Excerpt: the Severed Line

Detective Jacobs had just called in the license plate of an older model Dodge neon to dispatch when he heard the shot ran out. He had been in the parking lot only a moment when he parked crooked behind the Dodge, the trunk of the car blocking any cars that might be driving in the parking lot, even though the lot was empty. He got out quietly and called the plates into dispatch with a voice barely louder than a whisper, turning down his radio so that he would hear it from its spot on his belt, but not any farther than that.
The shot echoed across the parking lot loudly. His training brought him into a crouch between his car and the Dodge and his revolver out of it's holster, safety off, and in his right hand pointed away from his body in only a second or so. “Damn it” he muttered. He didn't think the shot was aimed at him but he had to be sure and couldn't go running off blindly no matter how much he felt he needed to. He heard the second shot, and a ricochet that was definitely not close to him and he crouched up over the trunk of his car to look around more thoroughly. He noted the lighthouse behind him, a great spot for a sniper, but the sound of the gun didn't match the necessary caliber. He noted the bar and grill, closed and dark, behind him to the left, and deduced that a shot inside the building would not echo that way. And he noted the Fort, which from the parking lot was only a brick wall with one steel door in the center of the building. He knew the main entrance was on the left side, on the trail to the beach itself. And he noted that there was nothing else around, except for the beach. He decided to go with the fort and braced himself for a run across the parking lot, ready to note any gunfire as he did so and the direction it was coming from. A few seconds later, and supposedly not spotted by anybody, Detective Jacobs was against the side wall of the fort and next to the opened door of the building, back tight against the protection the building offered, and gun pointed up, against his chest. He turned his head into the doorway, glancing left and right, and went back to his position against the outside wall. He saw no indication of movement, and it was dark inside but not unmanageable. Evidently there were small lights left on in the ceiling to provide light.
Jacobs entered the building, gun drawn in front of him, moving quickly across the room and past a number of closed doors. The only real opening was on the opposite side of the room, a stairway leading up, and he went determinedly in that direction, taking each step one at a time but doing so quickly. He reached the top step and a final open doorway that showed the light of the day from outside to know that he had reached the top. He waited and heard nothing. There was no vantage point in the stairway to get a good look outside, unless he crawled out on his hands and knees. Detective Jacobs felt that put him at a disadvantage, so instead he breathed in and out deeply once and stepped outside, his back to the open door and his gun pointed out.
Directly in front of him, no more than ten or twelve yards, he judged, was a man, a gun in his hand at the side of his body, looking down at a body laying there in front of him.
“Freeze. Now” Jacobs asserted. The man looked up at him, and although the gun remained at his side, he did not make any movements. Jacobs took two steps closer and noted the body of Christopher Dunn also on the ground. His hand was covering a spot on his abdomen that was coated in blood, the wound still bleeding onto the concrete of the roof. He then looked again at the other body and confirmed it was Brooke Adams. Her eyes were open in an expression that looked like peace. There was a bullet hole straight through the rib cage where the heart would be located. Jacobs let his eyes return again to who he assumed was Arthur Goode, and then back at Brooke. She was dead, there was no doubt in Detective Jacob's mind. The eyes, although opened, had lost all life and there was no moving of the chest to indicate breathing. Still he would have to be sure.
“Detective Jacobs. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Arthur Goode?” Jacobs asked, almost politely.
“I am indeed. And if you want, I am ready to confess my deeds to you, although it would best be left to a tape recorder and a few other witnesses. There will be a lot to take in.
Jacobs stared into the man's eyes, confirmed that the gun was still beside Arthur Goode's hip, and fired three quick shots into his chest. As Arthur Goode dropped the gun from his hand and began falling, Detective Jacobs fired three more into the same area of the body for good measure, although from this distance, Jacobs had no doubt at all that the first shot had taken him down.