Page 2 of Survivor
Chapter One
Frank
Summer 2005
“Thanks, Mack.” Frank took the sack from the cashier at his and Caleb’s favorite sandwich shop, backing into the door to push it open, hands full with the bag and two Styrofoam cups of sweet tea. Caleb laid on the horn, sticking his head out the window and hollering for Frank to hurry the fuck up before he shriveled up like a raisin from sheer starvation. He’d roll his eyes at the man-child behind the steering wheel of the Dodge Charger police cruiser they drove, but it would be a waste. He was wearing aviators, so the visual would be lost on his partner anyway.
He was thankful Caleb took the initiative to lean across the front seat and shove the passenger’s side door open for him to climb in. Trying to juggle a bag of sandwiches and two cupsandopen the door, something was likely to get dropped and that something would be Caleb’s, not his. His partner took both cups, waiting for Frank to climb in and close his door before handing one back to him. “Smells wonderful. Now give, I’m dying over here.” Caleb snapped his fingers and Frank fought the urge to smack his hand.
He settled for a verbal backlash instead. “Man, chill the fuck out. Seriously, Caleb, I know Justine feeds you.” He pulled the sandwiches out and shoved the one with a C written on it at Caleb. “Besides, you’re getting a little spare tire around the middle there, partner. Maybe you should get a salad next time, cut back on the carbs,” Frank teased.
“Fuck off,” Caleb responded, the words sounding garbled around a mouth full of Philly cheesesteak with extra cheese and extra steak. Frank unwrapped the top half of his meatball sub and took a bite, groaning at how good the mixture of sauce and spices tasted. “Mack said to remind you that there is no such thing as extra meat and extra cheese; next time he’s charging you for two sandwiches.”
Caleb scoffed, taking a drink of his tea before giving Frank the side eye. “And you can tell Mack that if he even thinks about charging me double, I’ll have the health inspector in there so fast, his head will spin.”
Frank laughed, shaking his head and concentrating on the sandwich in his hand. This was their usual routine when they were on nights. They’d get dinner at Mack’s sandwich shop, same sandwiches every time, and Mack generally had the food prepared and in the bag when Frank arrived to place their order.
“You done?” Caleb asked and Frank nodded. He stuffed the empty wrappers and wadded up napkins into the bag before rolling down his window and dropping it into the trash can on the curb as they left the restaurant parking lot and merged into traffic on Preston road.
The evening was pretty uneventful: a dozen or so traffic stops, issuing citations, and helping a young pregnant woman change a flat tire. Just two hours shy of their shift ending, dispatch came on the radio and asked if any units were in the vicinity of Devonshire. Caleb and Frank exchanged a glance before Frank responded with their current location and said they’d take the call. “I thought they rolled up the sidewalks at night in Devonshire,” Frank said flatly, wondering what could possibly be considered suspicious activity in the affluent, upscale neighborhood.
Arriving at the address dispatch provided, they exited the cruiser and walked toward the front door. Frank took in his surroundings, noticing that while few houses had lights on inside—it was two in the morning—most had some type of outside lighting, whether it was the porch, over-the-garage, or motion sensors. The house they were there to check out though, was pitch black inside and out. Something about it felt off to Frank, and his instincts had never been wrong before. “Heads up, Moore, nosy neighbor at three o’clock,” Caleb told him, his voice low but clear.
Turning, Frank saw a woman that looked to be about fifty, wearing a long, pink robe and a pair of Ugg slippers, her graying black hair up in a bun. The only reason he knew that useless bit of information was because Caleb’s wife, Justine, had the exact same pair. “Officers, please!” The woman waved them toward her frantically.
Caleb stayed on the grass just a few steps from the front door while Frank made his way over to the woman, hand resting on his gun. “I’m Officer Frank Moore of the Dallas Police Department; are you the person that called 911?”
“Yes.” The woman wrung her hands together, eyes darting to the house behind Frank. She seemed rattled, concerned.
Frank looked back over his shoulder, eyes meeting Caleb’s as he made a circular motion with one finger alerting his partner to the fact that they might not be the only three people in the area. Caleb nodded once, lifting his hand to rest on his holstered weapon. Turning his attention back to the woman, Frank was ready to find out who she was and what had her looking as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. “Can you tell me why you placed a call to 911 Mrs.…” He trailed off.
“Waters, Thelma Waters. I called because I think someone broke into the Langford house.” She pointed toward the house behind him.
Frank turned to Caleb who was shaking his head, apparently not seeing anything that would be a threat or give him cause to think something was amiss in the home. Before he could say anything else to Mrs. Waters, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him around the side of the Langford home, talking about a mile a minute. “Not there; it’s back here. I was in the living room watchingI Love Lucybecause my husband hates the show, won’t watch it with me, so I have to wait until he’s asleep. So I was in my living room.” Mrs. Waters paused briefly, pointing at the house to the right of the Langford home where Frank could see the soft glow of a television lighting up the empty room through the large bay windows. “And I thought I heard raised voices, a man and a woman arguing, which was odd—Emily and Sean never argue. They are just the cutest, sweetest couple, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard a harsh word from either one of them.”
“Mrs. Waters,” Frank tried to interject as they came around the side of the house, stepping onto the large, concrete patio. That’s when he saw it: the screen had been removed from a window, and the glass was broken. Thelma had started babbling again but Frank tuned her out and reached for the two-way radio on his shoulder. “Caleb, we’ve got a possible point of entry at the back of the house. Call it in and get us some backup.”
Caleb’s voice traveled through the radio. “10-4, partner.”
“Mrs. Waters, I’m going to need you to go back inside your house and lock all the doors. We don’t know who or what is inside the home or in the immediate area.” She looked uncertain and opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it. “Thank you, ma’am. Now you say the owners of the home are Emily and Sean Langford, is that correct?”
“Yes.” She gave him a jerky head nod. “Emily, Sean, and Taylor.”
Frank froze. “Taylor?”
Her head was still bobbing up and down from the last question. “Their son, adorable little thing. I think I saw him playing in the yard yesterday, but I can’t remember for certain.”
Frank gave the woman a gentle shove toward her home, reiterating the need for her to stay inside. Drawing his weapon, he walked the perimeter of the backyard, checking the other side of the house and behind the shed, making sure everything was clear outside before he entered the large, metal structure and slowly made his way through. It wouldn’t be the first time Frank had flushed out a perp attempting to hide in a workshop or storage space, which is what he seemed to be looking at. There were tools, boxes, miscellaneous junk, and three bikes hanging from the ceiling. Stepping back out onto the grass, Frank closed the door and checked his watch: eighteen minutes since he asked Caleb to call for backup, which meant they should be arriving at any moment.
He heard footsteps approaching and turned just as Caleb came around the corner, and the night sky over the top of the house lit up with the faint glow of flashing lights. Pulling his gun from the holster, Caleb nodded toward the back door. “I’ll cover you.”
Frank approached the back door cautiously, twisting the knob and cursing internally when it opened. They entered the home and checked each room, looked behind every door they passed as they slowly made their way to the front door, whichwaslocked, to let the two officers sent as backup inside the home.
Frank sent one officer to the back of the house where the broken window was, advising him to step carefully and not touch anything, to be careful not to contaminate the crime scene. The second officer stayed put at the front door. From the two vantage points, they could see each other and while neither of them could watch every square inch downstairs, they would notice any movement. Caleb had closed the doors to the rooms and closets they’d already cleared downstairs, so it was highly unlikely anyone was in that part of the home. Upstairs though, was an entirely different story. Flashlights and weapons in hand, Frank and Caleb climbed the stairs and split off at the top of the second-floor landing, one going to either side of the square-shaped hallway that framed the staircase.
The bodies of Emily and Sean Langford were on their bedroom floor, a picture of them with their son on the ground beside her, glass broken. Frank assumed it’d been knocked off the bedside table, probably during a struggle. What caught his attention wasn’t the framed image or Emily’s hazel eyes, staring right through him, empty and lifeless. Frank’s eyes were drawn to the large pool of blood underneath her husband, Sean. The man lay slumped on his side, throat cut, dried blood caked on his neck and chin.
“Any sign of the kid?” he asked Caleb.
