The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

The police cruiser slowly wheeled up to and eventually parked right in front of 909 West 7th. Both the young officer who was operating the vehicle and Mike O'Dea sat inside the car and glared on and on at the bleak, broken down old house with similar looks of dismay written on their faces.

Mike, who by then had grown a full, greying beard that would have suggested that he hadn't shaved in quite a while, rubbed his hard hands together as though he were anxious over something.

In his brown leather long coat, matching brown polyester pants and a tweed fedora, Mike took a strained gander at the rest of the drab neighborhood on that slowly approaching evening. On the other side of the sidewalk were two black men wearing black leather jackets and just standing in front of a parked car smoking and talking to each other. Mike just cut his eyes from the men as to say they weren't worth his time.

"Well, Mr. O'Dea, here it is." The young officer switched off the car's ignition and sighed.

Mike glanced back over at the house and heaved, "Yeah, a real piece of shit, huh?"

"If you ask me, they should've torn this place down a long time ago."

"Hell, they should destroy this entire neighborhood, for the love of God." O'Dea snickered while unbuckling his seatbelt and preparing to climb out of the car.

"You know, when I was here last, this house looked terrible. But now...it actually looks worse." Officer Sullivan mentioned with a sudden pale face.

O'Dea just smirked at the young man as to imply that his comment was humorous. "Hang in there, kid. Believe me when I say, you'll encounter a helluva lot worse by the time you're done in the force."

"That makes me feel secure." Sullivan sarcastically remarked.

"Look, you're a good Irish kid." O'Dea said. "We need more good cops like you out here." O'Dea then pointed out at the two men across the street. "Look at 'em, the dregs of society." He sneered. "They, and any other that suck on society's tit. I hated it when they took me off the beat. I got a chance to be out here with my nose to street. What you saw the other day inside that house was just a glimpse of real life. Your father knew that, too. He was a good cop, and he expects his son to follow in suit."

Swallowing, Sullivan remarked, "Yeah, but I bet he never saw anything like what happened the other day."

Shrugging his shoulders, Mike callously replied, "Perhaps not, but then again, the little bastards had no business being in there to begin with. You jump into Jaws' mouth, don't be surprised when you're eaten." O'Dea then reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a fifty dollar bill which he promptly handed to the young man. "C'mon, let's go."

Both O'Dea and Sullivan got out of the cruiser and proceeded to march towards the house. With his hands inside his coat pockets, O'Dea's stride was zealous while Sullivan's was cautious if not sluggish. O'Dea paused for a moment to stare up at the radiant autumn sky and back again at the men who by then were giggling in their direction. O'Dea just snubbed his nose at the men before stepping up the stairs of the porch.

"You should've seen this porch." Sullivan said. "I think Officer Wayne said he found one of the boys' heart's outside here. He said that it was still beating."

O'Dea scanned the grimy porch where several of the wooden boards were coming loose before he stood in front of the front door. Sullivan pushed against the door's handle and stepped aside to let O'Dea in first.

Closing the door behind him, Sullivan's tongue fumbled, "I sure hope the Captain doesn't find out about this."

"Don't worry about Brickman; he already owes me a few favors. Besides, you're being compensated for this. You've got nothing to be concerned about."

The floor boards creaked and cracked with every movement the men made as they walked across causing an echo effect to rattle the silence within. There was still enough sunlight for them both to see where they were stepping. O'Dea took a minute to scan the reddish walls and floor. The smell within the house was stiff and putrid, like being inside a cold butcher shop.

"The guys did their best to clean the walls, but there was so much blood that they eventually just gave up."

O'Dea took a Polaroid camera from out of his coat and snapped a couple of shots. He shook the prints and waited for the film to develop before studying both pictures carefully and stuffing them into his pockets.

"Tell me again why you think this is so important?"

O'Dea took a picture of the floor before saying, "My boy, they say truth is stranger than fiction. This entire case has baffled everyone since it first began back in February. No leads, no clues, just speculation and people still turning up dead."

"So do you believe that these animals are still on the loose?" Sullivan stood nervously behind O'Dea.

Scanning the entire living room from side to side, O'Dea answered, "It's hard to say. If it is an animal, it's an animal that no one can seem to spot. These murders have been far too gruesome for a human to have committed. No, no, I happen to believe that something a lot deeper is going on here."

"Well, if it's not an animal, or a person, then who or what?"

crackled to life. "I gotta take this." Sullivan hurried to say as he whipped out his radio from his holster and took off out the front

O'Dea went and shut the door behind the young man before turning back around and taking out a mini tape recorder from within his coat. From there he began a methodical march around the living

the Glover residence.

the one bedroom door and poked his head inside. He then walked over to the closet to

a visit to her parents' home where I am told she resides." He spoke as he headed back out to the hallway and down

used what little light was still shining from the hallway

said, "The floor still has remnants of blood lacerated all over. Nothing too deep, but one can surmise that due to the lack of proper upkeep this house is not too

spotted something

bathroom where Isaac Mercer was shot dead by Detective Bruin. I'm holding in my hand right now what appears to be a piece of...fur." O'Dea studied the filament from side to

nut, but he's still holding tight to his animal theory. And to be perfectly honest, I can't really blame him. The neighbors all said that Glover did not own a pet, and yet, they also said that they heard an animal inside this house that night. And that same animal was tearing the joint apart like a bulldozer. There was an animal inside this fucking house that night." He

and something else. And I happen to believe that was what eventually drove

involved with the Jamaicans prior to his death and he brought it over here, possibly to fend off Linus. But Linus shot both Mercer and the beast, and the beast got away to the

"I'll be dammed, it's been right in front of everyone's eyes this entire time." O'Dea then began to gradually turn around and around inside the bathroom. "That's why that black bitch Glover is nowhere to be found. She's probably running some kind of underground voodoo cult in town." Mike then stopped twirling and gripped his recorder even tighter inside his sweating

the force. Now, from what another informant told me, Charles Mercer was just released from the hospital not too long ago. That means

man nearly dropped his recorder to the floor before he stuffed the thing back inside his coat and reached into another pocket

here?" He called

could still hear was the thumping of something stalking about like

gun pointed straight ahead of him O'Dea boldly struck out of the bathroom, down the hallway and into the living room. He stood in the middle of the floor and gazed

it right there!" He pointed his

was hidden by the shadows within the increasingly dimming kitchen which only frustrated

"Slowly get to your feet with your hands up!" O'Dea

was going down for the evening, so seeing the person clearly was near impossible. O'Dea could tell just by the bulky build that it was a man;

"Stop right there!" O'Dea snapped. "Okay, who

the floor before glancing to his left and to his right. Still, O'Dea could barely see the man's face. He could tell that he wasn't wearing a shirt of any kind, and that whatever sort of pants he was wearing looked

"Where dey at, mon?" The man spoke in a hoarse Jamaican

up his face,

me brotha," the man

I don't know why

then, O'Dea ceased his speech to take a moment to reflect. Immediately he

right there. I got back up outside. Make one

"Dey not here,

"Who's

"Dey gone," he

Mercer, Glover," O'Dea zealously questioned. "Do you know where Lynnette Glover

chuckle that lasted nearly an entire

"No, no, mon, we here

"Who's we?

"Little Lynnette, no

teeth in a whisper. "Okay, just come out of there and we

the kitchen sat absolutely still, so still in fact that it appeared to O'Dea that he was

dis country for de girl. I try

O'Dea could hardly even understand the man's dialect let alone what he was trying to get at. And the more the

the hell are you talking about? Are you talking about Lynnette? Do you know anything about the animal attacks this past summer?"

"I still smell tha fire,

fire are you

"I feel it all over me. I

"Who did you try to kill, for Christ's