Unknown - The Watch Dog

The squad car's wailing siren cut through the stillness of the summer night like the sound of someone screaming in the throes of a nightmare. From far off it came, ever rising and falling pitch bringing it closer to the Valley Farms home of Kate and Lucy Barrett. It was eleven past four in the morning when the call came in from Mrs. Barrett, according to the precinct records, and twenty-two past when the patrol car screeched to a halt in front of their rambling brick home. The two officers, one white and one black, jumped from the car almost before it had stopped moving, guns drawn, eyes searching the nearby hedges and trees for the sign of movement that might mean the difference between finishing their shift alive or going home in a rubber bag. Crime in this Washington, D.C. suburb was no laughing matter. Not that anyone would have laughed anyway taxes had soared in recent years to meet the costs of bigger and better police forces. And insurance premiums, when you were lucky enough to get it all, were double what they were five years ago. Most residents did without, absorbing the loss themselves when they awoke to find their car looted or their television missing when they returned from work. Or in some cases, the whole house, rugs, drapes, furniture, everything!

Patrol Officer Bill Manners was the first up the long, stepping-stone walk, his teammate, Turner Jackson, close on his heels. Manners was the senior man in this car, Turner being a recent Police Academy graduate, and the blond-haired Virginia family man was careful to stick by the book as this was only Turner's second night out on patrol duty. He glanced up and saw two female figures silhouetted on the drawn curtains, apparently still in their sleeping wear, and he slipped his revolver back into its holster and motioned for Turner to do the same. There was little to be gained by frightening these poor civilians worse than they had already been frightened. It was almost always the same on these calls break-in in progress. Before they could arrive on the scene, the burglar was long gone, probably hiding under a car somewhere three or four blocks away. Or safely behind the wheel of a non-descript sedan, motoring calmly back into the city, richer enough, if he was lucky, to feed his habit for another twenty-four hours. If not, it was back to the streets. Maybe this time an elderly pensioner coming home from the late movies, or a newsstand operator going to work. But wherever, however, he would get what he needed to keep him flying for another day. There was never any choice for a heroin addict.

The door opened as they stepped onto the covered front porch and a fortyish woman wearing an expensive-looking robe ushered them in with a salesgirl's smile. Come in, Officers, come in. I'm so glad you got here quickly, she gushed. My daughter Lucy and I have been scared out of our wits. I tell you, it was horrible. Horrible! Oh where are my manners I'm Kate Barrett, you know, of Barrett's Department Store down at the shopping center.

Yes, ma'am.

And this is my daughter Lucy. Would you two fine officers care for something to drink? I know you can't drink on duty, but I could spill a little brandy when I pour your coffee, she said, lowering her voice as if Lucy was too young to hear, and winking at the two policemen. But there was little doubt about Lucy's maturity, as both officers quickly noticed. She was wearing just what she had on when they heard the glass breaking by the back door baby doll pajamas you could read a newspaper through, though with her body, who'd want to read a newspaper? Officer Manners took out his note-pad and began to record the facts, but his eyes kept wandering from the pad and stealing surreptitious glances at the most beautiful chest he had seen in a long time. Christ, he thought, if my old lady had a pair of knockers like those, I'd never leave the house!

I'll have a little coffee, ma'am, if it's not too much trouble, he said, dutifully writing down the address and the sketchy facts he knew already. He could not be too careful on this call, for the Barrett money was Establishment money. John Barrett owned most of this valley at one time, before he subdivided it up and sold it for development, and Manners had heard estimates in the millions of his worth in real estate. He was dead now, over a year ago from a sudden heart attack. Popular jokes held that he died struggling under the weight of a bag full of his money, but that was not something for the record.

Certainly, men Lucy, would you mind putting a little coffee in the percolator for these gentlemen.

No, ma'am I'd be delighted, she said as if she did not mean it at all, and left the room. Officer Manners sneaked a quick look at the backside of that gorgeous blonde's body under those see-thrus and, if anything, it was even nicer than the front! High, tight cheeks that rubbed together when she walked Man, what she'd be like in the sack! He was sorry now that he had asked for coffee, because it robbed him of any more sideways looks at the younger Barrett woman. Not that the older one was any hag; Kate Barrett had that aura of well-preserved beauty common to most rich women. The kind of cold, translucent good- looks that comes with thrice-weekly trips to the Georgetown salons.

Won't you gentlemen sit down? the older red-haired woman inquired. I'm sure you two could use a breather, what with all the crime we've been having lately in Valley Farms. Isn't it just awful? I mean, it must be all those She seemed to be about to say something but she smiled stiffly in Officer Jackson's direction and bit her tongue. What I mean to say is, all those dope addicts and all from the city. I've heard they come out five and six to a car, like going to a picnic!

The young black officer nodded officiously. That's partly true, Mrs. Barrett. We do suspect that a lot of these break-ins and muggings lately have been the work of addicts from Washington. I don't know whether they make the ride out in carpools though it might look a little suspicious. All those blacks in Valley Farms would stand out like

The senior officer cleared his throat meaningfully. What he means, ma'am, is that maybe we had better get on with the report. If the burglar who tried to get in here is still around, we might spot him on the street. Anyone out at this hour is usually up to no good.

Oh, I do agree, Officer! I think there ought to be a curfew, except for decent folks, don't you? I mean, what business do all these young people have out at this hour?

Yes, ma'am, you're quite right.

Mrs. Barrett, interrupted the black officer. How would you propose to tell the 'decent folks' from the troublemakers?

Why, I well, I don't know all the details. That's for smarter people than I to work out.

Officer Manners shot his junior partner a look that could have cut glass. Let's go on with the report. Tell me exactly, in your own words what happened.

Lucy Barrett returned with the coffee on a silver tray complete with creamer and sugar bowl, and both the young police officers rose and nodded their thanks courteously. She leaned precariously close to them as she placed the tray on the coffee table at their knees; Officer Manners cleared his throat again for something to do and managed, finally, to get his eyes back on his note pad.

Officers, the report? the older woman dropped her words like lead weights; since Lucy's unintentionally dramatic entrance she had lost her audience. And Kate Barrett did not appreciate being upstaged by another woman, even if she was her own flesh and blood. Could we continue? she said icily, her thin veneer of charming hospitality washed away like so much make-up.