THE COTTAGE
Chapter 24
REVELATION
Tim smiled. Caroline was sleeping soundly. Ned was still holding her hand.
He needed to speak to Ned, but first he wanted to know what had happened to Constable Harold. The officer had been missing from his post for nearly twenty-five minutes.
Tim paced the room, occasionally glancing into the corridor. Each time, the chair outside Caroline’s door remained empty.
Ned looked up. “Tim, you seem edgy. What’s up?”
Tim hesitated. “It’s just that Sergeant Blackstone said he’d stop by. I know from Emily that Margaret Smythe…” He stopped. “You remember her from the detachment?”
Ned nodded. “Get on with it, son.”
“Anyway, she’s been keeping Blackstone apprised of Caroline’s condition. He wants to speak with Caroline when she’s well enough.” Tim paused again. “My guess is he’ll be here soon. That’s all.”
He glanced into the corridor once more.
The chair was still empty. Now he was certain something was very wrong.
“Ned, I think we’ve got a problem.”
Ned looked up sharply. “What is it?”
“Constable Harold. He’s gone.”
“On a break, maybe. But gone? No.”
“He’s not outside Caroline’s door. I’ve been checking the hallway for…” Tim glanced at his watch. “Nearly twenty-five minutes now. And he hasn’t returned.”
Ned rose abruptly. “He was assigned to protect her! He wouldn’t just walk away.”
“I know. That’s what worries me.”
Before either man could say more, Sergeant Blackstone appeared in the doorway. He noticed the empty chair in the corridor.
“Where’s Constable Harold?”
“What I want to know, Sergeant Blackstone,” Ned said, his voice rising, “is why the constable you assigned to guard my daughter has disappeared!”
Blackstone stopped in the doorway. “Disappeared?”
Tim stepped forward. “His post has been empty for nearly twenty-five minutes.”
Blackstone’s expression hardened. He reached for the portable radio clipped to his shoulder.
“Constable Harold, this is Sergeant Blackstone. Come in.”
Static crackled from the small speaker.
“Harold, respond.”
Nothing.
Blackstone turned toward the two men. “Stay here, gentlemen. Don’t let anyone in unless you know who they are.”
“Sergeant,” Ned demanded, “what the hell is going on?”
“I’ll be back with an answer. I promise you.”
Blackstone stepped into the corridor, already speaking into his radio.
“Dispatch, this is Blackstone. I need an immediate location check on Constable Harold. He’s missing from his assigned hospital post.”
He hurried toward the nurses’ station.
Outside, two large dumpsters stood beside the hospital’s rear service entrance.
A maintenance worker emerged from the building carrying several bags of rubbish. As he approached the dumpsters, he noticed something protruding from behind one of the containers.
At first, he thought someone had left a bundle of clothing on the pavement.
Then he saw the black police boot.
He approached cautiously.
“Oh, dear God!”
He stumbled backward, fumbling for his phone.
Minutes later, Sergeant Blackstone rounded the corner of the building. The maintenance worker stood near the service entrance, pale and trembling.
“Over there,” the man whispered, pointing.
Blackstone hurried toward the dumpster.
Constable Harold lay crumpled on the pavement, partially concealed by the enormous metal container.
The Sergeant knelt beside him and checked for a pulse.
There was none.
For a moment, he stared at the young constable. Then he reached for his radio.
“Dispatch, Sergeant Blackstone. Officer down. Rear service entrance of Sheet Harbour Hospital. Send emergency medical assistance immediately. I need additional officers to secure the scene and cover every hospital exit. Notify hospital security. No one enters or leaves without being identified.”
He paused, struggling to control his voice.
“And I want updates every five minutes.”
He looked up toward the hospital windows.
If you’re hiding anywhere in there, my men will find you.
Instinct had taken over. In a matter of seconds, he had set things in motion.
Yet he remained kneeling beside Harold’s body, reluctant to leave the young constable alone on the cold pavement.
As he began to rise, he remembered the photograph Harold had shown him only a few days earlier.
His wife and infant child.
Harold had been beaming with pride, holding the photograph as though it were the most precious thing in the world.
“Come to the christening,” he’d said.
Blackstone remembered the young man’s excitement. Harold had talked about his family with such happiness, such confidence in the future.
So young. So proud to be a father.
Now there would be no more photographs, no more family celebrations. His wife would be left to raise their child alone.
Blackstone felt a heaviness settle in his chest .
He was about to touch the constable’s shoulder but pulled his arm back. “Your body belongs to Doc Hilliard now.”
The words caught in his throat.
“And you were a good officer,” he whispered.
As he rose, something caught his eye.
A spent cartridge casing lay on the pavement near Harold’s body.
Blackstone bent to examine it more closely. It appeared similar to the casing recovered during the investigation into Willy Burgos’s murder.
Could the same caliber of weapon have been used?
He resisted the temptation to pick it up. That was the job of ballistic team.
He left the casing unmoved and untouched.
The first responding officers arrived, and Blackstone instructed them to secure the area surrounding the dumpsters. He pointed out the casing, warning them to keep everyone clear of it until the forensic specialists could examine the scene.
The maintenance worker remained nearby, visibly shaken.
Blackstone approached him.
“Did you see anyone near these dumpsters before you found the constable?”
The man shook his head. “No, sir. I was just bringing out the rubbish.”
“Did you hear anything? A shot? Someone shouting?”
“No. Nothing at all.”
Blackstone studied the man’s face. He appeared genuinely frightened.
“An officer will need to take your statement. Please remain here until he’s spoken with you.”
The man nodded silently.
When the forensic team arrived, Blackstone directed their attention to the cartridge casing.
“I want it photographed and collected. Have it compared with the evidence from the Burgos case.”
He turned to the lead investigator.
“I’d like a preliminary report on my desk tomorrow.”
It was difficult to keep his voice calm.
Leaving the scene in their hands, Blackstone entered the hospital again and leaned against the cool corridor wall.
He was perspiring. His anger simmered like water in a kettle, threatening to boil over.
“Dammit!”
Harold was dead. Willy Burgos was dead. Ronnie Burke was dead.
Three deaths. Three young men.
How many more would there be before he uncovered the truth?
Ned and Tim were waiting for him on the third floor, expecting answers. But he had more questions than answers.
What do I tell them?
That bodies are piling up?
He closed his eyes briefly, struggling to regain his composure. Anger would accomplish nothing. He needed to think clearly, to keep his men focused, and above all, to protect the people who were still alive.
He brought his anger under control as he approached the nurses’ station.
He questioned the staff, hoping for quick answers.
Who had seen Harold? When had anyone last spoken to him? Had anyone notice him leaving his post?
Only Emily remembered talking to Harold. She told Blackstone that their conversation had been brief and that nothing about the constable’s manner had struck her as unusual.
“Did he mention going anywhere?” Blackstone asked.
“No, Sergeant. Not that I remember.”
“Did you notice anyone speaking to him?”
Emily hesitated, searching her memory.
“I don’t think so. I’m sorry. There was so much going on.”
Blackstone nodded. He could see that she was troubled by the news.
He questioned several other staff members, but no one had more information to offer.
Or at least nothing they were willing to tell him.
Who could he trust?
He had two people to safeguard now: Mister at the detachment and Caroline at the hospital. And he was running out of men.
The thought disturbed him more than he cared to admit. Every officer assigned to guard someone was another officer unavailable to investigate the deaths. And now one of those men had been killed.
He called Margaret to check on the hospital’s security arrangements.
“Margaret, have sufficient officers been assigned to the hospital and the surrounding area?”
“Yes, Sergeant. The arrangements are being made.”
There was something unusual about her voice. She sounded strained, almost distracted.
“Everything all right, Margaret?”
“Of course, Sergeant. There’s just a great deal to do.”
Blackstone wondered whether he was expecting too much of her. She had been handling one crisis after another, and the pressure on everyone at the detachment was increasing. Now the press was adding to her burden.
He realized there was yet another task, and soon. He had to gather hospital officials to make a joint press.
This meant yet more for Margaret to shoulder.
“Make sure Mister remains under guard,” he reminded her.
“Yes, Sergeant. I’ll see to it.”
He ended the call, still troubled by her tone.
Satisfied that the security arrangements were underway, he made his way toward Caroline’s room.
He had promised Ned an answer.
But he had questions, not answers.
He paused outside the door, took a moment to compose himself, then knocked and entered.
Caroline was awake.
He tried to muster a smile.
Dear Readers,
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