Several unmarked cars moved into position along the dark streets of the quiet neighborhood. Out front of the target location, three detectives sat in their surveillance van several houses down the road. While they waited, Chase took a swig from his flask and Ryan nervously rolled his lucky poker chip between his fingers. Waylon watched his partner fidgeting with a look of growing disgust.
"Will you calm down," he snarled.
Ryan fumbled and dropped his chip, "Sorry if I'm fucking nervous!" He shot back, "You know what happens if this doesn't work."
Waylon glared. "Just do your part and it'll all be fine."
Chase stowed his flask, listening to the radio chatter as units called in their positions, indicating the perimeter was set. He nodded to Waylon.
Waylon picked up the battering ram, "Let's go."
The van doors opened and the trio jumped out in tactical vests, moving stealthily up the drive. Silently, they moved behind the junked cars parked out front and positioned themselves along the front door, out of sight of the window.
Ryan keyed his mic, "Making entry now."
At the front of the line, Chase bangs on the door, "Sacred River Police, Jalyn Thompson, we have a warrant for your arrest! Come out with your hands up!"
Silence for several seconds and then, "That's good enough for me," Waylon said. He pushed past Chase, moved up to the door and heaved back the ram, slamming into it and breaking the frame in one blow.
Ryan transmitted over the radio, "Door is breached," and the three moved in.
Outside the house, officers in a neighboring command post van waited for an update. After several minutes of silence, the dispatcher called out, "Entry team, what is your status?"
BANG, BANG, BANG! Shots rang out from the house.
A secondary team, staged across the street, rushed the door, rifles and shields at the ready while dispatch continued trying to reach the trio over the air.
The secondary team flooded the house. They reached the cluttered kitchen and found Waylon, Ryan, and Chase breathing heavily, guns drawn standing over the body of a young man in baggy clothes wearing a gold chain around his neck.
"Calm down boys, we got him," Waylon said, holstering his weapon.
One of the officers with the secondary team radioed for an ambulance before rushing over to administer aid to the shot suspect. Waylon and Chase exchanged a glance, and Ryan nervously wiped his face.
Waylon looked back to the other offices standing in the hall outside the kitchen. "We got this, the rest of you finish sweeping the house, go on!"
The officers jumped to action at Waylon's orders and broke away.
When they had gone, he turned to Ryan. "Do the thing," he said in a low voice so the officer giving first aid wouldn't hear.
Ryan nodded, walked past the other two, and out onto the back patio.
Throughout the house, officers shouted back and forth.
"Rooms clear,"
"Clear!"
"We're good."
Another patrolman returned to the kitchen, giving Waylon and Chase the thumbs up.
Chase clipped his radio, "House is clear, search team move in, start tagging."
As the search began, two other men were dragged out in cuffs from other corners of the house, one of them straining against the officers screaming at Waylon.
"You shot him! You shot my brother you fucking pigs! He didn't do shit!" he wailed as he was escorted out of the house.
Moments later, paramedics arrived to tend to the gut-shot suspect. Waylon stood back as the paramedics did their work, loading him on a gurney, and fixing an oxygen mask to his face. As they wheeled him out, he nodded pointedly to Chase who turned to follow the paramedics.
"Hold up!" Chase called out, "That man is in police custody, I need to come with you."
Waylon watched them go, his expression agitated. He looked back to the officer who had given first aid and forced a smile.
"Way to go Officer Acker, you may have saved that kid's life," he said, clearly vexed.
Daniel got up from where he'd been kneeling, wiping blood from his hands and looking at Waylon confused. "Sure detective..."
The two stood in tense silence for a moment, before Ryan returned, sticking his head in from the backyard and yelling loudly,
"Hey! We got something."
Waylon pushed past Daniel and traipsed out into the overgrown dump of a yard. Several others hurried out of the house to join him. Waylon followed Ryan to the back of the yard to the site of a freshly dug pit. Inside it was the partially uncovered pale leg of a small child.
"Looked like something was buried here, so I dug..." Ryan said.
Waylon patted him on the back, "Good job, looks like we caught the sick fuck." He turned to the rest of the team, "Tape this place off, get CSI here now! And don't let the press in!"
The officers broke away for their respective tasks. Waylon turned to Daniel, "you hold the perimeter officer," he said with a scowl.
Daniel stood over little Annabelle's grave, his face turning pale.
Waylon and Ryan turned away from the child's corpse and walked back into the house. The first leaned in and whispered, "Lead the canvas team through the neighborhood, make sure we didn't miss any house cameras. We don't need another beat cop getting nosey."
Ryan nodded, "what do I do if I find one?"
Waylon sighed exasperatedly and frowned at his partner as they passed through the living room.
Ryan laughed sheepishly, "Right, right.. I'll take care of it." He turned and hurried out the front door to join the officers preparing the canvas.
Waylon followed his partner out of the house and stopped in the front yard, surveying the officers moving about, taking pictures, and gathering evidence. As he watched, he caught sight of a man in a trenchcoat crossing the street towards him. His face fell and he scoffed.
"What do you want Finnick, this is my bust," he shouted.
Lieutenant Finnick walked up the lawn, dragging on a cigarette as he scanned the scene, nodding. "I can see that," he replied. "I thought we agreed you would call me when you were ready to move."
Waylon smirked, "I said I'd call you when we moved. I never said I'd call before."
Finnick blew smoke out his nostrils. "They're saying you found her body. You call the Chief yet?"
Waylon crossed his arms and squared his shoulders. "It's on my to-do list."
Finnick held his cigarette between his fingers and flicked the ash off, chuckling softly, "Sure it is." He turned to leave, "Can't wait to read your report," he called in farewell.
Waylon glared after Finnick's retreating back as a phone buzzed in his pocket. He dug it out and lifted it to his ear without looking at the caller's I.D. "Yeah, it's done," he said. "Everything went smooth, we're clean."
"I would hope so." Said a voice on the other end. "We will not tolerate exposure, detective."
Waylon looked over his shoulder nervously and whispered into the phone, "Don't worry, we got it covered. No one's going to look that close..."
Passing an officer rolling out crime scene tape, Lieutenant Finnick strode over to an old Crown Vic parked across from the raided house. He opened the passenger side door and tossed his cigarette butt on the sidewalk as he sidled into his seat.
Sergeant Bullings turned to him from the driver's seat. "So?" he asked.
Finnick watched the house, his face somber, "The girl is dead. I'll call the Chief."
Bullings swore under his breath.
"Send a uniform over to the hospital ASAP." Finnick said, "I didn't see Chase at the scene, I'm guessing he went with the suspect. I want him relieved by someone we can trust as soon as possible."
Bullings stroked his mustache and nodded. "Yeah, ok boss," he replied as he started the car.
Finnick gave one last glance at the grisly scene as they pulled away. He had never been much of a praying man, but days like today made him wish he was. If the Chief's fears were right, there was no telling how deep the rot ran through. Now little Annabel was dead... how much worse was this going to get?
"God help us all," he murmured to his reflection in the window as the car turned out of the neighborhood.