There had been flashing lights and blaring sirens filling the air. Yellow police tap strung out along the sides of the parking lot with cars filling a third of the spaces. Cops were on the scene trying to contain the crowd while the detectives were busying themselves with the one parking spot that was occupied with something other than a car.
Three hours ago when Brenda climbed out of the passenger seat of the car, she could see the victim between Tao and Flynn: a child. A child no more than seven or eight dressed in a shirt depicting a blond-haired princess in pink and a spreading stain of crimson. A little toy hand bag was by her side; a little change purse had fallen from it, the coins scattered around the body.
The sound of clicking heels approaching snapped her out of her thoughts: it was Detective Daniels. Her eyes focusing on the pad in her hand instead of the body, she explained the details to her.
“The victim’s name is Abigail Williams, seven and half years old. She and her mother were leaving the super market just a few minutes after nine when a gang fight had broken out in the lot across from here,” she began, pointing to it. “She was hit by a stray bullet through the chest.”
“What about her mother?” It had been a stupid question to ask because not even a second had passed before Brenda heard the wail of a distraught mother. When she turned to see her expression instantly fell: Provensa was trying to console a woman, thirties it looked. Her face was contorted and stained with tears streaming down her cheeks. The detective had to hold her to keep her from collapsing to the ground.
“Please, please, let me see her! Let me see my Abby!” she sobbed into his sleeves.
It was difficult to look away when Brenda suddenly found the mother’s frantic gaze meeting her strained calm one. “A- and the shooter… was the shooter found?”
“No, but Sanchez knows the possible gangs that could be involved---he’s looking into the matter now. He said he would contact you as soon he finds out.”
“All right… thank you.”
In those three hours the chaos had died down. Night had fallen, the crowds dispersed and cars having driven away. The tape was still up and a patrol car parked along the edge, her own not far from it. Brenda found herself standing by that same parking space in that time, alone with the empty shopping carts that still had to be collected. She crouched down by the spot, her purse dropping to the ground with a dull thump. The contents rattled, tipping over on its side.
It was hard to imagine, even harder to stomach. Brenda had seen more than her fair share of tragic killings, some having been childen as well. But it didn’t stop the gut-wrenching feeling inside nor could she forget the face of the grieving mother that haunted her memory. Eyes fixed on the dried stain upon the cement she could see the little girl laying there again.
“This ain’t right,” she muttered to no one. “Lord, this just ain’t right.”
Prompt: Image.
Word Count: 536
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