Gavin English Thrillers

by Ken Lindsey

  I tossed the cell onto my bed and wiped some rain water off myself with the corner of my sheet. Time to make the coffee.******

  Beth sipped her tea, a bitter morning brew from the local health food place, as she listened to David's conversation. She was awash in relief as he hung up the phone. The morning had been jittery and nervous; she had never done something so public, so recklessly as she had last night. But now, it almost felt as if it had never happened.

  He exhibited no hesitation in his voice. No suspicion. He didn’t have a clue.

  It wouldn't be long before they found the body. Most likely, the morning janitorial service worker would wander into the bathroom and get the surprise of a lifetime. David would find out soon, but he didn’t have a reason to look at her for it.

  It was all too easy. No one had noticed two more drunk girls stumbling around and walking into the wrong bathroom. The drugs ensured Claire didn’t put up a fight or amplify the sounds of a struggle for nosy bar hoppers to hear.

  Who could blame her for being angry? Even David said he expected her to do something about the way Claire acted with him. She still felt the girl's pulse—slowing, slowing, slowing, until it finally stopped beneath her hands. Then the fun began.

  David leaned over her shoulder and kissed her on the cheek, his beard gently scruffing her neck, “You're awfully smiley this morning,” he said as he brushed the fabric of his oversized t-shirt from her shoulder. His breath was cool against her skin, and his lips were warm as they moved to her collarbone.

  “I slept well last night, I guess I'm just extra awake,” she replied.

  He nibbled at her ear now, as his hand slid beneath her shirt. She moaned softly when his hand cupped her breast, tugging gently at the nipple. “Not too awake to come back to bed before I have to go to work, I hope.”

  “Never.”

  Then the phone rang.

  Chapter 12: Just Another Victim

  David pulled his unmarked sedan into the parking lot of the country-western nightclub, barely coming to a stop before slamming the shifter into “Park.” He didn’t know what a panic attack felt like, but his hands were shaking and his fingers refused to cooperate when he tried to dial Claire's number again.

  It was the eighth call to her phone since he left his apartment, and once again she didn't answer. “Goddamn it!” he yelled, chucking his cell, so it bounced off the dash and sent the battery skittering against the windshield as the rest of the phone fell to the floorboard. “Why don't you pick up your fucking phone?!”

  The description from the deputy on scene was too close for comfort. Same place he had last seen her, same hair color, same height... If she'd answer her phone, David knew that he could pull himself back together. But time ran out once he arrived at the crime scene, and his phone was in pieces. He left it, deciding he could put it back together later.

  He bounded out of the car, slamming the door behind him and rushing through the crowd of patrolmen gathered at the entrance.

  “Lieutenant!” shouted a young man wearing the Sheriff Department's brown uniform. His hair was dirty blonde, his eyes were a bright, hopeful blue, and he had freckles covering almost every inch of his skin. He hustled over and held out his hand in greeting.

  “Are you Davis?” asked David as he shook the kid's hand. A small voice in the back of his mind wondered if he had looked so helpless and lost when he first started out.

  “Yes, sir. I didn't expect you'd be here so quick.”

  David released the Deputy's hand and pushed past. “Is she in there?” he asked, nodding toward wide-open men's room door.

  “Ayuh,” stammered the Deputy as he spun on his heel, fighting to keep up. “The uh... the coroner's already been in and out. Pronounced her and gave a general time of death.”

  As he breached the entryway, the growing reek of death hit David full in the face. The heavily perfumed cleansers they used in the restrooms daily, fighting to keep the odor at bay, only made it worse. He pulled the bottom of his checkered tie to cover his mouth and nose. It didn't help.

  “What was that?” he asked, not ready to move toward the stall.

  The kid stood about three feet behind him, doing his damnedest to look like he wasn't holding his breath. “That... What was what?” he asked, fighting back the bile building in his throat. “Sir?”

  “The time, goddamn it!” David snapped back without bothering to turn and look at the Deputy. “What was the goddamn time of death?”

  “He uhh... It. He said...”

  “Spit it out!”

  “Eleven to three, sir. P.M. I mean... eleven P.M... sir... to three A.M.”

  David rubbed his temples and closed his eyes, dropping his tie to hang back against his stomach. The time fit. According to Beth, they had left the bar at around one in the morning, nearly an hour since the last time either of them had seen Claire.

  If the body belonged to his ex—one of his closest friends—the fault was his. He should have stayed with her. It had been years since she lived in Reno, things were different now.

  He opened his eyes and walked to the stall.

  What he found there drove the air from his lungs like a punch to the gut. The crime scene team had already been through, after the coroner, but they had only taken photos. They needed his instructions before they could touch anything or start collecting evidence.

  They left the stage exactly as it had been when she was murdered, and the image burned through him like a hot knife. He wanted to scream at everyone there, blame them for not saving her dignity, but knew he couldn't. No one had any idea that he knew the girl. If they had known, he would have been the absolute last person called to the scene.

  Claire’s body sat up on the lid of the toilet, her head hanging lazily, resting on her naked chest while her wide-open eyes stared at him in blank accusation. “Where were you?” she seemed to ask. “I trusted you.” Her skin was paper white, and the look on her face revealed sheer agony.

  David closed his eyes and shook his head until it hurt. A breath to calm himself, the stench of death no longer mattered. Ten seconds went by, then he opened his eyes again.

  Claire... No. If he wanted to do any damn good here, she couldn't be his friend. She had to be just another homicide case. Another nameless victim.

  She was nude, aside from her shoes, which were dark blue and had three-inch heels. The dress sat like a cushion beneath her, and her legs were spread wide. Blood covered her thighs and the whole front of the toilet; a broken plunger handle lay at her feet, stained with dried blood.

  David looked up, ignoring the lurching of his stomach, and saw a puckered ring of skin around her neck where someone had strangled her. Probable cause of death. He'd check the coroner's report when it came in.

  The victim also had bruising on both cheekbones and a trail of dried blood from her lips. All Lieutenant now, he pulled a pair of rubber gloves from the inside pocket of his jacket and put them on. Gently, he lifted the victim's head with his left hand and slid his right index finger between her lips.

  Her mouth fell open in a rush of hot, coppery air, almost a moan. Coagulated blood rested like pudding in her palate. David held his breath. Someone knocked several of her teeth out, but since the blood didn’t get swallowed, he guessed that it happened postmortem. Another question for the autopsy.

  Just another victim, he thought. Just another victim. Just. Another. Victim.

  He lowered her head back to her chest, letting her mouth close once again.

  There were small spatters of blood on the linoleum between her flawless shoes, and a clump of the victim's hair had fallen and got stuck to the floor in her congealing blood. He felt disconnected from his body, like he was just watching himself go through the motions.

  Somehow, thanks to years of experience, David finished his inspection of the crime scene on auto-pilot. He guessed rape, from the blood on the floor and damage to the girl's lower body and vaginal cavity. She was most likely strangled to death during, or right
after the act. And then violent, angry mutilation. Once out of the bathroom, he wrote up a standard scene report and gave the young Deputy control of the room.

  “Sorry for yelling, Officer Davis. Thanks for everything.”

  Chapter 13: No Coincidences

  Since David blew me off with a text message saying he had an emergency at work, I decided to save my time and money and drink my own damn coffee at home. After my shower, I ground up a cup of nice dark coffee beans, boiled more than enough water, and worked my magic on the French press.

  Afterward I got dressed, had a smoke, filled my Superman coffee mug with the supernatural bean juice, and made my way down the blissfully empty streets that led to the county jail. That was where they were holding my “sparring partner” from the other day. I can't say that I had any real hunger to see that giant prick again, but I had questions.

  His temper and penchant for violence were clear, and if he had found out about the Missus having naked time with Julian, who knows what might have happened. With a tire iron in his hand, he could have caved in the dishwasher's skull without breaking a sweat. He's got the personality and the motive, all I needed to make sure of was the opportunity.

  The Jeep purred one last time as I killed the engine in the jail's parking lot. The building loomed tall and bright, with white stonework being held up by red pillars. An eyesore, you might call it if you were a fucking saint. There were windows everywhere, so as soon as I shut my door behind me, I felt I had someone watching me.

  Someone probably was.

  The interior of the place wasn't any better, like something in between an airport waiting lounge and the oversized women's section in a department store in hell.

  I smiled as the security guard inspected my shoes, took my cigarettes and lighter, my wallet, my cell phone, and my belt. “You can pick up your belongings upon your exit from the building, sir.”

  “All right,” I replied, “but please, not too much starch on my wallet. The leather hasn't been treated.”

  He didn't laugh or even crack a smile as he motioned me through the metal detector. Apparently, to work security at a jail, you had to have even less personality than to work security at a strip club.

  “Follow the yellow line until you get to door six,” he mumbled at me with his back turned.

  The yellow line led me through about a mile of white walls and weird, speckled tile floors between security and door six, but I made it. Now if only the Wizard could give me my cigarettes back, I might rid myself of the eerie feeling this place always gave me.

  The door was heavy and slammed behind me with a metallic CLANG. I briefly worried that they wouldn't let me out, but before I could really get freaked, Mr. Dunn appeared on the other side of our glass separator. It would be kind to say he didn't look happy to see me.

  “What are you doin' here?” he asked as I sat on what I thought was a stool. Though, after sitting on it, it proved to be some sort of torture device.

  “Didn't they tell you? It's conjugal visit day!”

  “Fuck off,” Rick replied. Witty, had sex appeal, smelled like you imagine every trucker should smell. I couldn't imagine why his wife might be out getting herself some strange.

  I cut right to the chase, “The kid's name was Julian.”

  His eyebrows arched, making his face look pinched and painful. Holy shit, I thought, that must be what he looks like when he's thinking!

  “What kid?”

  “The kid from the diner that your wife was fucking. His name was Julian.”

  He stood up and slammed his mammoth sized fist into the glass partition. “Go fuck yourself!” I felt the glass vibrating through my stool. No wonder my shoulder still hurt so much. “That's bullshit!”

  I hadn't expected that. The anger was fresh, a new cut to his manhood. Almost like he hadn't known. If that were true, though, what had he been screaming about on his lawn that day? I gave him a couple minutes to mellow. I needed him calm and rational if I wanted to get any answers that were worth a damn.

  Finally, he sat back down, staring at me. “If you're here ta' fuck with me, I'm goin' back ta' my cell.”

  “Fine,” I nodded. “Right to the point, then. What the hell happened that got you so pissed off, if it wasn't about Jody screwing around?”

  His face flared red but he bit back his anger this time. “That happened a long time ago. She had an affair with some asshole she worked with, and when I found out about it, I knocked her around some. But that was back in Michigan, and I'm different. I took the classes and the therapy and everything.”

  “So why were you screaming about her spreading her legs to the entire world then?”

  “I saw his name on her caller ID, the guy she used to work with. It set me off. What would you do?”

  I thought back to the day I found out about Yvette and Mike.

  I gave an honest answer, “I'd probably break the guy's nose and call my wife a whore for the rest of her life.”

  Rick looked away, shamefaced at the memory, “I overreacted. She knows I'm sorry. I'll make it up to her when I get home.”

  I didn't have the stomach to tell him about Julian anymore. If he really killed the kid, he was a hell of an actor, and I'd have to get my proof somewhere else. I got up off my stool, walked away from the window, and hit the buzzer to let the guard know that our interview had reached its conclusion.

  “Hey! Where are you goin? What were you sayin' about Jody and some kid? Hey come on!” He lurched up again, leaning hard against the glass. His eyes begged for some peace, but I didn't have any to give.

  Once the guard opened the door I turned back around, “Don't go home. She's not worth it.”

  He was still yelling questions through the glass when the door clanged shut.******

  By the time I got back on the road, the midday traffic was in full swing; every driver seemed to think they were alone, not worrying how fast or slow they were going, or who they were cutting off as they meandered from one lane to the other.

  Some days, I wish I'd just stayed home.

  I had too much on my mind, though, for me to wish death on every selfish bastard behind the wheel of a car. No, I had something important to figure out. If Mr. Dunn had nothing to do with Julian's death, then I was barking up the wrong tree and wasting a whole lot of his sister's time.

  I wondered about a drug dealer, like David, and even about the brother-in-law. If I had to go back to Meadows like a kicked puppy and admit to being wrong, I’m not sure I would survive. Ugh, even the thought made me want to barf.

  It was all too much of a coincidence, though. If Julian and his boss were cuckolding a giant bastard like Mr. Dunn, and the kid just got beaten to death in a random act of violence, I would eat my hat. But what the hell happened then?

  Maybe Rick was a better liar than I thought, but my bullshit detector had never let me down before. I needed to talk to Jody, find out what really set him off that day.

  I snatched up my phone from the plastic bag the security guard had stuck all my things in, pulled up David in my phone book, and slid the green bar to dial his number.

  “Can't talk right now, Gavin,” he answered before the phone had even rung on my end.

  “Shit, okay. Is it a problem if I go question Jody Dunn at work?”

  “You'll have to do it on your own, but go for it.” His voice shook in a way I'd never heard before. Stress maybe?

  “What was the emergency this morning?”

  “Someone found Claire’s body last night.”

  Fuck.

  “It happened at the club I took her to, Gav.”

  “Jesus, David, you can't take that on yourself. You know better than that. Where are you?”

  “I'm at the station, waiting for the club to get back to me.”

  “I'll be right there.”

  “No.” He used his firm, serious cop voice on me. He wasn't gonna give me a chance to argue. “As soon as they get me the security tapes, I'm going to go find the motherfucker who
did it.”

  “Call me when you're ready, I'll go with you.”

  “No. I'm going on my own.”

  This meant trouble. David was always very by-the-book, and the book said don't catch violent offenders by yourself. “What are you gonna do?” I asked.

  “I loved her, Gav. She was the closest thing I had to family before I joined the force.”

  “Think about this, man.”

  “See you soon, Gav. Don't worry about it.”

  The line went silent.

  Chapter 14: Chicken and Spit

  Beth slid the big kitchen knife back and forth along the soft, pink flesh until she got to the cutting board beneath. She hummed an old western love song her daddy had sung when she was young. Beth wrapped the meat in a plastic sheet and then began smacking it as hard as she could with the flat side of a wooden mallet.

  WHACK WHACK WHACK

  “...and I love you, a bushel and a peck,” she mumbled.

  WHACK WHACK WHACK

  “...and a hug around the neck,” she sang as a pocket of chicken blood burst the plastic wrap and spurted a stream of watery gore onto her apron.

  WHACK WHACK WHACK******

  My mind raced through everything that had happened, but mostly I worried about what David might do. By the time I arrived at the station he was already gone, and no one had any idea where he might have gone to.

  So, I kept myself busy by dropping in on Mrs. Dunn at the diner. I took the back roads because I figured my stress level was already high enough. If one more texting moron tailgated me on the highway, it was likely to be the last straw for my sanity.

  When I pulled into the dingy little parking area, I saw Jimmy, my favorite meth head, leaning against the side wall with a cigarette hanging from his lips. I parked the Jeep, lit my smoke, and got out to go have a chat with my old friend.

  “Hey! It's fuckin’ Dick Tracy!”

  I smiled and shook Jimmy's hand. “How's it going, Jimbo?”