by Tony Urban
“Jesus,” she said, wondering why he’d want to reconnect with her after all these years. And after what went down between them.
“Twice as handsome, but not half as decent,” Hank said, trying to sound cordial again. “Say, what’s it been? Ten years or so?”
“Yeah. Something like that.” But she had a feeling Hank knew exactly how long it had been. Probably down to the hour. She was shaken even though she wasn’t sure why. She’d done nothing wrong.
“Listen,” Hank said. “We need to talk.”
Her stomach soured. He’d been grinding his axe for over a decade and finally decided it was time to settle up. And just when she was starting to like life and tolerate people. Go figure. “I said everything I wanted to say to Internal Affairs.”
He grunted. “Why do you have to be like that?”
“Like what?”
“So damned uppity. I’d think you’d be a little more cordial considering what you put me through.”
It was Carolina’s turn to grunt. “What happened to your career was your own fault.”
“The hell it was. If you’d just kept your fat mouth shut, nothing would’ve come of it.”
Carolina’s knuckles went white as she gripped the phone so tightly that she thought it might snap in two. “You beat the shit out of a fourteen-year-old.”
“He ran from a crack house and didn’t stop when I ordered him to.”
“His mother was inside getting high. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just a scared kid and you outweighed him by a hundred pounds. For fuck’s sake, Hank, you put him in the ICU.”
Some of Hank’s self-righteous anger faded. “It was an error of judgement, I admit that.”
“An error that left a kid with permanent injuries,” Hank said.
“I lost my job. My pension. My house. Shit, even my wife turned her back on me. How much more do I have to lose before you get off my jock?”
Carolina wanted to rage, to tell him that what he’d done had affected her, too. How she’d been ostracized by most of their colleagues for years afterwards. But she wouldn’t allow herself to go back to that dark point in her life. Not now, when everything was finally turning for the better.
She counted to ten in her head before continuing. “Why are you calling me, Hank?”
There came a long pause. “I need your help.”
“What kind of help?” she asked.
On the other end of the line Hank blew his nose again. “I’d rather talk about it in person. Can you do me that much?”
She sunk into the worn canvas of the driver’s seat. The last thing she needed right now was a return to Baltimore with all its bad memories. “I haven’t been to Baltimore in years. I’m not going back.”
“Well, that’s fine because I’m not in Baltimore either. I’m in Ohio. Hopkins County.”
The place was vaguely familiar to her. It bordered West Virginia with only the Ohio River separating the two. From what she knew, it was so rural that cows outnumbered humans. “Why in the hell would you be there?” she asked.
“I’m the sheriff,” Hank said.
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. A shithead like Hank Kolazarek, after everything he did, somehow managed to keep working in law enforcement. And not as a campus cop or mall security, but as an elected sheriff? She shouldn’t be surprised, but she was.
“Is that a yes?” he asked.
She wanted to tell him to go to hell, to find someone else to free him from whatever hole he’d dug for himself. But she remembered everything she’d learned in rehab and therapy about forgiveness and grudges and moving on. Maybe this would help her, too. But she doubted it.
“Carolina?” he asked. “You hang up on me?”
She bit her lip, giving herself a moment to change her mind, then said, “I’ll call you when I get there.”
Chapter Six
Since she was already in Huntington when she got Hank’s call, the drive only took two hours. But between that and the morning jaunt to the restaurant, Carolina’s van was feeling its age.
Lately, the air conditioner had taken to blowing hot instead of cold. Some days a hard whack on the dashboard would remedy that. Today was not one of those days. So, she spent the entire trip with both front windows rolled down, wind whipping through her hair and turning it into a bird’s nest.
Oh well, it wasn’t like she needed - or wanted - to impress Hank Kolazarek.
Hopkins County was pretty much what she’d expected. Cows and cornfields with the occasional tobacco farm or puppy mill mixed in for flavor. But she was surprised, and a little distressed, to realize that it reminded her of a more successful version of Dupray. A Dupray where the mines hadn’t closed and left everyone unemployed and depressed.
In Hopkins, people actually strolled down the sidewalks. The businesses were open and appeared to be thriving. The homes were well-kept, if modest. It was a simple life but looked like a happy one. A Bizarro version of her hometown. And, while she enjoyed the bucolic sights, it also reinforced just how awful her home turf was. Awful and hopeless.
I really need to get out of Dupray, she thought for the millionth time. Of course, she’d done that once and it hadn’t stuck. Maybe the second time would be the charm. After all, she was starting anew. The world was her oyster.
All of those stupid, vapid clichés about ‘starting over now’ pertained to her life. If she didn’t take advantage of this second chance, she’d only have herself to blame.
After rolling through farm country, she came to the county seat where a freshly painted billboard greeted her. It featured cows and corn - big surprise - along with the US flag, the Ohio state flag, and a small collection of smiling faces that seemed to shout, ‘We’re good folks, really!’
WELCOME TO MILLPINE, it read in flowing script.
Millpine, she thought. What a stupid name for a town.
It was marginally larger than the villages through which she’d passed, but that was a low bar. There were two intersecting streets upon which every business and office resided. Offshoots with unoriginal names like Maple, Oak, and Elm held houses, many complete with white picket fences.
There was exactly one stoplight, and she suspected it turned into a blinker after six p.m. But the roads were paved and pothole free. The sidewalks smooth and level. The lawns mowed and lush. It was all so Hallmark-happy it made her want to puke.
Near the end of the main drag, she reached the sheriff’s station. It wasn’t large, just one story, but it had a fresh coat of paint on its stucco veneer. Two brand-new police cruisers, tires still carrying the factory shine, were parked out front. There were even flower boxes with cheery pink geraniums under the windows.
Carolina parked her van in front of Kipper’s Kloset, a quaint cottage that had been converted into a clothing boutique. Mannequins in the window sported various dresses and blouses and hats. Most had floral print and there wasn’t a scrap of black to be seen. Carolina would not be a customer.
When she stepped out, she noticed parking meters along the sidewalk. “Shit,” she muttered, digging through her pockets. She came across a few lint-ensconced gummy bears and a quarter. But when she tried putting the coin in the meter, it wouldn’t fit. It seemed the meters in Millpine only took dimes. Bastards.
She decided to be a scofflaw. If someone gave her a ticket, she’d shove it down Hank’s throat. After all, it wasn’t her idea to come here.
As she approached the sheriff’s station, she spied a man in a police uniform leaning against the corner of the building, sucking on a Marlboro. He stood in profile so she couldn’t make out his face, but his gray, receding hairline was obvious. He had scarecrow legs but a gut large enough to hold a medicine ball.
He raised one foot, ground out the cigarette on the sole, and dropped the butt into his pocket. Then he looked up, surveying the street with suspicious eyes. His face was haggard, and a salt and pepper beard grew patchy on his jawline.
That’s when she realized the man wa
s Hank Kolazarek.
He was a shadow of the cop she remembered. That man was so fit he could have stumbled into a gathering of triathletes and not looked out of place. The only wrinkles were some crow’s feet around his eyes and his hair had been shoe-polish black, thick, and slicked into a perfect side part.
This man was the epitome of gone to seed and for some reason, that shocked her even more than his phone call. Hank had always been so meticulous, so anal about his appearance and fitness, but now he looked thirty years older. Maybe his fall from grace had taken more of a toll on him than she’d suspected.
Of course, he’d still landed on his feet and had a cushy job as the sheriff of this nice little town, so she couldn’t feel too bad for him.
As she stood there, silently judging him, he spotted her. His hand immediately went to his thinning hair, brushing it forward as if to fool her into thinking he was still young and virile.
“Carolina McKay,” he said. While his tone was friendly, the smile he offered didn’t reach his tired blue eyes.
“Hello, Hank.” She hoped the smile she offered didn’t reveal how shocked she was at his transformation.
He strode to her and for a moment she was worried he was going to go in for a hug. Karen holding an envelope of cash was one thing, but Hank reeking of cigarettes and desperation was another. Luckily, he walked right past her and toward the passenger side of her van.
“You’re not inviting me into your office?” she asked.
“No. You hungry?”
She thought about the Kobe beef, but that was a few hours ago. “Always.”
“Good. You drive, I’ll buy.”
She wouldn’t argue with that.
Chapter Seven
Hank directed Carolina to drive a few blocks away, stopping before a small diner that held a twelve-foot-tall carafe on its roof. It was the kind of spectacle that would have been a tourist attraction in the 70s. Come to Millpine and see Ohio’s biggest coffee pot! The eatery itself was named, un-creatively, Carolina thought, The Coffee Pot.
Inside was a typical small-town diner. One wall was a mural of a 1950s-style scene showing girls in poodle skirts and guys in leather jackets cutting a rug while a jukebox threw out musical notes like thought bubbles. The other walls featured black-and-white photos of Millpine-past. Above the counter, painted in careful text, were a variety of coffee puns like Have a brew-ti-ful day and Better latte than never.
It matched the town in a too cute, trying too hard sort of way, Carolina thought. Or maybe she was just falling back into her cynicism. Maybe there was a reason she didn’t live in places like Millpine. Maybe that reason was because she hated them.
Hank made a beeline for the table near the wait station as if that were his designated sitting place. When the man slid into the chair, Carolina was certain the vinyl was contoured to his ass.
Before Carolina or Hank could exchange fake pleasantries, a waiter approached the table. He was young and tall with oily red hair and looked hungover.
“Rough night?” Carolina asked. Even if it had been a rough night, it was the middle of the afternoon now, but who was she to judge? She’d been in worse states at later times.
“Had better.” the waiter said, setting menus in front of them. “Can I start you two off with something to drink?” the waiter asked, followed with a cross between a burp and a hiccup.
“Two coffees,” Hank said, not bothering to meet the younger man’s eyes.
“No coffee for me,” Carolina interjected. “I’ll take a diet coke.”
The waiter nodded and left, and Hank stared at her quizzically. “What kind of cop doesn’t drink coffee?”
“The kind that’s not a cop anymore,” she answered, not wanting to delve into her own past with a fuck up like Hank Kolazarek.
Hank nodded, knowing. “I read about that. They run you out on a rail like they did me?”
“Not the same,” she said. “Not at all.” She flipped open the menu which seemed to consist entirely of breakfast foods and burgers. It all looked good to her. “What do you recommend?”
Hank shrugged, reaching for the sugars in anticipation of his brew. “Waffles and gravy’s my favorite. I get it so much, Babs, that’s the owner, she said she’s gonna name it after me.”
Carolina looked at him, examined him. He didn’t just look old, he looked beaten. Was it all from getting shit-canned in Baltimore or was there more to it? She wanted to know but felt that it went beyond whatever tenuous bond they shared. Instead, she decided to bust his balls.
“Tell me something. How does a crooked city cop end up as a small-town sheriff?”
He leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms over his big belly. The buttons on his uniform looked ready to explode under the pressure. Carolina clutched the menu, prepared to swat them back like horseflies if they popped off and flew her way.
Then he surprised her with a cocky grin. “You know what they say about bad pennies, right?”
“They stink and they’re worthless?” she said.
“That’s a little mean, McKay,” he said, not losing the grin.
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your rookie partner anymore.”
“Touchy,” he said, pulling a handkerchief that used to be white, but was now yellow with dried snot and phlegm, from his pocket. Embroidered in small script was HK, B.P.D. Carolina recognized it with a touch of horror.
“Is that the same snot rag you were using when we worked together?”
Hank nodded and blew his nose in a goose-like honking fashion, scrutinized the newly added contents to the material, then folded the cloth and set it on the table. “Can’t kick these damnable allergies.”
Carolina couldn’t stop staring at the abomination even when Hank resumed his half of the conversation.
“I grew up here. After you got me canned and my divorce was finalized, I decided to move back home. I wasn’t here more than four, five months when old Jim Marshall, he was a deputy, got the cancer and retired. They needed a replacement, so…” He held up his palms.
She lifted an eyebrow. “With your history?”
“Background checks only go so far when there are no actual criminal charges,” he clarified. “I held that position for a couple years, then decided to make a run for sheriff. Won by a landslide, I might add.”
“Bullshitting always was your best asset.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said.
“It wasn’t meant as one.”
He shrugged. “Even so.”
“So why am I here? What kind of help do you need?”
At the abrupt change of course Hank’s smile slipped off his face. He glanced around the restaurant, wary. Although nobody cared about the conversation they were involved in, he leaned closer over the table.
“A couple days ago, two of Hopkins’s ne’er-do-wells went into the woods hoping to bag a trophy buck. Out of season, mind you. Instead, they found four dead women.”
“No shit?” she asked. It seemed impossible in this pastoral paradise.
“Not even a turd.” Hank pulled out his iPhone and slid it across the table, checking once again that nobody was spying on them. Carolina examined the phone and caught the image on the screen, swiped right and saw another, and another, and another.
They were awful. Women torn to shreds. Body parts piled up, impossible to tell which pieces belonged to which victim. Torsos torn open. Organs missing.
“That’s…” She shook her head, pushing the phone back to him, at a rare loss for words.
“Yeah,” was all Hank said.
“Was it a bear attack or something?” she asked.
“I wish.” He dropped the phone back into his pocket. “Carolina, we have a serial killer problem, and Hopkins County is his hunting ground.”
She considered his words for a moment, trying to imagine how such carnage could be the work of a human being. She wondered which weapons must have been used. Axes? Machetes? Chainsaws? It was like a low-budge
t slasher flick come to life.
Still, she didn’t know how any of this pertained to her. “But what do you need from me?” she asked.
“I want you to help me catch him.”
She scoffed, unbelieving. “You’re a sheriff. You have an entire department at your disposal. Why me?”
Hank shook his head. “Carolina, I’ve worked with a lot of cops. Almost twenty years with Baltimore P.D. before you came along. And I saw more come and go than I could count. But you had the best nose of any of them.”
Carolina found herself flattered, but she resented caring about this man’s opinion of her. “Before today, your last words to me were along the lines of, ‘I’ll burn you to the ground, bitch.’ Are you really willing to let go of what went down between us?”
He took a long pause before responding. “I am if you are.”
He sounded sincere, but Carolina still wasn’t sure she wanted to buy what he was selling. “Forgive me for being skeptical, but why is this so important to you?”
“You mean aside from the four murdered women?”
“Yes, aside from that. Because I know you. You have a lot of qualities, but altruism isn’t one of them.”
He scratched at his nostrils which were chapped and raw. “The first woman disappeared a few weeks ago and my department hasn’t turned up a single lead. The people are getting frustrated. And now, since the bodies were found, there’s been a lot of talk.”
“Talk?”
“About removing me from office. As if I’m not trying my hardest, for fuck’s sake!” Then the anger in his voice shifted to worry. “I’m four years away from a county pension. I’m too old to start over again.”
And there was the Hank that she knew and remembered.
“What about your team here? Won’t they be pissed if I strut in there and start stepping on their toes?”
With a roll of his eyes, he went on. “We’ve had some retirements in the last year and I’m down to two deputies. O’Dell is almost seventy years old and can’t remember if the eggs he ate for breakfast were scrambled or dippy. And Leigh is so green she shits shamrocks. She hasn’t advanced beyond writing tickets for expired parking meters yet, and I doubt she will.”
