Kayli Unknown

Chapter 13 - Marinette Cops

Kat still had her arms around Lisa when she woke. Lisa's head was now out of her pillow, but buried against Kat's neck. The shaking had stopped. Mostly. Kat still didn't like Lisa's breathing.

The shooting? She wasn't sure what to say to Lisa about that. Or even what to think about it. A gun. From somewhere. Pressed against his chest. And fired until every chamber was empty. And then fired several more times. Combat situation. Kill or be killed. Still. Six times? Was that something they could talk about? Ever?

And what to do now? That was easier. Blood. She couldn't have Lisa get out of bed only to walk through a lodge splashed with blood. Kat could deal with that. A solvable problem. Kat kissed Lisa's forehead, then slipped out of bed. She quietly gathered up some clothing, and dressed in the great room.

With the benefit of daylight, Kat could get a clear view of her lodge. The ceiling was bad, but not as bad as it might have been. Bird shot, not buck shot. Forty or fifty pellets the size of BBs. The lead slugs of buckshot would have pounded a hole in her ceiling and damaged the roof beyond. The birdshot, if clustered, would also have punched a hole in the ceiling. But they had hit at an angle, and were spread along an arc that had been created when Kat had grabbed the gun and pushed it up. A few might have gone clear through, but most seemed to be lodged along a crease they had created in the dry wall. Lots of plaster had come down as dust and small particles. The floor was a mess, but the ceiling was still whole. An afternoon on a ladder with a bucket of spackle, and she would have the damage covered. Mostly.

Plaster she could deal with. Blood was a bigger challenge. Klein had taken about three steps into the lodge, still on the flagstones of the entry area. That's where they had fought over the gun. And where Lisa had shot him. Blood was splattered all over the entry way. Kat could mop that. She couldn't mop the blood that covered her front porch and pooled at the bottom of her stairs. January. Deeply cold nights. Liquids froze and attached themselves to any surface. Kat stared out her front doors wondering how she would ever get the blood gone.

When faced with an impossible task, do the part that is possible. Kat stepped to her broom closet and gathered a broom and dustpan. Plaster dust first. It took nearly an hour. It had spread everywhere. Not only was it all over the floor, but white dust had settled on every surface in the great room. Broom first, then a damp rag. She was sure she would still be finding it on surfaces for days, but she got the obvious areas, and she cleared the floor so she would no longer be walking through it and spreading it throughout the lodge.

Progress. Of a sort. She had postponed the real problem – the blood. First, a bucket of warm water. More rags. She did the entryway. She emptied the bucket three times. Another job that would have to be repeated each day until she was certain she had gotten it all. But it was clear for the moment.

Outside? She stood in the entryway, looked out her door, and wondered how to handle frozen blood.

A squad car arrived while she was standing there. Kat quickly emptied the last scrub bucket, closed the door to her bedroom, and then rushed back to the door. The rush hadn't been necessary. The men were still getting out of their squad.

She knew these two. Wisconsin retires its cops at fifty. These two were close. Both had bellies hanging over their belts and moved like men who didn't move very often – nor did they want to. Desk-bound detectives. They took their time getting their bulk out of the car, stood, stretched, pulled up their pants, and put a hand on the pistols on their belts. They wore cheap wool blazers. Blazers to show off their rank. They were past the need to wear a uniform. They were detectives. Kat knew they were just old, burned out, punching a time clock for the last few months of an indifferent career. She knew the type. Truth was, she had been that type as she had filled the last months of her twenty.