Marker of Faith

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 39

Roddy's whining in the car about his clothes finally made John give in, and he made a U-turn in the street.

"As much as I'd love to see you face Williamson in that getup, you win."

Roddy looked over at him hesitantly. "I also need to check on Magpie."

"Magpie?"

"My cat. Okay?" Roddy drummed his fingers on the armrest, staring out the window. "Four days is all he can go alone. Got him a sweet auto-feeder for when I'm tied up at the morgue, but he's probably out of food by now."

"You don't strike me as a cat person."

"I found him at a murder scene, he was just this tiny ball of fur...now he's eighteen pounds. He's all I've got, John."

"That's cool. I'm not teasing, well I am but--"

"Whatever. He's a cool gato."

Roddy directed John across town and he pulled up in front of a brightly painted-bungalow with a beautiful flower garden in front; a riot of color and fragrance at odds with Roddy's personality.

"This is you?" John asked incredulously.

"Yup, ain't it beautiful," Roddy said as he got out of the car. He didn't wait for any commentary and jogged up to the front door.

For a guy who works with death you sure got a green thumb. 

John grinned and then shuddered as a passing cloud blocked the sun briefly, bathing the street in shadows.

"Hurry up! Get in, get out," he yelled, suddenly feeling exposed on the open street. He searched the rearview mirror and the surrounding sidewalks for any furtive movements, any signs of trouble, and wasn't watching when Roddy disappeared inside the house. John didn't notice the front door standing ajar...didn't see the look on Roddy's face as he entered his home.

John looked back at the house and was suddenly melancholy. The garden, the neatly kept yard and brightly painted house, all the trappings of a normal life slapped at him like a taunt. Everything was slipping away; would they ever get it all back? Even the fact that Roddy had a cat made John a little sad. It made sense, though; a pet's love was unconditional, and if you let people get too close they just let you down in the end. That thought made him feel guilty, and John hunched down in the seat miserably, thinking of Roddy, Rattle, and Minerva all depending on him now.

Ever the cynical ass! John thought darkly as he settled in to wait.

The minutes ticked by and John sat impatiently thrumming his fingers on the steering wheel. What was taking so long? A sense of dread built in his gut and he eyed the open door. He should have gone in with him.

Damn it! John got out of the car, unholstering his gun as he approached the house. He nudged the door open and the familiar coppery tang of blood stung his nose. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom John saw that the house had been ransacked; furniture cushions lay in tattered ribbons on the floor and there were large holes punched in the walls. A muffled sob echoed from the back of the house and John took off, leaping broken furniture to get to the sound.

"Roddy!" he shouted, peeking around a corner into a hallway of darkness. The sound of breaking glass propelled him forward.

"Roddy!"

"Back here." Roddy opened his bedroom door with shaking, blood-covered hands. The man's eyes were red-rimmed and tears coursed down his cheeks in angry streaks.

John pushed by him into the room. "What happened? You okay--" The question died in his throat as he looked around. Blood spattered the walls, the mattress was over turned and shredded, the stuffing pulled out in now blood-soaked wads littering the floor, and the crunch of glass under foot made John look down. A smashed vase -- the sound he'd heard earlier, was littered in the doorway, mingling with spatters of blood in the carpet. John looked up and saw the source of all the blood.