Tom Barber - One Way

Two officers from East Hampton Town PD took the call. Both male, they’d joined the Department fresh from the Suffolk County Police Academy three years ago, and after a twelve-week orientation and on-the-job training programme, had been partners ever since.

East Hampton Town PD is made up of fifty-six officers who perform all of the law-enforcement tasks the area requires. The Hamptons are a group of villages forming a part of upstate New York everyone associates with wealth; the rich and famous frequently choose to vacation there, some renting places for the season and others just buying them outright to save hassle. Whichever option they take, the Hamptons contain some of the most expensive residential properties not just on the East Coast, but in all of the United States. There was a reason the region served as a setting in The Great Gatsby; the area evokes the glamour and sophistication of a prosperous present and romanticised past.

Given the demographic and the amount of zeroes a person needs in their bank account just to rent a place there, crime is low. Most of those who vacation and live in the Hamptons are the business and social creme de la creme, so any illegal activity tends to be either petty stuff or at the opposite end of the spectrum, serious accounting, fraud or business transgressions which an FBI or a Financial Crimes task force from the city handles. The most common illegal deed is burglary, thieves capitalising on properties mothballed for long periods out of season or when the residents are out of town, making the most of their absence to help themselves to expensive furniture, art and jewellery.

Murder in East Hampton Town is almost unheard of. Until that Saturday afternoon, there hadn’t been a single case in the area in over nine years. The PD has no homicide division, which means in the extremely rare event of an unexplained death, a Department squad car answers the call.

In their three years together, the two young men on their way to the callout that day had never attended a murder scene.

But what they found at the villa significantly changed that.

It had just gone 3pm on a beautiful Saturday in early March. The air was warm, the sun shining, summer missing the memo and arriving three months early. The address the two officers were given by Dispatch was a prestigious beach villa an hour’s drive from the city. A delivery man had called it in fifteen minutes ago. He’d been sent out to deliver a few additional cases of wine for a party and after no-one had responded to his repeated knocking on the front door, he’d gone around the back.

Inside an East Hampton Town PD Ford Interceptor, the two cops swung into the drive, pulling up beside an ambulance and seeing the delivery man sitting in the back. His own van was parked on the side of the road outside the gates, the rear doors still open. The man had an oxygen mask over his face and was being attended to by a couple of paramedics inside the ambulance.

He was staring straight ahead, his eyes glazed, and didn’t seem to notice the two cops arrive.

Sliding on the handbrake and switching off the engine, the two police officers stepped out of their vehicle and slammed the doors. Both were dressed in the dark blue EHT PD police uniform, and were carrying a pistol, cuffs, radio and nightstick on their belts. The medics looked over at them but didn’t say anything, concentrating on their patient. Approaching the entrance to the house, the officers saw the front door was shut, several cases of wine abandoned on a wheeled dolly beside it, the booze abandoned by the delivery guy.

Looking at the door, one of the officers turned and walked over to the ambulance.

‘Got a glove?’ he asked quietly.

The medic closest to him pulled a latex one from a box, passing it over. Snapping it onto his hand with a silent nod of thanks, the officer re-joined his partner. With the glove protecting against fingerprints, he tried the handle.

It twisted and the door opened. He eased it back to reveal the interior of the villa.

The house had a Mediterranean feel, light, open and airy with a polished tile floor which would keep the place cool in the hot weather. There were impressive paintings on the walls either side of the hallway, an ornate mirror hanging above a gold gilt marble-topped table to the right, a large crystal lamp and vase of flowers placed on the top.

The two cops stepped inside slowly, taking care not to touch or disturb anything. They made their way down the corridor and passed through an open door to arrive at what was the main living area.

It was spacious and open-plan, conjoined with a large kitchen and separated by a long granite-topped counter. Matching the exterior of the house, the walls were painted white and cream.

It meant the blood spattered all over them stood out starkly.

There were bodies strewn everywhere. Men. Women. Children. It was clear from the remaining foodstuffs on the counter and on a dining table that they’d been killed at or just prior to lunchtime.

Bowls of salad and plates of sliced cold-cuts were sitting abandoned.

Glasses and plates were shattered all over the floor, shards of glass and pieces of bone china lying amongst spilt food.

Bottles of wine and beer had either been fragmented by gunfire or were lying smashed on the counter, table and floor, the liquid mixing with the food and blood. Deep black bullet holes riddled the light walls and scores of copper shell casings were scattered everywhere, lying amongst the bodies and debris.

The villa had a terrible stillness.

It looked more like an abattoir than a holiday home.

Both cops stood frozen in the doorway. It took each of them a moment to recover from the initial shock. As one stared in horror at the carnage in front of him, the other looked out onto the veranda directly in front of them. The windows were all intact. One of the doors was pulled open, and the thin cream curtains fluttered gently in the breeze.

The only movement in an otherwise motionless house.

They heard a set of wind-chimes, tinkling softly from somewhere outside as they made gentle contact in the light wind. The villa was on the edge of the beach so the two men could see and hear the waves as they rolled in, seagulls calling from somewhere nearby, the air salty.

The cop to the right stepped forward, picking his way slowly and cautiously round the edge of the room, taking great care not to tread on any evidence. It was easier said than done. When he made it to the window, he drew his nightstick and used the club to push the gently billowing curtains to one side, examining the sand visible beyond the veranda.

There were a series of children’s footprints visible, coming back and forth from the water.

But there were also a set of four, maybe five, definite adult prints, leading from the sea to the villa and back again.

He looked up but saw nothing except clear blue sea and horizon.

No ships, no sailboats. No people.

Whoever did this was long gone.

He turned away from the window and re-joined his partner, who still hadn’t moved as he stared at the massacre. He sensed his partner watching him and they made eye contact.

Their priority now was to clear the rest of the residence.

The two men pulled their side-arms and split up, following protocol, checking the villa quickly. They moved fast but worked thoroughly, both of them on edge, inspecting every room. The rest of the house was equally lavish, each room beautifully decorated and well-appointed with expensive furniture. Whoever owned the property was damn wealthy, that was for sure.

It was clear as daylight they also had enemies.

Soon after, the two officers met up again outside the main room. The man who’d stepped up to the window holstered his side-arm and swallowed, his throat dry.