The Perfect Beat – 8

Saturday 7 & Sunday 8 June 2008, & Saturday 7 May 2011

As I recall from my initial writing, this is not how I’d anticipated the story ending up. However, after so long sitting around, I’m not really surprised that the story meandered over to this place.

3:00 pm Friday 9 May 2008

I was back to being bored out of my brain at work. There wasn’t an active case around that I was allowed to work on, given my recent experience with the creepy intruder in my house. Yeah, I know, creepy isn’t exactly a professional law enforcement descriptor for a perp. The Sarge had insisted again, that Watson come home with me. Given what I had theorized with him, the Sarge wanted me safe in case I was the next target. I wasn’t happy about it. Watson was a sleazebag, and then there was the fact that I may have momentarily thought he was the intruder I’d had in my bedroom.

We hadn’t been at my house for more than forty five minutes when there was a knock on the door. Watson peeked through the curtains.

“It’s alright. It’s the Sarge, and a couple of guys from the station. Looks like they’ve brought over some files.”

I opened the door and ushered them in. Conway was the first to open his yapper.

“Nice digs, Blake. How in shit’s name did you afford this on a copper’s wage?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Connie, but it was my parents’ house. I inherited it.”

The Sarge threw the files he had on the coffee table in the lounge room. I was glad I’d bought a wood table. The weight of those files landing on it would have destroyed the glass number I’d been considering.

“Watch it, Sarge. I just bought that table,” I reached out to clap him on the shoulder when he swung around.

He flicked his head and Conway locked the front door. Another flick of the head and Patterson drew the curtains. I was puzzled.

“What’s going on? Sarge?”

There was that feeling again, and when I really looked at the Sarge, he too, was the same shape and size as the perv who’d been in my room. Had it not been for Bryan Mason’s description of the young guy he saw climbing in my room, I would have laid bets on it being the Sarge. I started to get anxious about this situation. When I turned around, Conway, and Patterson were closing in behind me while the Sarge spoke.

“Blake, you’re a good copper. I wasn’t expecting you to theorise what was going on so quickly. You hit on the fact that it might have been a cop who killed Kelly Mason pretty bloody quickly. Just figured on the wrong cop.”

Watson interjected, “She thought it was me who killed Kelly Mason, right?”

The Sarge nodded and laughed.

“It was me,” came the voice from behind me. Conway’s voice.

I pivot around to look at him. He’s got that same sort of leer that Watson was looking at me with last night. They’re all cut from the same cloth: misogynistic, sexist, chauvinistic bastards who run a boys’ club within the police force. I’m shocked by Conway’s confession. Did I just hear right? Conway admitted to killing Kelly Mason? I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or try to get the hell out of there. I convince myself to stand firm. I focus on my breathing. I need to stay calm.

Patterson pipes up next.

“And I got rid of Tim Maloney. Watson took Dave Mason out of the picture. And we all had a lot of fun with Kelly Mason before she was a corpse.” He laughed. He actually stood there and laughed at the fact that they had committed these heinous crimes.

The Sarge was standing almost on top of me. So close that I could smell he’d eaten a chocolate covered doughnut, probably on the way over. What was he going to confess?

“We’ve been at this for years, Blake. Don’t think that you’re going to be able to pin anything on us. We’ve got away with it for too long.”

I was feeling a little cocky. If they were going to do the same thing to me, they may as well tell me everything. So I asked.

“And what have you contributed to all of this, Sarge? Probably too afraid to get your hands dirty, huh?”

. . . To be continued . . .

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About Danielle

I like to write. What more is there to know?
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