HOMECOMING: A thrilling crime mystery full of twists (New York Murder Mysteries Book 4)

by Joshua Brown

  Thighs the size of tree trunks and calves to match, straining the very fabric of the baggy pants he wore, he was almost funny to look at, and if I met him under any other circumstances, I might have laughed too.

  “Jack Mercer,” I replied. “Freddy here asked me to come and take a look at the scene.”

  “No civilians behind the borderline, sorry, pal. You know this, Fred,” Nox said, turning to the old sheriff. I saw the moment his eyes twinkled in recognition of me, though I still did not know who he was.

  I’d forgotten so much of my life in Priest River–the people and places were the first to go. Every day I woke was another to burn the memories. So I probably knew Nox. I placed him a few years younger than me, so we might’ve even gone to school together.

  It didn’t bother me none that I didn’t know him, though.

  “Jack’s not a civilian. He’s a private detective down in New York. Thought those big-city eyes might help us pull in some more information ‘round here,” Freddy replied. “Ain’t had nothing like a murder in Priest River since most of you boys were still a twinkle in your daddy’s ball sack. Our boys wouldn’t know what to do with one.”

  You know I charge hourly. The words nearly left my lips. I caught them before, knowing it would ruin the vibe, even if it was only a joke.

  Nox rose a hand towards me, and I shook. “Nice to meet you, Jack. Always good to have a helping hand in a time of need.”

  “Likewise,” there wasn’t much need to answer the helping hand thing. I wasn’t planning on staying to see the investigation through.

  Nox started walking. He led us down a small dirt road on a decline towards the church. Out there, I saw more officers, a few civilian cars, and two police cruisers. A group stood huddled at the Trinity Baptist Church’s entrance. Among them, the priest, a few women dressed in holy cloth, and officers.

  Before I spoke to any of them, I could tell who the sheriff was. I didn’t recognize his face, but he stood tall, proud, fingers hooked in his belt loops. He wore a pair of knock-off Aviator sunglasses, eyeing our approach atop his head a wide brim, light leather Stetson.

  He looked more like a cowboy out of Texas than a sheriff here in Priest River.

  Unlike Nox and the rest of the deputies, the one I pinned as sheriff was thin, packed with lean, firm muscle. Thick veins penetrated his skin. He chewed on a stick of gum with a toothpick wedged in his mouth.

  His entire presence looked like something out of a low-budget movie production. And again, I wanted to laugh. This time, it was harder to fight it back over Nox’s unfortunate genetics.

  Still, there was no evidence of a crime scene here. The disparaged priest was my only sign that anything happened at all.

  “Tell me, Nox,” I said, hushed while walking closer to the group. “What’s going on out here?”

  “Ain’t nothing good, Jack. Not one bit,” Freddy looked over, eagerly awaiting Nox to go on. “Someone killed a woman, an investor trying to get Priest River on the map. They want to make some changes here and there, bring the town up to par with the bigger cities around.”

  “Any reason someone might want to kill her specifically?” I inquired, reaching for my recorder. Again, it was instinctual. I asked a few hard questions that I’d usually want to get on tape had a case begun. But since I had no part to play in this investigation, I left it back in the car.

  Probably for the best, too, lest I actually get too invested in this thing.

  “No, not that we can tell, anyway.” Nox scratched his face. “Most normal folks know little about the investors. They go about their business, do whatever they want. They bought the land they want to build on, so ain’t no reason to stop them building the casino, mall, hotel, and whatever else they got planned, y’know? Anyway, might do Priest River some good to get some new blood in here.”

  You can say that again.

  That’s when I saw it for the first time. Out in the distance, behind the church, only in fleeting—the building grounds for the new development. There wasn’t much there yet. Only a few metal construction beams for support are stacked beside a concrete floor where the foundation would be.

  “The people seem mighty pissed about something, or should I say, someone. Saying he might have something to do with this,” I carried on. Though I was asking a few questions here and there, it might’ve kick-started Freddy and Nox’s minds so that they could carry word to the actual sheriff.

  It doesn’t take much to set men on the right path to solving a mystery.

  “Those shouts are for Jim Heath. A nobody who came from nowhere and left people uneasy with his moving in. I don’t think he’s much of a threat myself, but he’s the silent kind; leaves a foul taste in the people’s mouths. You know how it goes, Jack. Once the gossiping starts, things take a turn for the worst,” Freddy spoke instead of Nox. “Jim’s only been around a few months now. Has himself a property up the road on Rivenes avenue. Isn’t that where your folks stay?”

  I had no idea how it went. In New York, gossip was a thing sure, but never on a mass scale. There were too many people, and the only way to spread the word across the various factions that formed was through news and social media. Having a community of people so closely knit made brainwashing easy.

  A little fear-mongering for the new kid on the block, and he was the target without debate. How could it be anyone from the precious town when there was an intruder in their midst?

  That being said, I supposed it wasn’t all that hard to believe it was Jim Heath, either. Things went smoothly until his arrival, and now there’s a murder case? It was the best place to start.

  “Sure, that’s where they stay,” I said. There wasn’t much time to carry on my questioning as we stopped at the row of cars standing outside the church. The sheriff made his way over to us, his hat catching the wind while he walked and nearly blowing off completely.

  The rest of his deputies remained with the priest and continued speaking to him and the women.

  “Freddy, thanks for coming down,” the sheriff said.

  “Sheriff Stern,” Freddy was the first to shake hands.

  “Who’s this then?” Sheriff Stern eyed me up and down. He never removed the knock-off Aviator’s from his face, but I felt the harsh judgment of his gaze behind them. I gave an equally cynical analysis, though I kept my eyes on his face.

  Never trust a man who can’t look you straight in the eye without the help of sunglasses.

  “Jack Mercer, P.I,” I said.

  “Rodney Stern,” he replied. We shook hands. “What’s got you bringing a P.I into an active investigation, Freddy? Thought you’d understand the need for secrecy after what I told you on the phone.”

  “The need for secrecy died exactly then, Rodney. There’s no use in trying to hide the fact of what happened here, and word’s already spread around all Priest River. You saw that crowd out there, same as me. They’re here demanding answers, and I think Jack can help us get ‘em,” Freddy sounded angry. It appeared as if Rodney was a subordinate rather than the sheriff. Getting involved in the internal politics of a small-town sheriff’s station wasn’t part of my duty, however. It was just strange to see a man crumble so hard at the words of someone near three times his age. “So, you going to show us around? Or should I go on my way and find the body myself?”

  “Right this way,” Rodney bowed his head, humbled by Freddy’s words. “Did Fred here catch you up to speed on what we found, Jack?”

  “He didn’t, but my sister was in the car on the way over. Supposed he didn’t want to leave her with the imagery of what you described,” I said, following behind the line of three.

  “Sure as shit, she’d have nightmares if he did,” Rodney nodded. “It’s an unspeakable mess. Whoever did this is one twisted son of a bitch.”

  Rodney never told me more than that, but as we walked around the church, there wasn’t a need for him too. We took the last few steps in awkward silence, Freddy grumbling in annoyance and Rodney letting out a
sigh here and there. I jammed my hands into my pockets, unable to handle the strange tension between the two.

  We walked the stretch of grass from the front, down the side of the church building, all the way to the back. Rodney paused before we reached the scene, leading both Freddy and me with an outstretched arm.

  The smell of blood hit my nose long before I saw anything.

  “You sure you want to see this?” Rodney asked. He looked at me rather than Freddy.

  “Can’t be worse than some of what I’ve seen out in this world,” the nightmare of Ziggy Stark’s tongue striking the rotting flesh of a woman’s face flashed across my mind. “I’ll be able to handle it.”

  “Just get on with it, boy. We ain’t got all day,” Freddy said in a husky, angered whisper.

  Now, I had little expectation for what I’d see taking the turn behind the paint-peeling church house. The more I thought about it, I suspected that there wasn’t much but a woman lying dead. In a place like this, even that would be enough to leave the entire town in a panic.

  But with Rodney leading the way, I saw her there.

  My guts rumbled uncertainty, nausea, and threatened to spill. Freddy wasn’t as lucky as me, having eaten an enormous meal that left him in the bushes puking behind the church.

  She was, as everyone said, a woman. She hung from an old wooden cross in a crucified pose, with a rope around her neck. Her hands were bolted into the wood with thick iron nails, pinning her in place. Her body was stripped naked, lacerated from the neck down to her feet. Trails of blood leaked all around her, pooling at the bottom of the cross and muddying the soil in stained red-brown.

  She was missing her jaw, along with her tongue.

  The words, Speak No Evil were painted against the white wood in her own red ink.

  “Fred, you alright?” Rodney asked, trying to ease Freddy’s horrendous expulsion. It spilled in waves, one after another. I looked away from the woman, unwilling to hold longer than I had to.

  “I’m fine,” Freddy waved a hand to dismiss Rodney.

  “Who was she?” I asked, not wasting any more time.

  Nightmarish cruelty in a small town. But I still had no place to get involved. I had to trust the lawmen of Priest River to bring this case to a close. I was a civilian out there, an ordinary man with no power or jurisdiction. Hell, those were all just words to set my mind at ease, knowing I had no way of intervening.

  This wasn’t my city. This was a murder fit for a huge investigative team I knew Priest River didn’t have. Still, prying their minds open, if only a little, might benefit their journey to cracking this thing wide open.

  “Lynne Sawyer,” Rodney said. “She’s an angel investor….”

  “Nox filled me in with a few of those details,” I cut him off, not needing to hear more about the investors. “Any reason someone might’ve wanted her dead?”

  “Not that I know of,” Rodney shrugged.

  “What about Jim Heath? That’s who everyone else is pointing the finger at,” I said.

  Freddy finally pulled himself to his feet, but his eyes never left the sight of the gushing water of the river. I didn’t blame him either, with the harrowing sight of Lynne Sawyer upon the cross.

  “Could be him. Don’t know much about the guy, but don’t see why he might want to kill someone out of town. Especially this soon after arriving. He’d be a fool, right?” Rodney asked.

  My thoughts exactly. But that’s still where I’d look first, had I gotten involved. Just because it’s illogical doesn’t mean everyone shares the same sentiment.

  “You find anything around the body? Anything useful to finding the killer?” I asked.

  “Sure, we’ve already sent it all back to the station to get checked out. The hammer that put her up there, a steak knife I suppose killed her and left the cuts along her body, and a few other things here and there,” Rodney said.

  At the mention of the cuts, Freddy heaved again, fighting against the urge to spew any more.

  “The priest was the one who found the body, right? What’s he got to say about all this?” I asked, eyeing the Priest’s small house out in the distance. Easier to live on the land you worked than moving about from place to place. Nothing fancy, but if this was the same man who gave sermons on a Sunday when I was a boy, I knew he was the man who lived in that house. From his bedroom window, he’d have been able to see this all going down.

  So how did it slip by unnoticed?

  “He wasn’t in last night,” Rodney said.

  I kept the priest off my radar, considering his age. I saw the silver hair on his head, liver spots on his face, and wrinkles littering his skin. Too old and weak to carry a body up a ladder, but everyone was a suspect until proven innocent.

  “And you’ve confirmed this?”

  “Should be any minute now. A few of the boys are making calls to confirm their stories,” Rodney said.

  All three of us were looking down at the river, none able to bear witness to the cruel felt that befell Lynne Sawyer.

  We didn’t linger there much longer before returning up to the front of the church. No one spoke, all lost in our own thoughts. We said our goodbyes before venturing back up to the police barricade and my car.

  Only Ruby and a handful of others, eager to see what happened, remained. The rest of the group shifted further up the street, all still huddled together, talking among themselves.

  “Still don’t think Priest River requires a big city detective, hey Freddy?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Jesus Christ, Jack, are you serious?” Freddy just about screamed. “A woman died, and you’re trying to crack a joke?”

  That didn’t blow over as well as it could have. I suppose I was an outsider in this one, a distant traveler watching from far away. Looking in Freddy’s eyes, I saw the burden of what happened here. He was a wreck, and only anger and fear replaced all emotion and logical thought.

  For the first time in my career, I saw what others must’ve seen in me during a case. A shell of a man, driven to succeed and bring an end to the madness.

  “You want a ride?” I asked.

  Freddy shook his head. “No, I think I’ll walk. Need to clear my head of all that.”

  “Jack,” Ruby’s voice hit my ear. She approached quick, an anxious yearning to hear what happened displayed broadly across her face.

  “Sure thing, Freddy. You stay safe out there,” I said before turning my attention back on Ruby.

  Freddy sauntered on his way. He walked slowly, hands tucked in his pockets. I lit a cigarette, watching him go. He never once turned back to look at the church or us.

  “What happened in there?” Ruby asked, stopping at my side. “Where’s Freddy going?”

  “You really don’t want to hear about it,” I said. She took my word as law and didn’t push any further. “Let me give you a ride home, then I’ll be heading out.”

  “Heading out?” Ruby cocked a brow. “What do you mean? Aren’t you going to stay and help?”

  “Why would I?” I mimicked her raised brow. I understood the ramifications of what was happening. A woman died unjustly at the hand of a madman—but I found no reason to get involved.

  I dealt with death on a near-daily basis; adding to that pile because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time seemed foolish.

  “Because we’ve seen nothing like this before, and the sheriff won’t even know where to start?” Ruby said. She didn’t know the half of it, and she was damn right, too.

  “It’s not my place,” we walked to the car and got in. I’d smoked near my whole cigarette in the few steps. “You’ll just have to trust that Rodney’s got it under control.”

  “Rodney Stern is a no-good wannabe, sitting as sheriff for the paycheck and little else,” Ruby was livid. “He ain’t gonna do a thing to help that woman or her family.”

  “Lynne Sawyer,” I said her name, and it left a bitter taste in my mouth.

  Ruby threw a tantrum, huffed, and went qu
iet.

  I drove up the street toward Rivenes avenue. After only that day, making the rounds and learning the streets again, I knew it like the back of my hand. One of the few perks of living in a small town.

  I stopped the car at the side of the road as soon as we got to the Rivenes crossroad. Taking that turn, one I’d avoided throughout the day, felt perilous. I felt an unbelievable burning in my heart that left me deeply uncomfortable. As if looking at my childhood home would return all the demons I’d vanquished over the decades I escaped this place.

  “Why are you stopping?” Ruby asked, looking over at me. “Having a change of heart?”

  “No,” I shook my head. But I felt a deep niggling in the back of my head. If I didn’t stay and help, I’d receive a continuous backlash of regret. I had to stay strong, no matter a later decision, however. No point in getting anyone’s hopes up.

  “Then what?”

  I didn’t reply, turning back on the road and taking the corner. I drove down the road slower and slower, with every inch taken, prolonging the inevitable. The various houses we passed caught my attention, each one with its own stories to tell.

  Mostly, they all left a sinking feeling inside me, while a few even managed to ease me. I had friends that lived on this street. Many of them were my only escape to get away from the torment of my youth.

  A little way down, Valentina Shelby’s home stood. I’d not be passing it today.

  That’s when I saw it. The two-story house in which I grew up. Worse for wear, like most of Priest River, with grouting and pipes hanging loose from the walls. A window in the front was knocked out and covered with a sheet of newspaper and plastic. The yellow paint was worn and smudged, turning black-brown from years of age. The roof’s green tiles turned a sickly white from the sun’s harsh rays.

  It hadn’t changed at all over the years.

  I’d have chalked it up to my dad being ill if I didn’t know my sister and brothers were spending a lot of time there. I didn’t pull into the driveway, stopping at the side of the road. Ruby looked at the house, then me, and back to the house.

  I was a few feet away from the two people who made my youth torture. All the memories that came and went since entering Priest River were no more. Only fear clutched me to the core.