by Tammy Bird
Nietzsche didn’t take a step. He stood, haunches against her leg, sniffing the air.
Paige licked her lips, breathed deeply, and gave the command. “Nietzsche, search.”
They worked their way from the dunes closest to the roadway to those closer to the beach. Back and forth, Nietzsche trotted. Back and forth, Paige moved with him. They were like a well-oiled machine. He was one of the best cadaver dogs she’d ever trained. Once he was given his command to search, he worked through heat and cold. Hills, rocks, and water were minor inconveniences. He knew exactly where his body was in space, could work in rubble or sand, collapsed buildings or deep woods. He was trained to pick up the scent of any number of volatile compounds that make up human remains, be they dried bones or the recent dead.
****
Paige spoke into the mic attached to her shirt collar. “Nietzsche is in scent.” She looked down at Nietzsche. He was in the zone, moving slowly, tail high and head up, the concentration visible. She watched as he worked his nose in the air and to the ground.
“I’ll tell Zahra. They’re cataloging and bagging the remains up here. I can send an officer your way,” Bob said.
“Okay.” Paige returned her full attention to the task at hand. Her heart rate quickened.
Nietzsche came to a stop next to a dune not quite one-half mile away from the location where Dr. Webb and Zahra worked on their earlier find. The coordinates told Paige the comfort zone of the killer was between one-half and one full mile of Buxton Beach.
Paige knew Nietzsche’s final alert, or indication of a find, would depend on where the body was on the scent spectrum of active decay and decomposition. The passive lying down was the trained sign for Nietzsche when he found a cadaver, but if the remains were fresh, his response may well be a bark and return, also the indication for a live find.
Paige wondered how anyone could come back to the same place, time after time, bury bodies, and never get caught. He would have to have a beach-approved vehicle, which indicated a local. She shivered at the thought that someone she passed in a store or on the beach or at the Putt Putt Golf Course outside of the local ice cream parlor could commit this type of crime.
In the few seconds it took Paige to reach Nietzsche, he assumed the passive down stance. His tail thumped softly against the sand.
“You did good, boy. You did good.”
Into the mic attached to her shirt, she said, “He found something.”
Chapter Five
Elizabeth awoke, groggy and disoriented, as if from a stunted sleep after too much alcohol. Except she didn’t drink much—and never to the point of complete absence of memory. She wasn’t in her bed, which was the only place she slept since leaving Buxton for Virginia Beach months ago.
What the… She rubbed at her eyes with her thumb and forefinger, trying to clear the filmy goop that formed during her sleep. Was it sleep? Where? What is this place? Small. Dingy. What? 5x10 feet, maybe? She looked up through the dim, single-bulb light. She felt as if her 5’4” build would have to crouch slightly to stand. Maybe slightly crouch or slightly clear. Hard to tell. Concrete? A door to the right. No. No door. A doorway. A way out?
She tried to stand in the dim room.
She made it upright, glanced up. The ceiling was inches away.
Her legs felt heavy, like lead, and the right one caught as she tried to gain her balance. She looked down and saw the metal links strung five or so feet across the small room, ending right outside the doorway. The rusty exterior of each link blended into the color of the air in the room. Her eyes traced the shadowy outline from her ankle to the large, round loop sticking out of the wall next to the opening. A five-foot tether? Chains?
She grabbed the chain and yanked.
Panic overtook her.
She strained to see through the murky light. When she could see nothing to use to break free, she dropped the chain, knelt down, and put both hands flat on the lumpy surface. A mattress? She pushed her body from side-to-side. Each movement pushed the thinly stuffed material to the hard floor below. She stretched and rubbed and patted as far as she could reach. Every stroke of her palm brought closer the reality of the moment.
The drugs slowly wore away at the adrenaline, and Elizabeth closed her eyes. This was happening. The dizziness from her rapid movements across the mattress caused the bile to rise in her throat. She pushed both hands tight against the mattress, but it was too late. Everything was black, swirling. She eased herself safely into a lying position and waited for the blackness to clear.
The soft swish of a door caught her attention. She rolled her body toward the sound, careful to keep her head in synchronization with the movement. The sliver of light that met her eyes brought her close to unconsciousness again. She swallowed the bile. The dimness returned, and with it came her ability to open her eyes without increased pain. For the moment, she was thankful for the rusty-yellow light. Thoughts came to her like sound bites. She couldn’t remember how she got here. She could smell a man.
A moment later, a shadow moved into the room. The door pushed inward again. Light moved into the room. She flinched but forced herself to keep her eyes open.
The man pushed the door to its fully open position.
She watched. Not a door really. Too small. A square. A piece of concrete coming away from the wall. But he pushed it so easily, so quietly. The size of the opening doesn’t matter.
If he got in, I can get out.
She blinked to adjust to the entering light. She kept her head still as she pulled herself to a sitting position.
“Hello, Elizabeth.” His voice was both soft and rough, like a lover who was saying good morning after a night of sweet slumber. “You’re awake. Good.”
“What the hell? Who—” Some faraway moment of recognition cut off her words. “Why—” None of this makes sense.
He stepped closer, finishing her question. “Why are you here?”
Elizabeth scooted toward him, arms moving in front of her, ready for battle. She stopped before the tether pulled taut. Her eyes fixed on the blade. Chills filled her entire being. A scream pushed against her closed lips.
“Let me tell you, Elizabeth. Let me tell you why we’re here.” He stayed slightly back, as if he both wanted to touch her and felt compelled to avoid it.
She knew the fear showed in her blue eyes. She wondered whether he could see it. She watched him, watched the knife.
He licked his lips and closed his eyes briefly.
Every muscle in her body tightened, stretched in anticipation of the moment when he would push the knife slowly through her skin.
“They found your mom yesterday, Elizabeth.”
My mom, Elizabeth thought, her mind still trying to focus. What did her mom have to do with this? When had she seen her last? Talked to her? She couldn’t remember. Last week? Last month? She was so involved with the new art exhibit.
“My work is getting noticed,” she told her. “They want twenty pieces. Twenty, Mom.”
There was indisputable happiness in her mom’s voice. “I’ll tell Katia the good news for you.”
“No need, Mom.”
Elizabeth was an only child; her mom a single parent after a messy divorce. And then Katia was in their life, and they became a world of three. She could see her, so young, so mad at the world, so darkly beautiful.
Elizabeth’s thoughts were jumbled. She remembered Katia’s first tattoo and her mom’s laughter. Then she was in her room, and Katia was sobbing, screaming, begging her not to leave. But she had to. The relationship was too volatile.
The two women loved her too tight, too hard. Mom. What day is it? I loved Katia. Still love Katia. I’m not in love with her. Mom, don’t share my news with her. It will only make her angry. She hates me. Have you seen my mom? Katia? Tell her I’ll call soon.
Everything mixed together in her mind. Were they together, now? What was the shadow talking about? What did he mean, found her? Wher
e’s my phone? Maybe I can text her. She stretched her neck, her head heavy against the muscles. Stay awake, Elizabeth. Her thoughts were all over the place. My mom. He said something about my mom…
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth. We have so much to talk about.” He kept his distance, remained only a shadow in her drug-induced stupor.
“Why are you doing this? Who are you? What do you want? Money? My mom sells real estate in Buxton. Buxton, North Carolina. She can’t pay—”
“Shut up, E-liz-a-beth.” He cut off her words with his sharp tone.
She hated the sound of her name on his lips. Why did he keep saying it, making it sound vulgar, ugly?
“Want to know a secret, a secret about this room, about me, about the women who taught me something new every time, something to make this space more secure, something to help me determine best lengths for the chains, safest lighting choices?”
His voice was low, distorted, with a hint of a lilt, as if he was trying to alter it so she didn’t remember it or know how happy he was to be telling her his secrets. She looked above her head, strained to see the light. Some sort of wire covering, she thought. To prevent his prisoner from breaking it, using it against him, perhaps? That voice. Something familiar. What is it? She couldn’t quite place it. Still too foggy. What did he give me? Why?
“So many women have been in this small room over the years.” His low chatter broke into her thoughts. “They’ve tested the lead you’re on. It’s five feet, by the way. Perfect for getting exactly as far as you need to go. Soon I’ll allow you to stay awake long enough to go through the opening into the tiny area two feet to your left. There’s a toilet, a shower. Would you like to wash the stench away, Elizabeth?”
Her heartbeat quickened. He intended to make her shower. Then what? Bile in her throat—gagging. She bent forward from her sitting position, wrapped the chains around her hands and yanked the chains tight. There was no give from the concrete walls. Instead, the chains cut into her skin, causing immediate welts. What’s on the wall? Come on. You need as many details as possible for later. Smooth. Clear. Seems to be sealed with varnish. She tried to focus. She had to regain self-control, wait for the right opportunity, and wait until she could think more clearly. Smell the flowers. Blow out the candles. Smell the flowers. Blow out the candles. Katia. Where are you? I need you to find my mom. Had she been in this room? Did she die at the hands of this man?
The man appeared to ignore Elizabeth’s anxiety attack. She sat back after a few minutes and concentrated on the movements of his mouth, bringing his words back into focus.
“Over the years, women of all sizes and ages have yanked at their chains until wrists and ankles were raw and bleeding, attempted to pull the showerhead from the concrete wall. Many banged their heads against the round porcelain circle built to hold waste. And you will try, too, Elizabeth. To no avail.”
“Why are you doing this?” Elizabeth could smell the blood of the other women. She could hear their screams. Her fear was theirs. “I did nothing to you.”
“I like the beach. I’d love to take you there, to lie with you on a blanket, skin to skin.”
He squatted close enough for her to smell his sweat mix with the blood and urine of her prison. She didn’t respond.
“I feel your fear. Fear comes through your pores. Did you know that?” He leaned forward on his haunches, taking the weight off of his heels for a moment, and rolled his head all the way to the left and then all the way to the right. He positioned the backs of his arms against the concrete wall behind him and pushed to propel himself to a standing position. “There will be no beach for us, Elizabeth. No sand to hold the warmth of the day, no sand to muffle your screams as the sharp blade finds its way through skin and muscle and tendons. The elements have chosen a different path for us.” He stopped talking and took a step forward and sideways. He didn’t get close enough to touch her, didn’t get close enough for her to see his face in the faint light. He backed out of the small opening in the wall. “Good-bye for now, Elizabeth. The drug will soon wear off, and you’ll know exactly who I am.”
“No. Please Don’t leave. Tell me why you’re doing this to me.” She was begging now. “What are you going to do to me? I’ll fight you. I’m not going to die. Do you hear me?” She screamed and beat her fists against the mattress. “Do you fucking hear me?”
The door slid into place.
Loud.
Solid.
And then silence.
Chapter Six
Paige noted her exact coordinates and physical surroundings. She waited for Zahra, who was on her way with another police investigator she said was from Charlotte. Walking toward the spot where the dog lay, she continued to record: “The sand has washed away quite significant portions of the dune. Much of the normal grass is gone, leaving whole sections bare.” Paige reached Nietzsche, hit Pause, made eye contact, and spoke directly to the dog. “Heel, boy.”
Nietzsche rose and returned to her side. Paige shone a flashlight on the spot where his prints remained as a wraithlike reminder of his presence. Farther down the beach, spotlights lit up the scene. Soon they would here, as well. She hit Play on the recorder. “Nietzsche assumed cadaver stance at 7:00 PM, November 18, 2018. There appears to be a faint outline of a body, barely visible against the underside of the sand. Noted position is west side of the dune, facing houses. Houses are intact in this location.” She pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. It was going to be a long night, and she was thankful they were working in November and not in the heat of summer.
Before today, this strip of sand with its old wooden-plank sidewalk was central to many a postcard purchased in the restaurant a few thousand feet away. Debris from the three houses, smashed as a small boy would smash a carefully constructed house of blocks, now lay scattered on this section of the beach. Planks—maybe part of the sidewalk—stuck out of a nearby dune, and a filthy, soaked mattress stood against the boards. Everywhere she looked was destruction.
What will today mean for the economy of little Buxton?
Paige felt a stab of guilt for wondering such a trivial thing in the middle of such devastation and death, but the Outer Banks was home to many people she loved who depended on tourism to survive. As sick as it was, traffic possibly would increase, maybe all year round. Morbidity is a motivator.
Paige looked past the row of intact rentals to the paved area beyond. One solitary policeman stood stationed between two sections of wood fencing to keep onlookers and reporters at bay. None of them, not the rescue workers nor the onlookers, knew what they were up against. But they must know it was going to be bad.
Paige moved carefully, with Nietzsche in perfect step, to the board walkway. She stood on the bottom step of five, her hand resting lightly on the weathered rail. The blue-green water continued to push waves of seafoam onto the shore under the darkening sky. It would soon be solid night in Buxton, North Carolina. She wanted to walk back to the truck and drive, but she pushed on, continuing her assessment. There was no one at the scene at this spot except for her and her dog. Gawkers were on the blacktop above and farther down where the first scene was secured.
Paige squinted in the direction of the original dune. She noticed an increased number of blue uniforms dotting the beach, as well as an increased number of people in and out of the white tents like little worker ants. The tents would provide some realm of privacy from the prying eyes of the reporters, both on the ground and in the air. She couldn’t tell how many tents were erected, but it was definitely more than one.
“More than one means multiple bodies, doesn’t it, Nietzsche?” she said, patting his side. She tilted her head back slightly in response to a noise overhead. A helicopter with a local news emblem whirled in place. “And multiple hidden remains mean multiple vultures.” She brought her eyes back to the beach just as Zahra and a team of homicide investigators from Charlotte reached her and Nietzsche. This area would soon resemble the beach less than a half
mile away, complete with crime scene techs at every dune. Multiple homicides spanning years of victims motivated everyone.
Paige inhaled deeply. She was raised on the smell of sandy seaweed that filled the air. What would a killer have been thinking as he stood here? And how in the hell did he carry out such a laborious task unseen and unheard? She again breathed in the air, trying to calm her heart rate and her nerves with the salty smells. Every day, she was thankful humans didn’t have the more than 220 million olfactory receptors in their nose that canines did. As far as she was concerned, depending on the stage of decomp at a scene, the five million she had were too many.
Zahra arrived with a detective she said was from Charlotte.
Without acknowledging Paige, the man said, “We’ll set up here.”
Zahra nodded toward a small group of cops who were making their way to the dune with stakes and tape to cordon off the new square.
Paige was antsy to continue her movements down the beach. She looked at Zahra. “Nietzsche and I are ready to release the scene if you are.”
“Of course,” Zahra said. “Yes. Let’s get you two back out in the field.”
Paige hit the Record button and began speaking. “1935. Scene released to Officer Zahra Knox.”
****
Katia was exhausted when she got home—mentally, physically, and emotionally. She was sure that by morning the first body found on the beach would be positively identified as that of Gina Dahl, mother of Elizabeth Dahl.
Where are you, Elizabeth? Katia was so angry when Elizabeth left. What’d she say? She tried to remember Elizabeth’s words as she held her hands and looked directly into her eyes, but all she remembered clearly was Elizabeth’s breath as she spoke. It held the slight smell of sweet coffee and cream. She still missed that.
