Elements of Kill

by Christopher Lane

  “Nope,” Billy Bob replied. “It’s in the truck.”

  “In the truck …” Ray repeated. “Good place for it.”

  Elvin took another swing. Ray bobbed. The cue sang as it whizzed through the air. Ray weaved. Hands pushed him back toward the arena.

  “Stand still, seal bait!”

  “Look out, Elvin!” someone warned.

  Goliath let his cue droop and turned just in time to catch the 8 ball with his cheek. Stunned, he glared in Billy Bob’s direction until the 12 caught him square on the forehead. In Biblical fashion, the giant wavered, then keeled over. Ray was tempted to yell timber.

  The crowd of rednecks converged, yelling ugly sentiments about police, Eskimos, and the officers’ mothers. Armed with three more balls, Billy Bob shouted, “Ya’ll want your heads cracked open, you just keep on a-comin’.” This had a slowing effect. In the moment of hesitation, Ray grabbed a pair of cue sticks.

  “See this?” Billy Bob said, uncharacteristically forceful. He waved his badge at them. “This here says I’m the deputy sheriff. It gives me the power and authority to take yer sorry butts into custody, toss each an’ ever-one of ya into the Deadhorse jail, and bring ya up on charges. So ya’ll either back off, nice ‘n’ slow, or yer gonna have yourselves an all-expense-paid vacation to the pokey.”

  The threat caused the rowdies to pause and consider, giving Ray and Billy Bob time to slip through the door and up the stairs. They found Fanny at her desk, fondling a glass of bourbon, sucking a cancer stick, the paper spread out before her.

  Ray stared at her expectantly. “We’re here about Honey.”

  She looked at them sleepily. “Room six. Body’s on the floor.”

  “Your compassion is mind-boggling,” Ray told her.

  “Hey, I’m as tore up as the next person. Honey was my second biggest money-maker. Being with a minor drove the men wild.”

  Ray took a step toward the hall.

  “Hang on, now,” Fanny called.

  “Don’t even try to weasel money out of us,” Ray said angrily. “We’re police. And there’s been a murder.”

  “Hey now …” she said, rising. “Don’t get all bent out of shape. I locked the door soon as we found her.” Cigarette between her lips, tumbler of booze in hand, she led them into the hallway. “Ya’ll might want me to open the room up for you, huh? Or is ya gonna break the door down, like they’s always doin’ on TV?”

  THIRTY-ONE

  IT WAS A horrific scene: arms and legs splayed in odd directions, robe twisted back to reveal smooth naked skin, face locked in an expression of terror and disbelief—eyes wide, mouth open, as if breathlessly pleading for mercy—and blood … what seemed like gallons of it. On her neck, her chest, running down her arms, pooling beneath her lifeless body, a ragged, vermilion pond soaking into the carpet.

  “The way of beauty …” Ray sighed.

  “Huh?”

  He gazed at the spectacle, amazed that someone so pretty could be made to look utterly grotesque. Alive with adolescent rebellion one moment. Dead, resigned to the grave the next. It made him nauseous. Not just the blood, or the desecration of the body. The idea that a young life could be snuffed out so quickly, so totally, so brutally.

  After a deep breath, he knelt and studied the girl’s neck. It had been neatly sliced, the jugular severed. That accounted for the abundance of blood. He touched the carpet with a fingertip. Still warm. Turning his attention to the girl’s midsection, he found a familiar mark: a circle the size of a pencil eraser just below the left breast. A trickle had escaped from the hole and snaked down her torso, pausing at the belly button before flowing into the crimson sea.

  He gently tilted her head back and pried the mouth open. Her full, pouty lips were the color of steel. Ray extracted a pen from the inner pocket of his parka and moved the tongue to one side. It was soft, rigor mortis having yet to set in. Beneath the tongue he found more blood, and an empty space where the worm should have been.

  Ray swore, then muttered, “He did it again.”

  “Who? Who did what again?” Fanny asked.

  “Give Reynolds a call. Tell him what we got.” When there was no response, Ray looked over his shoulder. Fanny was there, but no Billy Bob.

  “If you was talkin’ to yer partner,” she grinned, “you’ll have to wait a sec.”

  “Where’d he go?”

  She aimed a thumb at the hall. “Pukin’ his guts out in the toilet.” Moving in for a closer look, she asked, “What the heck happened to her?” Apparently the sight of a corpse lying in a lake of blood didn’t bother Fanny.

  “Who came up after we were here?” Ray asked, standing up.

  “Nobody.” Fanny squinted at Honey’s still, empty form. “Really is a shame,” she lamented.

  “Somebody was here,” Ray asserted.

  “We only had a couple a fellas in since you stopped by. Honey was sleepin’ so I sent ‘em back to Sherry and Vicki.”

  “What did the men look like?”

  Fanny shrugged. “Couldn’t tell ya. Didn’t pay no attention to their looks, just their money.”

  Billy Bob’s head poked in the door. His eyes were red, his face alarmingly pale.

  “Call Reynolds,” Ray told him. “Tell him we got another one.”

  The deputy took a gasping breath and hurried away.

  “Another one?” Fanny asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’d like to talk with Sherry and Vicki.”

  Fanny didn’t hear this. She was bending over Honey. “This stain’s gonna be dang hard to get up from the carpet.”

  “You see a lot of dead bodies around here?” Ray asked. Fanny wasn’t exactly broken up over this. Neither did she seem sufficiently shocked.

  “Not a lot. A few.”

  “You sound like you’re used to having murder victims around.”

  “Used to it? Huh-uh. But it happens. All sorts a things happen up here. Deadhorse is the jumpin’ off place. Ain’t hardly nothin’ outside the realm of possibility. I had some of my girls kilt before. Don’t like it none. But they ain’t kin or nothin’. Just work for me. I don’t get close with ‘em. Don’t want to start likin’ them or nothin’. Only leads to heartache.” She left the room and paused in the hall, expecting Ray to follow. Two doors away, she knocked forcefully. “Vicki!?”

  A petite peroxide blonde answered. She was in her late teens, wearing a thick terry cloth robe, her legs wrapped in black sweatpants. Despite heavy makeup, a perm, and dangly silver earrings, she looked cold and frightened, more like a lost child than a prostitute.

  “Vicki here found the body,” Fanny announced unemotionally, as if the disclosure ranked right up there with small talk about the weather.

  “Officer Attla,” Ray said, flashing his badge. “Barrow PD.”

  Vicki’s eyes darted from Ray to the badge and back again. She seemed to be on the verge of tears.

  “You found Honey?” Ray prodded.

  She nodded, her breath becoming irregular. Suddenly she was bawling, mascara running down her cheeks.

  “I’ll be up front if ya need me,” Fanny offered, unmoved by the outburst.

  Ray helped the girl to a chair sitting in front of a vanity table. He patted her shoulder, unable to think of anything to say. Vicki’s room was nicer than Honey’s he noticed as he waited for her tears to subside. The bedspread was black velvet, the mattress and box springs surrounded by an attractive brass frame. An antique dresser stood against one wall, a primitive armoire against the other. There was another door, presumably leading to a bathroom. No mirrors on the ceiling or walls. Instead of a traditional fixture, the room was lit by a row of inset studio lights.

  Two minutes later, when Vicki had begun wiping her cheeks with a tissue, Ray tried, “How well did you know Honey?”

  “Not very well,” she sniffed, “but she was nice.” This statement was followed by something akin to a wail.

  Ray patted her again, waited, then, “What time di
d you find her?”

  “About—about … I don’t know.” She was trembling now, her entire body quaking.

  “Listen, I know this is difficult, but if you can pull it together for a minute, you might be able to help us catch the killer.”

  This had little if any effect. A minute later, Ray asked, “Did you hear anything?”

  Vicki shook her head.

  “Why did you go to her room?”

  She pointed at the array of cosmetics on the table in front of her.

  “Makeup?”

  She picked up a compact of blush and opened it, showing Ray that it was empty.

  “You wanted to borrow some of that stuff?”

  Her head bobbed up and down.

  “So you went over and knocked on the door?”

  Another nod.

  “And no one answered, so you opened it.”

  Three enthusiastic nods.

  “And you found her?”

  “Yes …” the answer was more of a gasp than anything else and was punctuated by a mournful whimper.

  “Did you see anyone? In the hall? In her room?”

  Vicki shook her head, wiping a runny nose on her sleeve.

  “What did you do next?”

  “I—I told … I told … F … ann … yyy,” she managed between convulsive gasps.

  Ray gave her shoulder what he hoped was a consoling squeeze. “You had a—a client right before you found her.”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath, finally starting to compose herself.

  “Can you describe him for me?”

  She shrugged at this. “Just a regular guy.”

  “Was he tall, short …?”

  “Medium.”

  “What color was his hair?”

  “Sort of … brown.”

  “How long?”

  “Regular.”

  “Was he heavy, skinny …?”

  “Average.”

  “Any distinguishing marks? Tattoos?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  “Did he leave before you found Honey?”

  She nodded at this.

  “How long before?”

  “A couple of minutes.”

  Ray dug out the sketches and showed them to her. “Recognize either of these men?”

  “No.”

  “How about the name Salome?” he asked, refolding the sketches.

  “Salome?” She nodded.

  “Know where she is or where I could reach her?”

  Vicki frowned. “No. Ask Fanny.”

  Ray studied her face in the mirror, wondering what had driven this young girl to, as Fanny called it, the jumping off place.

  “Do you have family?”

  “A stepfather.”

  “Where?”

  “Minnesota.”

  “Maybe you should consider going back there.”

  “I can’t,” she protested. “I just … I can’t.”

  “I don’t mean to scare you, Vicki,” Ray lied, “but maybe you should think about getting into a different line of work. Something less … dangerous.”

  The tears were gone now, replaced by a hard, defiant look. “I would if I could,” she answered. “But this is the only thing I know how to do.”

  Ray found one of his cards and fished a pen out of his jacket. “My fiancée is a social worker—sort of,” he told her, scribbling on the card. “Barrow’s not exactly a boom town, but … I don’t know, she might be able to help you find something. If not up here, maybe in Anchorage or even Seattle.” He set the card on the vanity table and stepped to the door. “I’m sorry about Honey.”

  “Me too.”

  Ray found Fanny in the entry area, refilling her glass from a liter bottle of José Cuervo. When she saw him, she lifted the bottle in his direction. “Wanna snort?”

  “No thanks. Could I speak with Sherry now?”

  “Yeah.” After stashing the tequila in her desk, she led him back down the hall, to room 2 and pounded on the door. “Sherry!” she yelled before returning to her desk.

  Thirty seconds later the door creaked open and two bloodshot eyes looked out.

  “Sherry?”

  “Yeah …”

  Ray displayed his badge.

  Sherry glared at it before inviting him in. Wearing only an oversized T-shirt, the tall, slightly underweight brunette shut the door behind Ray, then slipped off her shirt. Naked except for a bright red G-string, she glumly sighed, “Ready to party?”

  “I’m a police officer,” Ray clarified. He could feel his cheeks blushing.

  “I know. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Fanny don’t let in Eskimos.” She sat on the bed, a bored expression on her tired face. “Want the lights on or off?”

  Ray held his hands up. “On. I’m not here to—”

  “Music or no music. I got rock, country—”

  “No music. I’m here because …”

  She shrugged at him. “It’s your party.” With that she slumped back on the mattress, apparently ready for him.

  “I’m Officer Attla. Barrow PD.”

  “Good for you, lover. You gonna handcuff me?” She had her head back on the pillow, eyes closed.

  “I’m here about Honey.”

  “Honey?” Her head popped up. An expletive escaped from her shiny red lips. “Don’t tell me you want me to pretend to be—”

  “Honey’s dead.”

  The brows fell, the eyes squinting.

  “You didn’t know that?”

  She frowned at him. “Huh-uh.” Sitting up on the bed she muttered, “Dead?”

  Ray retrieved the T-shirt from the floor and tossed it to her.

  After pulling it on, she asked, “What happened?”

  “Someone murdered her.”

  Sherry swore again, then reached for a pair of jeans. As she slid them on, Ray wondered at her age. She was older than Honey and Vicki. Much older. Thirty-five? Forty? The lines on her face made forty-five a possibility.

  “Did you hear anything in the last hour or so?”

  “You mean, besides heavy breathing?” she deadpanned.

  “Gunshot … scream …?”

  She shook her head.

  “Fanny said you were with someone.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Could you describe him for me?”

  Sherry reached under the bed and pulled out a bottle: dark rum. Twisting off the top, she took a long sip, then offered it to Ray.

  “No, thanks.”

  After another sip, she said, “Big guy. Say two hundred fifty pounds. Not in very good shape. You know, flabby. Smelled bad. You’d think these jerks would have the common courtesy to take a shower before coming over.”

  “Any distinguishing marks?”

  “Had a tattoo of a snake on his shoulder. Ugly thing.” She stood, unzipped her pants, and mooned Ray. “Now that’s a tattoo,” she told him, pointing to a small rose on her right cheek.

  “It certainly is.”

  When her pants were up again, Sherry lit a cigarette. “Long, greasy hair. Beard. Went by the name of Bud. Probably wasn’t his real name, though.”

  “What time did Bud leave?”

  “I didn’t clock him. But let’s just say he didn’t overstay his welcome. It was a quickie. He was pretty drunk.”

  “Drunk?”

  “Could hardly walk much less …”

  “I get the idea.”.

  She cleared her throat and spit into a plastic cup sitting next to the bed. “How’d they do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Kill her?”

  “Honey?” Ray paused, trying to decide whether or not to relate the sordid details. Somehow Sherry seemed tough enough to hear them. “She was shot. Then … cut up.”

  “Cut up?”

  “It was a … ritual thing.”

  “You mean like devil worshippers? I saw a thing on TV about how they cut up animals, even babies sometimes.”

  “No. It was a … a Native thing.”

  “Native
? But Natives aren’t allowed in here—‘cept for cops.”

  “I know.” Ray left his card. “If you remember anything that you think might help, call this number. They know how to get ahold of me. Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” Sherry grunted, guzzling rum.

  “Oh …” He pulled out the sketches. “Recognize either of these men?”

  Sherry hiccuped, shook her head.

  “How about Salome?”

  She cursed at the name. “What about her?”

  “You know her?”

  “Sure. She’s cost me plenty over the past year or so.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Stealin’ my johns. Now my thinking is that if no Eskimos are allowed in, why let Eskimos work here, huh?” She took another shot of Bacardi. “Between her and Honey and Vicki …” Sherry stood and performed a slow 360. “How am I supposed to compete with that? I mean this body of mine has seen better days. Them? They’re just kids. And Salome …” She swore again. “The jerks up here can’t get enough of her.” She plopped back onto the bed with a belch.

  “Thanks,” Ray told her.

  When he reached the entry area, Fanny was bent over an old newspaper, leaning into an article about the wolf population as if she were going to be tested on the material.

  “No one came up except the two johns?”

  She looked up at him. “Nope,” she responded, sucking on the stub of a cigarette.

  “When I was here, you got a telephone call.”

  She frowned at him and exhaled smoke.

  “You said, ‘He’s coming.’”

  Fanny shook her head at this, the frown expanding into a grimace.

  “Who was he?”

  “Don’t know what yer talkin’ about.” With that she returned her attention to the paper.

  THIRTY-TWO

  “TELL ME ABOUT Salome.”

  “What about ‘er?”

  Ray leaned against the edge of Fanny’s desk. “Who is she?”

  “Whattya mean?” Fanny responded without looking up. She worked her cigarette, turned a page of the newspaper.

  “What’s her real name? Where’s she from?”

  Fanny sucked, exhaled, lifted the corner of the paper toward her face. Finally, she grunted, “No idea.”

  “You must know something about her.”