Page 43 of Little Girls Sleeping
“Hello, Mr. Darren?” she said. “Frederick, Malcolm? Anyone here?”
Any time a police officer walked into an unknown situation, no matter where it was, nerves and instincts became heightened.
Katie passed the truck, taking notice of the contents inside and along the bed: various tools and small boxes identifying parts for a car. She moved at a slower pace, acutely alert for unusual sound or movement. She realized that maybe she’d been hasty ditching McGaven. It had been more about her feelings than safety. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
She moved steadily into the entrance of the metal building. She expected to see a carpentry workshop, but was surprised to find it was more of an auto garage, with two vehicles in the middle being repaired. Both had their hoods up, though she didn’t see anyone bent over the engine compartment or lying underneath. Deeper inside the workshop, there was an area for cabinetry work and assorted carpenter specialties. She deduced that each brother had a different job; most likely their father was the original carpenter and the sons had turned the business into both types of work.
A tool dropped to the ground, causing a high-pitched metallic sound that echoed inside the structure.
Katie spun around and saw a grayish tiger-striped cat slink underneath a worktable and move away from her as fast as it could to disappear into a dark corner.
Along one wall there were three boxes filled with receipts and file folders. Compared to the disarray of junk scattered at the front of the property, the metal workshop was surprisingly clean and organized. Meticulous care had been taken to make sure tools and supplies were kept in specific areas.
A gunshot blast followed by whooping and hollering interrupted Katie’s search. Several more gunshots followed.
She retrieved her semi-automatic sidearm, prepared for trouble, and hurried to the area where the gunshots had originated. When she saw the man responsible, she retreated but still didn’t completely relax, not sure yet that there weren’t others involved or that things wouldn’t turn ugly fast.
The man was in his mid to late forties, dressed in blue jeans and no shirt, with scraggly hair, an unshaven face, and bare feet. He was clearly under the influence of alcohol. He sat on a crate, surrounded by a dozen or so empty beer cans. A .45 revolver was held in his right hand down at his side. The target, which was nothing more than a chunk of plywood and some scattered pieces of recycling, was thirty yards away next to a crumbling fence.
“Mr. Darren, put down the gun,” stated Katie. It was an order and not a request. She kept her weapon targeted on the man.
“Well hello there…” he said, swaying from side to side. “What do ya got there?”
“I’m Detective Scott from the sheriff’s department. Can I talk to you?”
“A detective? Pretty one too,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know detectives could be pretty.” He laughed, still not relinquishing his weapon.
“Mr. Darren, put down the gun,” she ordered again.
“I was just having some fun,” he replied, turning in the direction of the targets. He readied himself and took a stance.
“Put down the weapon. Now!” Katie inched closer to him.
He glanced at her, slurring his words. “Well maybe I don’t want to.”
“Malcolm, put the gun down now or I’ll shoot you myself.” Another man had appeared, presumably the other brother.
Katie backed up and kept a watch on both of them. The two men were similar-looking, though Frederick was far neater, with cropped hair, clean jeans and shirt, and steel-toed work boots.
“Mal, c’mon, put it down now,” he said. He walked directly up to his brother and swiped the gun out of his hand. Immediately he emptied the weapon and put it down on the crate. Turning to Katie, he said, “I’m Rick, and this idiot is my brother Malcolm. What can we do for you?” He was matter-of-fact and had an almost reserved demeanor. To his brother he said, “Go inside and clean up.”
Malcolm obeyed and headed to the house without looking at Katie again.
Katie lowered her weapon and returned it to her holster. Gathering her authority, she said, “I’m Detective Scott, from the sheriff’s office. I’m working the Chelsea Compton homicide and I have a few questions for you both, since you were working near the Compton residence before Chelsea disappeared.”
“Oh, I heard the news that they found her. It’s unconscionable what happened.” Rick moved closer to her. “What would you like to know?”
“Were you both working for the neighbors at that time?” she asked.
“Yeah, we were remodeling a kitchen. It was a three-week job.”
“Did you know the Comptons?”
“No, not really. Saw them on a few occasions.”
“Anything seem out of place? Anything you might remember?” Katie stood in the same position so that she could observe him and keep an eye out for the brother coming back.
