by Ronica Black
She needed someone like that. Someone mysterious. Captivating. She leaned back and unhooked the showerhead. She held it between her legs and braced against the wall. With her lower lip between her teeth, she tried to picture the woman of her dreams. Flashes came, too quick to focus on, and the pressure against her clit was hot and needy. She needed to focus, but other thoughts invaded and frustrated her, and she dropped the showerhead and let it hang itself. She killed the water flow and stepped into her satin robe. She pulled the belt so tight she had to suck in her breath.
“Fucking hell, Horace. I can’t even do it myself.” He followed her into the bedroom and leapt onto the unmade bed. She combed her wet hair and then towel dried and applied lotion. Her eyes grew heavy and she smiled with relief. Sleep. It was there and waiting. Oh, thank God.
There was still some lotion on her hands when her phone rang from the nightstand.
It could only be one person. She answered without bothering to say hello.
“Finley, give me a break. I need sleep.” She sat on her bed and looked longingly at her overstuffed pillows and soft, lavender sheets with a ridiculously high thread count. “Give me a few hours at least.”
But he started in as if he didn’t hear her. “What the hell did you do to Trina?”
“Fins, not now, okay? I promise you can ream me later, just not now.”
He cleared his groggy sounding throat. “You can’t sleep now. We gotta call. Check your cell phone.”
She eased back on the bed. “No. Tell me you’re kidding.” Her ceiling fan was seducing her, urging her to sleep.
“It’s a big one. A big fucking whale.”
“A whale?”
“Yep.”
“Who?”
“Sergeant wouldn’t say. So, get your ass up and come get me.”
Maria eyed her bedside clock which reminded her it was four and fought cursing. At least she could make out the large red numbers.
“Fine.”
“And, Diaz?”
“Yeah?”
“Eat something. That shaking shit is not good.”
She hung up and stared at her folded hands. How could she tell him it had nothing to do with eating? How could she tell him it was happening all the time and she had no idea why?
She stood and took a deep breath. How much longer could she carry on?
Chapter Two
“Jesus Christ, what a mess,” Maria said as she maneuvered through the hot, muddy desert in her old faded red Jeep Wrangler. The canvas top had been eaten by sun rot years ago, so they were having to drive with the constant tickle of drizzling rain. She’d hoped it would help cool the heat of the early morning, but it just seemed to encase it, making the heavy air thicker. It felt almost ominous, as if promising a truly gruesome scene ahead. Like they were trapped in a macabre snow globe of sorts, trapped inside a piece of the disturbed Las Brisas desert with little air to breathe and no way to escape. She wiped the damp from her face and shook the thought away. But inside, her stomach clenched with anticipation. Just what lay ahead, she did not know. She just knew it was bad. Very bad. And the victim was wealthy.
She adjusted her mirror as the Jeep lurched forward in the unforgiving terrain.
“Thank God you still got this thing,” Silas Finley said as he gripped the upper bar of the Jeep. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt and his tie was askew. Sweat had weighed down the front of his hair, and he smashed it away from his forehead. The rain dotted his angular face and he adjusted his sunglasses, which he wore rain or shine, with his free hand. “Are we going to arrive in one piece?”
The Jeep shimmied and she gunned the engine and drove out of a menacing ditch. She could see the mud fly up behind them in the rearview mirror.
“At this point, I don’t know.” The monsoons had hit them hard the past week, and Las Brisas was covered in strewn palm limbs, broken roof tiles, uprooted signs, and downed power lines. She clenched her jaw and drove on, squeezing the wheel. Monsoons, she was used to, but having to drive off-road in the early morning dawn was new to her. And the way it was going so far, she realized she didn’t enjoy it at all, even if she did love her Jeep. And as they bounced along, she realized she was glad she’d kept the Jeep, even if it was for nostalgia.
After Finley had called and ruined her hopes of sleep, she’d hobbled from bed and stumbled into pressed khakis and a short-sleeved blouse. She’d laced her hiking boots, snapped on her phone and gun, and pulled her hair back into a quick ponytail. She’d had to dig through the junk drawer in the kitchen to find the keys to the Wrangler. So when she’d arrived at Finley’s, he’d looked impatient with a limp, wet newspaper held over his head and a covered cup of coffee in his hand. He’d looked like a drowned rat, tired but intense. A look, according to him, they’d both perfected lately. He was more concerned over her look than she was his. According to Finley, she was too young to be so fatigued. He, at least, had the excuse of late forties and a house with a baby. While she had nothing and no one to wear her down.
But thankfully, he hadn’t sparred with her that morning. They’d ridden in virtual silence, both of them mulling over what lay ahead in the desert. Neither one of them were morning people so she’d been grateful for the silence.
“The aviation unit is bringing in the sarge by chopper,” Finley finally said, sipping his coffee carefully as they crawled over more rough terrain.
“Must be nice,” she said as she changed gears. Sergeant James O’Connell was all about appearances and perfection. He was often on their asses for being late, underdressed, or not solving cases quickly enough. She glanced down at the spots of mud peppering her shirt and forearms. She didn’t mind getting dirty; her job often required it. She just hated the looks her sarge gave her when she was less than presentable.
Loud thumping came from overhead, and she looked up to see the police chopper landing not far ahead. Finley shook his head and she scoffed. As usual, the sarge would show up looking pristine as always. How did he do it?
She downshifted as they neared a huddle of police vehicles with what appeared to be an old barn behind them. Uniforms wove in and out and one uni was winding the yellow crime scene tape around the area, using nearby bushes and trees for support. Crime scene technicians hurried like ants in their white head-to-toe protective garb. And a handful of plainclothes gave their attention to the helicopter as it landed.
Maria killed the engine to her Jeep, and they crab walked to the small crowd out of habit, expecting biting wind and dust from the chopper blades. But today there was no loose dirt to blow into their faces. Today it was just hot, humid wind and the piercing feel of drizzling rain. The coroner, Dr. Judy Haddock, welcomed her with a smile and a quick brush of loose strands from her blond bun. She was damp and glistening and somehow beautiful despite it all. Maria’s heart lifted and she found herself returning the smile. Haddock was like a mentor to her, and she was a hell of a lot more attractive than her sarge or Finley. At one time, Maria had had a fierce crush.
“I’ve already done my initial and my walk through,” Haddock said. “So go ahead when you’re ready.” She drew closer and Maria’s heart rate nearly tripled as she leaned in and retrieved Maria’s small container of VapoRub from her back pocket. She held it in front of her.
“You’ll need this, trust me. Even if your old man wants you to tough it out for the crowd.”
Maria nodded, speechless. She could smell her light perfume, weighed down and stimulated by the rain. If they’d been different people with different jobs, she’d drop everything to ask her out. But, as it was, she didn’t have crushes and she didn’t date colleagues. She didn’t have the time or the emotional availability of mixing business with pleasure. And the fiasco with Trina reminded her of that. Even if she hadn’t been a colleague.
Haddock gave her a wink and left her to stare into the rain. The cool drops fell lazily onto her face, and she wished she could close her eyes and relax into their dance. But instead, she looked alert and
straightened as her sarge emerged from the chopper like a huge clown from a tiny clown car. Standing about six foot five with a hefty frame that once held firm muscle, he walked away from the chopper like he was the most important man on earth. His confidence was obvious and alluring, and every other person there was watching him in quiet amazement. He demanded respect in a quiet way, simply by how he held himself. She respected that about him, and even though he was often a pain in her ass, she was in awe of him.
“Here comes the Hulk,” someone whispered, but the laughs were short and stifled. The Hulk was the name the rookies called him, and rarely did she hear it from anyone else. They just knew better. And she wouldn’t be caught dead referring to him as such. She’d seen his temper on more than one occasion. One time too many, in fact.
As if he could read her mind, the sarge caught sight of her and Finley at once, just as he smacked a crime scene technician on the back, encouraging him to hustle back inside the barn.
“Diaz, Finley.” He pointed to the ground, and Maria often felt like a dog being called to its owner. They stood in front of him and attempted to straighten their appearance. By the look on his face, they failed, and Maria heated at being less than perfect.
“You’ll need to clean up before the press arrives.” He looked around with narrow eyes, studying the empty land beyond them. “Scratch that. We’ll keep them from landing. If they come, it will be by vehicle. Hopefully, you two can be done before then.”
The sarge was the one to always handle the press. He had the ability to calm, soothe, and charm the most dangerous of snakes. But he wanted his team looking sharp at all times. He continued looking around as he ran his thick thumbs up and down the length of his suspenders. His navy dress slacks and matching blazer were spotless, and he’d even taken the time to already cover his wing tip shoes in clear plastic. She looked to Finley who merely shrugged in defeat. What could they do? He always one-upped them.
She fought back a smile and was just enjoying the scent of his trademark Realm cologne when they moved closer to the barn and all three of them grimaced as the slap of decaying flesh hit them.
Maria turned and spread some VapoRub beneath her nose and then tossed the small container to Finley who did the same. They did their best to hide it from the sarge who preferred to “man it out.” For Maria, it was bad enough the smell would linger and attach to her hair and clothes; she didn’t need it invading her brain as well as she tried to work.
“So, this one’s a whale, huh?” Finley said as they entered the dark and damp. The sarge spit and wiped his mouth. The scent was overpowering, sneaking in on the tails of the VapoRub. It was even getting to the sarge. Flies swarmed where she couldn’t yet see. One landed on her and she swatted it away. The air was heavy, moist, menacing. She thought about a mask, but her claustrophobia wouldn’t allow it. She needed to breathe, free and clear. But it was difficult.
They moved farther in and she noted the bare wood-planked walls. The barn didn’t appear to have been used in years. It was a wonder it was still standing with the wooden beams so old and weak. How had it withstood the monsoon winds? The sarge led them around some tire mark evidence and stopped. He looked at them with serious brown eyes.
“I’m going to be frank with you two.” Someone was playing with the portable standing lights, turning them off and on again. It caused Maria to flinch and refocus. She reached for Finley’s arm to stabilize herself as their sarge continued. “This will probably be the case of your careers.” The lights came on and stayed on, and Maria blinked again to focus on the form spotlighted in the center. “Diaz, Finley, meet Mr. Hale Medley. Heir to the Medley Hotel chain.”
Maria’s first instinct was to take a step back. Finley caught her, and she quickly regained her resolve. But the figure remained, imprinting into her brain. It was a scene she knew she’d never be able to erase or forget.
The deceased male was nude and sitting in a worn, flannel patterned cushioned chair. His arms were bound behind him and his feet were tied together. A rope wrapped his chest and chin, holding him in an upright position. His eyes were half open and a red ball gag was in his mouth with his swollen tongue protruding around it. His belly was bloated and discolored and looked as though it could burst at any moment. Those were the little things she forced herself to take in. The large things, the real eye catchers, were the wide gaping cut to half his neck and the thick carving in his forehead.
She stared while her mind computed. Despite the cut to his neck, there was no blood. Despite the cuts to his forehead, there was no blood. Flies swarmed, and she could see where what did drain from his body had seeped into the chair and onto the dirt below. It was as if he was melting into the chair. She fought turning her head. She’d seen worse in the way of decay, but never had it been such a presentation. This was for them. A sick play of sorts, with the body center stage.
Finley coughed and the sarge cleared his throat. She wasn’t the only one affected.
“What’s…what’s on his forehead?” Maria asked as the crime scene technician hovered around the body taking photos.
“Jackson!” The sarge snapped. “The forehead.”
Another technician rose from next to the body and pushed the man’s head back with two careful gloved fingers.
Maria gasped.
The word HORNY had been carved into his forehead.
“Yes, my little warriors,” the sarge said. “This will be the case of your careers.”
Maria closed her eyes and fought dizziness. The lack of sleep was getting to her, but she couldn’t let on. Instead she steeled herself and opened her eyes. Hale Medley stared back at her with a clouded, cold stare. And she admitted what she always hated to admit.
The sarge was right.
Chapter Three
“Who found the body?” Maria asked, forcing herself into “the zone” as she called it when she narrowed in on her crime scene. She moved closer after she covered her feet in blue booties and snapped on a pair of gloves. Behind her, she heard the other plainclothes enter, their banter echoing in the small enclosure. Her sarge shook hands while her hands shook as she tried to write in her small notebook. She lowered them and glanced around to make sure no one saw. But Finley’s blue eyes were bright and staring right at her. He approached slowly and leaned in.
“You all right?”
“Mm, fine.” She cleared her throat.
“Did you go for that checkup?”
She sighed. “No.”
He nodded in frustration. “Okay, we’ll talk later. In the meantime, I’ll take notes and you can get them off me later.” He opened his notebook, made a few notes, and then clicked on his handheld recorder. He rounded the body and began to speak while she drew ever closer, wanting a better look at the forehead.
“Diaz?” the sarge called, interrupting her inspection. He placed a hand on a young man’s shoulder. “This is Everest Miller. His grandfather owns the ranch nearby. He’ll tell you what you need to know.” Maria stepped away from the body and faced Everest, who looked like he was green around the gills.
“Do you want to step outside?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am, I been around dead things before. I’m all right.” He tugged on the brim of his white straw cowboy hat. He appeared to be in his early twenties with a boyish face and a sad attempt at a five o’clock shadow.
“Even so, seeing someone, a murder victim, it can be overwhelming.”
He refused to look anywhere near the body. He kicked at the ground. “Yeah, I—I was real shocked at first. Thought it was a dummy at first even.”
“So you were the first to find him?”
“Yes, ma’am. I come up here to check my rabbit traps and to check on the fence after last night’s storm. My dog run in here and my horse stopped out front and refused to go any closer. I climbed off and whistled for Remington, but he didn’t come back out. So I came closer and that’s when I smelled it. I thought maybe it was an animal, like maybe a coyote come in here t
o die or something. But the smell was too strong and I knew when I walked in here I’d find trouble.”
His voice shook and he turned to spit. For a second, she didn’t think he’d be able to continue. But then he regained control of himself and he tugged on his worn hat again, as if the snugger it fit on his head, the stronger he’d be.
“Like I said, when I first saw—it, I thought it was a doll. It was so pale and shiny like in the early morning light. And then I drew closer and shined my light on it, I nearly fell over backward. I scrambled to back out and I kept calling Remi, but he was—he was—you know—messing with—gnawing at—”
She stopped him with a gentle hand to his upper arm.
“Who identified him, Everest?”
He blinked as if he’d totally lost focus. “Uh, that’d be the deputy who first arrived. He found the wallet nearby and opened it with his pen.”
“Did you know the victim?”
“No, ma’am. Never seen him before.”
“Have you seen anyone or anything unusual around the past few days?”
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t see anything, but a couple of nights ago, I heard—” his voice caved. “I heard, well, I thought it was coyotes. It was—like loud—screams.” He lowered his head, and his shoulders shook as he cried. Maria squeezed his arm. “I didn’t know, you know? You hear wild animals out here and when coyotes kill they yip and yowl and make all kinds of noise.”
“It’s okay, Everest.”
“I mean, what if it was him?” He looked at her with pain filled eyes.
She led him out of the barn and back into the rain. He kept his head low while she stared up at the sky and into the falling rain. She hoped, for the briefest of moments, that it would wash everything clean and gone and that Everest hadn’t seen what he’d seen or heard what he’d heard. She wished she could go home and strip and slip into a bath and fall deeply asleep in her cool bed. Oh, how she wished.
