Creative Writing: Strangers In The Dumpster

Sheriff Higgins glanced over his shoulder and mopped his face with the soaked handkerchief. The crime scene vans arrived minutes before the cadaver dogs. Robert wasn’t sure which grated on his nerves worse, the whining from the hound, or the camera flashes that exploded at random. He gritted his teeth at the thought of his sleepy town becoming a circus. Still, it was better for him to hand over jurisdiction without protest, and he knew it. It was the only chance Hamilton had of returning to some sense of normality even if the press got wind of it. Yet, the thought of local teenagers referring to Davidson Park as the murder park made him feel sick. Even after the investigation was closed, it meant endless nights of extra work. Teens would schedule …show more content…
He didn’t know why Leroy called frantic enough to where Philece didn’t understand him. He also didn’t care. True, this hideous murder was — within all probability — committed in his city’s limits; and even if it weren’t the body was here. He wanted to get away from the scene anyway. He wanted to escape from the baying of the dogs that sounded like they mourned for the poor girl. Escape from the commotion the red tape of authority caused. And as he flipped on the siren the wail of his car drowned out the rest of the noise. Robert hated to use the siren and had Bert test them weekly to avoid the headache-inducing noise. But, today the wail was the most beautiful sound ever. It meant his freedom from the ongoing nightmare.

Smith’s Market was almost six miles away from Davidson Park. But until reaching Buchanan Highway the roads were all picturesque. They were narrow, two-lane streets that twisted and turned through lush woodlands. Roads that were dangerous to drive too fast on, even in dry weather. Perfect roads for Robert to crank up the air conditioning and forget the unreality that reality twisted …show more content…
No sooner than he’d pulled to a stop in front of the store, the automatic glass doors opened. The echoed sounds from within told a different story. His nights spent on the beat in Chicago honed his instincts for trouble. They taught him to expect the unexpected most of the time so that he could react appropriately at least half of the time. Robert’s hand rested atop the grip for his preferred .38 special as he crept towards the door. He expected anything considering how his week had been; yet, he never would’ve thought of what he