A sharp, December wind bit at the skin of Detective Sergeant Muldoon as he stood over the corpse. Not a stitch of clothing and a clean bullet hole in the chest. Somewhat embarrassing, but all in all, not a terrible way to go.
“What do you want done with him, Sarge?” a flatfoot copper said, holding onto a shaggy, handcuffed man.
“Has he been patched-up?”
“Yeah, medic’s bandaged it; said he’s good-to-go.”
“Take him to the station,” Muldoon said, forcing his ham-sized hands deeper into his coat pockets against the wind.
“It wasn’t like that! It… He changed,” the suspect stammered. “You gotta believe me.”
Muldoon shook his head, staring at the murdered victim. The uniformed officer took the shackled man to a waiting cruiser, opening the back door.
“Officer, please. Wait,” the suspect implored.
Muldoon squatted, resting his forearms on his ample thighs. No clear gunpowder burns. The wind snapped the yellow crime-scene tape holding perimeter over the scene. He glanced up at the struggling suspect.
“Hold up, Officer,” Muldoon said, standing and walking to the cruiser. He stopped a few inches from the suspect, who stopped struggling but continued shaking, rivulets of sweat slipping from stringy hair. “You got something to say?”
“I ain’t crazy. No, you gotta believe me. He changed, man. He changed.”
“You mean he got nasty with you or something? That why you shot him?”
“No, I mean after I shot him.”
“Of course he changed,” Muldoon grinned, “He died.”
“You don’t get it, he was a beast.”
“Right, he was a beast. No wonder you shot him.”
“Yeah. I was prepared, man. Prepared,” the suspect nodded, motioning with his head towards the gun that lay mere inches from the body. “I knew he’d change. I got the right bullets.”
Muldoon blinked at the man, “You tellin’ me you planned for this?”
“Hell, yeah. No way was that thing going to kill me.”
“You know what they call that, being prepared?”
“Smart?”
Muldoon leaned in, whispered, “Premeditation.”
“You don’t get it,” the man said, shaking his head.
“I got all I need,” Muldoon smirked, “But I think I’ll give you the ride back myself.”
The uniformed officer took the suspect to Muldoon’s unmarked police vehicle, where he shoved the protesting man into the back seat.
Muldoon took out his keys, started for his car. A flashbulb from the crime scene photographer lit the scene, burning the image of the deceased into the Sergeant’s retina, the negative crime scene image immediately beginning to fade. Muldoon stopped, turned and motioned for the uniformed officer.
“You were the first on scene, yeah?” Muldoon asked.
“Yes. Me and my partner.”
“You see what kind of round he used?”
“Thirty-eight, looks like.”
“Anything unusual about it?”
The cop shook his head, “No, Sir. Looked like a thirty-eight revolver. Nickel-plated.”
“No, the round. Guy said he used special ammunition.”
“Oh, no idea, Sarge. Have to wait for ballistics, maybe?”
Muldoon dismissed the officer, fumbling with his keys as he got into his vehicle. As he closed the door, he cursed himself for not leaving the car running to keep the interior heated.
“Cold, man. I’m cold,” the suspect said through chattering teeth.
Muldoon ignored the suspect, driving in silence. The skeletal, leafless trees flashed past, silhouetted in bright moonlight. The suspect began to weep quietly before gurgling and grunting, then becoming quiet.
As he pulled the car into the back lot of the police station, Muldoon heard a low growl before the suspect’s long, lupine teeth bit into him.