CR-2003 The Watch Dog by Author Unknown


Chapter 1


The squad car's wailing siren cut through the stillness of the summer 
night like the sound of someone screaming in the throes of a nightmare. 
From far off it came, ever rising and falling pitch bringing it closer 
to the Valley Farms home of Kate and Lucy Barrett. It was eleven past 
four in the morning when the call came in from Mrs. Barrett, according 
to the precinct records, and twenty-two past when the patrol car 
screeched to a halt in front of their rambling brick home. The two 
officers, one white and one black, jumped from the car almost before it 
had stopped moving, guns drawn, eyes searching the nearby hedges and 
trees for the sign of movement that might mean the difference between 
finishing their shift alive or going home in a rubber bag. Crime in 
this Washington, D.C. suburb was no laughing matter. Not that anyone 
would have laughed anyway - taxes had soared in recent years to meet 
the costs of bigger and better police forces. And insurance premiums, 
when you were lucky enough to get it all, were double what they were 
five years ago. Most residents did without, absorbing the loss 
themselves when they awoke to find their car looted or their television 
missing when they returned from work. Or in some cases, the whole 
house, rugs, drapes, furniture, everything!

Patrol Officer Bill Manners was the first up the long, stepping-stone 
walk, his teammate, Turner Jackson, close on his heels. Manners was the 
senior man in this car, Turner being a recent Police Academy graduate, 
and the blond-haired Virginia family man was careful to stick by the 
book as this was only Turner's second night out on patrol duty. He 
glanced up and saw two female figures silhouetted on the drawn 
curtains, apparently still in their sleeping wear, and he slipped his 
revolver back into its holster and motioned for Turner to do the same. 
There was little to be gained by frightening these poor civilians worse 
than they had already been frightened. It was almost always the same on 
these calls ... break-in in progress. Before they could arrive on the 
scene, the burglar was long gone, probably hiding under a car somewhere 
three or four blocks away. Or safely behind the wheel of a non-descript 
sedan, motoring calmly back into the city, richer enough, if he was 
lucky, to feed his habit for another twenty-four hours. If not, it was 
back to the streets. Maybe this time an elderly pensioner coming home 
from the late movies, or a newsstand operator going to work. But 
wherever, however, he would get what he needed to keep him flying for 
another day. There was never any choice for a heroin addict.

The door opened as they stepped onto the covered front porch and a 
fortyish woman wearing an expensive-looking robe ushered them in with a 
salesgirl's smile. "Come in, Officers, come in. I'm so glad you got 
here quickly," she gushed. "My daughter Lucy and I have been scared out 
of our wits. I tell you, it was horrible. Horrible! Oh where are my 
manners ... I'm Kate Barrett, you know, of Barrett's Department Store 
down at the shopping center."

"Yes, ma'am."


End of Page 1. See cr-2003.txt for full story.