by Arthur Day
She continued. “Listen, if you need to be up here looking for her, you always have a room here if staying at your camp gives you with the creeps. I don’t know. Maybe there’re other people there now. I don’t know what you’re going through but I thought I would offer. Ben agreed. He’s down in New Jersey bidding on a job right now.” She ended with a huge sigh as if her call to me had about stretched her to her limit and now she felt totally done in.
It sounded like a good idea. I had no desire to share Pam’s camp with Paul. I had called, and he had answered so he was still there. I cut left off of Sparrow onto Old Lake Road and rumbled down the same road that Pam must have walked a couple days before though it seemed much longer now. Turning right onto Narrow Creek Road I went up a little hill and there was the Dugan place, a large white sprawling center chimney farmhouse with equipment sheds and a small barn behind it. In the front a huge maple and a grove of white pines shaded the front of the house with its generous wrap-around porch that had been used by generations of Dugans. It had always been a lovely place and the Dugans had kept it up over the years. Rose Dugan was standing out by the side door leading to the kitchen. She waved as I turned into the dirt driveway that led past the house to the sheds beyond. I waved back. The place almost felt like home.
Rose Dugan was an amazing woman. Like many couples she was the opposite of her husband. She was intellectual where Pat was earthy, artistic where he was practical, a scatterbrain where he was detail oriented. She was tall, thin, with flaming red hair and a temper to match. There were not many people who wanted to be the butt of that anger. She could be absolutely captivating though and had been the life of many a cocktail party in that part of the state whether she was playing hostess or not. Pat’s death had been hard on her. Even driving up the driveway I would see the deep lines of sorrow around her mouth and the gray that had spread rapidly through her thick hair.
“Lord love a duck, MJ. It’s great to see you again,” she called.
I stopped the car and climbed out just in time for Rosie to throw herself into my arms. It had been a while since I had held a woman like that and I probably held her a moment longer than I should have but I had no regrets. When we separated slightly she kept her hands on my shoulders and looked at me with undisguised pleasure. “I’m glad you’re here man. I truly am.”
“That was nice,” I told her in what had to be the understatement of the year. “I felt like I was coming home when I saw your house at the top of the hill.”
“Bless you, MJ. You always knew what to say. Now go park your hunk of junk next to mine and come on in. I’ve a bottle of Jack with your name on it and I’ll not be happy if you don’t at least introduce yourself to it.” With that she disappeared back into the house where, if I knew Rose, dinner would be cooking. She was not the best of cooks, but she made up in enthusiasm what she might have lacked in sensing which seasoning and how much of it to use. She would also ignore the timer on the stove if she was in the middle of something else when it went off.
The hunk of junk that she called my car was a twenty-year old gray Toyota land cruiser of the kind you see in African safari films. They don’t export them to this country any more, but my cruiser had been all over every kind of terrain and was still going strong. The land cruiser they sold currently in this country was a gentrified version for people with lots of money and kids. I parked it next to her Subaru Outback, grabbed my bag from the back and went back to the house.
That evening after a dinner which, I had to admit, was excellent, we sat out on the back porch and looked out past the barn to the field beyond and the woods beyond that. The Dugans had bought the old house and two hundred acres of woodlands because, as Pat had told me more than once, there’s enough land to keep the flies away. The nearest neighbor was a half mile down the road so I took his point. “It’s a peaceful view, Rose. Always has been. When Pam and I were up here we loved to sit out and watch the sunset over the lake. There were some real beauties.”
“How have you been?” Rose asked and took a sip from her snifter. “I saw you at Pat’s funeral and you seemed a little lost. I was a lot lost. I really appreciated you coming up all the way from New York.”
“You couldn’t have kept me away. You and Pat were always good friends, I thought it was the least I could do. Actually, I loved this area so a while back I moved up to a cabin near Mays Corners. I had no idea that Pam was living here as well. It was one of those small-world things.”
Rose looked concerned. “Any word on her yet? Ben went out and searched along both sides of the road but there was no sign of her. Granted, he’s a good woodsman but not a tracker. So, I was hoping that you would have something positive to say.”
I shook my head. “Afraid not and if the sheriff had found her or had a clue as to what happened to her you probably would have seen it in the paper. I tried calling the sheriff’s office yesterday to ask him about it, but he was out, and they told me that the investigation was ongoing.”
Rose reached across and put her hand on my arm. “MJ I’m so sorry. I know how you must feel. Pat died and now this nightmare. I feel as if I was a Halloween pumpkin all hollowed out but presenting a big toothy grin to the world. When will it stop? Sorry, rhetorical question with no answer needed.” I put my hand over hers in a gesture of reassurance and we sat like that for a while until the darkness enveloped us.
Lying in bed, I found myself staring at the ceiling with not a thought of sleep. It was going to be a long night. I had decided that the next day I would hike across their back lot. It was a long way from where she disappeared, but I thought that I had nothing to lose and since I was at the Dugans I might as well check out the woods in that area. Then I remembered a summer years before when Pam and I were married and still relatively happy.
We had driven up to the Dugans for a couple of nights before heading over to the cabin. The morning after we arrived we put on sturdy shoes, packed a light lunch and went for a hike into the woods. We found a spot where a creek had formed a small pond in a clearing that was so pretty and secluded that we could not pass it up. It became our spot, a place where we would go to whenever we were up at Compton. I would hike over there if only for the wonderful memories of skinny dipping and making love under the old maples and pines along the edge of the clearing. It was a place she knew and loved and a destination for me on the morrow.
I was just drifting off when the door opened. Rose stood framed in the light of the hall. I had to admit she was a beautiful woman. She had on a powder blue nightie that covered nothing and was made even more transparent by the light behind her. She had small breasts that had not yet begun to sag and stood out proudly under their blue covering. Her legs were long and white and firm from chores around the farm and she sported a thick red bush between them. “Are you still awake MJ?” she asked softly.
“Uh huh,” was all that came out when I opened my mouth.
“I couldn’t sleep either. We could share my bed,” I could almost hear her blush. “I mean we don’t have to do anything what with Pam and all, but it might help just to be together.”
I beckoned her towards me and she slid into the bed. She put her hand to my face and stroked the stubble there. “It’s such a treat to sleep next to a man again if only for a night or two,” she murmured.
I put one arm under her head and stroked her breasts with the other. She almost purred. “Of course we could…” She didn’t finish the sentence but reached down and gently held my penis that needed no additional urging whatsoever.
So we did.
The next morning, I woke with the sun streaming through the bedroom window and the smell of coffee and bacon, two of my favorite morning items, wafting from the first floor. I dressed quickly and went downstairs. Rose was in the kitchen stirring eggs in a pan and humming in a contented fashion. I had to admit I felt better than I had in a long time.
She turned and smiled. “Good morning
MJ. You look rested.”
“Thanks to you.”
She chuckled. “Oh, get on with you now. Sit and eat. Scrambled and bacon and there’s toast if you’re partial to that.”
“Now you’re spoiling me.”
“And loving it. Now sit.” She put a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me and sat down beside me with a cup of coffee. “So, what’s on your mind for today?”
“I thought I’d hike up to a spot that Pam and I knew. I doubt she is there, but it is a place to start.”
“Good idea. I’ll pack a little something for your lunch.”
I protested in vain.
I made good time. The trail led down across a shallow slope towards a small stream that ran along the bottom of it. I made my way around large pieces of ledge rock with Mountain Laurel covering their base like a scraggly skirt. I walked along the edge of the stream as it threaded its way between the higher ground where the house was located and a patch of marsh where bare dead trees stuck up like an old spinster’s fingers. Twinflower and Blueflag grew along the sides with wood lilies, trillium and bellwort. It was a pretty part of the woods and I stopped and sat down on a rock, content to just let life roll by while enjoying nature’s ever-changing road show. After a while I forced myself to get up and start walking again. There had been no sign of Pam and I did not expect to find one, but I thought our little clearing would be a good place to stop and eat lunch before heading back to the Dugan house by a different route to cover more ground.
In a way I was walking through memories of Pam as she had been back then: young, excited about her career and us, wanting to take advantage of vacations that came along all too infrequently. She laughed a lot back then and perhaps even today though I could not testify to that. Perhaps Paul made her laugh but perhaps not. I pushed this thought away and concentrated on the image of Pam shedding her clothes and wading into the tiny pond in the clearing. I could almost touch the slight dimpling of the white flesh of her ass as she waded out. Her voice still echoed in my head. ‘c’mon you old prude. Get in here with me. You haven’t been swimming until you’ve been in the water nude. You wus. What’s holding you back? Afraid your dick will shrivel up? No worries. I will bring it back.’ Her laughter ran around the inside of me as I climbed steadily upwards following the creek.
It should never have been. The spot was deep in the woods well off the nearest road that ran away from the lake past the Dugan farm. It should never have been me. I who loved her, married her, lived side-by-side with her, loved her still perhaps should not have found her body spread-eagled on the soft moss of the spot right next to the little pond. The little-known path by the creek that I was following goes up a small rise before dipping down to the pond. When I crested the rise I first saw something white and it took me a moment to identify it as Pam.
She was naked except for an intricate black and gold onyx bracelet that was a stark contrast to the white of her body. She was stretched out face up, sightless eyes staring at the branches and leaves of the overhanging trees. I collapsed across the clearing from her body, unable to do anything but kneel and vomit into the leaves until there was nothing left to bring up, until my entire being had been exploded and burned, until I finally came face to face with my being as I knelt crying and beating my fists into the ground in anguish. I recovered enough to walk to within a few feet of her body. I did not touch it. Pam Pease McCaal had been slashed with a knife multiple times and shot in the head from what I could see. Sometime later I recovered enough to stand and look around me at the surrounding woods. I was alone as far as I could tell.
I pulled out my cell phone, found I still had two bars and dialed the sheriff’s office.
BUCKMASTER
John Buckmaster was a methodical man. The papers on his desk were ordered and laid out precisely. His office, such as it was, had no excess books or folders lying around. He had learned neatness early as a marine private. He had then learned the hard way that while papers can be organized and kept in order that people outside the military seldom can.
He had just returned from the site where Pam Pease had been found by her ex-husband and could barely even see the papers on his desk. He stared down at them, but they kept blurring. Savagely, he swiped his hand across his face. He was a veteran police officer and had seen far worse in his time.
McCaal had called and the dispatcher, noting the tone of the man’s voice had put him through to the sheriff. “Buckmaster here,” he answered.
“This is Michael McCaal. I’ve found her.” The desolation in the man’s voice was enough to make a stone weep.
“Where?”
“Way off the dirt road leading eventually to Mays Corners about an hour’s walk from the Dugan farm. I’ve called Rose Dugan and let her know what’s going on and that you will be coming up there.”
“Did you touch anything?”
“Nope. I’m sitting at the edge of the clearing where I found her body. Nobody else knows about the place except Rose Dugan. She can get you up here.”
Mrs. Dugan was standing out in her driveway when he got there. She’d obviously been crying but when Buckmaster got there she just looked grim and ready to spit nails. “Glad to see you Sheriff,” she said through lips thinned by sorrow. “Come up to the shed with me and we’ll give Nellie a workout.”
Nellie turned out to be a Kubota X900 Utility vehicle with a small bed in back for carrying items. Buckmaster went back to the cruiser, pulled stuff from the trunk, loaded it into Nellie and off they went, bouncing around as if they were on the back of a bull. Actually, considering the roughness of the terrain, the Kubota did remarkably well. They had half the vehicle in the creek at times to get around dead fall that MJ would simply have stepped over.
“Haven’t been up this way in a while,” Dugan told him. “The trail needs some work.” Having said that she did not say another word and they went the rest of the way in silence.
They found McCaal sitting on a log at the edge of the clearing. They stopped beside him. There was no need for words. The body of Pam Pease McCall lay twenty yards away down a slight slope and within a few feet of the pond. Buckmaster called the office and told Dan, one of the deputies, that they had a murder on our hands and to notify the ME and the CSI unit. They would also need to bring up chain saws and a four-wheel drive utility vehicle capable of transporting the body. Dugan agreed to go back to her house and guide them to the scene. As she backed and filled to get turned around without disturbing the clearing he sat down beside McCaal on the log. He didn’t move a muscle. They sat there for a couple of minutes while the sound of the Kubota faded down the slope by the creek.
“Helluva thing,” Buckmaster finally said.
McCaal nodded without replying but sat staring at the body of the woman he loved. Long lines had formed on his face around his mouth and his hands kept clenching and unclenching. Buckmaster noticed for the first time how big his hands were and how long his fingers.
He finally got up, pulled latex gloves from his pocket and plastic booties and walked down to where Pam lay staring sightlessly at the tree branches above her. He studied the ground around her. The ground was soft so close to the pond and there were indentations that might be footprints to her left and above her head. The killer had obviously carried her here and then dumped her but why? Why go to all that trouble? A woman could not have carried her, so it had to be a man. If so, he could not have carried her far. Much less than a mile Buckmaster guessed so he would have the team search the surrounding area for traces of a vehicle not belonging to Dugan. There had to be a trace somewhere. He looked at the cuts on her abdomen. They would have bled profusely but did not appear to be that deep. Was she tortured? That would say something about the murderer. He would check the federal and state databases for other murders with a similar MO. Also, the results of a rape kit would be informative. He could see no bruises on the inside of her thighs but that did not signify
much. Gently he reached over and closed her eyes. God grant her more peace where she was than from where she’d come.
It would be a while before the crime techs could get to the scene. Buckmaster got up and walked back to where McCaal was sitting. “I’m sorry,” he told him. McCaal simply nodded in acknowledgement and continued staring down at the corpse. “There was nothing you or I or anyone else could have done to prevent this,” he told him as gently as possible and put a hand on his shoulder.
“She didn’t end up here by accident,” MJ said in a voice so low that Buckmaster had to bend towards him to hear it. “I thought that Rose, Pam and I were the only ones that knew about this spot but obviously there was someone else. Whoever it was went to a lot of trouble to send me a message.”
Buckmaster had to agree with him. Pam’s death probably had more to do with MJ than with her although someone could have had it in for both. He needed to keep all possibilities in mind. Almost humanly impossible not to form an opinion but it would be a vast mistake to move from there and treat it as a fact. Too many investigations by other police departments had blown up because of this mistake.
He got up and moved back along the track made by Rose’s vehicle. The track sloped down along the stream and then leveled out before starting down again. He reached level land and turned to his left with the intention of making a first pass through the area in the event something obvious was visible. There was little else he could do until his team arrived with the ME. The land stayed level for a while, so he made good time in what he hoped was a giant circle around the pond and the little clearing. He tried not to go so fast that he would miss something and kept his eyes on the ground in front of him and on either side. Somewhere he thought he would have to cut across tracks of another vehicle approaching the area.
