“You shot the suspect?” asked Samantha as the patrolwoman questioned the owner of the gas station inside the nice, warm interior of the building.

  "A warning shot with my revolver, yes," confirmed the Mexican-looking, rustic owner. "This homeless guy wouldn’t stop chasing my dog and he ran off in a panic. That’s when I fired in the air once, but the guy completely ignored it and hobbled after my dog."

  "Hobbled?"

  "He must have been drunk as hell," the owner surmised, carefully retrieving his revolver from under the cash register. “Here, I shot it once with this.”

  Another officer was present. “What makes you think it was a homeless man?” asked Peter Brown. He had been Samantha’s patrol partner for a year, a skinny guy of just over six feet and her age at 29.

  "It was dark, but his trousers were full of holes and the hem of his shirt had seen better days too," the gas station owner expined, perplexed. From him and from the area, these were not the first compints, after all. "Apparently Great Kingston is bursting at the seams and your bums are heading for the countryside."

  "Sir, I can assure you," Peter objected politely, but in a clear voice. "The city has problems, but not so much that the homeless are moving to the countryside. There are enough aid programmes and subsidies."

  "Your word is honourable Policeman Brown, but I don’t see it that way."

  "That’s your right," Peter nodded, making perpetual notes on his handy Bck Pitch, a miniature data carrier. "Anything else?"

  "He went that way," the owner said, pointing straight ahead at the row of windows and running his finger to the right. "Into the field."

  "Then we’ve taken in everything we need for now," Samantha noted, trying to strike as steadfast a pose as possible. "We’ll take a look in that direction. If the suspect returns, call the police immediately, but avoid any violence if possible."

  The owner saw the woman gnce at the revolver. "If possible, sure," the man replied, making no secret of his willingness. "But if that bastard gets too close to me, I’ll defend myself!"

  "That’s your right too, sir," Samantha agreed, looking to her partner. "Police officer Brown, let’s go on a search."

  "Sure," Peter nodded and said goodbye to the petrol station owner. "Have a good evening."

  "Yes sir, good evening," Samantha agreed and went out into the chilly night, against which she and her partner were armed with woolly warm jackets. It was nearly 24 o’clock and a gossamer yer of white snow y on the tarmac, just as it did on the roofs of the houses in the vicinity. "How many incidents is this now?"

  "This week or month?", Peter specified. He and his partner were in one of the suburbs of Great Kingston, a good 20 kilometres from the big city. There was a lot of nd and forest here and on average the popution was between 5 and 10,000. "I think this week is number eight."

  "Unusual," Samantha murmured suspiciously as she climbed into the passenger side of the police car parked at one of the gas pumps. "I can understand if the owner says something like that then. Do you think the homeless problem has moved out of Great Kingston?"

  "Even if it has," Peter remarked, starting the car and the heater. "I mean, homeless people cause trouble every now and then, but what’s going on around here? It makes me uncomfortable."

  Before Samantha responded, she put a message through to dispatch. "HQ, this is car 211."

  "HQ listening," a smoky female voice rushed back.

  "We have investigated the nd disturbance incident at Brooks and are now exiting the gas station," Samantha reported routinely. "There has been no sign of the suspect in the incident and we are heading north on a tip from the gas station owner to search for the possible perpetrator."

  "HQ understands, keep your eyes open and be careful in this weather."

  “All right HQ, 211 out,” Samantha said, tucking the radio operator back onto his essay before putting on a mean smirk. "Well, as long as it’s just rioters. There’s a report from this area where the witness swears a giant wolf, even a werewolf, tore up his cows."

  "Country folk," Peter snorted and drove off. He turned the corner and followed a side road, towards an open field and he turned on his high beams. "Still, the fact remains that somebody sughtered those cows. Have you seen the crime scene pictures?"

  “Yes, very unappetising,” Samantha mentioned, looking out into the slightly snowy night. In addition, she activated the swivelling headlight on the roof of the car to keep an eye out for the suspect. "This reminds me of a case in Great Kingston a few years ago. There was this woman who was doing Satanic rituals in her ft. Everything was painted with blood and sacrificed goats were spread out in a pagan circle."

  "Some people are just through," Peter sighed pessimistically, concentrating on driving rather than looking. "Any sign?"

  "No. Neither dog, nor anything else," Samantha replied. Despite the snow and darkness, she could see retively far and, after all, at this time of year the fields were completely harvested. On the side, however, she gnced at the car’s electronic map, “But according to the map, there’s a farm in about a kilometre and a half, right in the suspect’s direction of travel. With that direction and the cold, he might find a warm spot there."

  "Hey, definitely better than looking for him in the open," Peter joked, stepping on the gas a little more. "That would probably be more to your liking, you with your dad and his hunting cabin in the woods."

  "Nothing wrong with the cabin," Samantha grinned nostalgically. Yes, hunting and being out in nature was what her father had taught her to love and the policewoman still did. "There’s nothing like sitting in the warm cabin after a long day with a big kill, watching it snow heavily outside with a crackling fire in the firepce."

  "Just stop it," came a delighted Peter. "It just makes me want to call it a day when I hear something like that."

  "If you’re buying the first beer? Count me in!"

  "Ha ha, ter Sam," Peter offered as a fleeting light was so gradually visible in the darkness.

  "That’s it," Samantha agreed as she made out the vague outline of the farmhouse and two lights in rooms around the farm. Right next to it was a rge barn. There was also a small silo and a cattle pen marked with signs going into the wide. "Looks like someone is still awake too."

  "Looks like it," Peter agreed, steering into the driveway that passed under a carved wooden arch on which Randal Farm was engraved. "Do you want to talk to the residents and I’ll have a look around?"

  "I don’t know," Samantha contradicted her colleague. Given the weather and the location, that didn’t seem like such a good idea to her. "I think we should stay together. Not exactly the best conditions to split up."

  "I guess you’re right," Peter agreed after a makeshift look around and turned off the car.

  Deactivating the searchlight, Samantha got out first, always with one hand braced at her side to show authority but also within reach of her gun holster. "The wind is more annoying here. Too much open space."

  "Well then, we’d better hold on to our caps tightly," Peter spoke louder to drown out the whistling of the wind and headed towards the front door. First he rang the bell, but after no one answered and he rang it again, he tried a knock on the solid wood of the entrance. "Huh?"

  Samantha shared her colleague’s astonishment, for the door was pushed open a crack by the knock. "Open?" she murmured suspiciously, putting her hand to her holster, the hallway in front of her being very well lit. "Hello?! Anyone home?!"

  "GKPD!" announced Peter. He was scrawny but still taller than his partner and took the lead with his pistol holstered after no response came and he whispered admonishingly. "You see that there?!"

  "Blood," Samantha realised. A few drops were scattered on the fluffy carpet, leading straight out. Otherwise, however, there was no sign of violence for her, as all the jackets hung neatly and no furnishings were damaged. "That one in front must be the kitchen." She came to this assumption after peering halfway into a dark room to her left that clearly looked like the living room.

  "Oh God!" gasped Peter indignantly, but he kept his nerve and got down on his knees! In the kitchen y a middle-aged woman, in a pool of blood and she was covered in wounds. "No more pulse ... no chance."

  "I’ll call for backup right away!" said Samantha, grabbing the handheld radio attached to her left chest. "HQ, this is Car 211!"

  Again the smoky female voice called in. "HQ listening!"

  "We’re at Green Barrel country road, outside Brooks, house number one, and we have a 187! No sign of the perp! We need backup and a forensic team!"

  "211, copy that! Backup should be with you in 20 minutes! Secure the scene until then.

  "Copy HQ, 211 out!" confirmed Samantha, looking back down the hall. "We should sight the upper floors!"

  Suddenly there was a cng in one of the lower kitchen cupboards and Peter aimed in that direction but said nothing. Instead he tried to listen and a very soft whimper could be heard. "It’s all right, it’s the police," he spoke quietly, keeping his fingers off the handle of the cupboard. "You can come out."

  It takes a while, but very gently and distraught, a boy of perhaps 6 years old opened the door, but he did not dare to come out of his little cave. No words passed his lips, but pure shock was written all over his face.

  Peter had long since put his gun away and tried empathetic words. "Come here, it’s all right. We’re here to help."

  In the meantime, Samantha took a step forward to stop a possible line of sight between child and victim, but after the boy didn’t dare come out of the closet, she tried her luck. "See this?" she asked, pointing to her gold-pted police badge where her name and badge number were inscribed. "I’m Police Officer Rockford and this is Police Officer Brown," she said warmly, even though it wasn’t that easy. Her little sister had annoyed Samantha more than anything in the past, and so far she hadn’t been much for children either. "I’m sure you’ve heard this before - we serve and protect."

  That was apparently more than enough for the boy to come rushing from within and cling tightly to the policewoman. It was probably simple instinct that the boy trusted the woman more, or her approach had simply been better. "Where’s Richard?" the boy murmured, barely audible.

  "Who’s Richard?" asked Samantha cautiously, exchanging searching gnces with her partner. "And what’s your name?"

  "M-my big brother and I’m Ben," the little boy gulped, gripping the woman’s uniform tightly. "He’s always stuffed me in the closet all mean, but, but this time ... Richard said if I came out now, he’d lock up for good."

  Peter kept his eyes on the surroundings and continued to let Samantha do the talking. "Has your brother been causing trouble? How old is he?"

  "N-nine. He, he hid me from the loud man that Mum was having trouble with."

  "The loud man?" asked Samantha, getting a nod. "Where is the loud man? Where’s your brother? What about your papa? Do you have a papa?"

  Ben failed to say more and fell into a clinging stupor.

  Peter, on the other hand, murmured softly. "Sam," he used the policewoman’s nickname and looked from the dead, supposed mother to the back door of the kitchen. It wasn’t damaged, but a bloody streak of fingers was embzoned on the wood and knob.

  "Probably," Samantha held herself tersely. Neither she nor her partner needed to spell it out that Richard and the attacker were outside somewhere and Ben didn’t need to be rattled any further. "Come on, let’s get you into our police car first. Have you ever seen one or sat in one?"

  "Seen one, but only bad people get into one."

  "Mostly yes," Samantha replied as she carried the boy out and was escorted by her colleague. She tried her best, but she knew her words had to come across as wooden. "But it’s also how we protect good people, and how cool is it to get to be in a police car?"

  "Pretty cool," Ben babbled after her.

  The thought seemed to put him at ease, given the circumstances, and he was parked by Samantha in the barred, secure back seat of the warm police car. A uniform jacket was thrown in for good measure. "You stay in here, alright? We’ll lock the car. No one gets in here without us."

  As the driver, Peter had the keys and locked the car. "Are we going to search the house further?" he enquired, looking towards the scene of the crime. "We haven’t been upstairs yet."

  "I think we should rather go in pursuit of Richard and the loud man immediately," Samantha suggested. Every minute she and her partner waited for backup gave the perpetrator a chance to disappear or even harm a child and that wasn’t why Samantha had become a cop. Not to let crimes happen. "The more we hesitate, the more likely another murder will happen."

  "I’m afraid that might be the case," Peter surmised, but he had always been less impulsive and of the thoughtful variety. "The order was clear, though, and there are only two of us right now, unfortunately. As you said earlier, it’s night and the weather could get worse. Not the best conditions for a search. Besides, we shouldn’t leave little Ben alone."

  "Mhpf, that’s right," Samantha pressed her lips together. She didn’t like it and she had to fight with herself, but she knew her partner was right. "Then you stay in the car with Ben and I’ll at least have a look around upstairs. There must be a father, apparently."

  "Be careful," Peter agreed, getting into the driver’s side of the police car. "Meanwhile, I’ll call for more backup. We’ll need them for a search."

  Samantha went back into the house without a gun in her hand at first, but as soon as she was out of sight of the child, she was on high alert again and her gun was her best friend. However, she didn’t need it and the search of the upper floors was fruitless and without a trace of violence.