by Amy Cross
I hold my soda up. When she doesn't get the hint, I clink my bottle against hers.
“You know I'm right,” I mutter. “I always am. Don't you remember that about me?”
I can't help noticing that even though we're both so much older now, Ramsey hasn't really changed very much at all. She's still the same Ramsey I remember from school, and from those days playing in the park and the forest. When she texted me an hour ago, out of the blue, and told me she was in town, I guess I got a little worried that ten years was too long for our friendship to survive. I mean, when I came and met her, I might have ended up in this totally awkward encounter with a stranger. Five minutes here at the bench is already enough for me to know, however, that we have a bond for life. Best friends forever.
“So how long are you here for?” I ask.
She watches the far side of the bus station for a moment longer, seemingly lost in thought, before suddenly turning back to me.
“Oh, um...” She takes a long sip of soda, almost as if she's trying to buy herself some thinking time. “Just for the summer, I think,” she continues finally. “I just need some time to decompress after everything that happened at home. Well, I mean, everything that happened in New York. I guess, deep down, I still think of Deal as home. I mean, it's complicated, right?”
“Damn straight,” I reply, before taking a big bite of my sandwich. “It's gonna be so cool if you hang around for the whole summer, Ramsey. I don't want to sound like I'm sucking up, but honestly, it wasn't the same after you left. So many people in this town are just stuck, like they can't even think beyond the horizon. At least you've been around. You know there's more out there.”
“Sure,” she replies with a smile. “Totally.”
“You inspired me, you know,” I tell her.
“I did?”
“You got out of Deal, so I think maybe it's time for me to do the same.”
“I didn't really get out of Deal under my own steam,” she replies. “I was eight years old and my mom took me. I wasn't consulted or anything.”
“You know what I mean. It doesn't matter how you get out, it just matters that you do. And you did!”
“And now I'm back!” she points out wryly.
“Just for a visit, though, yeah?”
She nods.
“Maybe when you go,” I continue, “I'll go too. We can blow this joint together.”
“Why would you want to do that?” she asks, and now she actually looks worried.
“Because the world's bigger than one stinking little town! That's why! I mean, look around. Most people who are born here... They just spend their whole lives rotting away on these streets, and then they die and end up buried in the Mount Street cemetery. Half the people we went to school with are doing crumby, dead-end jobs that they'll be stuck in until the day they die. I don't want that. I want to get out of town, like you.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” she mutters, taking another sip of soda.
“But it's amazing, right?”
“What is?”
“Everywhere else! The world!”
I wait for her to tell me about all the cool things she did while she was in New York. She's so lucky that her mom took her away from Deal when she was just a little girl. Frankly, I can't even believe that she ever wanted to come back and visit. I mean, I'm glad she showed up again, because she was my best friend back then and she blatantly still is, but I'm super-surprised.
“It's different,” she admits finally, almost as if she's holding back. “At least Deal is safe. It's got that going for it. In New York, you have to be careful which streets you go down, and which subway car you get into. In Deal, you know that – most of the time – everything's going to be safe.”
“Yeah, safe,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “In other words, boring.”
“There's a lot to be said for being safe and boring. You shouldn't knock it.”
“Anyway, Deal isn't always safe,” I continue. “Like I said, Tommy Hague got murdered. It wasn't long after you and your mom left town, actually.”
She nods. “I remember. I heard about it on the news. I guess I was too young to really understand at the time.”
“I also heard,” I continue, “that since they never caught the person who did it, they think he might be a serial killer. And you know what that means. It means he'll do it again.”
Sighing, she leans back in her seat.
“It does!” I hiss, although I'm also starting to laugh now. “It totally does! A guy doesn't go out, kidnap a little kid and do horrendous stuff to him, and then just go home and get on with a normal life again! Maybe he's even killed again, but nobody knows 'cause the other bodies haven't been found! I mean, maybe there are still some out there, with blood and guts rotting in some shallow grave!”
“Are you sure you're not getting a little ahead of yourself?” she replies. “I know there are plenty of psychos out there, but I think you've got some seriously crossed wires.”
“Ask your dad about it,” I continue. “He'll tell you it's all true.”
She shakes her head.
“I bet he's glad you're back,” I add.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? Come on, he must be going crazy! I bet he's, like, doting over you!”
“I dunno,” she mutters, and now she seems to be avoiding looking directly at me. “I haven't exactly... I mean, I haven't necessarily been to see him yet.”
“Seriously? You came to meet me first, instead?”
“Sure.”
“I'm honored!” Reaching across the table, I grab her hand and give it a squeeze. “To be honest, I wasn't even sure you'd remember me! I mean, it's been a long time since we hung out.”
“Of course I remember you,” she replies. “Don't be stupid. We were, like, best friends.”
“Yeah, but I thought you'd meet loads of extra-cool people in New York, and then you'd forget about people like little old me who stayed in Deal.”
She shakes her head, and now she looks a little sad. “That's not quite how it works.”
“But he's waiting for you, right?” I ask, as I take another sip of soda.
“Who?”
“Your dad, dummy! What time is he expecting you home?”
“I'm sure he would be,” she replies, “if... I mean, if I'd told him I was coming.”
She stares down at her soda for a moment longer, before finally looking at me. I don't know if it's new, or if I just didn't notice it before, but suddenly she seems nervous. Scared, even. And sad.
“You haven't told your own father that you're in town?” I ask, unable to hide my sense of shock. I must be misunderstanding something.
“It's complicated.”
“How the hell is it complicated, Ramsey? When was the last time you even saw him, anyway?”
“A while back. Not since Mom and I left. She didn't want me to have anything to do with him.”
“Have you spoken to him on the phone?”
She shakes her head.
“Have you emailed?”
“There's been no contact.” She hesitates for a moment, as if there's something else she wants to say but she can't quite get the words out. “Birthday gifts in the mail, that's all.” She takes a moment to stir her soda with a straw, but it's clear that she's deep in thought. “Have you seen him around? Do you know how he's doing?”
“Of course I've seen him around,” I tell her. “He's, like, the local sheriff now.”
“He is?”
“You didn't know that? He's in charge of the police, he's totally popular.”
“Huh.” She seems genuinely surprised for a moment. Impressed, even. “Does he still...”
Her voice trails off.
“Does he still drink?” I ask, finishing the question for her. “I don't know. I think so. But I bet it's not as bad as it was before. I mean, it couldn't be, not if he's Sheriff James Kopperud. You can't do a job like that if you're the town drunk.”
She stares a
t me for a moment, before muttering something under her breath and shaking her head.
“What?” I ask.
“It doesn't matter.”
“You're gonna go see him, right?” I continue. “Ramsey, promise me you'll go see your dad later today.”
I wait for a reply, but something seems to be really troubling her.
“Ramsey, seriously.” I reach over to grab her hand again. “Where are you even gonna sleep tonight, if you don't go to your dad's house? Why wouldn't you be -”
“Let's go to Devil's Lookout,” she says suddenly, getting to her feet. “Come on! I wanna go out to the forest!”
“Huh? Ramsey, why would -”
“It's been years,” she continues, forcing a smile that really doesn't seem genuine. “Leanne, please, can we just go to Devil's Lookout? I wanna see if it's the same as it always was, or if it's changed. Please, it's where we always had the most fun when we were little, and I've really missed being out in the forest. Don't argue with me, don't ask me questions, just come out there with me!”
I stare at her, and I can't help feeling that something's really wrong. She's deflecting like crazy.
“Come on,” she adds, leaving her soda behind as she turns and heads toward the exit.
“Wait up!” I shout, getting to my feet and hurrying after her. I catch her just as she goes through the door, and for a moment the bright morning sunlight almost blinds me. “Ramsey, Devil's Lookout is boring,” I continue, trying not to sound too much like I'm whining. “The rest of us stopped going there, like, years ago. It's just a big old empty forest!”
“So? I wanna go. Come on!”
With that, she hurries along the sidewalk, leaving me standing alone for a moment. Finally, realizing that I'll just have to find some other way to figure out what's bugging her, I hurry to catch up. She might be the same Ramsey I remember from when we were kids, but I'm starting to think there's something she's keeping hidden. And what she is telling me, so far, doesn't quite seem to fit together in a way that makes sense.
“It'll be fun,” she says with a forced smile, as she leads me marching across the street.
Two
Sheriff James Kopperud
The pain is intense, rippling up through my belly and into my chest. It feels as if somehow my liver is expanding and pressing against my lungs and heart, and my hands are tingling as I frantically unscrew the bottle of pills.
And my radio is crackling. Of course it is. The guys are waiting for me at the scene.
Once I've swallowed two of the little orange lozenges and chased them down with a swig of water, I lean back in the driver's seat and wait for the pain to subside. These pills are damn-near miracles, but they still take a little while to work their magic, so for now I just have to bite my tongue and try not to cry out. After just a couple of seconds, however, I gasp and lean forward, leaning against the wheel as I feel something gnawing its way through my gut.
It'll pass. It always passes. I've been dealing with this crap for a while now. I can deal with it for a while longer. I'm not giving in to this thing. Not yet.
***
“Tom Lanston called it in,” Hinch says a short while later as he lifts the cordon tape for me to duck under. “He was out looking for his dog Keanu early this morning. Keanu'd dug his way out of the yard, on account of Mrs. Collins' dog being on heat is what he assumed, but it was okay 'cause Tom had a GPS tracker on Keanu's collar. Anyway, he tracked him down to right here, and he noticed Keanu seemed to be interested in something around one of the trees. He kept calling the dog away, but it wouldn't budge until suddenly it ran off again. Dogs, huh? Anyway, Tom came closer to take a look and... Well, that's when he saw this and called us. The poor guy was still white as a sheet when I arrived.”
We walk in silence for a moment, making our way across the damp, leafy forest floor. I can already see the seven buckets ahead, with various officers taking photos. I feel an immediate tightening sense of nausea in my chest, which is the last thing I need on a day when the pain in my gut is so bad, but at least the pills have started working. Just as I start to think that I can handle this, however, I hear a faint buzzing sound, and I realize there are hundreds of flies buzzing in the air up ahead.
“We think the remains had been out here for two or three days,” Hinch continues. “Doctor Shaw'll give us a better idea as soon as the autopsy's been done, and obviously it'll help once the victim has been identified.”
Stopping at the first bucket, I look down and see that it's full of glistening red intestines. There's blood caked all around the bucket's metal edges, and spatters too. I'm guessing the killer dropped his victim's guts in, rather than laying them gently. I don't know why that even matters to me, but somehow it does. I guess maybe because dropping them in seems casual, almost sloppy, like he was dealing with the remains of some butchered animal. If he has to kill these girls, he could at least treat their remains with a shred of respect.
“Did you ever see anything like it in all your life?” Hinch asks nervously. “I mean, it's...”
His voice trails off for a moment.
“No,” I say finally. “No, I've never seen anything like this. Not ever.”
I step over to the next two buckets, which contain the arms and lower parts of the legs. No doubt the upper legs and sections of the chest will be in the remaining buckets. It looks as if the girl's entire body has been chopped up and distributed across the buckets, and there are already flies crawling all over the pale flesh. There are no words to describe how much I need whiskey right now.
“Where's the head?” I ask finally.
“In that one, at the far end.”
I make my way over to take a look. When I stop and peer down at the final bucket, I see a mass of matted, blood-stained dark hair. The features are out of view, facing down toward the bottom of the bucket, which means I can see the gnarled stump of the neck with a section of spinal column poking through the middle. The way the head is tilted means I can see the cut pretty well, and it's clear that the head was severed smoothly. I'm guessing there was one quick blow, so the killer probably used something like an ax.
“Did anybody take a proper look at the head yet?” I ask.
“Yes, Sir,” Hinch replies.
I keep my eyes fixed on the severed neck. “And?”
“Nobody we recognize so far. Do you want to see for yourself?”
I open my mouth to tell him it's fine, but deep down I know I should just get this over with. Hiding from the horrors of the world is never a good idea, because the horrors always come and seek you out. And then you end up like me.
“Sure,” I mutter.
I wait as he steps around me, and then he reaches in with two plastic-gloved hands and gently takes hold of the head's sides. He lifts it gently out of the bucket, revealing a bloodied face with two wide-open staring eyes. Somehow it's the eyes that get me, even though they're looking over toward the trees. I don't recognize the girl so far, but I've learned over the years that sometimes people can look a lot different when they're dead compared to when they're alive. The muscles on a dead face hang differently, and even a subtle change can catch a guy out.
“Recognize her?” Hinch asks after a moment.
I stare at the head for a moment longer, before reaching out and gently pulling strands of hair away from her face. Some of the strands are stuck to dried blood on her cheeks, but I pull them clear anyway. Even now, there's too much dirt and blood all over her face for me to really get a proper look at her.
“We need a timeline,” I say finally. “We need to figure out what happened to her, and where, and put it all in order.”
“Absolutely.”
“A timeline's always the first thing you need to get straight in a case like this. Once you've got events in order, even just a few, you can start filling in the gaps.”
“Okay. Timeline it is.”
“And we need to know her name,” I continue, “because somebody out there is missing.
This girl can't have been much older than her mid to late teens. She has parents, and friends, maybe even a boyfriend. If she's really been out here for up to three days, somebody should have started wondering where she is. Do we have any missing persons reports filed?”
“I don't think so, no.”
“Check again, just in case. I guess there's a chance she might have just been passing through, but she seems a little young for a drifter. Somebody somewhere has to be missing her.”
“I heard a car backfiring out here the other night.”
I turn to him.
“I was out in town,” he continues, “and I remember pretty late, I heard a car backfiring really, really loud. I remember thinking at the time that it was odd that anyone was in the forest at all. In fact, come to think of it, the sound was so loud, I reckon it might have been a big truck. Do you think that could have anything to do with the body?”
“Make a note and ask around,” I reply. “Add it to the timeline.”
He nods.
“And you can put the head back in the bucket now, Hinch,” I add. “I've seen enough.”
Nearby, Bob and Lewis are taking photos of the other buckets' grizzly contents, although I'm sure they've got all the pictures they really need by now. The smell is pretty foul and sweet, so I take a step back and swat more flies away. I've never liked this forest much, and I've always kind of figured that one day something nasty would turn up out here. But never in my life did it occur to me that something so horrific could happen so close to our little town.
“Devil's Lookout is pretty popular with dog-walkers and plenty of other people,” I mutter, turning and heading away from the buckets as a forensics team moves in. “Then again, it's also a huge forest, so a bunch of buckets like that could easily be missed, at least for a while.”
“So do you think there are more out here?” Hinch asks, hurrying after me.
“I hope not.”
“Do you think we should search the area?”
“Check for footprints and vehicle marks.”
