Dance of Death Read Free Page B

at first glance if it was indeed a body on the beach or not. He needed to keep the girl close to him and asked her to walk with him while he took a look. As he moved forward, his suspicions were confirmed, however, when he saw the form of a white male, unconscious, lying faceup in the sand. The victim was wearing blue jeans, a button-up striped shirt and white tennis shoes. His feet were facing the dunes and his head was pointing toward the water. It was a grotesque sight. His face was covered with blood. Some of the blood had pooled behind his head and spilled out and onto the sand, then formed a trail that reminded him of a sleek kite’s tail.
    Brown stood over the body and looked for wounds. He felt as if his feet had been nailed to the ground. He wanted to pull his eyes away, but he couldn’t. The individual had been shot in the head and he stared at the fresh blood dribbling down both sides of his face and dripping off his head. To the right of the body, he saw what looked like a white beach towel with a blue fish blazoned across the front. For a brief moment, he thought he was going to get sick. It quickly passed and his attention was redirected toward the body.
    As he leaned over to inspect the body, the girl beside him fell to her knees, then grabbed the man’s hand. She began to cry and tremble. He felt a lump in his throat. In her lap, he noticed a pack of Marlboro Light cigarettes and what appeared to be a wedding ring in her hand. She was twisting the band of gold around and around in her hand as if she were screwing the cap on a bottle of pop.
    It didn’t take Brown long, just a matter of seconds, before he realized the potentially dangerous scenario. The truck’s takedown lights and headlights were beaming down on them and the body, lighting up the area like a football field. There he was, standing over the body, and she was kneeling beside it. They were both wearing white shirts. Sitting ducks for a shooter who might have decided to come back and finish the job, intent on eliminating the sole witness. He knew the dying man needed attention, but if he stayed to help him, he could be jeopardizing his and the girl’s safety. His main objective suddenly shifted from aiding the victim to getting them safely back to the truck.
    â€œWe need to get out of here,” he blurted out, his eyes focusing hard on the sand dunes. He reached down and tapped the girl lightly on her shoulder.
    She didn’t move.
    He placed his hand in the middle of her back and lifted her up. “Come on, we’ve gotta get out of these lights.”
    She nodded.
    The slender girl let go of the injured man’s hand and rose to her feet, then stepped away from the body and started running alongside Brown. When they reached the truck, he fumbled inside for his portable radio.
    In technical police jargon, he announced, “This is Officer Brown. We’ve got a shooting here on the beach at Eighty-first Avenue. I need help. I repeat, I need another officer.”

CHAPTER 3
    Officer Scott Brown’s call for police assistance was executed at 11:51 P.M ., some six minutes after his first transmission. After making the call, he opened the door of his truck and slid the girl in the driver’s seat, then fixed himself in the apex of the door. Taking the oath of his duty “to serve and protect” to its highest level, he shielded her with his own body. With the threat of a killer still in the perimeter, there wasn’t much he could do for the injured person. His first responsibility was to take cover and protect his witness. And that meant he had no choice other than to sit still, watch over the body and wait for the ambulance to arrive.
    Brown tried to calm himself. “Ma’am, can you tell me what the shooter looked like?” His palms were sweaty.
    â€œAll I can remember is that he was dressed in black clothes and had a ski mask covering his face. He robbed us and ran toward that