by Peggy Dulle
“Don't you listen to the radio or watch television?”
“Hell no! It's always bad news and more bad news.”
“Well, we've got bones floating down Main Street.”
“Ah, it's all that rain, broken levees, and old family plots. Just collect them and the families can rebury them.”
“It's happened before?”
“Oh, yeah. In the big flood of forty-nine, we had bones all over the damn place. We had a hell of a time sorting out who to give which bones to. Eventually we just gave a bag of bones to each family and they reburied them.” He shook his head. “I don't think anyone got the right bones, but no one cared and I was sure glad to get all that crap out of my station. The families were just happy to be able to rebury their kin.”
“Well, it's happening again.”
“Just bag ‘em and give them back.”
“Do you remember which families you gave the bones back to?”
“Let me think.” He scratched his head and then nodded. “Sure, I remember. We gave the bags to five families. The Dodds, Lobers, Sullivans, Scotts, and the Jacobs.”
“Are they the only families that have family plots on their property?”
“No, they were just the ones in the way of the rushing water. The ground at some other plots wasn't disturbed.”
“Let me get a map and you can show me.” I went to my squad car and retrieved the area map. It included all of the properties and the levee system.
When I got back, we spread the map out on the table.
“Let me go and get something that will help,” he said and went into the house.
He returned with a set of markers and drew a blue line from the top of the map to the bottom. “This shows the flow of the water.” Then he drew five circles with the black marker. “These are the five burial plots that were unearthed.”
“Okay.” I picked up the red pen and drew a line from east to west. “This is the water flow now.”
Grandpa stared intently at the map. “Wow, how did it end up back in the old river?”
I smiled. “I sent it there.”
He nodded. “Pretty good idea, Connie.”
“Yeah, but it's nowhere near those five family grave sites.”
He pulled out a green marker. “We have a total of ten family plots in the area.” He drew five green circles, three of which were near where the water ran now. “The bones are probably coming from these sites.”
“That helps a lot, thanks.”
“Just bag them up and return a bag to each family. No one really cares if they've gotten the right bones, just as long as they have some to rebury.”
“I can do that with the ones that came in today, but I gave the first two skull pieces we found to Simon. He sent them to a forensic pathologist at the university.”
“Really? What the hell for?”
“Well, I didn't know it had happened before.” I glared at him. “If someone would listen to a radio or watch a television, they might have spared the town the expense of a forensic pathologist.”
“Oh well.” He shrugged. “So what did the forensic guy have to say?”
“The two original skull pieces are from teenage girls. The bones are about twenty to thirty years old.”
“Not possible.”
“Why not?”
“We didn't have any teenage girls die twenty to thirty years ago.”
“How can you be sure?”
He glanced sideways at me and raised his eyebrows.
“I know you never forget anything, Grandpa, but how can you be so sure?”
“I'd remember two teenage girls dying in my town.”
“What about the neighboring towns?”
“I'd have heard if they lost two of their girls, too.”
“Then where are those bones coming from?”
He picked up the map again and studied it. “I don't know, Connie.” He shook his head. “They shouldn't be here.”
Chapter 9
As I left, I saw Grandpa pull out a new map and circle different sections and then draw lines between them. He wanted to know the answers as much as I did. Once a cop, always a cop.
Back on Main Street, I spotted Jonathan in front of the local 7-11, so I pulled to the curb. He jogged over.
I rolled down my window and cleared my throat. He turned, frowned, and then leaned in.
“I've asked around, Chief. No one is copping to trashing your place.”
“Keep digging, Jonathan. If you want my 'get out of jail free card' you've got to find the culprit.”
“Ahhh,” he whined. “What if I can't find them?”
“Then you're out of luck.”
“I should get something for trying, shouldn't I?”
“We'll see.”
He stepped away from the car and I continued on to the station. The parking lot was full of cars. People carried black trash bags into the station and the local news station captured it on film. Everyone watched me pull into my parking spot.
Cheryl Burton's five-foot-ten frame pushed upright from where she leaned against her news van and motioned for her cameraman to follow her. She was dressed for an interview in a conservative blue pantsuit. But her trademark, that long curly blonde hair, was loose and flowing in the slight breeze that had come up. She grinned from ear to ear, while everyone else looked worried. What a great way to spend an afternoon!
Cheryl pushed a microphone into my face as soon as I stepped from my car. “Have you seen your office, Chief?”
I put my hand up and growled, “No comment.”
She put the microphone down and waved to her cameraman. He lowered his gear. She smiled and shrugged. “Sorry, Chief. But all these bones are big news.”
“I know, Cheryl, but I haven't been to my office since this morning.” I glanced toward the building. “Is it really that bad?”
“Oh yeah. I'd say you already have fifteen or twenty bags and more are coming in all the time.” She motioned to the three people who were carrying their garbage bags into the station.
“What a mess.” I shook my head.
“Can I quote you?” she asked.
“Turn your microphone back on, Cheryl.”
“Thanks, Chief.” She smiled broadly and signaled her cameraman. “This is Cheryl Burton and I'm here with Chief Davenport from Arroyo.” She turned to me. “So Chief, what are you doing about theses bones?”
“At this point, we're collecting them. Again, I ask people to please not pick them up. I can't guarantee the bones aren't contaminated with disease. Just call my office and I'll send an officer out to recover the bones.”
“Where are they coming from?”
“We're still in the process of investigating.”
Cheryl frowned.
“But we've identified several different family funeral plots that may have been unearthed by running water,” I continued. “We'll be contacting those families and making every effort to return the bones so their loved ones can be reburied.”
“Is there any word from Dr. Cain, the forensic pathologist in Parsonville?”
“Not yet,” I lied. That wasn't a can of worms I wanted to open on television. “It's a time-consuming process identifying bones. But as soon as I get the report, I'll give you a call.”
“Thanks, Chief.”
The cameraman turned off the camera and Cheryl leaned toward me. “I know you already got a call from Chief Billings from Parsonville. Nice sidestep.”
“I do my best.”
She was right about the station. As I walked through the door, the smell of plastic overwhelmed my nose. All eyes were on me.
Several people held up their bags and said, “We found these.”
“Thanks.” I smiled through gritted teeth. “Just set them down and let the officers know where you found them. And do not pick up any more. Call us and we'll collect them.”
I walked over to Bob. His face was tight, and tiny lines of frustration creased his forehead.
“How
many bags have you collected so far?”
“Forty-two,” he burst out in exasperation.
“What?” my voice cracked with the disbelief. How could there be so many bones floating around one little town?
“Some bags only have a few bones, while others are stuffed full. How many bones are there in one human body?”
“A few over two hundred, I think.”
Bob's eyebrows rose, then his posture relaxed and he nodded. “That many? So maybe we're only looking at a few people. But why are all these bones not connected to each other?”
“I think that's partially our fault. The bones are old, so the ligaments and tendons that held them together are probably gone. If we'd carefully unearthed the bodies, they'd probably be intact. But the river is running fast and it caused the skeleton pieces to separate.”
“That's a jigsaw puzzle I don't want.”
“Me either,” I shook my head. “My grandpa said this happened once before.”
“It did?”
“Yeah, back in 'forty-nine. The water flowed in a different direction, so we're probably not dealing with the same remains. Last time they just gave each family a bag of bones to rebury, Grandpa said.”
Bob's face relaxed into a smile for the first time since the bones arrived at the station. “That would be the easy way.”
“Yes.”
“The Feds called again.” He studied me for a reaction.
“I know. John will be in tomorrow morning with another note.”
He shook his head. “Nope, he called a few minutes ago. He’s on his way now.”
I rubbed my temples to massage the headache that started when I saw all the people in the parking lot of the station. “Great.”
“What am I supposed to do with all these bones?” Bob asked, as he swung his arm to gesture to the black bags.
“Follow me.” I walked into my office with Bob a few feet behind me.
“Close the door,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Okay.” He closed the door and waited. “What's up?”
“Come over here.” I spread out the map that Grandpa and I had worked on. Bob stood next to me.
“What's with all the lines and circles?”
“The blue line and black circles are where the water ran and the bones were unearthed in 'forty-nine. The red line is our river and the green circles are other grave sites. Three of them are near the rushing water. I want you to contact those three families and ask them to check their family plots. If the remains are unearthed, get a list of who's buried there.”
“Okay, then all we have to do is match them up.”
“That's the first step.” I nodded. “After that we'll return their bones.”
He shrugged. “Then it's back to boring old Arroyo.”
“Not exactly. I think we might have a few left over.”
“Why?” Bob asked, his boyish brow crinkling.
“Grandpa says no teenage girls died and were buried during the time frame we're looking at.”
“Then where are those bones coming from?”
“I don't know. Maybe we can figure it out using the locations you've mapped.”
“I better get back to work. I've got thirty or more bags to mark on my map.
“Get Aaron and Matt to help you. The quicker we've mapped it out, the sooner we can figure out where those two adolescent skull pieces came from.”
He nodded and left my office.
Aaron and Matt were two of my other officers. They were also brothers, but as different as night and day. Matt was over six feet tall and three hundred pounds, meticulous and silent. Aaron, on the other hand, was barely five feet tall, skinny as a rail, sloppy in his police procedures, and never shut up. We often sent them out together because Aaron dealt better with people and Matt with evidence. Together they made the perfect officer.
When Bob left my office, I called Simon in Parsonville and told him what Grandpa had said.
“He's right. After Dr. Cain told me the skulls belonged to teenage girls, I went through our files. We have no missing girls for that time, either.”
“I know that last time they just bagged the bones and gave each family a bag, but that doesn't feel right to me. Besides, I've got to know if we're dealing with just two dead girls or more. I'll have all of the bones sent to you. Have Dr. Cain match them up to the list Bob is compiling on the three family plots we think some of the bones may have come from. We'll fax you Bob's list. And then we'll deal with the extras.”
“That's going to be expensive, Connie.”
“I know and the city council will have a fit, but I need to know what I'm dealing with.”
“Okay, Connie.”
After I hung up, I took several aspirin and waited for the Jackal's note. There was no way I would get involved in that case again. I had my own problems.
Chapter 10
A few minutes later, Bob stuck his head in. “Your friend is back.”
“Thanks, show him in.”
Bob stepped aside and let John into my office. He was dressed in his usual tailored suit, but the smile he normally wore, was absent. “Hi, Connie.”
“How the hell did Matthew get this note to you so fast?” I asked.
“He chartered a plane and had it sent right away. He didn’t want to wait until morning.”
“Just give me the note.” I stuck my hand out, tried to keep the annoyance from showing but it seethed right under the surface of my calm exterior. “I really don't have time to deal with your investigation right now.”
“No choice, Connie. If there was any way to keep you out of this, Matthew would have found it.” John set his briefcase on my desk and opened it.
“I know. He's afraid that being involved will make my panic attacks come back.”
“Won't they?”
“Who knows? Just give me the damn note,” my voice spit out the last two words.
John raised his eyebrows in response to my harsh tone. I pushed a smile through my aggravation.
The outside of the envelope was typed, like the last:
To Connie Davenport, FBI
I raised my eyebrows. “He doesn't know I'm no longer FBI?”
“I guess not.”
I slid a letter opener into the envelope, sliced it open and drew out another typed note, longer than the last.
Connie,
I miss you chasing me. There is always something about the one that got away, isn't there? Come to Riverbend, Oregon. If you don't, I'll go someplace else and set my number at ten.
The Jackal
My stomach took a dive with the last statement. This was the last thing I needed, but the Jackal wouldn't let me go. I was backed into a corner, with no chance for escape. The anxiety started to swell, my pulse raced and I took deliberate shallow breaths, concentrated and tried to push away the attack. None of the techniques I learned at the hospital were working. In a couple of seconds, I would be in the middle of a full scale panic attack. There was only one quick way to squelch it but, damn it, I didn't want to use it. I would be mad at myself later for using him as a crutch, but I didn't have a choice. I closed my eyes and saw William's face. Just like throwing a light switch, my entire body returned to normal immediately. I opened my eyes and handed the note to John.
He read it, his eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?”
I smiled, “I'm fine.”
“How soon can you be ready to go to Riverbend?”
“Give me a few hours.”
“Okay. I need to make some calls.”
“Use my desk. I need to talk to Bob and go home and pack. I'll be back as soon as I can.”
“Sorry, Connie.” His tone was warm and sincere.
“Yeah, me too.” I closed the door behind me to give John privacy for his calls.
Bob was busy logging and mapping the bag of bones. I told him I was leaving.
“Now? In the middle of the bone case?” His voice climbed in pitch with each truncated phrase.
“Yes. I'm leaving you in charge. Get the bones to Simon and call me when Dr. Cain from forensics figures them out.” I pulled my house key off the ring and handed it to him. “I'll set up Cheezy's automatic feeder and water dish, but would you look in on her a few times?”
“And make sure your place doesn't get trashed again?”
“Yes,” I nodded. I didn't think the teenage vandals would be back but I didn't want to come home to another mess.
He put his hand on my arm. “Are you sure you're ready to go back to the FBI?”
“As ready as I'll ever be.” I walked toward the door and then turned. “But I'll be back. I like being police chief.”
“I like you being chief, too.” The soft rolling pitch of his voice made it clear the compliment was genuine, but the glint in his eye was mixed with the apprehension I knew he felt.
“That's because you don't want the job.”
“That's for sure.” He smiled broadly.
At home I packed my bags and got out the feeder for Cheezy. It held enough food for three weeks. If we hadn't caught the Jackal by then, I could call Bob and have him reload it. I found Cheezy asleep on my bed. I sat next to her and petted her.
“Well, girl. I'm going back into the lion's den.” I reached up and rubbed the top of my scar. “I'm not sure I'm ready to face him again. I won last time, but what are the chances that I'll win again?”
She meowed.
“Yeah, you're right. I don't think I'm ready to face Matthew or William again, either. It was so much easier to just stay away.”
I picked up my bag, locked my house, and drove back into town.
When I pulled my car into the lot, John leaned on a rented Chevy Impala and talked with Bob. The two men shook hands and separated as I parked in my designated parking spot. It looked like some kind of male conspiracy - I was sure they had been talking about me. I took my bag out of the backseat and strolled toward them.
John took my bag and put it in the trunk.
Bob hugged me. “Be careful, Connie.”
The use of my first name was a little unnerving. Bob always called me Chief, not Connie. I patted him on the back, and said, “I'll be fine, Bob.”
