Erotica Harem

Hey, Jon! Me again! hehehehee

Title:

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Chapter 9

Author: Jon Michaelsen...

Plot:
Detective Parker and Perelli get a line on a man who was given a citation at the time and place of the murder. They go to question the man, and find out that he's married with children. The man admitted that he was with a hooker when he was cited and claimed to have seen a man running. The detectives ask him to meet with the Police Sketch Artist to give a description of the man running.

Scene/Setting:
This chapter moves from the Criminal Investigation Unit to Shady Grove, a comfortable suburb of Atlanta to interview the potential witness.

Characters:
A new character, Churchill the potential witness is introduced in this chapter. It appears that he is not involved with the murder, but he may have seen something so he isn't in the clear yet. For such a short time, Jon you did a great job in describing Churchill. He's a 40-something guy with a family, but likes to pick up hookers. There may be even more to his character that we have yet to see.

Grammar:

See line-by-line below:

“…the unmarked, black sedan Perelli drove…” Is this a passive sentence? Could it be worded as “…Perelli turned the unmarked black sedan off the interstate…”? Just asking.


“I’ve got a copy of a citation given to a john who got popped in the park beyond closing last week. Thursday, sometime after midnight,” Perelli informed upon Parker’s return to the office. “The pervert was parked in the lot off Park Drive. Time cited was at 1:45 a.m. A long shot I know, but it could prove worthy. You up for it?”

[Jon, what does ‘popped’ mean in the first sentence? I thought it meant ‘killed’ or ‘shot’, but it seems that there may be another definition?]

Parker’s watch showed 3:30 p.m. Killers had been caught with a lot less , he surmised. They could get lucky and wrap this one up quick, which suited him just fine. “What’s the address?”

[Killers have been caught with a lot less what? Information? Evidence? Sorry, Jon, but I’m not really up on all my cop-lingo! You are going to have to paint a picture for me. ]

“A Suburb about thirty-five miles northeast, out toward Lawrenceville.” Perelli was already grabbing his coat. [Suburb doesn’t need to be capitalized here.]

“Let’s go.”

Twenty minutes into the trip, the unmarked, black sedan Perelli drove veered off the interstate at Indian Trail Boulevard and headed east. They located the Shady Grove subdivision after traveling a series of surface streets. The neighborhood was chock full of superfluous houses of varying shades, every fourth home revealed the same façade repeated throughout. The city had planned the small community well and priced for the masses, evident in the lack of green-space and the numerous bicycles and children’s toys scattered about in driveways and near the curbs.

Parker located the address displayed in large, black numerals against a white mailbox with hand-painted cardinals. Perelli steered their vehicle into the curving driveway, careful not to overshoot the pavement and damage the pristine lawn. A small boy stood perpendicular on the cut grass, musing with his curly red hair. His taller, older sibling, trotted protectively to his side. The men bypassed the wide-eyed children and stepped up to the front porch of the contemporary home.

“Mr. Churchill?” Perelli asked, of the fortyish man peering through the clear glass, storm-door. He stared at the two men. “I’m Detective Perelli, and this is my partner, Detective Parker. We’re with the Atlanta Police Department, Homicide Unit.” They displayed their official identification. “May we have a few words with you?”

The plump man’s slack jowls flushed. He turned to check the foyer, and then stepped out onto the large porch. His hair was as fiery and tousled as the little tike’s out front. He wore rumpled chino shorts, a powder-blue polo shirt, and loafers without socks {OMG! Where are the fashion police! LOL Great description.]. A band of sweat lined the ridge of his freckled forehead, matching the smell of garlic on his breath. “What’s the problem, officers?”

“Detective,” Parker corrected, boring holes into the man’s eyes. “No problem, sir. We’d like to ask few questions about you’re whereabouts early last Thursday morning.”

“I was here, having breakfast with my family. Why do you ask?

Parker sneered. “No, earlier in the morning. Shortly after midnight Wednesday.”

Churchill turned heart-attack white. He stepped aside and steadied himself on the railing surrounding the wide porch, his eyes as large as saucers.

Perelli chimed in without missing a beat. “We’ve got evidence you were in Piedmont Park on the morning in question, sir. Here’s a copy of the citation you signed.” The weakening man appeared faint. “Are you aware that a body of a man was found in the park just this morning?”

Churchill appeared near convulsion. He let go of the railing. “I know nothing about that,” he snapped, swiping the sweat from his brow with an embroidered handkerchief. He stuffed the stained cloth back into his pocket. “I’m sorry, gentleman. But, please excuse me. I can’t help you.” He turned to escape the inquisition.

Parker caught the man’s shoulder and squeezed enough to get a small yelp. “We could move inside to discuss this further, if you wish. Perhaps your wife can join us.”

Churchill’s eyes shot past the men to the frightened, cherub faces of his children standing in the grass. They’d frozen the moment Parker grabbed their daddy. “Run along,” he scolded. The kids scattered like flies. Churchill motioned for them to follow him out into the front yard.

He fumbled with his hands, not quite sure what to do with them. “Look, I don’t want any trouble, okay? I got a wife and two beautiful children. The last thing I want is to hurt them, you understand?” He searched their eyes, pleading. “My life will be ruined if you remain here much longer. Please, you must go. I’ll meet you later if you want.” He turned to check the front door again. “If my wife comes out …” He caught his breath, his unsteady hand snatching at his throat. He was on the verge of having a stroke. “How am I supposed to explain this?”

“You should have thought about that last week.” Parker steadied his words, leaning closer to the squat man. He stared down the man’s thick neck, taking pleasure in the sheer terror in the man’s eyes. “We’re not leaving.”

Churchill chanced another glance back at the door. “Okay, okay,” he pleaded, his arms twitching like a hapless rag-doll. “I knew it was just a matter of time… But, keep your voices down. Please!”

Perelli withdrew a pen and pad from his shirt pocket. “We’re listening.”

He scratched at this throat, as if trying to force out the words. “I was parked in the park for about forty-five minutes, an hour tops, no more. I met this young woman at the Kaya lounge over on Peachtree Street. You know the place? Great food, I’d recommend it.” Parker frowned. “I’d stopped by there for a few drinks with some guys from the office. We’d been working late on this big proposal—“ He cut himself short, sensing when Parker raised his hand in protest. “Look, there’s no harm in that, is there?” He snorted, cleared his throat and spat into the hedges. “She suggested we take a ride to the park, not me,” he challenged, defensively.

“What’s her name? Where can we find her?” Perelli scribbled in his notebook. “We’ll need to corroborate your story.”

“I’m a suspect?” The color drained from Churchill’s rosy cheeks.

Parker studied the man’s expressions, watching for signs that he might be lying. The man told the truth. “Everyone’s a suspect, Churchill,” he said, flatly, pursing his lips. “Until we prove otherwise. Please, answer Detective Perelli’s question.”

“I, ugh…well, I don’t really remember. Honest!” Churchill grew more anxious. “I mean, we didn’t talk that much about –“ He broke off, appearing embarrassed. “Look, I didn’t ask too many questions if you know what I mean.”

“Was she a hooker?” Parker was getting irritated.

“I-I guess so. Yeah, she asked me for money, later when we were in my car.” Churchill tapped his head with a stub of a forefinger. “What was her name …ugh, Mindy, Wendy, something like that I’m sure. She had really long, black hair that touched her firm little—“

“You can spare us the details,” Perelli interjected. “Did you see or hear anything suspicious while you were making it with this chick?”

“No!” The man flushed. “Wait. Maybe I did.” He closed his eyes as though conjuring up the memory from the hollow recesses of his tiny brain. “I saw a man—I think it was a man—running through the park, over by the lake. He was cutting across the bridge that night, heading in our direction, but turned away.”

“Running? Can you describe the man?” Parker asked.

Churchill opened his eyes. “I didn’t see him that well. It was dark, you know? I remember thinking it was rather odd to be out jogging in street clothes.” He eased backward. “I think he was tall, but then, everyone appears tall to me.” He chuckled at his ridiculous joke. Perelli frowned, growing impatient. “Next thing I know, this cop is banging on the damn windshield ordering me to get out of the car.”

“We’d like you to come downtown and sit with an artist, and after, take a look at some mug shots. Can you do that for us?” Parker waited.

Churchill nodded like a bobble-head doll, agreeing as his overweight wife peered out from behind the glass door at them, a pink dishtowel clutched in her hands.

“You can reach either of us at this number.” Perelli handed the man a business card embossed with the APD logo. “Call ahead before you make the trip.”

Parker walked with his partner to their car in synchronized step amid the curious interrogation by Mrs. Churchill. He couldn’t hear the brief exchange between the couple, but whatever the man said was enough to render the woman silent.

No doubt a lie.{i/}

Just My Personal Opinion:
Jon, I liked this chapter much more than the previous because there is definitely some reference to the murder and the investigation is moving forward.

Scott

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