The Night Killer df-8

by Beverly Connor

  There was the other stranger-the one who was chasing her. He could have come here looking for her and killed the Barres. But why? What reason would he have? Then, what reason did he have to keep a skeleton in a tree?

  The Barres were nice people. Who would come in the night and kill them in such a horrible way?

  Diane turned her attention to Roy Barre. He sat at a right angle to his wife. She couldn’t see his eyes. She didn’t dare move around more than she had already. Even if Sheriff Conrad didn’t do much in the way of crime scene investigation, she would still leave him a virtually untouched scene. Roy’s head leaned sideways toward his wife. Blood pooled in front of them both on the dark Victorian table. Diane noticed that both their hair was roughed up on top of their heads. Possibly the killer held their hair to pull their heads back in order to cut their throats.

  Diane had barely noticed the condition of the rooms when she had entered. She let her gaze drift around the room. The Barres had a comfortable home. The living room was furnished with stuffed chairs, a sofa, and throw pillows with floral designs in subtle shades of blue and green. The chairs and sofa were positioned near the fireplace with the sofa facing it. There was a large blue-and-white rag rug on the floor under a dark-wood coffee table. Several hutches lined the walls with Mrs. Barre’s collections of porcelain figurines. Mr. Barre’s collection of things he’d found on his land-rocks, antique padlocks, old horseshoes, and some of the smaller antique tools-sat on a series of shelves on one wall. The arrangement told her they liked looking at the things they had collected. Two of the hutches’ doors were ajar. Nothing else looked amiss.

  Diane turned her attention to the dining room. The dining room furniture was Victorian, like much of the furniture in the house. A mahogany breakfront hutch holding ornate dishes stood against one wall. Here too, the doors were ajar, but the hutch was not ransacked. Diane would like to have seen the rest of the house.

  She took out her cell phone and began taking pictures of the crime scene and of the environment 360 degrees around where she stood. When she finished she put her phone back in its case on her belt. That was as much as she could do.

  Diane listened again to the sounds of the house. Virtually quiet except for normal house sounds. She retraced her steps out the door and walked down the long steps that led to the road she’d left by not six hours earlier. It was dark except for the moon, and she had to be careful where she placed her feet going down the steep stairs. The road was muddy from the rain. She started off in the opposite direction from where she had gone earlier, walking on the shoulder, trying to keep out of the mud as much as possible. Surely the Barres had another neighbor nearby who wasn’t homicidal or, at the very least, didn’t keep skeletons.

  She rounded a bend just as a pair of headlights came over the hill in her direction. Her heart pounded in her chest. She was out in the open with no place to hide. She would have to make a run for it again. Please don’t let it be the stranger from Massey Road-or the killer.

  Chapter 5

  Diane eased backward, putting distance between her and the road-and the approaching car. A ditch brimming with rainwater flowed between her and the muddy road. A car would most assuredly get stuck if it tried to cross toward her. As it drew closer, Diane saw that it was a rugged-looking Jeep Wrangler. So much for getting stuck in the ditch. She unconsciously stepped farther back. The vehicle slowed and stopped.

  Diane’s heart beat rapidly. She wanted to run, but she couldn’t very well run from everyone she met. She was weak and getting shaky. She’d have to take a chance and trust someone.

  The Jeep door opened and a man got out, shielding his eyes from the brightness of his dome light, looking in Diane’s direction. From what little Diane could see, he looked young, perhaps in his twenties. She could also see that he was wearing a uniform, and there was a blue light mounted on the dashboard of his Jeep. He was a policeman.

  “Miss Fallon? You the lady lost in the woods? I got this anonymous call-well, it was pretty strange, really. I’m Deputy Travis Conrad, ma’am. Well, are you lost?”

  Diane almost collapsed with relief. She ran stumbling to the vehicle, sloshing in the soggy weeds and leaping over the ditch and into the mud.

  “Yes. Yes, Deputy Conrad. I’m Diane Fallon,” she said, resisting the urge to hug him.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. I told Jason I’d take the call. I was curious. We get all kinds of crazy calls, but this was a new one. I thought the guy was drunk, but Jason said he didn’t sound drunk.”

  The deputy looked intently at her in the light from his open door, an expression of deep concern on his face.

  “Excuse me for saying so, ma’am, but you look somewhat worse for the wear. How long have you been out like this?”

  Diane hadn’t given a thought to her appearance. She pushed back a strand of hair from her face with shaking fingers. “Five and a half. . maybe six hours. . I don’t know exactly.”

  “Are you injured? Do I need to get medical help for you?”

  “No, no, I’m not hurt. Just exhausted and dehydrated. I haven’t had any water.”

  Travis Conrad looked at her pleasantly and slapped the hood of the Jeep. “Why don’t you get in the ol’ Wrangler here and get off your feet? I believe I’ve got a bottle of water.”

  The deputy put a supportive arm around her and walked her around to the passenger side. He opened the door for her and took her arm to help her in.

  “My shoes. .” Diane began, indicating the muddy globs encasing her footwear.

  “Does this look like a vehicle that’s finicky about a little mud?” He grinned. “Get in.”

  She climbed in the blessedly dry vehicle and Deputy Conrad went around to the other side and got in. He reached behind the front seats and came up with three bottles of water held together by plastic rings.

  “Try a little of this,” he said.

  Diane reached to take a bottle from him. Her hand was shaking uncontrollably. “Thank you,” she said. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.” She twisted open the bottle cap and took a long drink of water.

  “Let me see here,” Deputy Conrad said. He reached into the glove compartment, felt around for a moment, and pulled out a candy bar. “Never know when I might get low blood sugar. Chocolate okay?”

  “Absolutely perfect,” Diane said. She fumbled with the wrapper before finally tearing it open, and took three bites in rapid succession. She realized that her head was spinning. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat.

  “You just relax. You’ve had a time of it,” Conrad said. “That ought to make you feel better in just a few minutes.” He put the Jeep in gear and started out. The tires spun and the Jeep slipped sideways in the mud for a few feet before he straightened it on the road.

  “We gotta do something about these roads,” he said. “Where were you headed to, anyway?”

  “Looking for a phone,” Diane said.

  “You know, Roy and Ozella Barre live right up the road here. You must have passed their place. I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded you getting them up,” he said.

  “That’s why I was looking for a phone,” Diane said.

  “What’s why you were looking for a phone? You know, you’re not making a lot of sense. You just relax until you feel better.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” said Diane. “I left the Barres’ house earlier this evening, about seven thirty. I had the altercation with the man at the house on Massey Road, and managed to get back to the Barres’ after more than five hours of trudging through the woods on foot.”

  “In all this storm? That must have been quite a hike,” he said.

  “But listen, about the Barres.” Diane stopped, a lump forming in her throat.

  “Afraid to wake them up?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the muddy road.

  “No. It’s much more serious. Look. This is hard,” she said. “The Barres are dead. When I got back here, I found them murdered in their house. Someone has kill
ed them.”

  Deputy Conrad slammed on the brakes. The Jeep fishtailed in the road before coming to a stop. Diane pressed against the seat belt and held on to the dash.

  “What do you mean, killed?” he asked, as if he didn’t know what the word meant.

  “Someone cut their throats. They are sitting at their dining table,” said Diane. “They’re both dead. I found them not more than thirty minutes ago. Their phone is dead too.”

  “Is this for real? This is not some joke, because if it is. .”

  “I wish it were,” said Diane.

  “I just saw them yesterday at the Waffle House,” he said. “He was all happy about someone from the museum in Rosewood coming to look at his arrowheads.” He looked over at Diane. “I guess that’d be you.”

  “Yes,” she said. “That was me.”

  Deputy Conrad rubbed his hands over his face. “Aw, God.” He looked over at Diane. “You know, you’ve had a hard night. Maybe you’re delirious, maybe you-”

  “Imagined it?” said Diane. “I wish I had. I hope when we get to their house you find them safe in bed and you can yell at me for scaring you.”

  He took his foot off the brake and pressed the accelerator. The tires spun and the Jeep slid sideways toward the ditch before it found traction. Diane heard the mud spattering on the sides and under the vehicle. She sat back in the seat, wet, cold, tired, and depressed.

  “I hope so too,” he said.

  They drove up to the house. It took less than three minutes from where he had picked her up on the road. The water and chocolate were doing some good. Diane was feeling better.

  “I went in as far as the dining room door,” she said. “Short, straight path. I didn’t deviate from the path on my way back out after I found them. I tried the phone near the door. It was dead.”

  He nodded his head. They got out of the Jeep and walked up the steep steps.

  “I didn’t hear anyone in the house,” said Diane, “but I didn’t search it either.”

  “You did right,” he said.

  Deputy Conrad took his gun out of his holster and approached the door. He eased it open with one hand while holding his gun in the other. He slowly walked into the house.

  Diane sat on the porch steps to wait. She clenched her teeth and listened. Just a few steps to the dining room.

  “Oh, Jesus. Roy? Oh, God. Ozella? No.”

  Diane hadn’t imagined it. It was true. They were sitting at the table, heads resting at odd angles, long gashes in their throats. Dead. Diane started to rub her eyes with the tips of her fingers, but stopped and looked at her hands in the dim light. She heard the floor creak and guessed that Deputy Conrad was searching the house.

  She looked out into the night and watched the lightning bugs blink. Mosquitoes were biting and she put her arms under the poncho. She felt the knife. It weighed heavily on her conscience. But not enough to hand it over just yet. The sheriff might not have it examined for blood. It would be clear to him that a stranger out on a rainy night with a knife must be the killer.

  Diane wondered if the killer was the man who attacked her on Massey Road. That seemed more likely. Although he and the Barres weren’t close neighbors, Diane imagined their property adjoined. The Barres’ property was very large, about fifty thousand acres, Diane had heard. That might cause a lot of friction. Many people fought over land ownership and property-line disputes.

  In a few minutes Deputy Travis came out and sat down. He put his head in his hands.

  “Jesus, lady, I was hoping you were crazy,” he said.

  “Me too,” said Diane.

  “I got to get more deputies out here.” He jumped up and rushed behind a large tree. Diane heard him retching. He came back, wiping his mouth with a bandanna.

  “Shit. Daddy’ll never let me live this down,” he said.

  “Leland Conrad is your father?” asked Diane.

  “Yeah. That’d be him,” he said. “He’s out of town. Put me in charge. What a time to be in charge.”

  He went to the Jeep. Diane heard him calling on the police radio.

  “Jason, you and Bob get up here to Roy Barre’s place right now.” There was a pause and static. “I don’t give a shit if it does leave the office empty. Call Shirley and tell her to get her fat ass out of bed and come answer the phone. Get over here, now. Both of you, and I mean now.” There was another short pause. “No, it’s not about the skeleton in the tree. It’s something else. Now get over here.”

  He came back to the steps and sat down next to Diane. “We’ll have to wait for them to come. I don’t want to leave the house unguarded. When they get here, I’ll take you to get your car. While we wait, you want to tell me the story about the skeleton?”

  Diane explained about the tree falling in the rain and the human skeleton slamming against her windshield. She told him about the man grabbing her.

  “That sounds like Slick Massey,” he said. “He’s usually harmless. Lives in that run-down house with his girlfriend. Raises huntin’ dogs. Walker hounds, I think.”

  Diane showed him her scratched arm. “This happened when I was trying to get out of his grasp,” she said.

  “Damn, that looks sore. I’ll have a talk with him. But I have to tell you, I don’t know about a skeleton in a tree. That just sounds crazy. Are you sure?”

  “I’m a forensic anthropologist,” she said.

  “Yeah, I know, but. . Anyway, we’ll see what ol’ Slick has to say for himself.”

  Diane told him about the trek through the woods and about meeting the stranger. Deputy Conrad’s attention perked up.

  “There’s some stranger running around in the woods, taking pictures, you say?”

  “He said he was camping in the national forest. I think he was the one who called you. I asked him to. He offered to take me to the sheriff, but I declined.”

  “That was probably wise. So, do you think this guy could have been the killer?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. He was helpful. Gave me this rain gear,” she said, indicating the poncho. “He took my jacket to try to fool the dogs. He knew they were Walker hounds. He said his uncle raised them. He said he recognized the voices.”

  “They do have a twang to their bark, that’s for sure,” he said.

  When the other deputies drove up, Deputy Conrad stood up to meet them. Two men got out of a Jeep that looked much like Conrad’s. He introduced them as Jason and Bob. Jason was a slender man and, although he looked to be in his mid-twenties, had severely thinning hair. Bob, older by ten or fifteen years, had a thick head of dark hair, was cadaverously thin, and had a slight kyphosis of the spine that gave him a permanent slouch. Diane wondered if his hair was a wig.

  “What’s this about, Travis?” asked Jason.

  “Roy and his wife’s been murdered,” said Conrad.

  “What? Murdered? No. We just saw him. You and me, at the Waffle House, yesterday.”

  Bob looked over at the house. “Murdered? Here? The two of them?”

  “Look, I want the two of you to guard the house until I get back. I’m taking Miss Fallon to get her car and find out what’s up with Slick Massey,” said Deputy Conrad.

  “You want us to guard the house?” said Bob. “From what?”

  “Trespassers, murderers, raccoons-anything. We don’t want anybody coming in. We especially don’t want Roy Jr. to decide to pay his folks a midnight visit and find them. Now do what I say. And don’t you go sitting in their den watching TV while they’re sitting at the dining room table with their throats cut,” said Conrad.

  “We wouldn’t do that,” said Jason, looking hurt.

  “Throats cut?” said Bob. “Somebody’s done cut their throats? I don’t know, Travis. What if they come back?” Bob put a hand to his own throat.

  “Then you arrest the son of a bitch. It’s what you get paid for. I’ll be back in a little bit.” Travis Conrad turned to Diane. “Now let’s go see Slick Massey.”

  Chapter 6

  Diane s
huddered at the thought of facing Slick Massey again. She tried to calm herself as she and Deputy Conrad walked to his Jeep and climbed in. Diane looked back at the Barre house. She saw the deputies sitting on the porch with flashlights trained out to the front yard. She wanted to ask Conrad if his deputies would be okay there by themselves, but thought better of it. Instead, she approached another, more controversial topic.

  “You know,” she began, “this is the kind of crime the Georgia Bureau of Investigation can be a big help with.”

  “We’re gonna have to call the GBI. Daddy’s gonna balk, but we ain’t had no killings like this. We’ve had wife killings and bar killings-the kind of homicide you don’t have to work up a sweat to solve-the kind where we know the guy who did it and where to find him.” He shook his head. “But this is the kind of thing you see on crime shows. We just ain’t had nothing like this here. You saw Jason and Bob. They’re good guys and they mean well, but. .” He shook his head. “Bob mainly does the paperwork, and Jason, well, he’s Jason.”

  He paused and Diane didn’t say anything-relieved that he was open to getting outside help. She wanted the Barres’ murderer caught, and she didn’t think the current constabulary here in Rendell County had the know-how to go about finding the killer, unless he left a trail of blood they could follow.

  “Daddy won’t go to the Rosewood Crime Lab,” he continued. “He’d go to Tennessee for help before he’d ask Rosewood or Atlanta for any. Daddy thinks Atlanta is Satan and Rosewood is one of its disciples.”

  “I’m sorry we’ve made such a bad impression,” said Diane.