High Stakes

The end-to-end fixed window of the restaurant offered a striking view of the ocean to anyone inside it. Pulse restaurant was a magnificent place to be in. Fine white furniture complemented its warm brown-coloured walls and brown carpeted floors. There was a whopping break in the windows that posed that something big, something mighty, had hit it and hit the gathering on the table set a few rows out. Walsh brushed his uniform boots over multiple shards of glass as he advanced carefully towards the shattered window. His eyes pinpointed on the break, and a theory began forming in his head. He didn't move an inch for a while.

"Driscoll, how long till our forensics team gets here?" Sheriff Walsh asked the minute Rodriguez and Anderson returned to the main area.

Sean Driscoll was in the kitchen area. He had been making sure that the scene was still empty as they had met it. When he dropped his transceiver, he said, "About five minutes and inbound, Sir."

The buzzing inside the head of Jefferson Walsh grew. Five long minutes of absolute torture. It was high time they began scene documentation. His team had tried their best to cordon off areas that contained evidence. They had made sure to not touch objects and disturb clues with their roaming, but it was inevitable.

"Chief, there are two more victims in the bathroom." Rodriguez resurfaced, drawing his attention.

Anderson said from behind, "Deputy Foster needs forensics here now. He wants the BPD delayed for even longer; the case is more sensitive than we have already established."

The buzzing waxed louder. More victims. The Sheriff felt his stomach churn at the possibility of who it could be. "Who are they?"

"A young woman holding a bread knife. She's alive but seems out of her mind," the first officer's gruff voice said. "The second victim was dead on arrival."

Walsh waited.

He knew that the burly man wasn't finished when his hands held his belt and his head dropped.

"What else?"

His eyes had narrowed as he approached the officer, who appeared distraught. "What is the identity of the deceased?"

It took Rodriguez time to deliver.

"Bryson Barnes. The killer left the next mayor without a heart."

The sheriff's own heart had stopped in that minute.

Jefferson Walsh had been the Sheriff of Suffolk County for twelve years and not once had he ever felt this helpless during a job. The city had fallen into a major crisis. In a few hours, he would have to appear before a thousand cameras, entertaining a press conference and delivering a reason for the death of their council. Bryson Barnes had raised the stakes for him.

"Anderson." He turned and ran a palm through his face. "The BPD can't know about this till further notice. Secure the perimeter and ensure that no living thing comes near. I want Pulse to be as vibrant as normal. There are no casualties and there was no attack!"

He didn't even realise that he had screamed out in frustration.

"10-4, Sir." She gave a sharp nod and exited the building, breathing hard. A lot had depended on the success of her new task, but she was ready.

Before long again, the wide panel double-door pushed open. Walsh saw another of his officers come in. This one had a big head on a lean body and a propulsive gait.

"There's a man outside demanding to speak to you, Chief."

Rafael Tavares, that was the name of the fourth and final officer on duty. He was young like his deputy and had a bright future in their line of work.

"I thought I established that I don't want anyone around here but my team."

"Yes, Sir. Very clear but he identified himself as Jack Remington. He is the restaurant's manager."

The buzzing ceased.

Walsh had wanted to go check out the bathroom, but he put it on hold to see the only man that could make a difference in solving this impossible case. The anonymous caller.

It was the only thing that made sense there and then.

"I need info on the situation with the power plant, Rodriguez. It's been an hour already. The Boston police must be looking for us," he said, walking away before he could get a response.

The sheriff's pace quickened as he crossed the panel door. The thumping in his chest grew harder. Not much was visible under the moonlit darkness. Only the flashy rides of the victims and the oscillating lights pulsing at a distance from the accommodation section of the establishment stood out. It was now Walsh realized that six cars occupied six parking spaces and not five. There were six victims and a suspect.

Two plain Sheriff sedans parked out-of-order next to the building and an engine idled in the background. Nolan Foster didn't turn off the gas; they had been in a hurry.

He could make out the figure of a man clad in a well-tailored three piece standing at the bottom of the short stairs.

Walsh waited for the man to come to him.

Jack Remington saw the two men that appeared on the small porch and advanced when he discovered it was okay to. He had been the one that had made the call to the sheriff's department an hour ago.

"You made the call?" Tavares asked first.

Jack didn't even glance his way one bit. "The name's Jack Remington. I run things around here."

When he didn't extend a hand as he should have, Walsh smiled. The man had put them in his pockets instead. Walsh then folded his arms, raised his chin and took a tough-guy posture.

"Jefferson Walsh from the Suffolk County's Sheriff department. I assume you made the call?"

Jack gave a curt nod and went straight to business.

"My boss, Kaneko, reached out to your team on our stance in this matter, so there's not much left to say. We want this cleared out before sunrise."

Walsh sized him up. He hated his kind with a passion the size of the globe. Hotshots who thought they were above everyone else and looked down on people; they were the worst.

There was an air of arrogance around Jack, and everything about him had appeared too perfect. Slicked back dirty blonde hair and a Greek nose bridging a pair of condescending blue eyes, the Sheriff knew to be on guard.