Gibson sat at his desk, staring intently at the map as he’d been doing for the last hour. There was nothing new this morning. He’d learned that the coroner hadn’t even been able to touch the kid’s body. Those mercenaries working for Vindex Corp. had disposed of all three bodies in the cremator as soon as they’d gotten there. More of their people had shown up last night, setting up a couple of large pavilion-style tents in the empty lot next to the funeral home. Two of their armored vehicles sat next to the tents, along with two black SUVs. He still didn’t know how Vindex Corp. fit into this. He’d tried getting answers, but Clover hadn’t told him anything and none of the others had even responded to him. They were a bunch of pricks. They might have key information to his investigation and yet they wouldn’t say a damn word.
So here he was, spinning in circles, knowing he was missing something. He knew the clues were there. They had to be; they always were. Maybe he needed to go to LifeWork and question them. It was the only lead he hadn’t followed yet. He glanced at his watch. It was seven o’clock in the morning, and their offices should be open. Wasting no time, he climbed into his truck with Fidel.
Twenty minutes later, he was sitting outside a gate, and yet he was still a mile from the facility. A small intercom with a large green button and video camera sat on a support post to the left of the dirt road.
“LifeWork front desk,” a female voice said. “How may I help you?”
“This is Sheriff Gibson,” he said. “I need to talk to someone in charge.”
“One second, please.”
It was more like ten minutes before the voice came back. “Sir, I’ll have someone waiting for you.”
The gates swung open and he drove forward onto the paved road. Soon, he saw a large compound with a high fence around it. A guardhouse sat by another gate, operated by a man dressed in a black uniform—similar to the ones the Vindex Corp. men wore. That was an interesting fact, which he noted, as the guard waved him through the already-open gate. Entering the compound, he noticed there were four large buildings on the premises. The signs for each read Production and Management, Research and Development, Front Offices, and Housing. Following the sign for offices, he was awed by how truly massive the place was. There must have been more people working there than the entire population of Hill City.
He parked in front of the large doors to the first building where a man in a white lab coat was standing out front, presumably waiting for him. Climbing out of his truck, he and Fidel walked up to the man. The man was tall—even more so than Gibson’s own six feet—and in his sixties with white hair and soft features.
“Sheriff Gibson, I presume?” the man asked.
“Yeah,” Gibson said.
“I’m Dr. Hashen,” the man said, reaching out his hand, which Gibson shook. “What can I help you with?”
“Can we go inside and talk?” Gibson asked.
“I’m afraid there are no pets allowed in the buildings—FDA policy and all,” Dr. Hashen said. “You can chain him up outside.”
“I’ll chain you up outside,” Gibson mumbled under his breath.
“What was that?”
“I said, in that case we can talk out here.”
“So what would you like to know?”
“Are you aware of the murders just a few miles south of here?”
Dr. Hashen looked shocked. “No, I hadn’t heard. What happened to them?”
“They were murdered, like I said.”
“How were they murdered?”
“Looks like they were eaten alive.”
The doctor’s face turned a shade paler than his already alabaster skin.
“What can you tell me—” Gibson began, but Dr. Hashen cut him off.
“I’m sorry Sheriff,” Dr. Hashen said, turning. “I have urgent business to attend to. We’ll have to reschedule.”
“Like hell we will,” Gibson said, grabbing the doctor’s arm as he started to walk away. “I want answers. I have four bodies out there.”
Dr. Hashen jerked the arm out of Gibson’s grasp. “Then you’d better start looking elsewhere because you’re not going to find any answers here. Good day.”
With that the doctor turned, swiped his keycard, and walked back into the building. Gibson growled in frustration. That doctor knew something, and whatever it was had him spooked.
He walked back to his truck and climbed in behind Fidel. The stress of the investigation was wearing on him. When he’d moved to this small town, he’d been hoping for an easy, stress-free job until he retired. And it had been just that for the last decade, but now this.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. It was Randall.
“What do ya want?” he asked, answering his phone.
“Boss, we’ve got another body,” Randall said on the other end.
Gibson cursed. “Where?”
“The Dobendik place.”
“I’ll be there in ten,” Gibson said, hanging up the phone.
The Dobendik ranch was just south of the park, only a half mile from Hill City, which meant the murderer was closing in on the town. Gibson had just started his truck to head over to the ranch when he noticed one of the armored vehicles the Vindex mercenaries drove pulling through the gate and stopping at the large doors to the offices. Dr. Hashen came storming out, yelling and waving his arms at the man who climbed out of the passenger seat. This man wasn’t dressed like the rest of the mercenaries. Instead, he wore a gray suit. He took the doctor by the arm and led him inside. The rest of the armed men fanned out, going in separate directions. It was like they were hunting something within the compound.
What the hell is going on around here?
Regardless, he had another murder to investigate, and he’d have to figure all this conspiracy shit out later. Right then he had a town to protect from a vicious killer he couldn’t seem to catch. He sped back down the gravel road through the park, spooking a deer, and its white, flag-like tail waved back and forth as it disappeared into the trees to the side of the road.
Pulling up outside the ranch house, he came to a stop, gravel grinding under his tires. He jumped out and Randall met him at the front door.
“Prepare yourself, Boss,” Randall said. “This one’s brutal.”
“Is it, or are you just bein’ a wimp?” Gibson asked, taking out some of his frustration on his deputy.
“It’s bad,” Randall said, turning and leading him towards the master bedroom.
Fidel walked by his side, nudging up against his leg to be in constant contact with him. It was frustrating because he couldn’t walk normally with the eighty-pound dog pressed against his legs. But his anger began to fade, and he found himself petting his companion. It’d been a long couple of days, and he considered going back out and grabbing the pills from his glove box, but he didn’t. It was too hard to think while on them, plus it’d been years since he’d needed them and he wasn’t about to start again. This investigation was beginning to remind him of his last one in Houston over a decade ago.
He hesitated as he realized Fidel had sat down next to the couch in the living room. Gibson’s heart rate had skyrocketed and his breathing was coming in quick gasps. He slumped down against the back of the couch next to Fidel, leaning his head on the dog. All the stress was causing his anxiety to heighten. He closed his eyes but immediately opened them. Just for a second, he’d no longer been in this room but in a different living room, with the corpse of a woman lying on the floor. She’d been carved up, missing her skin like a deer hanging in the butcher shop—gutted alive.
“You okay, Boss?” Randall asked, coming back into the living room.
“Gimme a sec,” Gibson said through clenched teeth.
“Sure. I’ll just be in here,” Randall said and walked back into the bedroom.
Deep breath, Gibson told himself. Breathe, just breathe.
Fidel laid his head on his lap, and Gibson rested his head against the back of the couch, staring up at the white plaster
ceiling. All he thought about was each breath he took as he slowly stroked Fidel’s hair, the motion calming him. It amazed him how the dog knew his emotions better than he did. Even after more than five years, it was still impressive. There was a reason his companion’s full name was Fidelis.
Taking one last deep breath, he stood up. “Thanks, buddy,” Gibson said, looking down at the dog. Fidel wagged his tail in response and Gibson smiled, giving him a scratch behind the ears as he walked into the master bedroom.
Randall wasn’t a wimp. The woman, presumably Kay Dobendik—although it was impossible to tell now—was lying on the bed. She’d been opened up. Her intestines were hanging off the edge of the mattress and the cream-colored sheets were stained a dark crimson. Blood had splattered on the wall above the headboard and a few drops even speckled the ceiling. That she’d been alive when this happened was evident by the shattered glass near the nightstand, the lamp laying on the floor, and the disheveled bedding.
Walking up, he took a closer look. Large chunks of flesh were missing from her body, just like the other victims. Any reservation he had that this might not have been connected fled his mind. This was the killer’s fifth victim. As he looked closer, he noticed skin under the victim’s fingernails. She’d definitely fought back. Finally, they could gather some DNA and at least have a chance of identifying the killer. He looked at the rest of the body. It was hard to tell, considering how mauled she was, but it looked like this had happened within the last couple of hours. He glanced at his clock—eight-thirty in the morning. There were no missing vehicles outside and the killer couldn’t have gotten far on foot.
“You already call the coroner?” Gibson asked Randall, who was walking around the room taking pictures.
“He’s on his way,” Randall replied.
This was the one thing his deputy excelled at. He could inventory a crime scene like none other. He had an eye for catching things that were out of place and documenting them all.
The front door of the house opened and Gibson left to go meet the coroner, but it wasn’t Jerry; instead, it was the Vindex Corp. man he’d talked to the day before.
“What’re you doin’ here, Clown?” Gibson asked.
“It’s Clover,” the red-bearded man said.
“Close enough,” Gibson said.
“I’m here to confiscate the body,” Clover said.
He stopped in front of Gibson as two of his men wearing hazmat suits walked around them and into the bedroom.
“Like hell you are,” Gibson said, stepping up and looking down at the man.
While Gibson was four inches taller than Clover, the other man had another fifty pounds of muscle on him. Clover pulled out a new piece of paperwork and shoved it in his face. Gibson snatched it away and read it as Clover’s men came back out, carrying the body wrapped in plastic. It was a form stating that Kay Dobendik was now property of the US Government and their acting associates, Vindex Corp. It also stated that the house had been foreclosed by the bank and was also now theirs. The murder had only taken place a couple of hours ago. How could they have already gotten this paperwork?
“This is bullshit,” Gibson said, crumpling it.
“You and your deputy need to leave the premises,” Clover said, leaning forward. “Now.”
Fidel growled from beside Gibson and the other man looked down.
“I wouldn’t piss him off,” Gibson said. “He’s liable to rip your throat out.”
“I don’t want to have to kill your mutt, but I will if he so much as flinches in my direction.”
Gibson’s hand went to the Glock on his hip. This man was two seconds away from getting his ass kicked.
“Boss,” Randall said from behind him. “Let’s go. I got what we need.”
Gibson didn’t take his eyes off Clover until he stepped aside, motioning towards the front door. “Listen to your deputy.”
Randall came up next to him and whispered in his ear. “I have all the pictures and samples from under her fingernails.”
His deputy walked past him, and Gibson took a deep breath and walked out behind him. Fidel stayed, teeth bared at Clover.
“Fidel, Hier,” Gibson said. His dog hesitated only a second before following him out the front door.
Deputy Henderson’s squad car pulled up and he rolled down his window. “I just got news. Holly Dobendik was admitted to the clinic an hour ago.”
The daughter, of course!
“I’m headin’ there now,” Gibson said, jogging over to his truck. “Randall, get those pictures back to the station and that DNA sent off. Tell them to rush it. Henderson, keep an eye on these black-uniformed pricks. I want to know exactly what they’re doing.”
“Got it,” Randall said.
“Yes, sir,” Henderson said.
Gibson sped off to the only medical facility within fifty miles—a small clinic on the south side of town. He made it there in record time, coming to a screeching halt outside the front entrance.
“Where’s Holly Dobendik?” Gibson asked, bursting through the front doors.
“Exam room three,” Mary, the receptionist, said. He had already taken off down the hall when she called out behind him. “Fidel has to wait in the truck!”
He ignored her and continued on his way, Fidel right by his side. He knocked on the door but didn’t wait for a response, opening it and startling the young teen sitting on the examination table. Dr. Hart, the town’s new doctor, sat in a chair, writing on a clipboard. He glanced up when Gibson barged into the room, his stern features turning into a scowl.
“I’m afraid—” Dr. Hart began to say.
“Shut it, Doc,” Gibson said. “I need to talk to Holly. You can wait outside.”
“I beg your—”
“I said, wait outside!” Gibson shouted and Fidel helped accentuate the point with a low growl.
Dr. Hart called him a colorful name and left the room in a hurry. Gibson would pay for that one later, but right then he had one goal—to catch a killer.
“I need to ask you some questions, Holly,” Gibson said, sitting down in the chair the doctor had just vacated. Fidel sat next to him, facing the door.
“Okay,” Holly said. He could tell she was nervous and scared as hell.
“What happened?”
“It was dad. He killed my mom.”
“What?” Gibson asked. That didn’t make any sense. Liam Dobendik was the killer? The rancher who was involved in FFA? “Tell me how it happened.”
“I was in bed when I heard mom screaming. I didn’t know what to do at first, so I just laid there. Then she stopped and I went into the room. Dad… he was on the bed… he was eating her.”
Tears were streaming down her face. He could only imagine what it would be like to see his dad eating his mom—almost like coming home to see his wife and children skinned alive. Fidel nudged him on the leg and he asked another question before he lost control. He hated to push the girl, but he needed answers.
“Then what happened?” Gibson asked.
“I screamed and dad came at me. I just stood there. I held my arm up to stop him but he bit me. I pulled away and ran all the way here.”
“He didn’t follow you?”
“I didn’t look back.”
He finally really looked at her. She had her left arm in a bandage, and her skin was pale and shiny with sweat. She looked terrible, but that wasn’t surprising with all she’d just been through.
“Do you know why your dad might…?” Gibson couldn’t finish the question.
“No,” Holly said through her tears.
“Did your dad say anything this morning before he bit you?”
“No, he just growled, almost like an animal.”
“Where was your dad yesterday?”
“He spent most of the day on the north section.”
“Doing what?”
“There’s been a couple hogs tearing up the fields and he was up there trying to kill them.”
No alibi and only
a mile or so from where they’d found the kid’s body yesterday. Crap, maybe it was Liam. He had a deer feeder and hunting blind on the north section of his land that bordered the park. Had he returned there after killing his wife? It was the only lead he had.
“Is there anything else that might be important?” Gibson asked.
“No,” Holly said, and then hesitated. “Well, dad came back last night saying he’d been bitten.”
“By what?”
“He didn’t say, but mom bandaged him up. He didn’t even eat, he was so sick. Mom thought it might’ve been rabies or something.”
“Anything else?”
“No,” Holly said, then looked up at Gibson with pleading eyes. “When you find him, can you try and talk to him?”
“I will. Thanks, Holly,” Gibson said, standing. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He exited the room and passed by a fuming Dr. Hart without saying a word. Jogging to his truck, he climbed inside and took off back towards the Dobendik’s ranch. As he drove through town, he noticed a pillar of smoke rising into the sky to the north.
“What the hell is that?” Gibson mumbled.
He sped through town, going double the speed limit. As he drew near the ranch, he could tell the smoke was coming from the Dobendik’s house. Pulling into the driveway, he was shocked to find that it was completely consumed by flames. Their small town’s fire truck was just sitting there, not even trying to put out the fire.
“What the hell?” Gibson asked, walking up to the fire chief.
“Hey, Sheriff,” Ron said.
“Why aren’t you putting that out?”
“Because of them,” Ron said and pointed to a squad of Vindex mercenaries, watching the fire. “They said let it burn. Even gave me some fancy paperwork saying the house was condemned.”
“This is total bull,” Gibson said. “All that paperwork is probably fake.”
How could they possibly have gotten the paperwork required to burn down a house with all its possessions, especially when the owner was still alive? That didn’t even make sense, but it was a line of questioning for another day. He had to find Liam before he killed again. Then he could stick his boot up Clover’s ass.
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