the hell did she get herself into?" A rat scurried between Glocks legs, and he flinched. "Fuck" he yelled.

"Don't be so skittish, get yer ass over here boy." said Denton.

"Who in the hell did this? and why?"   Denton asked aloud, more to himself than to his thirty-five year old replacement.
"I don't know who, but I can see how, and with what, look at all these god damned instruments" exclaimed Glock. He snapped on a pair of powderless rubber gloves, and lifted the plastic from above The Man's tools.

    Roddy Denton looked at the tools, and the way they were arranged, and squinted, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes almost folded into his face completely. "I haven't seen shit like this since, no, it's not possible, never mind. Get the Crime Scene Unit, and the M.E. on the horn and tell them to tip-toe through this fucking shit hole, get them to label every god damned speck of dust, I don't give a shit how long it takes."

Glock went back to the car.