Girl Eight

by Melinda Woodhall

  Best to bury all the evidence. It’ll be safer that way.

  Kramer tossed the necklace into the hole; it landed on the girl’s hand, prompting a gasp. Her hand twitched, then moved. She was waking up. He heard a noise behind him and spun around just as Eden Winthrop grabbed the shovel and swung it at him.

  “Wake up, Kara! Wake up and run!”

  Eden’s scream sent a surge of adrenaline through Kramer. He lunged forward, grasping for the handle of the shovel, but then slipped in the mud and fell to one knee.

  “Give me the shovel!” he commanded, his face distorted with rage. “Don’t make me do this the hard way.”

  He released the shovel and stepped back, pulling out the gun in his belt holster. He didn’t want to have to use it again. The Ruger wasn’t his official service weapon, but Kramer knew the gun, as well as any bullets he fired, could likely be tracked back to him. He didn’t want to leave any evidence, but he’d do what needed to be done.

  Eden Winthrop is not getting out of here alive.

  Eden froze at the sight of the little gun gleaming in his hand.

  Kramer raised the pistol, aiming between her wide, green eyes. His finger itched to pull the trigger. Once she was gone he would be safe again, and he’d feel no remorse, only relief. After all, by killing her, he was protecting himself.

  Wouldn’t anyone do the same?

  Most people would deny it, but if he was honest, he couldn’t blame himself for his actions. Was it his fault that Helena Steele had threatened to reveal Doc’s link to Natalie Lorenzo? The information she had would have raised a number of unpleasant questions in the community for both Kramer and Doc.

  And he’d warned Penelope Yates not to get involved when she’d come to him claiming Natalie must have been killed by the man who had fathered Natalie’s son. He’d even arranged for her to go into the psych ward in an effort to discredit her, so that he wouldn’t have to kill her. But had she listened? No, after twelve years of silence she’d decided to talk to a private investigator. So, what choice had he had? He had to protect himself and his friend.

  Of course, the situation with Doc and Terri was harder to accept, but it couldn’t have been helped. If Doc had been arrested and questioned, he might have cracked under pressure. He was weak, after all. And Terri had been an unknown. It would be too risky to leave her out there, uncertain how much she really knew about Doc’s activities.

  He looked around at the stable walls and the numbers that marked each girl’s grave. Had he killed them all to protect himself?

  Yes, in a way I guess I did. If I’d let them go free, they would have come back to haunt me, like the girl in Germany, and like Natalie Lorenzo.

  “Step back against the wall,” he called out, waving the gun. Eden stepped back, still clutching the shovel.

  “Throw me the shovel.”

  Eden hesitated and Kramer aimed the Ruger down at Kara, who was stirring in the pit below.

  “Give it to me, now, or I’ll shoot her.”

  Eden tossed the shovel forward, tears streaming down her face as she looked into the muddy grave.

  “You make one wrong move and I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

  Kramer stuck the gun back in the holster and picked up the shovel. He began scooping huge mounds of dirt back into the hole, covering Kara and causing Eden to cry out.

  “No, please don’t-”

  Her frantic plea stopped abruptly, and she stood still, listening to the haunting howl of the wind in the night. A soft thumping sound beat above the wind. A chop, chop, chop that made Kramer’s hair stand on end.

  What the hell is that?

  He turned to the door and stared out into the darkness beyond. As soon as his back was to her, Eden jumped, grabbing at the shovel with both hands. Kramer spun around, wrestling for control of the muddy handle, sensing even as he did that the real danger was behind him.

  A huge gust of warm air blasted into the stable, as the chop, chop, chop grew louder. Kramer looked up to see the tin roof blow up and away, as if torn from the stable by the hand of God, cartwheeling end over end into the night.

  Kramer stared through the door, stunned by the flashing lights and whirring blades of the helicopter which was now visible in the old pasture. Rain and wind swirled down into the roofless stable, coating him with a sticky layer of grit and grime.

  A bulky man wearing military gear and a rain jacket emerged from the helicopter. He crouched down to avoid the rotors and ran toward the quaking walls of the stable, his bulky combat boots splashing through the soggy pasture. As he neared the door he raised a hand in greeting.

  "Hiya, Chief. It's me, Tucker. Tucker Vanzinger.”

  Kramer blinked rainwater out of his eyes, not sure if the weathered soldier in front of him could really be the cocky young detective he’d banished years ago.

  “What are you doing here?” Kramer asked stupidly, his mind still reeling, his mouth operating in slow motion.

  “I’m here to do what I should have done a long time ago,” Vanzinger said, stepping closer and looking through the door. “You got anybody in there that needs help?”

  Instinctively Kramer grabbed for his gun, pulling it out and pointing it at Vanzinger before he realized what he was doing.

  "You shouldn't have come here, Tucker. Reinhardt and I warned you never to come back here. You should have listened."

  Vanzinger regarded the Ruger with narrowed eyes and held up his hands in a placating gesture.

  “Let’s talk about this, Kramer. No one has to get hurt.”

  Kramer snorted derisively and waved the gun at Vanzinger.

  “I should’ve killed you twelve years ago. But better late than …”

  A swift movement behind Kramer prompted him to glance around, but he was too late. The edge of the shovel smashed into his head with a resounding thud. Eden Winthrop’s unforgiving green eyes were the last thing Kramer saw before his world went dark.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Jankowski crouched behind the wooden wall waiting for a signal from Vanzinger. He pointed the barrel of his Remington toward the open doorway of the dimly lit stable and inhaled deeply, trying to steady his nerves. The shotgun felt strange in his hands; he wasn’t used to handling anything bigger than his Glock outside the station’s shooting range.

  When they’d landed in the helicopter Vanzinger had instructed his co-pilot, a nervous-looking guardsman with the callsign Twitch, to stay in the chopper and get ready to take off at a moment’s notice. Vanzinger had also insisted that he would approach the shed on his own and try to engage Kramer in conversation. The only thing he’d asked was to use Jankowski’s service weapon, which left Jankowski with just the Remington to provide cover and back-up.

  Before Jankowski could peer around the doorframe to get eyes on Vanzinger, the wall behind him was illuminated by the headlights of a car hurtling toward him on the rutted dirt road leading up to the farm. Not knowing if the driver of the car was friend or foe, Jankowski knew he had to make a move before it was too late. He stuck the barrel of the shotgun into the room, then leaned forward to assess the situation.

  “It’s all good, Jank!”

  Vanzinger’s words reached Jankowski just as the speeding car screeched to a halt fifty yards away. It was a black Dodge Charger, the make and model favored by the WBPD.

  “We’ve got company,” Jankowski yelled back, sidestepping into the room, the Remington poised to swing either in or out of the stable as the situation required.

  He saw at a glance that Chief Kramer lay in a heap on the muddy floor, and that Eden Winthrop knelt beside him, a shovel gripped in her hands. He turned his face to the Dodger, holding his breath as he waited for the door to open.

  Could there be another dirty cop coming to backup Kramer?

  Jankowski raised the barrel of the gun hesitantly, unsure he would be able to pull the trigger. He couldn’t imagine killing a fellow officer. It was the ultimate violation of the principles he’d lived by for mos
t of his adult life. When he’d joined the force, he’d taken an oath to protect and serve the community, and he’d understood then that he was also making an implicit promise to protect his brothers in blue at all costs. It would be a hard promise to break.

  He exhaled in relief as Nessa stepped out of the car and pushed back the hood of the yellow slicker to reveal her red curls.

  Make that my brothers and sisters in blue.

  Nessa stared at Jankowski, her eyes lingering on the shotgun cradled in his arms, her hand resting on the Glock in her holster.

  “It’s all clear, Nessa!”

  His voice fought against the roar of the storm, then disappeared into the next gust of wind. When Nessa didn’t move, he raised his arm and waved, motioning for her to approach.

  Nessa still didn’t move, even though her hair was now plastered in wet strands against her head. Jankowski squinted into the night, seeing in the light spilling from the Dodger that her mascara was running in black streaks down her cheeks.

  What’s wrong with her? Is that the rain, or is she crying?

  His heart clenched at the fear he saw on his partner’s face. She was terrified. In a sudden rush of understanding, he knew why.

  The last time Nessa had approached a fellow detective on a dark and rainy night, she’d been shot. Although she’d been saved by her vest, she’d sustained serious head injuries and had been in the hospital for days. Her family was still trying to recover from the trauma of almost losing her. And now, here she was, brave enough to be standing in the rain once again, risking her life to save someone else.

  Admiration surged through Jankowski. He bent and laid his weapon on the ground, then lifted his hands to show Nessa he understood her apprehension, and that he was unarmed.

  Nessa nodded, and began making her way over the uneven terrain, sloshing through puddles and crunching over broken branches and debris. As she drew closer Jankowski saw that she had unholstered her firearm and held it by her side.

  “What’s with the helicopter. Jankowski? Who’s with you?”

  She eyed the four walls of the stable, then looked across the field at the mangled remains of the roof. Before Jankowski could answer, Tucker Vanzinger stepped into the doorway.

  “You must be Nessa.”

  Nessa raised her Glock and leveled it at Vanzinger’s chest, then glared over at Jankowski.

  "Who the hell is he?”

  “He’s Tucker Vanzinger, the guy that flew that copter out here to save you and Eden Winthrop.”

  Lifting both hands to show they were empty, Vanzinger stepped back into the room and motioned for Nessa to enter.

  “Come see for yourself.”

  The rain slowed to a drizzle as Nessa followed Jankowski and Vanzinger into the stable, and the howling of the wind diminished enough for Jankowski to hear her intake of breath at the sight of Eden huddled in one of the stalls next to Kramer’s crumpled body. She was scraping at the ground, struggling to maneuver the heavy shovel.

  “Oh my god, Eden. Are you okay?”

  Nessa hurried to Eden’s side, shoving her gun back into the holster before taking the shovel from Eden’s trembling hands. She put an arm around Eden’s shoulders and looked down into the hole in the floor, a look of horrified understanding dawning in her eyes.

  "Kara!" Eden forced the words out in a hoarse whisper. “We need to save Kara!”

  Pushing Nessa’s arm to the side, Eden began to claw at the dirt with her hands in desperation. Jankowksi realized with a jolt of horror what Eden was trying to tell them. Kara Stanislaus was under the ground, but she might still be alive.

  The shovel’s slick handle slipped in Jankowski’s grip as he began scooping mud and water from the hole, being careful not to harm the girl that lay beneath. He lowered himself into the hole and continued to lift mounds of dirt out of the makeshift grave until a patch of alabaster skin appeared.

  Throwing the shovel up and over the edge of the hole, Jankowski bent to scrape the remaining dirt from Kara’s motionless body with his bare hands. His heart thudded in his chest as he felt in vain for a pulse in her thin wrist.

  “No pulse,” he muttered, as he slid one big arm under her shoulders and the other one under her knees.

  Vanzinger bent to take the lifeless girl from Jankowski so that he could pull himself out of the pit.

  "Are we too late?”

  Nessa’s voice was thick with dread as she helped Vanzinger lay Kara on a piece of tarp next to Eden.

  “I’ll breathe,” Vanzinger said, ignoring Nessa’s question. “Jank, you do the compressions.”

  Vanzinger knelt next to Kara and tilted her head back, checking her mouth for obstructions before pinching her nose and blowing into her mouth. Her thin chest lifted with the breath, and Jankowski felt a twinge of hope as he knelt next to his friend and positioned his hands over Kara’s chest. He laced his fingers together and began fast, firm compressions as he’d been trained to do, but had never been called on to perform in a real rescue before.

  Adrenaline rushed through Jankowski, strengthening his arms and quickening his pulse. He had to remind himself to keep the compressions firm, but not push down too hard. If Kara made it through this alive, he didn’t want to be the cause of bruised or broken ribs.

  Just as Jankowski’s hope was turning to despair, Kara coughed and wheezed. She turned her head to the side and retched out a mouthful of muddy water, her hands clutching weakly at something on her chest. A glitter of gold shone from beneath the mud caked on her dress.

  “Her necklace,” Eden said, her voice trembling with emotion. “She has the necklace her father gave her.”

  Nessa stood and slid off her yellow slicker, draping it over Kara’s thin body as the rain continued to trickle down.

  “Let’s get them to the chopper, Jank,” Vanzinger said, stretching his back. “I have equipment onboard, and we can have them at the hospital in no time.”

  “What about Kramer?” Jankowski asked, looking over at the big police chief sprawled in the dirt. “He got a bad blow on the head, but he’s still breathing. Should we take him, too?”

  A high-pitched voice sounded behind them.

  “I’m not letting that maniac anywhere near Kara again.”

  Eden stood on shaking legs, staring over at Kara’s battered body on the stretcher. Her eyes grew bright and hard when they shifted to Kramer. Nessa nodded and took Eden’s arm, helping her out the door.

  “I agree. I can secure Kramer and drive him back in my car. The storm is letting up, so I should be able to get him back to town without any problem.”

  “Okay, let me get Eden and Kara on the chopper and then I’ll help you secure Kramer in your car.”

  Jankowksi put an arm around Eden and helped her walk to the chopper. Twitch waited for them with anxious eyes. The jittery pilot reached down and hoisted Eden up into the cabin.

  “We need a stretcher, man,” Jankowski called to him. “I’ve got another female in there that can’t walk. She’ll need transport to the nearest hospital.”

  More headlights bounced toward the farm as Twitch lowered the stretcher to Jankowksi and Vanzinger. The men watched a black BMW approach as they hustled back to get Kara. By the time they’d made it to the stable, Leo Steele and Pete Barker had jumped out of the car and were charging toward them.

  Jankowski took a double take as Frankie Dawson exited from the rear of the car carrying a big golden retriever. Jankowksi recognized the dog as Eden Winthrop’s emotional support animal, Duke.

  “These guys friends of yours, Jank?” Vanzinger asked as they lifted Kara onto the stretcher and began pushing her toward the chopper.

  “I know ‘em, but I wouldn’t say they’re friends.”

  A tattered palmetto frond got stuck in the stretcher’s wheel, and Jankowski bent down to extract it. When he stood up, Leo Steele was standing next to him.

  “Is Eden in there? Is she okay?”

  The raw pain in Leo’s eyes stopped Jankowski from coming bac
k with his usual sarcastic retort.

  “She’s okay, and she’s already on the chopper. But Kara needs immediate medical attention so no time to chat.”

  He pushed past Leo and helped Vanzinger and Twitch load the stretcher into the rear of the helicopter. He turned back to see Leo right behind him. Barker and Frankie hovered a few feet away, their faces grim.

  “I need to see her,” Leo pleaded. “I have to know she’s all right.”

  Jankowski looked up at Vanzinger, then back at Leo. He shook his head and sighed.

  “You go with them on the chopper, Steele. I’ll stay here and help Nessa get Kramer back to town. Barker can help us and then drive your car back.”

  “What about me and Duke?” Frankie asked, his eyes jumping between Jankowski and Leo. “You aren’t gonna leave us out here with a serial killer are you?”

  Jankowksi rolled his eyes and shouted up at Vanzinger.

  “Tucker, how many passengers can you take with you?”

  Vanzinger leaned out and looked at Frankie and Duke. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

  “The two of them don’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet,” he said, his voice impatient. “They can come, but we need to hurry.”

  Frankie passed the dog to Jankowski and climbed into the copter. Jankowksi felt the dog shivering in his arms, and a hot rush of disgust for Kramer rolled through him.

  Why would he shoot an innocent dog? He really is a heartless bastard.

  Leo had climbed aboard and turned to take Duke.

  “Thanks, Jankowski,” Leo said, swallowing hard. “I owe you.”

  Jankowksi could see Eden crying with relief as Leo presented her with the dog, whose tail had started to wag despite his injuries.

  “Get that dog a blanket!” Jankowski yelled up to Vanzinger.

  He turned away from the sight of Leo and Eden huddled together over Duke. They were the picture of a loving family reunited, and as happy as he was for them, the sight made him feel more alone than he’d ever felt before.