Free Murder! Too Close To Home by J. T. Lewis Page B

with a loud grunt, laying his notebook on the table but leaning back in the chair without glancing at it.
    “As you probably know, a passerby found a severed human hand on the courthouse steps about an hour ago. Finger prints have been taken and we should know if the potential victim is in the system in a few minutes.”
    As if on cue, a deputy entered the room in a hurry, heading directly toward Allen. The sounds of sirens started up in the background as the deputy turned to leave. From the sound of it, most of the Sheriff’s department appeared to be leaving.
    Allen looked over the information before giving us a name and address. Telling us to meet there in a few minutes, he immediately rose from the table and left the room. Betty mentioned that the address was only a mile away as we got up to leave. Frank opted to ride with us for the short trip.
    As we drove we discussed the victim, Harold Longstreet was a name none of us were familiar with. Wolf Run was also unknown to me, but Betty and Frank had both patrolled it over the course of their duties.
    Arriving at the scene, I was flabbergasted to realize that this was the house I had stood in front of earlier in the evening, stood in front of in my dream. As Betty and Frank were getting out of the Jeep, Betty noticed that I had made no attempt to get out. I had an uncomprehending look on my face.
    “Gabe,” Betty said with concern, “is everything ok?”
    Coming out of my trance, I quickly got out of the car, mumbling that I would tell her later.
     
    ***
     
    Two deputies first on the scene had tried to rouse someone using the standard knock and announce. When they received no response, they rounded the house, checking windows and doors as they went. Finding the back door open, they drew weapons and entered slowly, clearing one room before entering another. Arriving in the living room, they had found what they were afraid that they would find.
    Mr. Longstreet was lying in a pool of his own blood.
     
    ***
     
    The deputies got busy securing the scene as the road outside filled with strobes of red and blue. By the time we had arrived, it was so congested at the scene that we had to park a hundred yards from the house and walk the rest of the way. Already cordoned off with crime scene tape, we were immediately let in while most of the deputies were held back in the yard.
    Inside we found Allen huddling with Sheriff McHenry while the rest of the task force was gloving up to start the investigation. Glancing around, I observed a relatively clean room with well-worn furniture and few lights. Neat stacks of magazines and newspapers filled most of the nooks around the room, making it look more like he was a collector rather than a hoarder. I grabbed a pair of gloves myself and eased over to the body for a preliminary look, taking care where I stepped.
    The body was lying on its back about six feet inside the door, the knife still sticking from the bloody chest wound. The right hand was loosely wrapped around the knife, as if he had tried to pull it out before he had expired.
    The left arm was laying straight out from the body, ending abruptly in a bloody stump, a gory meat cleaver lying nearby. Bent metal-rimmed glasses lay on the floor three foot above his prone body.
    Lying in the pool of blood surrounding the arm was a card with the word ‘GHOST’ beaming up at us. Blood had soaked into the edges of the paper, creating a macabre veined look to it that sent an involuntary chill up my spine.    
    Betty was beside me while Frank took up position on the other side of the body, crouching down to get a better look. Mr. Longstreet was wearing pajamas under a threadbare robe that appeared to have been dark blue at one time. There were no apparent footprints left by the murderer. He would have had to be extremely careful to have avoided blood on his shoes in this room.
    “Knife and cleaver appear to be standard kitchen hardware,” Frank stated from his crouched position.