I’m still on a blogfest kick, with one for today and one for tomorrow. Today is the Murder Scene Blogfest, hosted by Anne Riley, and here’s my entry! (Note: it’s been trimmed here.)
In ten hours, they would be married. A mix of anxiety and adrenaline surged through Scott as he turned on to Abby’s street.
Squad cars idled in front of her building. His stomach turned cold. She was all right—she had to be. It could be anyone. It could be the building next door. It could be a traffic stop.
A traffic stop with three sets of flashing lights?
No. They wouldn’t keep three cars with flashing lights on the street overnight, unless—
He pulled alongside one of the squad cars, got his badge from the glove box and sprinted to the nearest uniform.
“What’s going on?”
“You’ll have to move along, sir.”
Scott shook his head. He flashed his badge. “What’s going on?”
“Murder.” The officer looked back toward the entrance to the parking garage beneath Abby’s building.
Fear grabbed his heart. “Who?”
“The guy who called it in couldn’t ID the body.”
“I know some people in the building. I’ll take a look.”
The officer glanced back at the ramp that led to the shadowed basement. “Don’t tell ’em I was the one that let you in.”
Scott nodded and started down the ramp. Each step tightened dread’s grip on his chest. By the time he reached the first level, he was almost sprinting.
He’d come here for an early morning run, but this wasn’t what he’d intended.
The plainclothes detectives clustered near Abby’s parking spot, and a darkening blood pool on the asphalt. A black body bag—full—sat on a gurney, waiting to be loaded into the coroner’s van. Scott stopped short, the fear freezing in his veins.
No. This couldn’t be happening. Not on their wedding day.
“Who let you down here?” one of the detectives demanded.
Scott kept his eyes on the body bag as he approached and pulled out his badge. “FBI.” Normally, he said it with force, but his voice sounded like a hollow echo ringing in his ears.
A grizzled detective threw up his hands in mock-joy. “Tell me the feds want this one. I have three hours till my shift’s supposed to start.”
“Have you IDed the body?”
The graying detective shook his head. “You live here?”
He nodded. Close enough.
The coroner’s assistant nodded at the detective’s signal and unzipped the body bag. He pulled back the flap before Scott could even brace himself.
(I think I should clarify here that when I hear the words “murder scene,” I automatically think of a crime scene, not a scene in which we watch someone be murdered. The murder here actually does take place “on screen” in the scene before this, but I have to rewrite that, so I went with this.)
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