The River's Secret

by Peggy Dulle

  I took a seat with the rest of the officers and watched the television report. All in all, a good day for the local cops.

  Until the screaming started.

  Chapter 3

  “What the hell?” I leaned closer to the television.

  The camera swept past the reporter to the bank of the river. Although it was lodged in the mud, the top of a skull and both eye sockets were clearly visible.

  “Let's go.” I jumped up.

  Within minutes, Bob and I raced toward the river. My strobe lights pulsed, my siren wailed, and Bob clutched the passenger armrest as if the door would swing open at any minute.

  “Maybe it's an old Indian skull. Aren't there Indian burial sites here?” he barked as I took a corner too fast and slid on the pavement still wet from the rain.

  “Not that I know of.” I slammed the accelerator to the floorboard, making the SUV lurch forward and the tires fight for traction.

  Bob grabbed the dashboard.

  “Do you have to drive so fast? I was your dad's partner for twenty years. He never drove this fast.”

  “Skull, remember?”

  “It's not going anywhere,” he said, as we screeched around another corner.

  “Yes, but the news crew is there and taking about a million pictures of it. They're trampling the crime scene and making whatever we find unusable.”

  “I think all that water we sent down the river already did that, Chief.”

  “Maybe so.” I knew he was right. He and I had ruined the crime scene by re-routing the flood waters, but then again, we wouldn't even have known about the skull if the water hadn't dislodged it from the hard packed riverbed.

  A few minutes later, I slowed and entered the picnic area parking lot. Two more television crews had arrived and a dozen private vehicles. It was turning into a media event. One little skull might not be big news in the city, but in little Arroyo it was a major event.

  “As soon as I stop, you get out and push back these reporters and onlookers.”

  “You got it, Chief.”

  I pulled up next to the original television crew's van.

  Bob jumped out and waved his hands. “Back, everyone back. We'll make a statement as soon as we can.”

  I had to admire him. He was taking charge. I found Cheryl leaning against the back door of the news van. Her hands trembled as she smoked a cigarette, puffing fast and furiously.

  “Hi, Cheryl.”

  She nodded and lit another cigarette, “Chief.”

  “You've had a little excitement here.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Did anyone touch the skull?”

  “Hell, no. I told them to leave the stupid thing where it was.”

  I nodded approval at her. “Good girl.”

  “I watch enough TV to know that you don't disturb a crime scene.”

  “Thank God for television.”

  I walked around the van. Cheryl's cameraman, a tall lanky kid wearing a white t-shirt and faded blue jeans, stood at the edge of the river, his camera pointing directly at the skull. He jumped when I tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Give the tape to Bob, will you?”

  His head snapped up and he scowled at me. “But I took it.”

  “And we appreciate it.” I nodded, waved at Bob, and mouthed, “Get the tape.”

  He nodded and intercepted the cameraman before he got to the van.

  The skull sat on the edge of the river, the bottom half stuck in the wet mud. I didn't see any other bones, just the skull. That was good. Maybe the water had unearthed an old grave and this wasn't a crime scene at all.

  Arroyo was too small to have its own crime scene investigation unit. If I called the next town, Parsonville, the media circus would intensify. That also meant more strangers and the possibility of a panic attack. Thank God we were outside and the skull hadn't been found in an enclosed building. It was always easier to control the way I reacted to strangers if I could see a means of escape. And the outdoors had lots of choices.

  I made the call from near the river.

  “Parsonville Police Station,” Joan Temple answered. She was at least seventy years old and had been their operator for the last forty years. She lived in the same senior complex as my mom.

  “This is Chief Davenport. Can I talk to Simon?”

  “Oh hello, Connie. I saw you on the news, dear. Your face looked pale. Didn't you put on any makeup this morning? And your hair looks awful and…”

  “Can I talk to Simon, please?” I said, cutting her off. I didn't have time to discuss my lack of grooming techniques.

  “Of course, dear. I think he's expecting your call.”

  Chief Simon Billings had been my dad's best friend. They were fishing and hunting buddies for forty years until my dad's death. Every day I wished my dad were still alive, but I think Simon missed him more.

  “Hello, Connie. Your dad would have loved to find a skull.”

  “Well, I wish he were here to handle this.”

  “Me, too.” He sighed. “Do you want me to bring my team?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “We're on our way.”

  Parsonville was about forty minutes from Arroyo. It would take time to gather the team, so they would probably arrive in a couple of hours.

  Bob walked up, glanced at the skull and smiled. “A real crime scene. It's kind of exciting.”

  “Not really.”

  “It is for me. In all the years I've worked in Arroyo, we've never had one. You saw a million crime scenes when you worked for the bureau, but this is big news around here.”

  “If you say so. And I didn't see a million crime scenes.”

  “Okay, a thousand.” He chuckled.

  “Did you get the tape?”

  “Oh yeah. He tried to palm it and give me a blank tape, but I'm smarter than that.”

  I patted him on the shoulder. “Yes, you are.”

  Bob and I sat together and waited. Several times we got up to push back the crowd. Two more television crews arrived and most of the town of Arroyo. They waved and called my name. I ignored them.

  “Oh no,” Bob whispered, “look who’s coming now.”

  I glanced at the crowd and watched as the people separated to let Aaron Benson stomp toward me. Aaron was our mayor, barely five feet tall and just about as wide, who wore a cheap toupee to cover his balding head and had a short man complex that would rival Napoleon Bonaparte.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” He bellowed when he got near.

  “Good evening, Mayor Benson,” I said, plastering a smile on my face. I just hated it when someone started yelling at me without having the common courtesy to even say hello.

  “Chief,” he nodded curtly. “What’s going on?”

  “River, skull, Parsonville crime scene unit on the way.” I learned long ago to just give the man details and try not to get into a conversation with him.

  “Who the hell authorized that?”

  “The river, skull, or crime scene unit?” I asked, with the innocence of a new born baby.

  “You know what the hell I’m talking about, Chief! Our budget is so small since the Feds cut their funding that we can’t afford Parsonville’s crime scene unit.”

  I pointed to the skull.

  Aaron turned a new shade of green I hadn’t seen before.

  But I gave him some credit, he recovered quickly. “I’ll talk to the news people. I’ll let them know how we are going to handle this problem.”

  Not a surprise, it was an election year. I nodded. “Tell them I’ll give them a statement after the crime scene unit leaves.”

  Aaron nodded, turned with military precision, put on a somber look and marched over to the news van. Cheryl rushed to meet him, microphone in her hand and camera man trailing behind.

  I was surprised when only an hour later, Simon arrived with his CSI van, an ambulance, and three squad cars. My heartbeat and breathing accelerated as soon as the men started to climb out of the vehicl
es. I concentrated on Simon and ignored all the techs and officers I didn't know. He was a short, substantial man pushing 60, with bristly white hair, baggy clothes, and a face that held nearly constant good cheer. I was filled with relief as he waved and walked toward me.

  I rose to meet him.

  “Thanks for coming, Simon.” I said and extended my hand.

  “No problem.” He yanked me close and gave me a big hug. “You're like family, Connie. A handshake just won't do.”

  I returned his hug and glanced at my watch. “You made good time.”

  “Lights and sirens the whole way,” his smile broadened. “It's not every day we find a skull.”

  “It's probably from an old grave,” I told him. “But I want to make sure. I'd like us to be the ones to find any other skeletal pieces, not some local kid trying to catch a fish.”

  “I'll get my team started and let you know.”

  I nodded as Simon headed over and spoke with his team. They fanned out, some going up the river, while others searched downstream. The sun was getting lower in the sky as several of the onlookers packed it in and headed home. But the news people stayed, waiting for the statement I would give as soon as I had something to say.

  For the next hour, Bob and I wandered around, kept the onlookers back, and watched the technicians. Actually, truth be told, I followed Bob around and kept him out of the technicians’ way. He was so excited he asked a million questions and hovered over their shoulders. I had seen enough crime scenes during my time with the bureau to last me a lifetime.

  Soon the smear of illumination that was left in the lower sky turned to russet brown. Simon's team set up several portable lights and the hum of the generators echoed through the night. Twice I had Bob push back the news people and locals who refused to go home. Mayor Benson left right after he had given a statement to each of the news reporters. The remaining folks seemed to inch forward every time I took my eyes off them.

  An ambulance had arrived with the original crime scene unit; they must have gotten a call because they went screeching out of the area, sirens blaring. The sirens reminded me of my many days in the hospital after William had rescued me from my grave.

  When I awoke in the hospital after I was rescued, William was asleep in a folding chair in the corner of my hospital room. I touched my chest. The bandages ran from just under my neck all the way down to my pelvis. I checked the rest of my body. I had several marks I knew came from a taser since I had seen them on autopsy photos of the Jackal’s previous victims. My body felt like it had been tumbled in a cement mixer and I hurt in places I didn’t think could ever feel pain. I was hooked up to several IVs and a monitor beeped in time with my heart rate. But my first thought was - damn it, I survived. I won. The Jackal hadn't claimed his fifth victim.

  I cleared my throat and William woke up. A huge smile radiated his entire face as he came over to the bed.

  “It's nice to see you awake, Constance.”

  “What happened?”

  “Let me get Dr. Kuntz for you,” William turned toward the door.

  “No, I don’t mean what happened to me. I know the Jackal’s M.O.. I want to know how you knew where to find me?”

  “Cocky killer.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The Jackal sent a note.”

  I frowned. “He’s never sent one before.”

  “Nope, but he was so proud of himself, you being the FBI agent in charge of his case, and now his fifth victim.”

  “What did the note say?”

  “Not much.”

  I grabbed William's arm. “Exactly what did it say?”

  “It's not important.”

  “William,” I said, as aggravation crept up my spine, replacing the earlier triumphant feelings.

  “You're so stubborn.”

  “It's one of my redeeming attributes.”

  He frowned. “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  He handed me a photocopy. “Read it for yourself.”

  “You knew I'd ask for it, didn't you?”

  He nodded and shrugged as he handed it over.

  The note read:

  You are all so stupid. I took your precious agent in charge, sliced her up, and buried her. She's not dead yet. There's still time. Go back to the lake. You can find her if you're smart enough.

  I set the note down. “He told you where he buried me?”

  “Yes, although that particular shoreline is over two hundred miles long.”

  “So, how did you find me?”

  “Called your husband and he sent fifty more agents. Along with the local cops and practically everyone in the town, we searched. We walked the entire shoreline on that damn lake. It took us six hours, but we found you.”

  “Where is Matthew?”

  William looked toward the door.

  “He's outside?” I asked.

  “No.” William looked at the floor.

  “Where is he?”

  Before he could answer, a man came into the room with a tray. My breathing accelerated, my stomach tied up in knots, pain shot through my chest, and I couldn't catch my breath. William grabbed my face and pulled it around toward me.

  “Look at me, Constance! Concentrate on me, not the man!”

  I yanked away and stared at the man. His eyes widened as he set the tray down quickly and backtracked toward the door. My heart felt like it would explode from my chest. A scream came from low in my belly and I didn't recognize my own voice. My entire body shook and then I passed out.

  When I awoke, the man was gone. William had pulled his chair close and rested his head on the bed. I could hear him snore. I tapped him on the shoulder.

  He slowly raised his head, blinked a few times and then smiled. “That was a bad one.”

  “A bad what?” What the hell was happening to me?

  “Dr. Kuntz says they're panic attacks.”

  “Great. I was kidnapped, raped, sliced open, buried alive, and now I'm crazy, too?”

  William stepped back, diverting his eyes. Was their more? Before I could ask, he continued.

  “No, not crazy. Just anxiety brought on by a horrific experience.” He reached over and pushed the loose hair behind my ears. I slapped his hand away.

  “Why the hell did you grab my face?”

  “That wasn't your first attack.” He shrugged. “If I'm in the room and I can get you to concentrate on me, then they're not as bad.”

  “Let's go back to my original question. Where is my husband?”

  “Back at his office in D.C.”

  “Why?”

  “You have these attacks every time you see a man.”

  “Including my husband?”

  He shrugged. “Yes, but you weren't totally conscious when he was here.”

  “That must have unsettled him.”

  “Yes.”

  “I hate to point out the obvious, but you're a man. Why don't I freak out when I see you?”

  He smiled tentatively. “Dr. Kuntz says it's because I was the first face you saw. I got you out of the ditch, so you trust me.” He paused, then, “It's something like the duckling fixating on the first person they see after hatching. You're fixated on me.”

  “I don't even like you,” I scowled.

  “I know.” He chuckled and his eyes glistened in amusement.

  Sometimes life is all about who, what and where you get stuck, I speculated. And now I was a victim of that philosophy. Great! But something else was wrong; I knew it in my gut. What was he not telling me?

  “Did the Jackal change his MO?” I asked.

  “No,” William said.

  “Then what aren’t you telling me?” I asked.

  “Let me get Dr. Kuntz,” William repeated his earlier words.

  I placed my hand on William’s arm. “What is it?”

  “I should get Dr. Kuntz.”

  “Just tell me, William,” I sighed, showing the exhaustion I felt.

  “Did you know you were pregnan
t?”

  Shock spread through my body. “No, I wasn’t.” I told him.

  “You’ve been sick for days. Didn’t you have any clue what it might be?”

  I shook my head, then caught the words he had used. “I lost the baby?”

  William nodded.

  I turned away from him and heard the door close quietly as he left the room. Tears erupted from my eyes as my body shook from the pain. Not from the wounds inflicted by the Jackal but a feeling of loss so powerful that it overwhelmed me.

  Bob interrupted my thoughts and pointed across the road. “Simon's coming back.”

  Simon's bright and cheery face pushed the retrospective thoughts from my mind.

  “We're finished, Connie. We didn't find any more bones.” Simon held up the bag that contained the skull. “Do you want me to take this back and have it looked at by Dr. Cain? He's the forensic anthropologist at the university. Maybe he could tell us whether the person was male or female and how old.”

  “Can they do that even though it's incomplete? The mandible is missing.” I asked.

  “It's amazing what they can do.”

  “Okay, sure. Ask them to send the report to my office.”

  He handed me an envelope. “Here are a few photographs of the skull, front and side views, for your report.” Then he glanced at the crowd that still stood behind the yellow crime scene tape. “I don’t see the illustrious Mayor Benson, so I guess you’ll be giving a statement to the media.”

  Bob snickered and muttered, “He left fifteen minutes after he arrived. Just long enough to get some air time on the local media stations.”

  I extended my hand to Simon. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

  “Don't be a stranger, Connie. Linda and I miss you.”

  “I've been busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “The broken levees.”

  “Okay, that gives you an excuse for the last couple of days, but what about the last two months?”

  I shrugged. Then before I could change my mind, I added, “How about next week?”

  “Linda and I will be out of town.”

  “Another art gallery?”

  “Yes. She's having a show and wants to hobnob with the buyers.” He pointed his finger at me. “But I'll call you when we get back.”