and poured himself a cup of coffee. Sam should be coming soon. Henry was a little surprised that the younger guard hadn’t beaten him back here. Maybe Sam was more thorough than he anticipated.
He opened a magazine and began reading. A loud thump came from the end of the hallway. Henry glanced back at the clock. It was nearly four. Sam had been gone for two hours. “Shit!” muttering to himself. “If that little dimwit has been sitting somewhere playing games on the damned phone, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
Henry went to the doorway of the break room and stared down the dark hallway. No one was there. The sound of a door closing echoed through the air. Sam must have gone to the bathroom. With a snort, he adjusted his trousers and sucked in his stomach. He had to quit eating candy all night. It was killing his waistline.
After twenty minutes, Sam still hadn’t returned. Henry marched down the hall to the bathroom. Opening the door, he called out, “Sam, where the hell have you been?”
Silence. The hairs on the back of Henry’s neck stood on end. He pulled the gun from the holster and slowly entered the bathroom. His hand shook, and the barrel of the gun wavered up and down. He ducked down and looked under the stall doors. One by one. Fearful of what he would discover.
“Sam, are you in here?” Reaching the last stall, he saw Sam’s legs were stretched out. A surge of relief coursed through him. He straightened, holstering his gun.
“Damn it, Sam. You scared the shit out of me. You better not be sleeping in there.”
The sound of dripping water drew his attention. He turned toward the sink. No water was dripping. Where was the sound coming from?
“C’mon, Sam. Hurry up.” Henry pounded on the metal door to encourage Sam to hurry up. The stall door eased open. Instinctively, he took a step backward. His eyes widened. A thin stream of blood caught his attention. The crimson liquid inched its way toward Henry’s shoes. Reluctantly, Henry raised his gaze.
Sam sat lopsided on the toilet. His torso splayed open. His intestines sat in his lap. Drops of blood fell from the displaced organs to the white tile floor.
Henry’s breath froze. He staggered backward, collapsing against the sink. He clutched his collar, ripping off the top button. His chest heaved. He couldn’t breathe. He drew a hand across his face. He forced his gaze upward. Sam’s facial features were distorted; twisted in agony. It was as if his face was frozen in terror.
“Oh, my god…” Mustering strength, Henry made a beeline for the bathroom door, flinging it open and then running pell-mell back to the office. Quickly locking the door behind him, he grabbed the phone. His hand shook so hard he could barely punch 911.
“Des Moines Police Department. What is your emergency?”
“Help. I… A man has been killed. Need help.”
The calm voice on the phone asked. “Sir, what is your name?”
“Henry Morrison. Retired DMPD officer. I’m at the Art Center. Send help right away.”
“Sir, an ambulance and a unit are on their way. What door will be open for them?”
“I’ll be waiting at the front door.”
Henry hung up the phone and drew his gun. As he hurried toward the front entrance, he flipped on every light along the way. Is the killer still in the building? How did he get inside?
Within minutes, flashing red lights raced up the driveway into the parking lot. He quickly holstered his gun, not wanting the officers to think he was a threat. Once they were inside, he led the officers to the bathroom while he waited out in the hallway. He didn’t want to see Sam’s face again. Once was enough. He stiffened as the bathroom door flew open. An officer quickly exited the bathroom and grabbed an empty trash can to vomit in.
Henry ignored his churning stomach, realizing that he needed to report the incident. He pulled out his cell phone and called the art director. With the upcoming investigation, who knew how long the center would be closed? Turning away crowds of people wouldn’t make the administration happy. It would only be a matter of time before someone pointed the finger of blame in his direction. Oh, he knew that he didn’t kill Sam, but he was the senior guard and a former police officer. Ultimately, he was responsible. He needed this job to help pay health insurance costs.
“Sir, I’d like to get your statement if you’re ready,” the officer requested.
After giving his statement, Henry waited at the information desk near the front door. The coroner would be arriving soon. Until then, the body stayed where it was. Poor kid! Henry couldn’t believe Sam was dead. How the hell did it happen? He didn’t hear anything. No screams. Nothing. Why wouldn’t Sam have screamed?
Henry pulled out a chair, sinking his face into his hands. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what happened? A tap on his shoulder drew his attention.
“Morrison, is that you?”
Henry looked up and met Chief Ander’s gaze. Quickly rising, he shook the chief’s hand. “Anders. Glad to see you’re still working.”
Anders nodded. “For a few more years. I heard that you called it in. What the hell happened here?”
Henry shook his head, blinking back the moisture collecting in his eyes. “I was training a new guard, Sam Anderson. We were doing our rounds, but Sam didn’t come back to the breakroom. When I went looking for him, I found him in the bathroom there.” Henry pointed over his shoulder. “The kid was split open like a baked potato.”
“The guys said it was pretty bad. Did you hear anything?”
Henry shook his head. “Nothing. Not one damn thing.”
“That’s strange, don’t you think?”
Henry nodded. “I’ve been trying to figure it out.”
Anders brushed back his gray hair. “Anything out of place?”
“Damn. I haven’t even looked after this all happened. I’ll make the rounds and get back to you.”
“I can send one of the men with you.” Anders gave him a weary-looking smile.
“Thanks, but I got it. They’ve got their job to do. I’ll do mine.” He might have let Sam down, but by God, he was going to help solve the kid’s murder.
* * * * *
Anders frowned as he watched Henry walk away. His story sounded legit, but you never knew. With a deep breath, he turned and entered the bathroom. Two detectives were in the process of recording evidence.
Anders glanced in the stall. “Mother of God,” he swore. He turned toward the detectives. “You guys ever see anything like this?”
“This is a new one, sir. I can’t tell for sure by the way the guy is cut open but I think something is missing.”
“What do you mean by that?” Anders stared at the body again.
The detective shrugged. “I’m not sure but I think a body part is gone.”
“How can you even tell? All I see is guts
