The Parking Lot 78

Followers

The radio apparatus of the Wisconsin state trooper Adamski interrupted his break. A '75 Dart related to an assault and murder in Michigan the last week had just been spotted in a parking close to his position.

Adamski left the diner and headed to his patrol car, parked in the back of the local. Turned on the lightbar and began his ride to the scene. He rolled down the window; the weather was hot, odd for an October morning. The radio was blasting Bob Dylan's Masters of War, performed live with Tom Petty a few years back. In few minutes, he could sight the 4 level concrete building, turned off the lights and proceeded to inspect the site.

The Ford police cruiser slowly crossed the parking. There weren't too many cars; a dusty Delta 88 whose wheels had begun to deflate, a Datsun that had lived better times and a rusting Volvo Wagon. And last, in the further corner, a car whose shape Adamski could have recognized at a hundred miles: a 2 door Dodge Dart, like the one his father owned and that years back he learnt to drive in. Brown color... Michigan license plate... It coincided with the description given. However, for some reason, Adamski didn't call back the headquarters but decided to examine the car before.

He grabbed a flashlight from the dashboard and carefully approached to the side window of the old Dodge. Meticulously, examined the interior of the car; empty beer cans rested on the passenger seat, right next to various local night inn brochures and a road map. In the backrest, a light colored short sleeve striped shirt was hanging. In the floor, a sport bag whose closure, broken, let see what seemed a blood stained rag and a roll of black duct tape.

The rear sits were covered with a white blanket, stained with motor oil, that prevented to see the content under it. However, one of the extremes showed a dark shape. Adamski aimed the flashlight beam towards the object, trying to find out what it was; it looked like a woman's shoe, a shoe whose original color wasn't the red it was covered with.

He suddenly heard a noise, quickly turned around trying to draw his revolver but it was already too late; David Adamski could feel how the blood streamed from the two gunshots wounds before falling down dead.