Donovan
By
R. N. Novey
Novey/Donovan
Page 1
Chapter 1
Amanda’s elderly neighbor Gertrude stared in disbelief as Donovan climbed the
ivy covered trellis below Amanda’s porch. Gertrude’s trembling fingers typed 9-1-1 while
she watched Donovan swing his leg over the railing of the second floor balcony.
“9-1-1 what is the nature of your emergency?” asked a bored voice.
“Intruder, there’s an intruder,” Gertrude shouted into the phone.
“Ma’am, is he in the house with you?”
“No, he’s next door, I mean across the street,” responded Gertrude urgently.
“Your address?”
“Oh, there he goes,” Gertrude said as Donovan slid open the unlocked glass door
and entered the apartment.
“Is the intruder leaving?”
“No, he just broke in.”
“Ma’am, what is your address?”
“3402 Clipper Way. The Nautico Apartments.”
“Ma’am, I’m dispatching an officer to your location. Please stay on the line with
me until he gets there.”
Once inside, Donovan surveyed the room, unsure what he was looking for. The
family room was neat and organized. The humming air-conditioner kept the apartment at
a comfortable seventy degrees, despite the ninety-degree temperature outside. The
newspaper on the end table was dated two weeks ago and appeared unread.
Novey/Donovan
Page 2
Gertrude’s hand shook, tapping the receiver against her temple.
“Ma’am, the police are enroute.”
Donovan walked softly across the room, down a brief hallway, and into the
bedroom. A four-poster bed dominated the room. On either side, cut glass lamps sat on
mahogany nightstands. An alarm clock blinked “12:00.” The bed was neatly made and the
room was clean except for a lone sock lying in the open doorway to the walk in closet.
Donovan picked up the sock as he stepped into the large closet. Racks of clothes
lined the walls: to his right, a row of work suits; to his left, dresses and slacks; and
straight ahead, stacks of sweaters sat neatly folded above a row of hanging casual clothes.
To his immediate right, a white robe hung on a lone peg.
Nothing appeared to be missing, but Donovan knew that he couldn’t tell if
something were. He had never seen inside Amanda’s closet before. He was familiar with
the clothes she wore, but wouldn’t notice if an outfit or two were missing. He threw the
sock into the closet and closed the door as he exited.
He walked around the bed and into the master bathroom. The counter was clean
and empty except for a vacant toothbrush holder in the upper right corner. Two towels
hung neatly folded over a rack beside the mirror. Opening the left vanity drawer,
Donovan discovered a myriad of shiny silver implements: tweezers, numerous varieties of
tiny scissors, and a miniature foam padded guillotine.
Gertrude peeked from behind the tan curtains that hung in her family room.
“Hurry, hurry,” she whispered into the phone.
Donovan pushed the drawer shut. He then slid the right-hand drawer open.
Rummaging inside, he dug out a box of Q-tips, a comb, a curling iron, and a brush. He
turned his attention to the medicine cabinet. With a click, the mirrored door opened
revealing clean white shelves of organized toiletries. The first shelf held perfumes and
something unappealingly labeled “toilet water.” On the second shelf sat a box of razor
blades, two types of dental floss, and a bottle of mouthwash. The third shelf was empty.
“Ma’am, the police are entering your complex,” said the operator calmly.
A siren blared through the open patio door. “Times up,” Donovan said as he
pushed the cabinet door shut. He backtracked down the hall and into the family room as
Novey/Donovan
Page 3
two police cars pulled into the parking lot. Donovan crossed the room and entered the
diminutive kitchen. He quickly rummaged through the drawers and cabinets, but as with
the rest of the house, everything was tidy and orderly.
An answering machine beside a short stack of mail blinked “12.” Donovan
pressed the playback button. Through the sliding glass door, he watched the officers exit
their vehicle and stride purposefully toward an apartment building across the parking lot.
“Message one,” declared the mechanized digital voice of the answering machine.
“Ms. Parks, your—” Donovan pressed the skip button.
“Message two.”
“Hi, it’s me—”
“Message three.”
“Any movie requests—” Donovan winced when he heard his own voice. He
always thought he sounded wimpy on answering machines.
“Message four.”
“Meet me in Catemaco, I’m not going to call again.”
“Catemaco,” repeated Donovan.
Gertrude’s breath fogged the window glass as she watched the redirected officers
cross the parking lot toward Amanda’s building.
“Got it,” whispered Donovan as he swiftly strode to the front hall, flipped open
the deadbolt, swung open the door, and stepped onto the covered stairwell.
“Message five,” announced the answering machine. Donovan pressed the door
shut. Below him, the stairwell’s entrance door burst open as the two uniformed policemen
entered with guns drawn.
Glancing furtively left then right—Donovan was trapped.
The officer’s black shoes tapped on the cement stairs. Donovan crept silently up
to the third floor.
The officers took positions on either side on the door to Amanda’s apartment. The
larger of the two knocked sternly. “This is the police, open up.”
“Message nine,” replied the muffled voice of the answering machine.
“We know you’re in there. Open up or we’re knocking it down.”
Novey/Donovan
Page 4
“Where are you, I’ve been trying to reach you for a week,” Donovan’s voice spoke
from the answering machine.
Trapped on the third floor, Donovan leaned out the open window to the rear of the
building. It was a long way down, too far to consider jumping. He ducked his head back
inside.
The larger of the two officers took three steps back from the door and faced it
with determination.
“THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING.”
Donovan kicked off his tennis shoes, stripped off his shirt, unbuckled his belt, and
dropped his jeans to the floor. He rolled the shoes tightly in the jeans and leaned out the
window.
“THREE,” yelled the officer.
Aiming for a soft looking bed of junipers, Donovan tossed the clothes bundle to
the ground below.
“TWO,” shouted the officer.
Donovan tousled his hair and trudged noisily down the stairs. “Some people work
nights,” he grumbled as he rounded the turn in the stairs and faced the policemen. “Thank
goodness you came.” Rubbing his belly, he stood before the officers wearing only red and
white striped boxers. His hair appeared bedraggled from sleep. He scratched his rear.
“Sir, please stay back,” the shorter officer cautioned.
“Absolutely,” Donovan replied while stepping off the stairs and onto the second
floor deck.
“TWO,” shouted the large officer again.
Donovan pointed to their drawn, police issue, 9mm pistols. “Don’t shoot her for
being a little loud.”
“Please be quiet and step away,” commanded the officer.
“I’ll just be down here if you need me.” Donovan walked down the stairs.
“Damn it, where was I?” bellowed the larger officer.
“One,” shouted Donovan as he exited to the rear of the building.
“One?”
Novey/Donovan
Page 5
“Yea, one,” replied the shorter officer.
“Oh hell…ONE.” The burly officer charged the door.
Donovan paused to slip on his pants and shoes. Amanda’s apartment door crashed
to the floor.
“Next time try the handle,” Donovan mumbled with a chuckle, as the officers
rushed the empty apartment.
[End of Sample]
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