Chapter 1

"Lieutenant, just got a call for a domestic. Guy is threatening to shoot his wife," my partner John Hastings said.

"Why they calling us?" I asked.

"It was a call for closest unit. We're only three blocks away," John said.

"Okay, let's roll," I said as I dropped my half eaten sandwich on the tray.

Two minutes later we pulled up in front of a duplex in Hudson Heights. As we arrived on the scene, we found a man holding a woman hostage in front of the house. He had his left arm around the woman's neck and he was holding a gun in his right hand, which was pointed at her head. As John and I stepped out of the car the man started yelling, "Stay away or I will shoot you too."

John started moving to the right while I moved to the left to make it harder for the man to watch both of us. I started talking to the man to draw his attention as John pulled his weapon and continued to slowly move to the right.

"Stop moving," the man shouted and pointed his gun at me as he turned his head to look at John. I stepped closer and started reaching for my weapon but before I could get it the man turned his attention back to me and started shooting. His first two shots hit me in the vest and knocked me back against the car. The third shot entered under my arm and exited my back. I heard two more shots as I fell to the ground. When I was able to look again, I saw the man lying on the ground and half of his head was gone. John had dropped him before he had a chance to fire a fourth shot at me.

The next few hours were a blur to me. It wasn't until seven o'clock that evening that I was awake enough to see that Carrie was sitting next to my bed holding my hand. Carrie, my wife of just four years, tried to be strong for me but I could tell how scared she was. My wound could easily have been fatal but I was lucky that the bullet hadn't hit any vital organs. I don't think that it had even really occurred to Carrie before that day that she could lose me and after that she lived in fear every time I went to work.

After a few months of her often breaking down and crying we had a long talk about my career and how it was affecting her. She told me that she knew I loved being a cop and she couldn't ask me to quit so we worked out a compromise. I agreed to take a job in a small town where the job would not be as dangerous."

I made a few calls and found an opening on my hometown police force. Carrie had grown up in Philadelphia and moved to Baltimore after college. Brodricksburg, Pennsylvania was much smaller than either of those cities and I wondered how Carrie would adapt to life in a small town.

Brodricksburg, Pennsylvania Thursday January 27, 2005 11:25 PM

"That's it, right there. Oh, that's good," I moaned. "Now just a little to the right. Push just a little harder."

"How's that?" Carrie asked.

"That's great, babe. Ah... That's it. That feels better now."

"Are you okay now?" Carrie asked.

"Yep. You've got the magic touch. My back feels a lot better now."

"Your back wouldn't hurt so much if you stopped playing basketball on Tuesday nights."

"You know I can't do that."

"Yeah, well, now that I fixed your back, how about you taking care of my needs?"

I rolled over and took Carrie in my arms and kissed her. "I'd be glad to take care of your needs, Mrs. Flintstone."

"Then get busy, Mr. Rubble."

As I kissed Carrie again I slipped my hand inside her nightgown and began to massage her right breast.

"How does this feel, Mrs. Flintstone?"

"That feels nice," Carrie answered, "but, since we are about to become very intimate, don't you think it would be more appropriate to call me Wilma?"

"Okay, Wilma it is and you can still call me Mr. Rubble."

"I don't think so."

"Okay, call me Barney."

The reference to Wilma Flintstone and Barney Rubble here comes from a long running joke between Carrie and me. Once, while watching 'The Flintstones' cartoon on television I told Carrie that I had heard a rumor that Barney Rubble was banging Wilma Flintstone behind Fred's back.

Not to be outdone, Carrie said, "Well, I heard that they have been having an affair for more than two years." Since then references to the Flintstone characters occasionally come up while we fooled around in bed.

When I moved my hand between Carrie's legs and pressed my finger against her damp slit, she moaned, "Oh, Barney."

I started laughing and before I could regain my composure the telephone rang.

Carrie rolled over and picked up the phone up from the bedside table. "Hello... Yes, he's here... It's for you," she said as she handed me the phone.

"Lieutenant Hobbs?"

"Yes."

"This is Sergeant Giambo. We have a report of a shooting at 5219 River Road."

"Any details?

"No, sir. The call just came in."

"Call Sergeant Hanratty and tell him to pick me up ASAP."

"Yes, sir."

I handed the phone back to Carrie so she could put it back on the table. "Sorry, Babe, there was a shooting on River Road and I have to go out there."

I could see the worry in Carrie's eyes. "This isn't Baltimore," I said.

"I know, but it is my right to worry, isn't it?"

"As long as you don't worry too much," I said. "This may very well turn out to be nothing so I might be back soon to finish what I started, Mrs. Flintstone."

That brought a small smile to Carrie's pretty face.

5219 River Road

Richard Hanratty arrived at my house fifteen minutes after I had told the dispatcher to call him. Richard Hanratty is a sergeant on the homicide squad and had been my partner for the last four and a half years. Hanratty, as I always referred to him, and I had grown up together and except for the eleven years I lived away from Brodricksburg, we had been close friends.

"What do you know about this?" Hanratty asked me.

"Nothing more than you," I said. "Just that there was a shooting out on River Road. The dispatcher said he didn't have any details."

"Fifty-two-nineteen is out near Grayson Road, isn't it?" Hanratty said as he stuck the red gumball light on the roof of our unmarked car.

"I believe so."

River Road is the portion of State Route 32 that passes through Brodricksburg, Pennsylvania running along the west side of the Delaware River, and 5219 River Road is on the extreme south side of Brodricksburg, an area that is more rural than urban. The homes in the area are all on the west side of the road, as there isn't room for houses between the road and the river bank on the east side of the road. The houses along this stretch of River Road are old and most of the properties had been farms at one time.

Hanratty had been correct. Number 5219 River Road was the address of the house on the corner where Grayson Road dead-ended at River Road. It was a large white two-story farmhouse that was built in the 1920s. The front porch went the whole width of the house and wrapped around both sides. Behind the house there was a large white horse barn and a four-car garage. There were already two black and whites and another unmarked car in the driveway when we arrived.

As we got out of the car, Hanratty said, "Remember that cabin we built out of railroad ties when we were kids?"

"Yeah, I remember that."

"Didn't we build it out in the woods behind this property. I remember that it wasn't into the woods that far from Grayson Road and I remember seeing the back of that barn when we walked down the old J&J rail bed."

"I think you're right. The cabin was probably a few hundred yards behind the barn. Luckily they couldn't see the cabin from up here."

When Hanratty and I walked up onto the porch the officer at the door nodded his head. "Lieutenant," he said as a way of greeting me. "Captain Ross is already inside. He asked me to send you in as soon as you got here. You'll find him in the study off to your right."

I said, "Thanks Henry," and then headed inside. I looked at Hanratty and said, "What the hell is Captain Ross doing here?" He wouldn't be the first call out for a shooting; I would.

Hanratty shook his head. "Beats me."

As we stepped into the study I saw the body on the floor. It was a man, mid-sixties, dressed in riding pants and a down vest over a fleece shirt. From the doorway I could see what looked like a single gun shot wound in the side of the man's head. In spit of the blood on his face, I was able to recognize him. It was Donald Boland, the owner of the house.

Before I could get close to the body, Captain Ross stepped in front of me.

"Well, the bookends have finally arrived," Ross said.

"We came as soon as we got the call," I said. "What are you doing here?"

"When one of Brodricksburg's leading citizens commits suicide someone from the BPD should respond, don't you think?" Ross said.

Other than the Chief of Police, Captain Ross is the highest-ranking officer in the Brodricksburg Police Department and normally would be considered the most likely successor to the Chief. The problem is that I hold the highest scores on the tests used by the department to determine who gets promoted and that includes the test for Chief of Police. That might explain why Captain Ross doesn't seem to like me very much.