Gallery of the Dead

Thirty-Three

‘I’m starting to get a little hungry,’ Officer Jack Palmer from the Tucson Police Department in Arizona said as he turned right on East Sunrise Drive. ‘How about we grab a couple of tacos or something?’

‘Not a bad idea,’ his partner, Police Officer Diana Bishop, replied as she adjusted her police belt. ‘I could certainly do with a burrito right now.’

‘Blanco Tacos?’ Officer Palmer asked.

‘Sure, either there or El Pueblito. They’re both great.’

‘Blanco Tacos is closer,’ Palmer replied, performing a quick U-turn.

Five minutes later they had ordered an Al Pastor burrito and a double portion of fully loaded tacos.

‘What do you want to drink?’ Palmer asked.

‘Just a bottle of water, thanks.’

‘No coffee?’

‘Nah, I’m drinking too much of that stuff. I need to cut down a little. I practically have coffee running in my veins.’

Palmer chuckled. ‘Yep, that happens when you keep on getting stuck with night shifts.’ He turned and addressed the stocky Mexican man behind the counter. ‘Can I also get a bottle of water and a large coffee to go, please?’

‘Sure, Officer.’ The man didn’t ring it through. ‘The water and the coffee are on the house.’

‘Oh, thank you very much. That’s very kind of you.’

Right then the police radios on both of their belts cracked into life.

‘Any units in the vicinity of East Miraval Place — Catalina Foothills. We have reports of a possible armed 10–62.’

Both officers exchanged an anxious look. ‘10–62’ was the police code for ‘breaking and entering’. Instinctively they both turned and looked out the shop window. East Miraval Place wasn’t far.

Palmer nodded at his partner. ‘We’ll take it.’ He faced the Mexican attendant one more time. ‘Sorry, but can you hold on to that food? We’ll come back for it. Trust me.’

As the two of them rushed out of the restaurant, Officer Bishop reached for her radio.

‘This is unit three-two-two, Tucson PD. We’re just around the corner from East Miraval Place and en route. Requesting full address.’

With the sirens blaring, it took them less than three and a half minutes to get to the address dispatch had given them.

East Miraval Place was a dead-end street on the north side of Catalina Foothills, an affluent neighborhood on the north quadrant of Tucson. The street, like most of the neighborhood, had a minimalist style, where paving and concrete blended nicely with the desert landscape of cactuses, desert flowers and even the occasional tumbleweed, giving it a truly Old West feel. Sticking with the minimalist approach, most of the roads and streets in Catalina Foothills had no illumination, and over fifty percent of them had no nameplates or signs of any kind, making it very easy for even residents to miss their street or get a little lost in the process of getting home once the sun had set.

Despite knowing the area well, Officers Palmer and Bishop took no chances, following their sat nav all the way to their destination.

There were only five houses in the wide but short street, and the address they were given took them to the last house on the right — a large, single-story brick building with a three-car garage and overgrown desert vegetation as a live fence. Parked at the end of the driveway, just outside the garage, was a metallic silver Buick Encore. The lights on the outside of the house were on, but inside everything seemed to be in complete darkness.

‘According to dispatch the house belongs to Timothy and Ronda Davis,’ Bishop said, reading the information displayed on the in-car computer screen. ‘He’s a mechanical engineer and she’s a computer programmer. They both work for Raytheon.’

‘The weapons company?’

Bishop shrugged. ‘Must be. Do you know any other Raytheons around here?’

That made Palmer pause for thought. ‘All right,’ he said, a few seconds later. ‘Let’s go check this thing out.’ He jumped out of the car.

Bishop followed suit.

As they passed the Buick on the driveway, Palmer tried the door — locked. He then placed his hand on its hood — no warmth whatsoever. He shook his head at his partner.

Both officers unholstered their weapons.

To get to the house’s front door, they needed to circle around the left side of the garage building, following the driveway. They did so in single file and as stealthily as they could. Palmer took the lead. As they rounded the corner, even from a few yards away, Palmer and Bishop could tell that the front door had been left ajar.

‘Crap,’ Bishop said. ‘Not a great sign. So are we going in or waiting for back-up? Dispatch said that this is a possible armed 10–62.’

Palmer’s eyebrows arched at his partner. ‘I’m not waiting.’

‘Going in it is, then,’ Bishop said, and quickly crossed herself.

They positioned themselves one on each side of the door. Palmer used his fingers to run down a silent count of three and slowly pushed the door until it was fully open.

With their weapons and flashlights drawn, they both took a deep breath and entered the house. Palmer swung right while Bishop went left.

The front door opened into a large anteroom with a teardrop crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a circular mirror on the wall to their right and two large vases flanking a double door a few paces in front of them. Not many places to hide.

‘Clear,’ Palmer announced.

‘Clear,’ Bishop replied.

The next room was an impressive entry foyer, with checkered black-and-white granite flooring and white wainscoting running along all the walls. Directly in front of them was a sumptuous turned staircase, leading up to the second floor. The opened double door to their right clearly led into a massive living-room area. To their left they saw another double door, this one shut. Just past the staircase, also on the left wall, there was a single wooden door that had been left a couple of inches ajar.

‘Shit,’ Bishop whispered. ‘What do we do now?’

Palmer allowed his stare to crawl around the foyer while he figured out their next move.

‘Maybe it would be best if we split up.’

‘What, really?’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘Sticking together, that’s what. This is too much like one of those horror films.’

‘What? What horror film?’

‘Those where the girl cop dies first.’

‘Are you for real?’

Click. Click. A muffled noise echoed throughout the room.

‘Shhhh,’ Palmer said, his eyes like an owl’s. ‘Did you hear that?’

‘Damn straight I did. Where did it come from?’

‘Not sure.’ He signaled for them to wait and listen.

Two seconds.

Four seconds.

Five seconds.

Click. Click. The sound came again and this time they both turned to face the single door along the left wall, just past the staircase.

‘I think it came from over there,’ Bishop said, nodding at the door.

‘Yeah, that was my impression as well.’

Being extra cautious, Officers Palmer and Bishop approached the door.

Click. Click. They heard it again, but it still sounded somewhat distant, which meant that it wasn’t coming from directly behind the door.

Palmer first brought a finger to his lips, then reached out and very slowly pushed the door open, hoping to God that the hinges wouldn’t creak.

They didn’t, but it didn’t matter. There was no one there. Instead the door got them to a concrete staircase that led down to the house’s basement. At the bottom of the stairs there was a second door, also a couple of inches ajar, but this time there was light coming from behind it.

Palmer signaled Bishop that they should go down together. He would go first.

Bishop agreed with a head nod.

They took the steps down one by one and very carefully. As they finally reached the second door, Bishop could swear her heart was about to explode out of her chest.

They heard a new noise come from behind the door. This time it sounded like movement.

Palmer signaled his partner one more time. The message was for Bishop to get ready. He would push the door open, but he wouldn’t do it slowly like before. The move would be fast and sudden with the intention to catch by surprise whoever was behind the door.

Once again, Bishop indicated her understanding with a head gesture.

Up came the three-finger silent countdown one more time.

Three...

Two...

One.