WHISPERS OF THE SANDMAN 3

2

"'Scuse me.Excuse me," Jerry said, pushing his way through the little crowd. They paid him no mind as they all strained their necks, heads bobbing left and right, most on the tips of their toes as they tried to see what was going on. Voices, murmurs, questions, accusations, suggestions in the air.

"Excuse me people, Police coming through." He struggled and shuffled his way to the front where he was vomited by the crowd. He lost his balance and used a hand to steady himself. Standing, he turned his blackest stare on the crowd as he dusted his hand.

  Fat load of good it did him.

  He shook his head, wondering why these people would pack here. Well, Death had come, they would feast their senses as much as they could, so that they would have interesting stories to tell anyone who would care to listen for the rest of the day, maybe the whole week. A Constable strode towards him, holding his baton, shouting "HEY! HEY!!! WHO SAY MAKE YOU COME HERE? GO BACK! GO BACK NOW OR-"

  Jerry brought out his ID holder, flipped it open in his face. The Constable stopped as if hit by a car as he read FCID on the card.

"Sor-sorry sir," the Constable stammered, saluting smartly. Jerry paid him no mind and strode up to the timid-looking yellow bungalow that was the center of a gruesome attraction today. Glancing behind him, he saw the last of the News vans leaving. Good. They always were too much trouble for him, with their silly on-the-spot interviews and stuff.

 Their was a red Volkswagen Passat, one of the older models, parked beside the house. The Constable at the door opened the door wordlessly for him after saluting. He entered into a parlor that felt cramped. It was also gloomy inside, despite the light bulb being on, and it wasn't just on account of the closed curtains. Jerry would later recognize the problem as grief; the place had been made dark by grief. On the sofa directly across from him he saw the victim's family; mother holding and slowly rocking the smallest one, father holding twin boys-Jerry placed their ages at nine, maximum. They were all crying. He couldn't blame them. From what he'd heard, the smallest one had seen everything. Well, not a reliable witness.

  Besides, he was no monster, despite what people thought about him. He would never put any kid through the ordeal of having to relive the death of a loved one...or anyone for that matter.

 A smart looking lady in a black suit left the family's side and walked to him. Her eyes were moist. Hmm...

  She stuck out her hand, introducing herself. "Inspector Amaka Okoro."

  "Jerry. Detective Jerry."

  "I know. They said you were coming. I'm glad you did." Her voice wavered for a bit and she fought for control of her emotions. Jerry let her. "I know the family. I knew the-the-I knew Mary."

Figures, Jerry thought, confirming his suspicions about her tears. Well, life...

  "I'm sorry."

  "Well, I think you can tell that to the family. They need it more than I do."

  Nodding, Jerry moved towards them.

"Hey, Jerry." He looked. It was his friend and colleague, James; Sergeant James. A Detective in the FCID too. He raised a hand in greeting as James motioned for him to come. He made a pausing gesture, then went to the family. He was always uncomfortable in these kinds of situations. How did you tell the family that everything was gonna be alright, when you all knew that everything stopped being alright the second their loved one died? Worse, they would start looking to you for closure, and if you didn't give it to them, you became the bad guy; you were just like the person who stole their loved one from them. Or even more worse, if you didn't catch the culprit, they would begin to think you knew all about it; that you had been 'settled' and you had let them go. Crappy.

  In the end, he muttered some apologies to them. They didn't really listen, and he was grateful. He went to James, leaving them with the lady Inspector.

"Good morning James."

"More like, bad morning eh?" James said, handing Jerry a pair of gloves outside the door.

"Just tell me why they would request for the FCID on a case like this? Why they would request for me?"

"Trust me buddy," James said, his face suddenly somber, "when you take a look inside, you'll see why. It's a real mess in there."

  James was right.

  It was a mess.

  And yes, they would need him.

  Shit.