It was 2:30 am Friday when I reached the bar. Traffic downtown had been light, and I made good time. I knew Brenda would be worried about me, and maybe a little angry. I didn’t blame her. I parked my old Ford in front of the Bar. I didn’t usually park there, But I was in a hurry to get in and see Brenda. As I got out I surveyed the street. I noted the fresh skid marks in front of the bar, near where I had parked. I found my keys as I reached the front door. I didn’t need them.
I stopped short. The front doors of the bar were hanging wide open. I stepped back from the doors and looked both ways down the block. Nothing. I slid my Colt .45 from its shoulder holster. This was not Good. Not good at all.
Gingerly and slowly I nudged the double door open. I let them stay open for a minute. Before I entered the room. Once I stepped inside the bar. I looked around slowly, The lights were on. Something, she never left on. Usually, the only lights in front were over the windows and a small light behind the bar. I picked my way through the chairs and table. Several had been knocked off the table they had been stacked on earlier in the evening when she closed up. I noted they were in direct line with the side exit of the kitchen. I followed the trial of knocked over chairs.
Stepping into the kitchen; all seemed in order. The grill was clean, and counters were clean, and knives were in place. All the lights were on. Something was definitely wrong. She would never leave the place wide open like this.
I found him. In the small anteroom space where the stockroom and our two offices met, He was lying just outside the door to the Stockroom. It had been forced from the inside. I carefully stepped over the dead man. In the stockroom, I found where the back outside door had been forced open from the outside.
It was clear what had happened. They had broke in the stockroom, then the second door into the bar. Brenda had met them at the door. I went back to the main area. Looking at how the body fell, I walked back to Brenda’s office. Standing in her door, I pointed my .45 at the stockroom door. Perfect. She had shot the first one through the door. I returned to Brenda’s office. I noted her pocketbook, was still on the little table where she kept it. Opening the drawer on her desk. As I figured the Smith & Wesson revolver she kept there was gone. I knew where one bullet went. I examined the rest of her office. The door into the kitchen was also wide open. Which leads directly to the door from the kitchen to the bar area.
Brenda was gone. Missing. What had happened was pretty clear. Someone had tried to kidnap her, she killed one of them. Whether they succeeded was another question. I assumed the worst as I called Robert at home.
“Bob, We've got a problem.” I woke him up.
“Yeah, ?” was his response as he tried to wake up.
“Brenda's missing,” I replied shortly.
That woke him up.
I then told him what I’d found at the bar. He said he’d be right down, and he’d call the crime scene people.
Shortly afterward Detective Robert Clay arrived in his personal car. I met him out front. For the next few minutes, I walked him through exactly what I’d done, pointing out anything I’d touched that night, which wasn’t much.
Bob agreed with my reading of the mess. She had shot him from the office door. We agreed it hadn’t happened long ago, probably within the last half hour or so, not more than an hour before I arrived. The coroner confirmed the time of death, about 2;30 am, by a single gunshot wound to the chest. Fired fairly close, he agreed probably from the doorway.
By the time they took the body and secured the scene, it was almost five am. I paced around the police station for a short time while I signed my statement, and filled the missing person report on Brenda.
I stopped short. The front doors of the bar were hanging wide open. I stepped back from the doors and looked both ways down the block. Nothing. I slid my Colt .45 from its shoulder holster. This was not Good. Not good at all.
Gingerly and slowly I nudged the double door open. I let them stay open for a minute. Before I entered the room. Once I stepped inside the bar. I looked around slowly, The lights were on. Something, she never left on. Usually, the only lights in front were over the windows and a small light behind the bar. I picked my way through the chairs and table. Several had been knocked off the table they had been stacked on earlier in the evening when she closed up. I noted they were in direct line with the side exit of the kitchen. I followed the trial of knocked over chairs.
Stepping into the kitchen; all seemed in order. The grill was clean, and counters were clean, and knives were in place. All the lights were on. Something was definitely wrong. She would never leave the place wide open like this.
I found him. In the small anteroom space where the stockroom and our two offices met, He was lying just outside the door to the Stockroom. It had been forced from the inside. I carefully stepped over the dead man. In the stockroom, I found where the back outside door had been forced open from the outside.
It was clear what had happened. They had broke in the stockroom, then the second door into the bar. Brenda had met them at the door. I went back to the main area. Looking at how the body fell, I walked back to Brenda’s office. Standing in her door, I pointed my .45 at the stockroom door. Perfect. She had shot the first one through the door. I returned to Brenda’s office. I noted her pocketbook, was still on the little table where she kept it. Opening the drawer on her desk. As I figured the Smith & Wesson revolver she kept there was gone. I knew where one bullet went. I examined the rest of her office. The door into the kitchen was also wide open. Which leads directly to the door from the kitchen to the bar area.
Brenda was gone. Missing. What had happened was pretty clear. Someone had tried to kidnap her, she killed one of them. Whether they succeeded was another question. I assumed the worst as I called Robert at home.
“Bob, We've got a problem.” I woke him up.
“Yeah, ?” was his response as he tried to wake up.
“Brenda's missing,” I replied shortly.
That woke him up.
I then told him what I’d found at the bar. He said he’d be right down, and he’d call the crime scene people.
Shortly afterward Detective Robert Clay arrived in his personal car. I met him out front. For the next few minutes, I walked him through exactly what I’d done, pointing out anything I’d touched that night, which wasn’t much.
Bob agreed with my reading of the mess. She had shot him from the office door. We agreed it hadn’t happened long ago, probably within the last half hour or so, not more than an hour before I arrived. The coroner confirmed the time of death, about 2;30 am, by a single gunshot wound to the chest. Fired fairly close, he agreed probably from the doorway.
By the time they took the body and secured the scene, it was almost five am. I paced around the police station for a short time while I signed my statement, and filled the missing person report on Brenda.