by Tony Urban
“Mr. Eddows,” the reporter said. “Have you spoken with the police? Are they doing anything to help you?”
And then a bad situation got even worse.
Zack shook his head. “Not as far as I can tell. I spoke with the sheriff today and he wanted me to keep this private.”
He looked directly at the camera, as if he were addressing Hank himself. “There’s some maniac on the loose kidnapping and killing women, and the sheriff wanted me to stay quiet. What kind of man does that?” He shook his head. “But I won’t stay quiet. I want everyone out there looking for my Katie. And I want them to know they better lock their doors and be careful, because you can’t count on the law in Hopkins County to keep you safe anymore.”
Hank’s skin went from red to nuclear. He hurled the remote across the room, into the TV. Upon impact, pieces of plastic and batteries went flying and the screen went blank, although the speakers rattled on.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Carolina rushed out of the sheriff’s station trying to keep pace with Hank who moved with surprising speed. Rage could be quite the motivator.
The sidewalk held onto the sun as the day was coming to an end and heat radiated from beneath her. “Hank, wait.”
He did not.
“Don’t go to that house. If you show up when that hack reporter’s still there…” She put her hand atop Hank’s as he was was pulling open the door. “No offense, but in your current mood you’ll only make it worse.”
Hank spun around to face Carolina. He was furious and seething, but Carolina saw something else behind all the rage.
Desperation.
He was lost. He was in over his head. He needed help and Carolina didn’t know what to do.
“He’s making it sound like I’m trying to cover something up!” Hank yelled. His voice cracked with emotion.
“It doesn’t matter,” Carolina said. “The story is out there now, and we have to deal with the fallout. The best way to do that is to keep working the case.”
Hank stood, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. Carolina could see that some of what she said had reached him. Yes, it sucked that the media was all over it, and it wasn’t fair of Zack to claim that Hank wasn’t doing his best. But Hank needed to stay focused. To put the case ahead of optics.
A white Cadillac pulled up to the station and made a screeching stop in front of a No Parking Any Time sign. A man in his sixties hopped out. He wore an ill-fitting, blue polyester suit, had a walrus of a mustache, and headed straight toward Hank.
At the sight of the man, Hank’s jaw clenched.
“Just who I was looking for,” the man said.
“How can I help you, Mayor?” Hank asked, his tone anything but genial.
Carolina sighed. Just when she was pulling Hank back in line, the mayor had to show up. She had no patience for bureaucratic bullshit, never had. And she had a feeling this was going to be the mother load.
“Carolina, this is Mayor Pernell Cobb. Mayor, this is Carolina McKay. She’s assisting my department with the murder investigation.”
Pernell looked at Carolina and gave an unimpressed nod. He spoke softly, but Carolina soon found out that the sound of his voice did not match the intent.
“How long have you been assisting?” Pernell asked, folding his arms, his hands almost getting lost in the too-long sleeves.
“Today is my second day,” Carolina said.
Pernell nodded. “Well, maybe it’s too soon for you.”
“Too soon?” Hank asked.
“Too soon to fire her. Maybe she can prove herself worthwhile. But you?” Pernell leaned in toward Hank, invading the man’s personal space. “I want your badge.”
Pernell held out his palm like a valet expecting a tip. Carolina thought Hank might haul off and punch him, but instead he settled on a knowing sneer. “I shouldn’t have to remind you of this, but you have no authority over me. A mayor can’t fire a sheriff in Ohio. The only way to get rid of me is if I resign, get impeached, or die. And I’m not expecting any of those three things to happen in the near future.”
“You think this is all a joke?” Pernell asked, full of indignation. “Four women dead and a fifth is missing? That might not raise an eyebrow in Baltimore, but around here we value human life. Each of these women are connected to the community here, they have families. They weren’t streetwalkers out peddling their asses in back alleys.”
Carolina cringed at the mayor’s attitude. She worked those streets in Baltimore, and while there was a plague of drugs and gangs and sex workers, there were plenty of upstanding citizens, too.
“If you think I don’t care about what’s happening, you’re even dumber than you look,” Hank said to the mayor. “This case is my life. It’s the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before my head hits the pillow. Shit, I fucking dream about it.”
“That doesn’t put my mind at ease,” Pernell said. “Thinking doesn’t accomplish anything. Doing does.”
“What do you want from me?” Hank asked.
“Bring in someone to help, because you’re clearly outmatched.”
“I have,” Hank said, tipping his head toward Carolina.
The mayor, unimpressed and unsatisfied, gave a tight, humorless smirk that stretched his thin lips across his dentures. “I’m talking about real help. As in the FBI,” Pernell said, pronouncing each letter like it was its own word. EFF BEE III.
He turned back to his Cadillac before Hank could respond but paused when he opened the door.
“It’s not just me, you know. Soon, the whole town will share my low opinion of you. And there will be nothing you can do to stop it,” Pernell said. “If you value your job and reputation, call in the feds and let them take charge.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Carolina found herself alone in the corner booth at the Broken Spoke, at the same spot where they’d questioned Ernie earlier. It was the perfect place to sulk and go unnoticed while she stuffed her face full of mediocre bar food.
After the day she had, she needed it.
She sucked down a Diet Coke and put the empty cup next to the shot glass on the table. The small glass was still full of whisky. She looked at it and debated on throwing it back, but it didn’t seem appealing. While booze had never been her vice, she hadn’t downed anything stronger than a light beer since her stint in rehab.
But she liked it sitting there. Reminding her that she was in control.
The drink was the only thing she was in control of. Staring at her hand slightly shaking on the table, she found herself thinking about Frijole and his brand of tonic. One transaction with him and she’d forget about the day’s drama.
Those self-destructive thoughts were replaced by the scent of food approaching her table. A waitress wearing a western-style, snap-up shirt carried a tray containing Carolina’s meal. A New York Strip, loaded baked potato, sautéed mushrooms, and a fresh Diet Coke. The waitress placed the tray in front of her and asked if there was anything else she needed. Carolina shook her head, dismissing her.
She cut into the meat, expecting a flood of juices, but it was dry and as gray as slate all the way through. That’s what she got for ordering steak at a dive bar. But she was hungry and carved off a bite.
Kobe beef it was not, but it would fill her belly, and right then, that was all that mattered.
As she ate, she attempted to push aside her worries. No more Mayor Porn-Stache insulting her abilities, no more Hank and his asshole ways, no more missing women and grieving spouses and crazed killers. Just bad food, diet soda, and annoying music rolling from the jukebox. Life wasn’t so bad.
Of course, that feeling didn’t last long. It never did. I am still Carolina McKay after all, she thought.
A group of yokels gathered around the bar top had been laughing raucously, but somewhere between the jukebox crooner losing his truck and losing his wife things turned sour. She couldn’t hear their words but saw it in their b
ody language. They were on edge, hyper, and looked to be itching for a fight.
She’d never witnessed a good, old-fashioned barroom brawl, but the prospect seemed downright appealing. She tried to block out the music and the din of bar talk and discern the words that were being exchanged. When she did, any hope of a simple drunken melee vanished like Katie Eddows.
“I’m fucking telling you,” one of the drunk men said, “that asshole is killing women in our woods. Right the fuck out there.” He pointed vaguely to the south as if Silver Gap was right outside the door.
“Glad to see they’re finally catching on,” Carolina muttered, sipping on her fresh soda.
The men were sloppy against the bar. None seemed able to stand up straight without leaning on the other, which in turn made that man need to lean on a different friend. It was like a drunken game of human dominos that refused to tip over.
“I’d like to find the fucker, make him regret ever stepping foot in Hopkins County,” another friend said.
The waitress put a few more drinks in front of the men, then headed Carolina’s way to check in.
“Anything else you need before I head out?” she asked, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. “If not, Stu’ll be around to clear your table and give you refills if you want ‘em.” She motioned to a bald and bearded man washing mugs behind the bar.
“Who are those guys?” Carolina asked, nodding toward the drunks.
She took a look and shook her head. “The sloppiest one is Fred Volchko. His buddies are Jay Upshaw and Larry Twombley. Don’t worry, they won’t bother you none.”
Carolina nodded. “If you say so.”
“They just like to puff their chests, you know? Make themselves feel important. Even in this condition I’d let them walk me to my car. Seriously, don’t worry.”
“Wasn’t worried about me,” Carolina said.
The waitress gave a mildly confused stare, then shrugged. “Okay then. You have a good night.”
“Yeah, sure,” Carolina said, her attention still on the drunks. She didn’t even see the waitress leave, only heard the steel door slam shut. Then she looked around and realized she was the only woman left in the building.
She still wasn’t scared. After all, the men were sloppy drunk and would bear all the clumsiness and stupidity that came from being in such a state. Plus, she was armed. But, she’d seen a time or two when a group of inebriated men could go from harmless to full of harm in short order.
Bartender Stu Teague turned the television up as the news report came on. It was too quiet to hear from Carolina’s spot in the bar, but she could see Katie Eddows's picture on the screen followed by a repeat of Zack’s tearful interview.
It fired the men up even more.
“Damned shame,” Fred, a short, stout man with heavy jowls and horseshoe baldness, slurred. “She works with my wife. You know that?”
Larry, the oldest of the group, spoke up. “Not anymore she don’t.” He had long gray hair that was braided and oddly effeminate.
“What?” Fred asked.
“She don’t work with her no more because she’s rotting out in Silver Gap just like all those other women,” Larry said, downing a shot of Jack.
Fred frowned, staring at his flat beer. “Don’t like to think that way,” Fred said. “It ain’t Christian.”
“Ain’t nothing Christian about any of this!” Jay exclaimed. He seemed the leader of the group, maybe because he was the biggest. Tall with a hard laborer’s broad shoulders and barrel chest, he slammed his mug on the bar top, splashing beer everywhere.
Stu, the bartender, got to work cleaning it up. He’d been observing the conversation with great interest but hadn’t joined in yet.
“We need to put this to bed. That lard-ass sheriff sure as shit can’t be counted on to do anything more than write traffic tickets,” Larry said. “He got me for DUI last spring. I only had three Tallboys, but he said I was inebriated, the asshole. I still don’t got my license back.”
“That sounds about right,” Jay said. “All he does is harass the working guy. But when it comes to real crimes, you know, like MURDER,” he shouted as if the whole place needed to hear it. And everyone did. The music still played, but otherwise the bar was silent. “He’s useless as tits on a goose.”
A middle-aged couple who’d been sharing a table near Carolina muttered to each other in annoyed voices. They rose from their seats and left most of their meal behind as they exited the bar.
Just when it’s getting interesting, Carolina thought.
“You really think poor Katie is up in those woods?” Fred asked.
Larry nodded. “Hundred percent.”
Fred considered it through his drunken haze. “Then we should go find her. Maybe she’s still alive.”
Jay latched onto the idea with disturbing zeal. “Or maybe that son of a bitch who’s been doing this is out there with her now. You know how them perverts are. He’s probably up there buttfucking her corpse.”
Fred groaned, then followed up with a belch and a gag. But the ball was in motion and Carolina knew where it was rolling.
“I got my twelve-gauge in the pickup,” Jay said. “You boys carrying?”
Larry lifted his shirt and revealed a holstered forty-four that looked like it would knock the old guy in his ass if he fired a round.
As drunk as they were, they seemed to understand they needed a sober driver. That’s why they turned to Stu.
“Stu, you in on this?” Fred asked.
Stu shut off the television and pulled an aluminum baseball bat from under the bar, slamming it on the counter for effect. He poured a round of shots for the men and then poured three extras. They all slammed them down, then Stu downed the three spares in rapid succession.
“Let’s get going before these kick in,” he said.
Carolina grabbed her phone from her pocket and dialed Hank’s number. It went straight to voicemail. She listened to the message with his pretentious voice trying to sound official. Then waited for the beep.
“Call me, asshole. Some of Hopkins’s finest are about to go vigilante.” She closed the phone and looked up to see Stu towering over her.
“We’re closing early. Finish up and get out,” he said.
Carolina stared at the group, raring to go, weapons at their ready. All they were missing was common sense.
“Oh fuck,” she muttered.
Chapter Thirty
The air conditioning kicked on, but Mitch hadn’t noticed the heat rising inside his home. He was becoming used to humidity, comforted by the way it reminded him of the forest. He appreciated how it made him sweat, and how the sweat made him smell.
But he knew his wife hated the muggies, as she called them. And he was always happy to acquiesce to Gina’s needs. Even through all his changes, he was certain his devotion to her would last forever. She was the love of his life, and nothing could break that.
She stabbed a forkful of salad, a red onion dangling off of one prong, then brought it to her mouth. He loved watching her eat, her mouth creating small dimples high up on her cheeks. Her jaw shifting ever so slightly side to side as well as up and down.
When they first met, Gina was secure with her life and career, but less so when it came to her looks. In a lineup of women from one to ten, she’d fit square in the middle. She was thin, but not shapely. Her face was pretty, but unmemorable. She could have been any housewife in any home in America.
But that was according to an average man.
Mitch wasn’t average. And only recently had he realized he wasn’t just a man.
Down her neck ran a large scar, a scar she loathed. But it also made her special. It made her his. And it made him hers. They were a jigsaw puzzle of two pieces, each worthless without the other.
“You okay?” she asked, her mouth still full of salad.
He cocked his head. “Why do you ask?”
“You haven’t touched your salad.”
He looked down at th
e bowl in front of him. Carrots, red onion, cherry tomatoes, spinach, mushrooms, and some sort of vinaigrette mixed in.
Rabbit food. And he was no rabbit. He was a predator that needed meat. But he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, either.
“I’m sorry. It was a... challenging day at work. I guess I’m still in my head,” he said.
“Did you lose one today?” she asked.
He shook his head with a small smile. She always worried about him, and he loved that. “No, nothing like that. It’s… just me being me, you know.”
“Come on,” she said. “You know the rules. No secrets.”
He poked at one of the tomatoes, but it slid back and forth in the bushes of greens, hiding from the teeth of his fork. He felt like God watching from above, observing one of his hunts.
“It’s Carlene,” he relented.
“She’s still on your back?” Gina asked.
He nodded. “All day, every day.”
Gina stood and walked around the table. She swept behind Mitch, dragging her scent along with her. Vanilla perfume, a small hint of perspiration, and the warmth of her love. It was so much her, the aroma he adored more than anything.
She rubbed his head, her hand running across his own jagged scars. Then she put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed tight, working on his tense muscles.
“She needs to realize how lucky they are to have you. Doctor Cadbury practically built that practice off your shoulders.”
He put his hand atop of hers, caressing it. “Not everyone is of that mindset.”
“She’s a trophy wife with fake tits and a small brain,” she said with a lilting laugh. He chuckled along with her. “There’s my Mitch,” she purred.
She ran her hand around the front of his chest cupping his hard pecs, fingers twirling his nipples through his shirt. Then her fingers slid to his stomach, to his waist.
“If you aren’t interested in dinner, I’ll suggest something else you can eat,” she whispered in his ear as her hand made full contact with his crotch. There was no brushing or teasing. When she wanted something, she didn’t play around.
