Who Kissed Charlie Fine?

Chapter 8

Rain did fall eventually, briefly, leaving behind the smell of ozone and sweet grass in the air. Floodlights lit the scene like a nighttime baseball game where the EMT had taken over examining Cherie who was pronounced dead at 10:51pm. It would later be said she had died doing what she loved second-most in a manner which, cruel in its timing, befitted someone who always wished to be young and bright and hot.

The fire truck which had arrived with the ambulance pulled away shortly afterwards creating a near vacuum of sound; steady whispers and faint sobs of jarred witnesses blending into a low choral hum, the backing for the songs of crickets. Suddenly a dog barked. Another responded to it only to be cut short with a half-whimper of guilt by a stern command. Charlie looked away from Martin who was being attended to by one of the paramedics and saw two police officers, one with a young German shepherd in a training vest, begin making their way through the crowds taking statements. A psychologist with an emotional support dog had also been summoned to help calm those suffering with traumatic distress, although it wasn't long before the Labrador seemed more taken with marking the eighth hole of the course and taunting the police pup who nearly broke from his constable to join him.

A third bark broke through the crowd, this time a gruff question of "Where?" from a human voice. A path was made to accommodate the arrival of Detective Sergeant Behr Creed who spoke first to one of the officers, then had a long word with a first responder. The strange glow of the trampled grounds seemed to dim in the wake of his movements with the exception of where he stood examining Cherie. In this most focused light, it could be seen that he wore a simple grey suit and pointed boots. A hand on his hip pulled his jacket away to reveal his badge as almost an extension of the ornately buckled belt it was clipped onto. An eye-patch over his left eye, the elastic of which cut invisibly through a full head of dark, wavy hair, meant that he had turn his whole torso in order to have a look at Martin when he was pointed out to him. For a plain clothed member of the force, he gave off a slightly Western-sheriff vibe in both his style and intensity. Charlie had already heard him referred to by both his formal title and the moniker Chief Creed, perhaps because his presence left no doubt as to who was in charge.

Martin, meanwhile, was physically no worse for wear. He was desperate for a drink, the more potent the better, and eager to get home. With his friend cleared medically, Charlie sought out an officer for permission to leave. Creed interrupted, notepad in hand, uncovered eye inspecting Martin, a semi-scowl on his grim face.

"First name Martin, last name Shields, is that correct?" The detective's hoarse grumble suggested vocal cords that would allow for volume but not range.

"Yes."

"How did you know Ms. Warner?"

"I just met her tonight," Martin answered.

"Were you both drinking?"

"Well, yeah."

"Whose idea was it to dance outside in a thunderstorm on a golf course?"

Martin cocked his head defiantly. "It wasn't raining at the time, but I was leading so I guess it was mine. Is this line of questioning really necessary?"

"A woman is dead because of your stupidity. I'll ask any question I feel like. Any particular reason you decided to attend a reunion for a high school you didn't go to?"

"I went to this high school," Charlie said, "and I invited him."

Creed's glower trained on Charlie, his lower teeth pushing forward to an underbite which would not exist otherwise. "Did I ask you?"

"Providing context, that's all."

"You are...?"

"Charles Fine."