Three twenty-eight in the ever-loving morning. Another hour and a half before he would be relieved and could head home for some shut-eye. He was one of four officers tasked with maintaining security on 62 Milburn Court. Collins was at the guardhouse, Burton was in the back near the pool house, and Sevilla was inside probably sleeping. He hadn’t seen or heard from him in over an hour.
He wanted to be sleeping.
A mosquito buzzed past Putney’s face, and he snatched the insect out of the air with his free hand. When he opened his fist, what was left of the bug was in his palm, a black and bloody mess. “Got you, you little shit!”
“I’ve got movement,”a voice crackled from the radio at his shoulder. Burton, at the back of the property.
Putney squeezed the transmit button. “What kind of movement?”
“Not sure,”Burton replied.“Just something from the corner of my eye.”
“Want me to come back there?” Putney said.
Silence for a moment, then,“Negative.”
“Could be deer. I’ve seen three of them since I got here.”This from Collins at the guardhouse.
“Maybe,”Burton said.
Putney pressed his transmit button, another smoke ring rising into the night sky. “Maybe it’s another reporter sniffing around?”
“Negative,”Collins said.“We ran the last of them off around midnight. I’ve got eyes on the cul-de-sac, and it’s empty. I’ve had the occasional looky-loo pull in, but they see my cruiser and turn right back around. Got mountains at the back of the house, nobody’s coming that way on foot.”
“There it is again. Too big to be a deer. Five, maybe six feet tall. Dammit, got another about twenty feet down the tree line,”Burton replied.
Putney let the cigarette fall to the pavement and stomped out the remains, then reached for his microphone. “I’m coming back there.”
Static, then Collins from the guardhouse.“Negative, hold your position until we know what it is. Could be a diversion.”
Fuck you, Collins. You don’t give orders, we’re all the same rank. Putney tapped his microphone again. “Do you need backup, Burton? Give the word.”
No response.
That’s when Putney saw something. The slightest of movement from the trees behind the fountain toward the far edge of the driveway. He pulled his Maglite from his belt, flicked the switch, and directed the bright beam toward the trees. He didn’t see anything move, but for a second he thought he saw eyeshine reflected in the light. Then it was gone.
A branch cracked off to his right, at the trees on the west end of the house. He swung the beam around. This time he caught someone shuffling sideways behind the trunk of an old oak. “Pittsburgh PD!” he shouted. “You’re trespassing on a crime scene! Put your hands in the air, and step out where I can see you!”
Putney’s free hand fell to the butt of his Glock .45. His thumb flicked the leather band holding it in place, releasing the snap. “Come out! Now!”
A man in a long, white coat stepped out, his hands at his sides. He held something in the right. He looked to be about forty years old, with dark hair. His expression was blank, unreadable.
“Drop it!”
The man didn’t move.
Putney leaned into his microphone and pressed the transmit button with the hand holding the flashlight. “I’ve got someone here, just stepped out of the woods.”
No reply.
“I said, drop it!”
More movement, to the right of this man.
A woman stepped from the trees, also wearing a long, white coat, also holding something in her hand. Another after that, another man, about ten feet down the tree line. Two more came out from the far left.
Putney wanted to take a step back, deeper into the stone archway covering the house’s entrance, but he didn’t, he didn’t move.
Others began filing out from the trees. He had no idea where they were all coming from, fifteen or twenty of them now.
