Free Dunston Falls by Al Lamanda Page B

appropriate time to make an announcement.”
    Peck stared at Kranston for several seconds. “Be prepared to answer the question why it took the second murder to announce the first.”
    Kranston gave a slight nod of his head to acknowledge he understood, turned and left the office.
     
    Peck sat at his desk and wrote reports for several hours after Kranston left. Experience taught him that no detail was too small or insignificant to overlook or ignore. Most cases come to successful conclusion by a second and third look at a detail detectives dismissed the first time. Once that missed detail became obvious, the detective usually beat himself up for not catching it sooner. Some day, police work would be a more advanced, highly technical science, but for now, it was keen eyes, instinct, experience and dedication. He hoped science and forensic labs didn’t replace those invaluable qualities.
    Peck fueled the fire, heated the coffee, and continued to write. Especially in murder cases, the twenty-four hour period before and after the crime are the most important. Once a scene grows cold, the less of a chance there is in solving the crime. In this instance, both murders were outside the window of solvability. Even the FBI crime lab would have a difficult time analyzing clues and finding a suspect.
    Peck was reluctant to admit it, but that meant a third murder would have to occur in order to obtain enough fresh evidence to solve the first two. That was a homicide detective’s nightmare, waiting out a fresh crime scene to solve a previous murder.
    To the detective, a fresh crime scene meant new clues and a chance to close a case. To the victim, it meant they were dead.
    It was as simple and as complicated as that.
    Peck set his pen aside and gently rubbed a spot between his eyes just above his nose. He could not describe the feeling as pain, but pressure as if the area had suddenly swollen. As he sat there and rubbed, Peck’s attention turned to the open door on the woodstove. Red-hot flames danced as the logs crackled. He could not explain why, but the flames appeared nearly hypnotic in their rhythm.
    Peck placed both hands on the desk as he continued to stare at the fire. A bead of sweat rolled down his face to his mouth. It tasted of salt. He could feel his heart beating inside his chest and a vein swell on the side of his neck.
    Suddenly, Peck was somewhere else, as if he mind was no longer connected to him and left the room. It was impossible, he knew, but he felt as if his consciousness transported him to a place outside of his body and he was beside himself. He could see the flames of an out of control fire raging as if he were standing right before it. There were screams all around him, cries of pain ringing in his ears.
    Peck jumped to his feet, but the hallucination stayed with him.
    A tiny hand, a child’s hand reached out for him.
    Peck felt himself raise his right hand to reach for the child.
    On contact with the child’s hand, there was a sudden, thunderous explosion and the vision vanished like a puff of smoke. Drained, Peck fell backwards into his chair.
    Sweat ran down his face as Peck tried to gather his thoughts and calm himself. He opened the desk drawer, removed the bottle of scotch and took a major league swallow. Setting the bottle aside, Peck sat and stared at his fingers. He wanted to get up and return to the cot, but his legs felt like lead. He lit a cigarette and felt the muscles in his legs slowly relax. Finally, when he could stand without getting dizzy, he walked to the cot and drifted off to sleep almost instantaneously.
     
    Peck joined McCoy for breakfast at Deb’s diner. News of Deb’s death was unknown to her staff so the mood in the diner was cheerful, more so since the storm broke and the sky began to clear. Conversation was optimistic, almost festive. It was amazing how people came together in a time of emergency and could seemingly almost enjoy that emergency, then take pride that they