MURDER AT SUN COVE
CHAPTER ONE
The streetlights began blinking off all up and down the suburban street as a Sun Cove Gas & Electric bucket truck parked next to a pole on the south side of the street. The driver got out, set the wheel chuck, and put the cones out, as per company policy. Then the driver mounted the bucket and was soon on the way up to the street light above.
****
Two blocks away, Charlotte Sullivan called up the stairs, “Stevie, come on, your breakfast is ready!”
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“Coming, Mom,” he called down from under his covers.
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Charlotte smiled as her father came into the kitchen. He walked over to the stove and gave her a kiss on the cheek as he said, “Good morning, sweetheart. What’s for breakfast?”
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“Pancakes, if Stevie ever gets down here. Whatever could that boy be doing,” she wondered as they heard the shower come on upstairs. “I swear that boy’s gonna be late for his own funeral,” Charlotte said with a sigh. As she put a plate of pancakes in front of the older man, she said, “I don’t have time for this today. Since it’s obvious Stevie’s going to miss the bus, would it be too much to ask you to drop him off at school on your way to the city? I wouldn’t ask except I have this early morning meeting with a big client today and I can’t be late.”
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He looked at his watch and said, “I guess I can drop him off. My first case isn’t until eleven o’clock anyway. Yeah, sure, I can do it, no problem.”
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She smiled and said, “Thanks Dad. I gotta go. Stevie’s pancakes are in the oven and his milk is in the fridge. Don’t let him try to talk you into giving him some coffee. The last time I did that, he was bouncing off the walls all day.”
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“Wasn’t he six at the time?”
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They both laughed as Charlotte headed for the upstairs main bedroom. Just as she reached the landing the shower stopped. As she was walking past the bathroom door, she rapped on it and called out, “Stevie, your grandfather is going to drop you off on his way into the city. I have to go in early.”
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“Okay, Mom,” he replied through the closed door, “I’ll be down as soon as I throw some clothes on.”
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“Alright, I’ll see you tonight.”
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Ten minutes later, Charlotte was pulling out of the driveway on her way to work, passing the bucket truck with its blinking yellow light, on the way.
****
The driver had positioned the bucket next to the street lamp and opened the cover. But instead of working on the lamp, the figure stooped down and opened an aluminum case. The worker pulled out the stock of a high-tech sniper rifle, complete with receiver and trigger assembly. Next came the barrel and silencing device that were quickly threaded into place. The high-powered scope was attached and, lastly the bolt was inserted. The figure put a hand into a pocket and pulled out a fifteen-round magazine. Once inserted into its well, the shooter worked the action, arming the weapon. The gun was ready.
****
Stevie finished his breakfast and his grandfather cleared up, putting the dirty dishes in the dishwasher before they walked out the kitchen door. The black Mercedes backed out of the driveway and stopped as the operator shifted from “R” to “D”. That’s all the time it took.
****
Had anyone been looking up, they would have seen a thin blue gun barrel rise above the edge of the workman’s bucket. Then a hooded figure rose up and placed the rifle against their shoulder and placed their right cheek on the wooden stock. The right index finger slipped into the trigger guard as the shooter looked for the target through the rifle’s scope. Just as the Mercedes came to a stop, the shooter gently squeezed the trigger and, with a muffled ‘thump’ a 7.62-millimeter semi-jacketed hollow point round sped towards its target.
****
“I hope this isn’t going to make you late, Grandpa. I could have caught called an Uber or, just stayed home today.”
“It’s no problem, Stevie, I…” That’s when Stevie saw his grandfather’s head explode in a crimson ball.
****
Still looking through the scope, the assassin watched the vehicle’s windshield instantly turn red. Still watching, the sniper saw the Mercedes begin moving forward and to the left until it struck a telephone pole and the front airbags deployed. ‘One shot, one kill,’ thought the shooter with a smile.
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Ducking down again, the snipper quickly disassembled the rifle and placed it back in its case. The bucket was just coming down when the first police car came screaming down the street. The bucket truck pulled from the curb and turned right at the next corner, its yellow roof light still blinking.
****
Detective Frances Alexander was a twenty-year veteran investigator. He was about six feet tall and well over weight. Still, he was one of the best investigators in the department. He was working at his desk when his boss opened his door and called out, “Alexander, Cassidy, you’re up.”
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Frank turned and watched his boss walk over to him and said, “What do ya got, boss?”
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“Homicide near Driftwood Point.” Lieutenant Ryan handed him a Post-it and said, “This looks like a good one. Old man shot in his car.”
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“Who’s the on-scene boss?”
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"Lieutenant Draper is on-scene. Said there was a kid in the car with the old man. Kid’s pretty shook up. You better get out there.”
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Frank looked over at his partner, Lydia Cassidy and she looked back. Lydia was an African American woman about five and a half feet tall, thin and light complected. As they both stood up, Frank said, “We’re on the way.”
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It took the two detectives almost fifteen minutes to arrive on the crime scene. The neighborhood was made up of very expensive homes with manicured lawns and new luxury cars and SUVs in the driveway. Like most residential neighborhoods, the roads were somewhat narrow but, today they were clogged worse than normal. It seemed to Frank that every television station and most of the radio stations were on the scene. Slowly, they threaded their way between the TV station vans and satellite trucks until they were about a block away. As Frank maneuvered around the trucks, Lydia commented, “Either this guy was really important or it’s a slow news day.”
“Knowing our luck, he was probably the mayor’s dad or something.”
They pulled as close as they could get and were still a half a block away. After parking their Dodge Durango, they began walking, and eventually reached the taped off perimeter. A patrol officer lifted the police tape so they could duck under it and Lydia thanked her as they continued to the murder scene.
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Frank saw that the crime scene guys had covered the windows of the car with a blue tarp so most of the on-lookers couldn’t see the blood and brain splattered all over the inside. The two detectives pulled a corner of the tarp back and saw the gruesome scene underneath. ‘Disgusting,’ thought the seasoned investigator.
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As they were looking in the car, Lieutenant Draper came over. Frank looked up as Draper said, “About time you two got here. Where the hell have you been?”
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Frank looked around and said, “Have you seen this circus? The neighborhood is a madhouse. It took us all this time just to get near the scene. We had to make our way through the crowd on foot. Who the hell was this guy anyway?”
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“You didn’t recognize him?”
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“Well, in our defense, there isn’t much left of his face to recognize, Lieu,” Lydia interjected.
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Draper nodded, “Well that is true but still. Anyway he was Anthony Shaw, the attorney.”
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“THE Anthony Shaw? The Anthony Shaw that was district attorney for almost twenty years? Isn’t he a partner in a big law firm downtown?”
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Draper nodded. “That’s the one.”
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“Oh shit,” Frank said.
“That’s why Ryan was so hip for us to get out here. Jesus, half the gangs and drug dealers in town probably wanted this guy dead.”
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Just then, Lieutenant Draper’s radio crackled to life. He listened for a moment before he keyed the mic and said, “Have the perimeter units make a hole and let’s get that van in here. Then I want the crowd pushed back at least a block away. I don’t wanna see the Medical Examiner’s guys removing the body on the news tonight.”
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He looked back at Frank and Lydia. “Anyway, the kid is over there,” he said as he pointed toward an ambulance nearby. “We’ve called his mother, who is also a big-time attorney by the way, and she should be here any time now.”
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They watched the lieutenant walk toward the perimeter, barking out orders along the way. Cassidy pointed to the ambulance and said, “After you.”
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As they walked, Frank said, “Maybe you should talk to the kid. You’re much more empathic than I am. If anybody can get something out of him, I’m sure it’s you.”
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As they came around the back of the ambulance, they saw the grandson sitting on the back deck, wrapped in a blanket. The blanket wasn’t because it was cold, it was to hide the blood and gore plastered all over his clothes. Stopping in front of the teenager, they could see the remnants of the splatter still on his face. He looked up as they stood in front of him. Frank could see the tracks of his tears had cleaned some of the blood off his face.
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Lydia looked at the teen with pity in her eyes as she said, “My name is Detective Lydia Cassidy and this is my partner, Detective Frank Alexander. We’ll be investigating what happened to your grandfather. Can you tell us your name and whatever you remember about what happened?”
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“My name is Stephen Sullivan and it’s all my fault,” he blurted out before dissolving into tears again.”
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Lydia stooped in front of the boy and gently touched his upper arm. “Stephen, whatever happened is definitely not your fault. You were just an innocent bystander who was forced to witness a gruesome crime. But you might be able to help us find out who did this.”
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Through his sobs, he asked, “How?”
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"Well, you could start by telling us what happened before the shooting,” she said. “It’s someplace to start, you know?”
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Stevie looked up and nodded. After wiping his eyes and blowing his nose, he began his story.