Murder at Black Lake

by Anne Patrick

  A redhead, seemingly in her forties, greeted Jamie with a smile as soon as she walked into the police department. "Can I help you?"

  "I have an appointment with Gage Hansen."

  The woman buzzed Gage on the intercom. "He'll be out in a minute."

  Jamie glanced at her nametag. "Thank you, Macy." She walked over to a row of chairs and started to pick up one of the assorted pamphlets. Voices coming down the hall drew her attention past the dispatcher's area.

  Gage walked toward her with another officer, similar in age, with dark brown hair and a matching mustache. The minute the man spotted her, Jamie was certain he knew who she was by the goofy grin on his face.

  "I was just on my way to come and get you." Gage motioned for her and she followed them into the first office. Gage's name was on the door. As soon as she entered, he closed it behind them. "You're not supposed to be driving yet."

  "You didn't say anything about picking me up, and I knew you were busy. Don't worry, I didn't run any stop signs or hit any pedestrians along the way."

  The other officer chuckled. Jamie, conscious of his stare, smiled at him.

  Gage elbowed him and the officer's cheeks took on a red tint.

  "I hope you don't mind, but I had to tell Derek."

  Jamie realized she had seen him before. "You were at my house Wednesday night."

  "Yes, ma'am." He offered his hand and she shook it. "It's a real honor to meet you."

  "Likewise. Thank you for keeping an eye on the house."

  "My pleasure."

  "Okay, you've met her," Gage said. "How about you get back to work now."

  "Yeah, okay." Still smiling, he walked to the door. He then turned and looked at Jamie. "Gage said you were renovating your house. I'd love to help tomorrow if you need an extra set of hands. I could bring steaks and afterwards we can have a cookout."

  "That sounds lovely. Only I'll provide the steaks."

  "Awesome. I'll see you in the morning."

  Jamie smiled as she watched him leave the room.

  "I thought you were on a diet," Gage commented.

  "Hey, I've lost three pounds since Wednesday. And I do love a grilled steak."

  He held the door open for her. "Are you always so friendly to men you just met?"

  "Not generally. He's a co-worker, and I'm guessing a friend of yours, and you must trust him if you told him who I was."

  "Yeah, Derek's a good guy. He'll keep his mouth shut."

  Jamie followed Gage down the corridor. A range of emotions filtered through her. Was this something she really wanted to do? Was she ready to read the details of that night? She was already having nightmares.

  Gage stopped and she nearly ran into him. "Go on in. I'll grab us something to drink."

  "You're staying?" She hadn't meant to sound so alarmed, but that's the way it came out.

  His head tilted slightly, his expressive green eyes never leaving hers. "Unless you don't want me to."

  Jamie thought about it. What if she couldn't handle it? What if she started crying? She didn't want him to witness that. But then she didn't want him to go either. "I'd like for you to stay."

  "I'll be right back."

  Jamie entered the small room. A metal table with two chairs sat in the middle, surrounded by stark cream-colored walls. The only windows were two square ones ten feet above the floor. An interrogation room, she deduced from the research she'd done in L.A. Her eyes rested on a large white box sitting on the table. RIEDEL was written in bold black letters, along with a series of numbers, and below them the word CLOSED.

  She had just removed the lid when Gage came in. "Diet soda or water?" he asked.

  "Soda," she answered, figuring he had gotten the water for himself. She sat in one of the chairs.

  Gage popped the tab and handed her the drink. "Where do you want to start?"

  "My statement, I guess." She barely remembered giving it at the hospital.

  He handed her a manila folder, then chose another for himself and sat beside her.

  She read over what Chief Franklin had written. 'The only memory the victim has of the assault is that the suspect was a man of undetermined height and weight, wearing dark clothing and a black ski mask and that he had a large buck knife. After reviewing the scene and all the evidence, I've determined that James Riedel was killed first. Judging by the force and depth of the wound to his throat, he died instantly. After James Riedel was murdered, the perpetrator then stabbed Jamie and carried her through the woods to the Jennings' cabin on Emerald Mountain. Jamie had defensive wounds on her arms and hands, indicating she fought the man. She has no recollection of it, though. Blood at the murder scene was matched to both James and Jamie. Foot castings not belonging to either victim were of a man's size eleven and a half.'

  Jamie shifted her gaze to her hands. The scars were no longer present. She did remember having the wounds in the hospital but didn't know how she had gotten them. How could she have fought with the killer and not remember?

  "You okay?" Gage asked.

  She nodded. "Can I see Dwight's statement?"

  He handed her the file he'd been reading. "Whenever you want to stop, just say so."

  Jamie read Dwight's version of that night: 'I was down by the boat dock fishing when I heard somebody screaming. I saw the campfire and ran there. I found Jamie lying next to Mr. Riedel. They both had blood all over them. I shook Jamie and she opened her eyes and looked at me. I was scared. I didn't know what to do. I saw people camping on the other side of the lake. I screamed but nobody came. Jamie was bleeding so bad. I didn't want her to die. I remembered Daddy's old cabin on the mountain. He used to take me there and we would go hunting. He had a first-aid kit. That's why I took Jamie there. My father taught me how to use the medicine and bandages in case I ever cut myself. I got water from the well and washed the cut on Jamie's tummy and put some medicine on it and wrapped it like Daddy showed me. I tried to call for help on Daddy's shortwave radio but no one would answer me. I was afraid Jamie was going to go to sleep and not wake up so I left the cabin to go get help. That's when the chief came. I didn't hurt Jamie or Mr. Riedel. They were already hurt when I found them.'

  The chief noted in the file that Dwight was extremely agitated. He was covered with blood that matched Jamie's. The cabin and surrounding area was searched for the murder weapon and the knife was found the following day in the well.

  Jamie stood and searched the box. At the bottom were two sealed plastic bags. One contained a brown handled buck knife, the other a pair of tan overalls with rust colored stains. She tossed the second bag on the table and looked at Gage. "This is not what the killer wore. That is the one thing I am sure of."

  She dropped back into her chair, staring at the overalls. "I testified in court that the man wore dark clothing. How could a jury disregard that? And where's the ski mask? Where are the shoes he wore . . . did Dwight even wear a size eleven and a half? And what about the blood on Dwight? How could he not have my father's blood on him, too, if he slit his throat?"

  Gage placed his hand on her arm. "Maybe we should take a break?"

  She ignored his suggestion. "Where are the crime scene photos?"

  "I removed them, along with the autopsy photos, and the clothing belonging to you and your father. You don't need to see those."

  She stood. Anger, confusion, bitterness, frustration—they all boiled to the surface. "This was a bad idea. I have more questions now than I did before I came in here." She clasped her fingers behind her head and pressed her arms against her temples. "There is so much of that night I don't remember. It's like my mind blocked it all out."

  Gage got up from his chair and leaned against the table, inches away from her. "Tell me what you do remember."

  She lowered her arms and folded them. "I remember him coming into our campsite. He was wearing dark clothing, not tan, and a black ski mask. And I remember he had a buck knife. That's it."

  "Did the man say anything?"

  "I don'
t know. I don't recall him stabbing me, either. I don't remember anything after I first saw him. It's like my mind just froze there. My next memory is waking up in the hospital."

  "You don't remember the cabin or Dwight Jennings?"

  Jamie shook her head as she looked at him. "You see, there's this huge gap and somehow I have to fill it."

  "You say you have nightmares. Tell me about them."

  "It's mostly sounds. You know like hoot owls, the snapping of branches, bullfrogs croaking. I'm scared. My heart is pounding. It feels like it's going to come right out of my chest. I see him come out of the darkness and into the light of the campfire. He has the knife, but instead of my father getting his throat slashed, it's me. I can't breathe. I—"

  "Okay." He stopped her. "So no real details other than the clothing and ski mask he wore?"

  "Sometimes the dreams begin with Dad and I talking and making S'mores. We tell jokes. We're laughing. Then I hear the snapping of branches. Dad disappears and I see the killer. It's always me who dies, though."

  "Jamie, I know this is hard for you, and I know you're probably not going to want to hear this, but oftentimes, a victim of a violent crime will never remember the event. They experience dissociative amnesia or repressed memory associated with the trauma. You may never know the entire truth of what really happened that night."

  "I can accept my not remembering what all happened on Wednesday when that guy attacked me. The doctor said that was due to the concussion. But I can't accept my not remembering what happened when Dad was murdered. I didn't have a head injury then."

  "All right, maybe you just need a little push. Come back and sit down and we'll try an exercise that may jog your memory."

  They sat back down at the table and Jamie took a drink of her soda. "Why don't we begin with earlier in the evening," Gage suggested in a soothing voice. "It was a Friday night, right?"

  "Yes. Dad left work early. We had planned to leave for the lake as soon as Mom got home. Only she called an hour or so before she was supposed to leave work and said she wasn't going with us. She said she had a migraine and that she might join us on Saturday. I remember this because Dad got mad and ended up hanging up on her. It seemed like Mom was always canceling plans, saying she had a migraine when in fact all she wanted to do was stay home and drink." Jamie paused and took another sip of her soda. Gage knew almost everything there was to know about her crappy home life, but it was still unsettling rehashing it.

  "Just take your time. We've got all morning. If you want to stop, that's fine too."

  Jamie appreciated his sensitivity. She always had. That's why she had always found it so easy to confide in him. She didn't want to waste his time, though. Expelling a deep breath, she continued. "It was probably around five when we got to the lake. We fished for a while, then put up the tent and gathered wood."

  "Did you catch any fish?"

  She smiled at his attempt to lighten the moment. "I did, actually. A bass. It wasn't big enough to keep, though. Dad caught two, but since neither of us wanted to clean them, he released them. We had hotdogs and pork n' beans for dinner." Even the benign details weren't easy to talk about because these were the last memories she had of her father.

  "What'd you guys talk about? You mentioned earlier you told jokes and laughed a lot."

  "I don't remember. He told most of them, so they were probably pretty lame."

  Gage's smile comforted her.

  "We talked about softball. School. What the future might bring. He was making a valiant effort to reconnect with me. We had sort of drifted apart; we weren't as close as we were when I was younger. I know his career was important to him and it was time-consuming, but I also knew he didn't like coming home because when he did, Mom would always pick a fight with him. I think she wanted everyone to be as miserable as she was."

  "Why do you think your mom was so unhappy?"

  "I don't know. She'd been that way for a long time."

  "Had they ever discussed divorce?"

  Jamie gave a dry chuckle. "That would've been too easy. Honestly, I wish they had. I think we would've all been happier. Whether they ever considered it, I don't know. I do remember Dad trying to talk her into going to family counseling. He wanted her to get help with her drinking."

  "I remember you telling me about that. She refused to go."

  "That's putting it mildly. It was like world war three. One of the worse fights I can recall. That was the time Dad dropped me off at your house, and I didn't see either of them for three days." It wasn't the first time she'd been dumped on the Hansen's. That weekend in particular was memorable because it was when Jamie received her first kiss. She snickered at how bashful Carter had been.

  "What?"

  "Nothing." Jamie blew out a long breath and decided to get back on track. "Before it got dark that night, we gathered more wood. Then we made S'mores. I remember it was kind of spooky because we were camped in the wilderness area, and the only other campers were on the other side of the lake." She looked at Gage. "You know, the spot where our folks would let us camp sometimes."

  "We had a lot of good times there."

  "Yeah, we did." Now those memories were spoiled. "It was late, probably close to midnight. I kept hearing crackling sounds, like someone walking on dead branches or twigs. Dad said it was just deer going down to the lake for a drink of water. Our campsite was lit up pretty well because of the fire. I was facing my dad. Then I saw something move behind him. At first I thought it was a bear because it was like this big, black blob. When he stepped into the light, and I realized it was a man wearing a mask, I screamed. Dad jumped to his feet." The memory came to an abrupt stop.

  Jamie dragged in another deep breath. Her eyes began to fill with tears. Why couldn't she remember past that point? She got up from the chair, turned her back to Gage, and wiped her eyes.

  Gage's chair scraped across the tiled floor, and it was just a moment before he placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Why don't we take a break? Get some fresh air."

  "It's no use, Gage. I can't remember."

  "Maybe you aren't meant to."

  "What do you mean?" She turned and met his gaze. His hand still rested on her shoulder. He was so close she could smell the Polo cologne he wore. Felt his warm breath on her face. Noticed his perfect, thin lips. And for a brief instant, completely forgot what they were talking about.

  "Maybe God knows you aren't ready. Jamie, you went through a very traumatic event. It's possible if you force yourself to remember it, it could have an adverse effect on your life. That's why our brains repress memories that are too painful for us to deal with at that moment."

  She stepped back, swallowed, and forced herself to breathe. "It's been fourteen years, Gage. I'm a much stronger person. I know what happened. I mean, I've read accounts of the murder. I know his throat was slashed. I know the monster plunged a knife into me and left me for dead. I just can't remember any of it."

  "Knowing what happened and being able to visualize it are two different things, Jamie. I don't think you're ready to experience the emotions and fear that you felt that night."

  "I have to. If I can't remember, I can't come to terms with it and put it behind me."

  "Well, just give yourself some more time. If it's meant to be, it'll happen."

  "You're right."

  "Of course I am," he teased. The corner of his mouth lifted, exposing his perfect, white teeth.

  Jamie moved back to the table. "Thanks for trying to help."

  "You can always depend on me, Jamie. That hasn't changed."

  Gage's declaration and the feelings he had roused in Jamie continued to lay heavy on her mind as she drove home. What in the world was wrong with her? She had just gotten out of a bad relationship. She had no business venturing toward another. That was even if he was interested, which, according to Mallory, he probably wasn't. Just as well. What possible good could come from starting something up with Gage? She would be leaving Jackson Ridge in
less than three months. Plus, she lived three states away. The fact she was attracted to him didn't mean squat. He was a good friend, though, and she needed more of those in her life.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Saturday morning, Jamie sat with Bonnie on the front porch having her first cup of coffee when the Hansens showed up ready to work. She got up from the step and greeted them. "I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you guys enough for helping me."

  "No need, sweetheart." Stella gave her a hug. "You're family."

  Jamie loved the sound of that. "There's coffee if you want some."

  "Don't mind if I do." Stella and Bonnie went inside just as a red jeep pulled down the drive.

  "Is that Derek?" Mallory asked.

  "Yeah," Gage answered. "He's giving us a hand today."

  "Good, he can help you with the picnic table. I need more coffee."

  Jamie smiled at her friend as she disappeared inside. "Picnic table?" she asked Gage.

  "Your housewarming present. It's drying on Mom's deck. It was supposed to be a surprise."

  Jamie wondered why he would give her a housewarming present when he knew she was only going to be here a couple of months. Since she didn't have a picnic table, though, she would gladly accept it.

  Derek parked next to Gage's blue truck and waved as he got out.

  "I'm surprised he didn't beat us here." Gage smiled at Jamie as he waved back. "Did you bring your pipe wrenches?"

  "Sure did." He pulled a large toolbox from the back of the jeep.

  Gage turned to Jamie. "Derek's a better plumber than me, so I'm going to let him tackle your kitchen sink."

  Despite Gage's teasing of the man, she suspected they were close friends. "Why do I get the feeling I'm not the only damsel in distress you two have helped."

  "Once a year, Gage and I help out on short-term mission trips here in the states and abroad."

  "You're kidding!"

  "You don’t have to sound so shocked."

  Jamie met Gage's injured expression. "No, it isn't that. I used to go on mission trips in high school and my first year of college."

  "Where to?" Gage asked.