Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  "You know him?"

  Lacy nodded as she returned to her desk chair. “Moved to Dot about six months ago. Keeps to himself for the most part—rather shy—very polite. Hell, he never misses a Sunday service at the church when he's in town."

  "Doesn't surprise me."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Chief, if you were the monster, you'd have to live somewhere, right?"

  Lacy nodded.

  "And what kind of reputation would you try to establish with your neighbors?"

  "You have a point but I don't think I'd move to Dot. I'd go to a large city where I could be lost in anonymity."

  "I think there may be a very good reason for him to come to Dot. I believe he's staking out his next victim—Sandy Dollar."

  "Sandy?"

  "Think about it. Mrs. Dollar matches the general description of all the other women. She's attractive, middle-aged, married and wealthy."

  Lacy leaned forward and made a note on her pad. “Still, you really haven't given me anything to go on. What do you want me to do? Go up to Jerry Smith and tell him to drop his pants?"

  Dale smiled. “I am aware of that little problem, but the birthmark is icing on the cake—proof positive. It's the nipple collection that points the finger at Jerry Smith."

  "Nipple collection?"

  Stan wagged his head. “Wonder Woman here lost her temper before she got around to that minor piece of information."

  "Last night,” Dale said, “Stan and I broke into Smith's trailer. Under his bed, he has a dozen or more plastic boxes with nipples floating in, uh, formaldehyde or some other type of preservative. All the victims were mutilated this way."

  "You broke into his trailer?"

  Dale nodded.

  Lacy spun around to her computer, clicked and read, clicked and read, and clicked and read some more. “Ah,” she said at last.

  She turned back to her desk, picked up the telephone and punched in a number. “This is Lacy Cranfield, Chief of Police in Dot, North Carolina. I need to speak with Detective Mark Gilden. Better tell him I'm Lacy Spencer. He might not recognize my married name."

  Cranfield drummed her fingers on the desk impatiently. “Hey Mark. How's it going?"

  She paused.

  "Yeah, it has been a long time—about three years now. How's the wife and kiddies?"

  She listened as Dale and Stan exchanged glances.

  Lacy chuckled. “He may be an old fart, but he's good in bed and that's what counts. Listen, Mark, this isn't a social call. Roughly two years ago you investigated a double murder in Myrtle Beach. Both victims’ throats were cut. Family name was, uh, hold on.” She turned to the computer. “Masterson."

  She listened.

  "Yeah, from the report it looks like it was gruesome. The report says the female body was mutilated but gives no details."

  Dale and Stan watched Chief Cranfield's eyes narrow.

  "No clues at all?"

  Lacy again listened and scribbled additional notes on her pad.

  "Serial killer, huh? MO the same in all cases?"

  Again, Lacy wrote on her pad.

  "Yeah, I just might have a lead. I'll get back to you. Take care."

  Lacy hung up the telephone and looked at Dale. “Okay, Wonder Woman. You have my attention. Sorry I was so hardheaded. The thing is, I can't do a damn thing with the information you've given me. Your search of Smith's trailer was illegal. It won't stand up in court and I can't even get a search warrant based on your find."

  "So the bastard slips through the cracks,” Dale said. She turned to Stan. “What did I tell you?” She jumped to her feet. “Let's get out of here."

  "Sit down, damn it!” Lacy bellowed. She looked at Stan. “I think you need to take this hotheaded sexpot back to the motel and beat the anger out of her."

  "Is there a hospital in Dot?"

  Lacy chuckled. “We have a clinic, but I didn't mean for you to spank her that hard."

  "If I were to try a stunt like that it would be me in need of medical attention, not Dale."

  Lacy looked back at Dale. “Are you going to sit down, or what? You know, with a temper like you have, you should be a redhead."

  As Dale once again occupied the chair, she grinned. “I am a redhead. This brown hair comes from a bottle. Look, Chief Cranfield, I've wasted your time and now you're wasting mine."

  "Have you ever heard of a sting operation, Dale?"

  "I watch TV."

  "Do you think you can get Jerry Smith in bed? If you actually see his birthmark, that, coupled with your childhood testimony, should earn us a search warrant."

  "No way!” Stan protested.

  "Butt out, Stud. What's your plan?"

  "That's it. Eyewitness identifies perp. We get a warrant, search the trailer, submit the contents of those containers to the crime lab and send Mr. Smith to prison or the gas chamber."

  Stan shook his head furiously. “It's too dangerous. Besides, Dale is a virgin. Her first time should be with someone she loves."

  As Lacy raised her eyebrows, Dale lowered hers. “For the last time, damn it, butt out!"

  "There has to be another way,” Stan argued.

  "Maybe,” Lacy said, “but we'll need the help of the woman who sent you the email message."

  "That's a dead-end street. She called herself Sucker, so I don't know her name and she used one of those free email addresses anyone can get. When I tried to reply to her message, my email bounced. She'd already closed the account."

  "You have a copy of the email or the address she used?"

  Dale nodded. “I have a hard copy and I haven't deleted it from my laptop, but what good will that do?"

  "Bring me the paper copy. The company that issued the email address may still have her registration records. I'll put the squeeze on them and we'll see what develops.” Lacy stood, announcing the end of the interview.

  "Doesn't sound like much of a plan to me,” Stan said, getting to his feet.

  "My husband is a damn good detective with the Sheriff's Department and his best friend owns a Detective agency here in Dot. I'll run all this by them tonight and see if they have any brilliant ideas."

  As Dale and Stan started for the office door, Lacy softly said, “Dale, I know you came to Dot to kill Jerry Smith. If you do, you'll be no better than he is."

  "I didn't say anything about killing him."

  "How stupid do you think I am, girl?"

  Chapter Three

  "Without doubt, this is the best sandwich I've ever eaten,” Stan said. “Want another?"

  Dale nodded while chewing her last bite. “Make it two. Mom's barbecue is fantastic."

  Stan slid out of the booth. “Need another Pepsi?"

  "May as well. Hey, Stud, don't take all day coming on to that green-eyed cutie."

  He grinned. “She's wearing a wedding band but the brunette's not."

  "She's too old for you."

  Dale balled up the waxed paper in which her sandwich had been wrapped, did the same to his and tidied up the table. When he returned, she gnawed off a large bite and closed her eyes as she chewed. She washed it down with the remains of her first Pepsi and looked at the clear, empty bottle. “I didn't know these things still come in bottles,” she commented.

  Stan swallowed, peeled back the wrapper of his sandwich and nodded. “Me either. It adds to the old-timey decor."

  "I know it's my imagination but the cola seems to taste better coming from a glass bottle."

  "It may not be imagination. I seem to remember reading that they can add more carbonation to a bottle than to a metal or plastic container."

  "If I were searching for a business interest, I'd look into a franchise of Mom's barbecue."

  "If I don't go back into the service, I am in the market for some kind of business venture."

  "I thought you were loaded."

  "The settlement was good, but not that good."

  "Looking for a financial backer?"

  He reached for her hand
. “Thanks."

  "Hey,” she said, pulling her hand away. “I asked a question. I didn't make you an offer."

  "That's not what I'm thanking you for."

  "What then?"

  "It's the first time you've indicated any thought for the future."

  She gazed at Stan several seconds before replying. “You're right. Until you twisted my arm, I thought my life would end after the monster got his just rewards."

  "That would be such a waste."

  She smiled, bit into the sandwich and, with her mouth full, said, “Thank you."

  They finished their meal without further conversation. As Stan paid the bill, Dale asked the green-eyed woman if the telephones in the rooms ran through a central switchboard and learned that they did not.

  "What was that all about?” Stan asked as they made their way through the general store.

  "I'm going to plug my laptop into the telephone jack in my room and put a plea on all the bulletin boards and chat rooms for Sucker to contact me again."

  "All of them?"

  "I have no idea which of my posts grabbed Sucker's attention. I want you to take the hardcopy from Sucker to Chief Cranfield. You may as well go to a movie or something. This is going to take me all afternoon."

  He chuckled. “I doubt if Dot has a movie theatre."

  "Hey, there's another business opportunity."

  "I think I'll take my dirty clothes and find a launderette."

  She fished the room key from her pocket. “You know how to do laundry—separate the whites from the colors—use cold water for some things and warm water for others?"

  "I've had a little experience along those lines."

  "In that case, I have some things you can launder for me."

  He held the door for her. “As long as you don't include unmentionables."

  "You're kidding."

  "We wouldn't want your panties and my boxers cohabiting, now would we?"

  "Speak for yourself, Stud. My panties would love to be wrapped around your boxers. By the way,” she said as she snapped on the light, “I was joking about being a virgin and I don't appreciate you blurting out personal comments I make to total strangers."

  "Sorry."

  As she gathered her dirty clothes, Stan asked, “What are you going to say in your Internet posts?"

  "I'll address my messages to Sucker. I'll tell her that I must speak with her again—that it's a matter of life and death. I'll post my email address and let her know I'm staying in room 7 at Dad's Place motel."

  "Why not include you room telephone number?"

  She shook her head at him. “Stud, there are thousands of crazies out there in cyberspace. If I post the telephone number, half of them will call. Sucker lives in Dot. If she sees my message, she'll recognize Dad's Place, look up the number and call. At least, that's what I'm hoping."

  Stan dropped off the printed email message from Sucker at the Police Department and, learning that there was no launderette in Dot, headed for Charlotte. With mission accomplished, he returned to Dot, but it was still early in the afternoon.

  On a whim, he decided to browse the Dot Discount House. He found it to be a miniature, junky imitation of Wal-Mart. Since he just washed her clothes, he knew Dale's size and a display of colorful bits of cloth in the women's clothing section caught his attention. He examined the packages of thong panties and, as a joke, selected a three-pack of skimpy red underwear.

  He went directly to the men's section, picked up a package of jockey shorts and headed for the checkout counter.

  The gray-haired clerk held up the package of panties and shouted at the customer he'd just checked out. “Hey, Chris. I'll bet you'd look great wearing these."

  The pretty little blond blushed. “You'll have to forgive Thad. He's our resident dirty old man."

  The clerk chuckled. “I may be old but if I'm dirty, you're welcome to shower with me any time you like, you little doll."

  "Pay him no attention,” the woman said, extending her dainty hand to Stan. “I'm Chris Norway."

  "She's the associate pastor up at the Baptist Church,” the clerk offered.

  Her hand disappeared in Stan's. “Stan Steamer,” he said. “I don't think I've ever met a lady preacher before."

  "Mack McGee won't let her preach. He's afraid of losing his job."

  Chris smiled. “I work mostly with children and the Sunday school. Are you a new resident of Dot?"

  "No ma'am,” Stan replied, reluctantly releasing her tiny hand. “Dale and I are just passing through. I don't imagine we'll be here long."

  "Dale is your wife?"

  "No ma'am. We're just friends, though I confess I have thought of changing her name from Ryder to Steamer."

  "Your friend's name is Dale Ryder?"

  "I swear, Chris, you look like you just saw a ghost,” the clerk said.

  Chris took a backward step. “The name sounds familiar,” she said softly.

  "She's from some place in Georgia—Lenox, I think."

  Chris backed up another step. “I ... I've never been to Georgia. Uh, Mr. Steamer, please excuse me. I'm late for an appointment. If you're still in Dot on Sunday, Sunday school is at 9:45 and the worship service begins at 11:00."

  Stan handed the clerk his credit card and, as he signed the receipt, the clerk said, “Finest woman God ever created. It's a shame though. Such a beautiful little thing and never married. She doesn't even date. Pure as the driven snow. Hell, I'll bet she don't even know how to masturbate. The man she lets teach her is one lucky bastard."

  Stan dropped the two packages of underwear into the plastic basket he also purchased and returned to his motel room. He neatly folded Dale's things and carefully placed them in the basket along with the package of panties. He folded and put away his own clothes and tried on a pair of the new shorts. He sighed at the unexpected relief the jockey shorts provided. The woman knows more about male comfort than I do, he thought. Oh, well ... I can use the boxers to sleep in.

  He carried the basket to Dale's room, knocked and opened the door. Her laptop was perched on top of the little desk, it's screen glowing. Dale was curled up on the bed, fast asleep.

  He placed the basket on the floor and watched her even breathing for a few minutes. Finally, he gently kissed her cheek and whispered, “You didn't get much sleep last night either, did you Wonder Woman?"

  He returned to his own room, stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. I'll just rest for a few minutes, he promised himself.

  "Wake up, Sleepy Head."

  "Oh, my God,” he moaned. She stood beside the bed dressed only in red thong panties. “My God, Dale. You're so beautiful. Your breasts, your tummy, your..."

  "I like the new panties,” she said. “What do you think?"

  He grinned. “I think you need to trim your ... you know."

  She giggled. “I told you I'm a redhead. Check out the rear view."

  Her buttocks were small, rounded and snow white. He wanted to touch the few freckles on each cheek.

  "The strap running down my crack is a little uncomfortable, but I'll get used to it.” She again faced him. “I saw yours this morning. Now it's your turn."

  He slipped out of the bed and onto his knees. With trembling hands, he reached for the tiny waistband.

  "Wake up, Sleepy Head, damn it! I'm hungry."

  He sat up with a start. She stood beside the bed dressed in jeans and a loose fitting knit shirt. He began to laugh.

  "Do I have spinach in my teeth?"

  He shook his head. “I was dreaming about you."

  "Was I good?"

  "I was about to find out when you woke me."

  "Sorry about that. Get your swimming trunks and let's go."

  "Maybe I'm still dreaming. Swimming trunks?"

  "You remember the hostess mentioning the Dollars’ Playground last night? Well, according to the flyer in my room, they have a big pool and I want to try it out. Unless, of course, Mr. Smith has come home."

  "I do
n't think he has,” Stan said, getting to his feet. “I drove by there on my way back this afternoon. There was a heavyset older lady pulling mail from his box."

  "Did you talk with her?"

  "I told her I was an old friend of Jerry's. She said he was out of town until the middle of next week. She promised to take in his mail, but forgot."

  "Shit!"

  "Quit worrying, Dale. The bastard is as good as behind bars."

  "I'm worrying about who he may be planning to murder tonight."

  Stan was surprised that she let him fold her into his arms. He stroked her hair and kissed her ear. “I like your idea of relaxing by the pool, Dale, but I don't have a pair of trunks. Maybe the Discount House stocks them. What time is it?"

  "About seven,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

  On the way to the Korner Kafe, they drove by J. Smith's trailer. There were no signs of life. The only trunks the Discount House stocked in Stan's size were multicolored with ballooning legs. He purchased the most conservative design he could find.

  "You'll make some lucky girl a fine househusband,” she said as they waited to be served.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "My clothes are not only clean but also smell good and you folded everything so neatly."

  "The Navy teaches more than just how to swab a deck. How did the Internet thing go?"

  "Before I finished posting, the kooks began answering. I just hope Sucker sees one of my messages and responds."

  "And if she doesn't?"

  "I'll post again."

  "Umm. Smells good,” Stan complimented as the teenage waitress rather clumsily unloaded their roast beef dinners.

  "Do you always order chocolate pie?” Dale asked.

  "No, because not all restaurants offer it."

  "That slice is too big. I don't want gobs of fat hiding your gorgeous muscles. I'm going to eat half."

  "Dale, shortly after we met, I told you my story but you refused to reciprocate."

  "My, such a big word."

  "As I said, the Navy..."

  "...teaches more than how to swab a deck."

  They both chuckled. “You know everything about me that is worth telling,” she said.

  "Where is home? What are your interests? What are your plans for the future when this ordeal is over?"

  "In reverse order, I have no plans for the future. That's something I need to think about. My interests? Surely I have some, but nothing comes to mind. Home is just outside Lenox, Georgia—three rooms in a ten-room house in the middle of a pecan orchard. That's it. End of story."