Her only response was a single tear that coursed down her cheek.
Wylie was unsure what to say or do next, so he did nothing. After a pause, she looked him directly in the eye. “What does that mean?”
“I guess it means what I said. I want to be with you.”
“Enough to take me away from here?”
“If that’s what you want.” He paused. “But not right away. Besides, you told me no before.”
“Maybe I changed my mind. So why not now?” she asked.
“Oh, that wouldn’t make us look guilty now, would it?”
“I don’t care. I hate it here.”
“Kennedy, when this is over I will take you wherever you want to go.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. I promise.”
“I want to see the ocean.”
“Which one?” he teased to lighten the mood a little.
She smiled. “All of them.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The nearest medical examiner was in Abilene. It was expected he would do an autopsy if there were suspicious deaths in any of the nearby small towns. The question of jurisdiction was moot. The doctor who took care of Snakewater’s citizens lived two towns over, was already overworked, and had made it clear he wasn’t the least bit interested in working on the dead. So it was understood that the good citizens of Snakewater could call on Dr. Michael in Abilene should the need arise, which was rare. Until lately. Lately Snakewater was proving to be a dangerous place.
Snakewater did boast a medical clinic where the doctor could see his patients. As it was the only appropriate space for an autopsy, should one be needed, a table had been added in the basement. The building was old, and the walls downstairs were damp concrete. The place never did get completely dry, even when the temperature above was triple digits and the humidity zero. It was actually spooky, and if one were of a superstitious nature, it could give the creeps. Miller couldn’t have cared less about ghosts unless they could talk and solve these murders. Not likely.
Delie’s body, like her father’s before her, was carried down the old wooden steps and laid out on the cold metal table. Miller was waiting for Dr. Michael and was relieved when he heard footfalls on the stairs. Dr. Michael’s appearance always amused Miller. His eyes were blurred behind Coke-bottle lenses, and he was ever stooped over, as if the tables that held his work were just a tad too low. His sense of humor never failed though.
“Hard to believe,” Michael greeted him. “Usually I only see you around the holidays when I deliver that terrible fruitcake. I think my wife thinks it might kill people and ensure my job security.” Miller was clearly not amused. “Anyway, you got another one.”
“Yeah. Two in such a short time. Not good.”
“So what’s this one look like?”
“I think that’s why I called you,” Miller responded.
“Very funny. OK…I say Miss Peacock in the dining room with a candlestick.”
“And I say you’ve been doing this job too long.”
“Who is it this time?” Michael asked as he opened the case of equipment.
Miller couldn’t stop the shiver at the sight of the bone saw. “Her name’s Delie. Delie Johnson.”
“Any relation to the PJ Johnson from a few weeks ago?”
“His daughter,” Miller said.
“Wow. What, are they under a family curse or something?”
“I’m beginning to wonder,” Miller replied.
“Stabbed too?”
“Looks like it. Only a lot.”
Michael raised his eyebrows at that. “What’s that mean?”
“Well, P.J. was stabbed once in the heart, right?”
“If memory serves,” Michael replied. “A 4-inch blade, smooth edge. One entry wound that proved fatal. Yep, pretty cut and dried.” Michael waited for Miller to appreciate his humor. When nothing was forthcoming, Michael sighed. “OK, go on.”
“Well, this girl was brutalized. You don’t have to be a doctor to know. I counted at least fifteen stab wounds. They all look pretty deep. I wouldn’t be surprised if her spine was completely severed.” Miller tried to keep the disgust from his voice.
“Rage?” Michael asked.
“You think?” Miller was trying not to be sarcastic.
“Where’d you find her?”
“You remember that old grotto on the outside of town?”
“Oh yeah. Never been there, but I heard about it. Sort of a spring-fed pool behind a stand of trees, right? Local lover’s lane?”
“That’s the place. A couple of kids went there last night to swim. Actually it was more like late last night. Anyway, they nearly tripped over her. They almost didn’t report it because they were supposed to be going to a movie. They knew their parents would shoot them if they found out the kids were hanging out there. And it scared the shit out of them. They didn’t expect that seeing a corpse in real life would be any different than seeing one on TV. Funny how reality has a way of messing with you.”
Michael nodded at this. “Any information from the scene?”
“I wish. This is a small town, and word spread. That place now has more local traffic than Norma’s diner. Must have been thirty sets of footprints. What is it with people?” The question was obviously rhetorical. “I found some blood splatter on the ground near her, but that was about it.”
“Murder weapon?”
“You know that only happens in the movies.”
“I know. Real life sucks sometimes.”
“I have to wonder if it’s connected to PJ, except he was stabbed in an alley.”
“I thought you decided he was offed by some disgruntled gambler who lost once too often.”
“And I would still think that if it wasn’t for this one.” Miller definitely was frustrated.
Michael pulled back the sheet. Her face was intact, but other than that, her body was beyond mangled.
“The EMTs laid her on the table, and one of them had run out the room to vomit,” Miller said.
“Oh my God. You weren’t kidding.”
“I never joke about murder.”
“I do. It keeps me sane. But this… This looks…ritualistic.”
“Like Satanism?”
“Like something. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one this bad. Well, let me get at it. Maybe I can tell you more after I work on her.”
Miller watched quietly as Michael gowned and masked, then put on gloves. He carefully stripped the body and bagged the clothes. Then he examined her. He counted and recorded the number of wounds on the front, then measured their width and depth.
“Could you give me a hand here since you’re not doing anything?”
Miller grunted and helped Michael turn Delie over onto her stomach. Michael repeated the procedure of counting and measuring. Then Michael pointed to a lateral cut across her spine. “Looks severed, all right. If she was upright when this was done, the perp must have been supporting her in a crossbar hold. She would have been dead weight. Pardon the pun. Whoever killed her was strong.”
Miller just pulled a face. “Do you think the same person is the perp on both?”
“Miller, this isn’t CSI. I cut ’em, take samples, do weights and measures. I can’t solve the crime. It looks as if it was a similar weapon, just by the size of the wounds. Think that’ll help?”
“I don’t know. I’m hoping it’s the same perp. I have enough trouble without looking for more than one. Do you think you can give me some real answers?”
“I can try. The autopsy should tell me something, but no guarantees. I’ll do my best.”
“Well, not that it makes any difference to you, but the mayor is going to be on my back. He just loves any opportunity to jump in and act like he’s protecting the citizens of our little village.”
“Oh, that Freddie guy. What’s he doing—trying for reelection? Because he never struck me as a man who cared much about his constituents. Unless they all died. Of course, in some places, that doesn’t
stop them from voting.” Michael chuckled, enjoying his humor.
“I don’t think it’s about that. He doesn’t need to worry about reelection ’cause no one else wants the job. He’s just one of those people who always needs to be in charge and has to know everybody’s business. More like a power-trip control thing.”
“As I said, I’ll help you as much as I can,” Michael said. He faced Delie’s lifeless body. “What can you tell me, little girl?”
Michael proceeded to make the Y cut and remove the organs. He examined them, weighed them, and made notes. Miller realized he wasn’t being useful.
“I’m going back to my office. Let me know what you find.”
“You know we don’t have any secrets,” Michael said, trying to lighten the mood.
Later Michael walked into Miller’s office.
“Different perp,” he said without preamble. “I thought so when I measured the wounds. I was looking for something similar to PJ’s, and the weapon looks to be the same. But this attack was different.”
“Different?”
“Very. PJ’s wound was one deep, penetrating strike. It was quick and clean, and the knife was sharp. That knife entered from just below the heart and climbed to its target with a snap of the wrist. Anyone could have done it. All the killer needed was to be lucky with his aim. This one, though—you were right. This girl took some time to die. It must have been agonizing until they cut her nerves. Her organs were damaged, but not beyond repair. Once her spine was separated, though…well, then she was blissfully pain-free. Most of the wounds weren’t deep, and they were jagged. Lateral strikes for the most part. They suggest the perp got into a kind of ‘feeding frenzy.’ Once the spine was severed, the vic was probably still alive for a while. I say probably because the shock from the pain might have killed her. But my educated guess is she died from exsanguination.”
Miller raised his eyebrows in question.
“She bled out. From what I could see, the tissues were starved for blood ante mortem. The damage inflicted would have eventually killed her because of the compromised organs and severed vertebrae, but she lost so much blood, it hurried the inevitable. If it was the same perp, he somehow developed a different style between victims. In my experience that really doesn’t happen. Killers have a sort of signature. That’s how we can tie together serial killings. The first victim here, PJ, was killed clean, no muss, no fuss. The perp just wanted to get the job done. On the other hand, the second killer enjoyed the work. It would have had to be someone really strong. Most likely a man, but a big, powerful woman could have done it, I suppose. Or a really angry one.
“The interesting thing, though, is the weapon. It looks as though it could have been the same knife. The striations in the deeper wounds look similar to PJ’s.” Michael ran his fingers through his hair. “A knife is so personal. A gun, well, you can kill someone from a distance and walk away. But a knife? You have to be up close and practically touching to kill with one of those. Maybe even watch the life fade from your victim’s eyes. The blood would spray out all over, soaking you. It’s so much colder.
“Murdering PJ was just business, but whoever killed this one was pissed off. Anyway, that’s what I think. It also looks like the spine was cut when the vic was standing. Might have taken two people to do it. Got any couples into murder around here?”
“Funny you should mention that. The prime suspects are a man and woman, but the man wasn’t in town when PJ died.”
“Really. Are you sure?”
“Well, I was until just this minute. Maybe it was a setup to make it look like his car broke down at the edge of town after the first murder. He’s got a rap sheet—killed a guy.”
“With a blade?”
“No, with his fists.”
Michael grunted. “Talk about personal… You know, Miller, I have seen a lot of murders in my time, and in these kinds of cases, I am always amazed at the variety, ingenuity, and convoluted thinking involved. Most perps don’t want to get caught, and there are a thousand ways to end a life. But the motives… Well, there are usually only four: money, sex, power, or revenge. There was more than one vic here in a very short time, and they were related. Did they have something in common besides the family ties? You have to figure out what that is or who would have gained by their murders.”
“As a matter of fact, there is money involved.”
“Hate to be right all the time.” Michael smiled. “It’s a burden.”
“Yeah. Must be tough. Thanks, Michael. Hope not to see you too soon.”
“Me too. Oh, wait. I take that back. I’m supposed to ask you about coming to dinner.”
“What?”
“It’s my wife’s idea.”
“It always amazes me you have a wife.”
“I know…hard to believe. But yes.”
“What do you talk about at night?” Miller was actually curious.
Michael laughed. “Her father owned a mortuary. In fact, we met when she came to claim a body years ago.”
“Oh, I am sure there’s a sick joke in there somewhere.” Miller shook his head at the thought.
“Yeah, well. She has this woman friend, and she knows you’re single…”
“And she wants to set me up?” Miller was incredulous.
“You know how women are.”
Miller laughed. “Well, tell her thanks, but no.”
“You don’t do blind dates?”
“It isn’t that. I just have my eye on a different prize.”
“Well, OK. Good for you. In the meantime I’ll get what I can for you on these murders. I don’t think the lab will come up with any revelations though.”
“Hopefully this will do it for a while. I like my town murder-free.”
“A little late for that.”
* * *
The crackling of greedy flames broke the silence in the clearing. The fire danced, shooting into the early-morning light and delighting in blotting out the sunrise. It gobbled up the wretched cabin with gusto. Luckily the shack was isolated, and there was no fear of the fire eating more than it was meant to. It quieted down, flickering, coughing, and finally dying. What it left behind was not so much as a morsel of wood or furniture. The bones of a man smoldered still, charred almost to oblivion, leaving only enough evidence behind to have the last word about his end.
When Miller arrived on the scene, he was overwhelmed. The fire department was just finishing up. The men were wrapping up hoses and milling around, checking for possible pockets.
“Hey, John,” Miller greeted the chief.
“George. What a mess, huh? Lucky it was isolated. It burned hot and hard. If anything had been near this place, it would have gone up too.” John shook his head. “There’s a body in there. Crispy, but it wasn’t the fire that killed him.”
“What did?”
“You’ll see.”
Miller walked with the chief into the smoking ruins. The smell was like no other. It reached in and coated the back of your mouth and clung like glue. The victim had obviously been sitting in a chair when the fire broke out. The metal frame stood alone, as if daring the fire to keep trying. The man, or what remained of him, appeared to have melted into the furniture. His skull was cracked in several places.
The chief shook his head. “No doubt it was arson. You can still smell the accelerant. Trying to cover the murder, no doubt.”
“Agreed,” Miller said.
“Do you need any more from us?”
“Just moving the body. Thanks for coming so fast, and thank your men. You guys are great.”
The sound of the fire truck’s tires crunching down the road filled Miller with frustration and anger. Snakewater was a quiet town. He had agreed to serve as sheriff because he had been convinced that the job would be about as stressful as being the librarian. But now, less than a month, and there was an actual body count here. Three dead! What—had he gone to sleep and woken up in Memphis?
He was convinced all these killings were
related. How could they not be? But the question was how. PJ and Delie—well, that could have been about the money, because everyone knew PJ had come into a lot of it and his daughters were the beneficiaries. So they were obviously connected by the money. But Sweet? No doubt these were his bones lying in a stinking ashen heap in his now nonexistent house, cooked black.
Of course, Sweet always did seem to have his fingers in every pie. It was suspected he had a Swiss bank account full of money and was just waiting for that last big score before he disappeared for good. He had lived in poverty, except for the vanity of that Cadillac, but many thought that was just a cover.
It was all just talk as far as Miller knew. Gossip: the fuel of a small town. How could Sweet possibly be connected to the murders? Unless he had allied himself with the main perp and then needed to be eliminated. That was possible. So who was the main perp? Kennedy? Dolores? They were the ones with the most to gain. But there was no proof whatsoever. They both had motive and opportunity, but it was all circumstantial.
Miller had the local EMT/firefighters move the corpse to the clinic. He felt bad for those men. It was strictly a volunteer organization, and Miller wondered if this kind of work was what they had in mind when they joined up.
Miller sat waiting for Michael. Again. For answers.
The mayor would be on him nonstop now. If he didn’t come up with something soon, there would be hell to pay. Especially since Sweet was Freddie’s nephew. Miller knew he’d better get some answers, or he was sure to be the sacrificial lamb. Of course, getting fired from this job didn’t seem like such a bad thing.
“Morning, Michael,” Miller greeted the coroner as he strode in.
“Really? Really? Why is it I’m spending more time here than in Abilene? What is going on in this town lately?”
“I wish I knew. Actually I was hoping you could help me figure it out.”
Michael moved over to the corpse on the examination table and pulled back the sheet. He made a face as he saw what awaited him. “Wow, couldn’t make it easy on me, could you?”
“At least it’s not another stabbing. You know what they say about variety.”
Texas Summer Page 10
