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Trey swiveled his head in all directions, making sure that he wasn’t within earshot of anyone when he talked to Holcomb. “this’ll sound a little strange, but did that lady, Mrs. Kane, say something strange about her husband’s murder that night when you first arrived on the scene?” Holcomb tipped his hat back off his forehead, ran his fingers through his black sweaty crop of hair, and exhibited the kind of expression of someone recalling something unpleasant that they didn’t want to think about. “Yep, she sure did.” He let his eyes travel around the park as if he didn’t want to be overhead by anyone else either. Bernie opened his notepad and pulled out a pen, still breathing hard as he waited for the police officer to relate his story. “Go ahead and tell us. This is strictly between you, us, and the wall.” “Oh,” Trey’s face showed mock concern, “where’s Dawson? I’m a little concerned, maybe he didn’t look both ways at the school crossing or something.” “He’s busy chewin Cullum and Sparks a new butt hole back at the station. They’re the ones who first found the abandoned Mark 8,” Holcomb looked up into the sky trying to search his memory, “registered to a Juan Santiago, that’s right. Anyway, uh that lady was on her hands and knees going on about a pair of red,glowing, eyes suspended in the darkness, and she thought she was going to be its next victim until it ran off with the speed of a deer, and disappeared.” “It,” Bernie repeated, “what did she mean by it?” “Man, she was in hysterics. That was all she kept saying. I tried to calm her down till backup came, and then the emergency vehicle took her to Bellview. That’s all I know.” Holcomb grimaced as he thought of the murder scene. “It took a lot to try and get that off my mind so I could at least try to enjoy my vacation time.” Trey leaned toward Len in a lowered voice despite the fact that they were all a good distance from the rest of the city employees. “Hokie, take my advice. Don’t go spreading this red eyes story around. Okay? Commissioner Brown said that he’d have your badge if word got out, and you know what an asshole he can be.” “Hey, I was out of town two days later. I didn’t say a thing to anyone outside of Rich Mayo. He was there too, you know.” Len Holcomb spoke with an apologetic tone that reflected the delicate nature of the conversation. All there knew the grave implications of a public panic. Trey reached for Len Holcomb’s hand and, shook it, flashing him a smile. “Hokie, thanks.” “Trey, you got it.” The ambulance was slowly exiting the park grounds with another deposit destined for the morgue. Trey and Bernie ambled toward the abandoned Lincoln in the sweltering, early afternoon, heat. Paramedics, police, and forensics personnel were all beginning to leave the area. Bernie had just placed his faithful notepad in his shirt pocket as they arrived by the driver side of the Mark 8. In the distance, the gruff engine noise of the city wrecker could be heard as the driver shifted gears to slow down for the roadblock down the street. The Mark 8 that once propelled the arrogant Ramon Escobar stylishly through the city of Bluemont would shortly be impounded. There were fresh adhesive marks on the paint job left from the finger print tape that had been used to lift any evidence from the door, steering wheel, and other likely handled surfaces through out the car. Trey could see some of the dried blood that had been sprayed on the door and had been scraped off. Good, he thought,the techies had been thorough.
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