Crota

by Goingback, Owl

  Close enough to get a knife in the back.

  Randy turned his attention back to the party standing at the fence. He could see it was a woman, though her back was turned to him. Did her hands, unseen, clutch the metallic smoothness of a pistol? A knife?

  “Hello!”

  No answer.

  Randy crouched, ready for action. He approached from the side.

  He could see her a little better now: brown hair worn tied up, a plain blue, short-sleeved dress. No coat or jacket.

  “Lady, are you all right?” Dumb question. It was obvious she wasn’t. He stepped in front of her--

  And gasped.

  She was standing there, stiff as a board, arms limp at her side. Her face was a waxen mask without expression. Her eyes, open and glassy, were rolled back into their sockets.

  “Ma’am?” He stepped forward and gently touched her cheek. There was no response.

  She’s in shock.

  “Jesus, you’re cold. We’ve got to get you to a hospital, and fast. Here...put this on.” He removed his insulated jacket and slipped it over her shoulders. He might as well have been dressing a department-store mannequin. She didn’t move; she didn’t talk. In fact, she barely breathed.

  “Listen, I’ve got to get you inside where it’s warm--”

  A strange crackling interrupted his train of thought. It was like a sudden buildup of static electricity.

  “What the hell is that?”

  He stepped away from the woman. The feeling of being watched returned, grew stronger. His heart thudded madly as a wave of black fear washed over him. He knew it wasn’t just the two of them. Without knowing how he knew, Randy knew the killer was still around. Maybe it was a foolish thought wanting to come face to face with the killer. Maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

  The crackling grew stronger, the feeling of fear more intense. From the woods to his left came sounds of movement. The sounds drew nearer.

  His flashlight fell unnoticed to the ground. Bracing himself, he gripped his pistol tightly in both hands, arms extended, elbows slightly bent, his finger on the trigger. He took a deep breath, and waited.

  A dry twig snapped. A shadowy figure emerged from the woods, accompanied by a bobbing light. Another figure appeared. Another light. The first light swung his way. The crackling stopped.

  The two figures came closer, took on definition. Arms, legs, faces and identities appeared. Randy let out a sigh of relief and gently lowered his gun. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely get the pistol back into its holster. One of those approaching stopped near the body of the mutilated man. The other kept coming.

  “You okay, Murphy?” Lloyd shone a flashlight into Randy’s face.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied, bending down to retrieve his dropped flashlight.

  Lloyd nodded. He looked at the woman. “Who’s this?”

  Randy shook his head. “I don’t know. She was just standing here. I think she’s in shock. Maybe that’s her husband lying over there. She might have seen it happen.”

  “How long ago did you find her?”

  “Three, four minutes at the most. I heard you guys coming, thought it might be the killer coming back to take up where he left off.”

  Lloyd nodded. “You call for an ambulance yet?”

  “Not yet. I didn’t bring my portable with me.”

  “That explains why we couldn’t reach you. Next time make damn sure you have your radio with you before leaving your patrol car.”

  “Right, I--”

  Lloyd unclipped the portable radio from his belt, turning up the volume. “Dispatch, come in. This is Unit One. Over.”

  “Go ahead, One. Over,” the radio squawked in reply.

  “Roger, be advised we’re gonna need backup and an ambulance out here. We’ve got another J-Four on our hands. Also, you’d better get hold of Skip. We’re gonna need him out here too. Over.”

  “Roger, One, will advise. Over.”

  Lloyd clicked the radio back off. It would have been better to call the report in over the telephone. Now everyone in the county with a scanner--and who had access to a list of department codes--would know there had been a non-accident-related death. Of course, everyone would know by morning anyway.

  Hanging the radio back on his belt, he turned to Randy. “It’ll take the ambulance at least twenty minutes to get here, probably take the sheriff a little longer than that.”

  “What about her?” Randy asked.

  “The most important thing is to keep her warm until the ambulance arrives. Talk to her, that might snap her out of it. In the meantime I’m going to do a walk around and start securing the area.”

  “Go slow, that fucker might still be out here.”

  Lloyd nodded and hitched his gunbelt higher up on his hips.

  Randy turned his attention back to the dazed woman. She hadn’t moved an inch since he'd first laid eyes on her.

  Jesus, she’s really out of it.

  How could anyone stand so still for so long? He thought about trying to get her to sit down, but changed his mind. He wasn’t a doctor and wasn’t about to take the chance of causing any injury. You wouldn’t move a traumatic person at the scene of an automobile accident, and he wasn’t going to do it here. No, Lloyd was right; all he could do was sit tight, and hope that whoever had stalked this field earlier wouldn’t be back.

  PART II

  Chapter 9

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 17

  The sharp smell of grilled onions assaulted Skip as he entered Nancy’s Cafe. The diner was busy, as it always was at lunchtime. Yellow-clad waitresses scampered roachlike around the room, delivering greasy condiments and filling empty coffee cups and tea glasses. Behind the Formica counter, burgers sizzled on a blackened grill while french fries bubbled and browned in golden vats of scalding oil. The murmur of voices mingled with the clanking of silverware and plates to create a sound that made him feel like he was inside some giant machine.

  Pausing in the doorway, he removed his hat and aviator sunglasses. Two sweat-soaked carpenters were hard at work putting a new sheet of plate glass in the front window. They labored under the watchful eye of Nancy Remes, the diner’s Oriental owner. She flashed Skip a quick smile, then went back to the task of supervising. If the carpenters had thoughts of doing a half-assed job, or of padding their list of expenses, they might as well forget it. Nancy was a shrewd businesswoman, not one to be easily fooled. Skip often wondered how a scrappy little lady from the Philippines ended up owning a burger joint in central Missouri. Maybe it was a small world after all.

  Stepping over the tools near the entranceway, Skip made his way toward the booths in the back. As he passed the counter several customers turned curious faces his way. He ignored them. The last thing he wanted was to get trapped in a conversation. And he sure as hell didn’t feel like being asked any more questions concerning the mutilations--questions he couldn’t answer.

  Katie was seated at their usual booth. She wore the gray shirt-and-jacket combination he liked so much. Her brunette hair was swept up, business-style. A thin gold chain hung about her neck.

  Much too sexy to be a loan officer.

  Noticing Skip’s arrival, she put down her ink pen and closed the tiny black notebook she’d been writing in.

  “You look dreadful,” she said, as he folded himself into the seat across from her.

  “Thanks. I’ll have you know I feel dreadful too.”

  A frown shadowed her face. “You need to go home and get some rest.”

  No sooner had he gotten home last night than he’d had to rush out to the Owens place. He didn’t get back until well after midnight and was gone again before the sun came up.

  “I wish I could,” he said, stealing a sip of her water. He shook his head. “It’s like a three-ring circus out there. I’ve got county cops showing up, city cops, politicians, veterinarians, off-duty firemen, reporters, news crews--you name it. Every damn one of them has an opinion about how I should
do my job. I’ve had to borrow a couple of units from Warren County just to handle the gawkers. The traffic on Cemetery Road is practically bumper to bumper.”

  “I’ll bet they’re riding you pretty hard,” she said.

  Skip pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, lit one and blew smoke at the ceiling. “I’m the sheriff; who else they gonna ride?”

  “They could be a little more patient.” Her voice was firm. “Everybody knows you’re doing the best you can.”

  He laughed. “Patient? Hell, I’m lucky they haven’t started screaming for my badge. Three people brutally murdered, a score of cattle mutilated. That’s not something that sets easy with a town this small. Christ, the Jerworski boy was only sixteen years old.”

  Buddy Jerworski’s mother had positively identified the body. They had also found Buddy’s Harley Davidson a couple of miles from the cemetery, hidden in a ditch beneath some branches.

  “I’m telling you, people are scared,” Skip continued. “And when people get scared they do stupid things. Several of the ones we turned back this morning were toting guns. I’m afraid someone innocent is going to get shot, maybe one of my deputies.”

  She laid her hand over his. “Any clues yet?”

  “Nothing. No tire tracks, no footprints, no witnesses. Beautiful, huh?”

  “What about Mrs. Owens?”

  He shrugged. “The doctor says it’s too early to tell. She might pull out of it; she might not. Right now she’s a vegetable.”

  “Poor thing.” Skip saw her frown. She was probably thinking how horrible it must have been to find her husband the way Mrs. Owens did, or what she would do in the same situation, which would only remind her how dangerous his job could be. They had talked before about him going into a different line of work--argued, actually. She hadn’t forced the issue too much, knowing how much his job meant to him.

  Marcella, the youngest of Nancy’s three waitresses, arrived with Katie’s order. She handed Skip a menu and flashed him a smile. He eyed Katie’s tuna salad sandwich, thought about ordering the same, but decided on a cheeseburger with a side order of onion rings. Marcella jotted down the order, winked and strutted away. The wink didn’t go unnoticed.

  "Got something going on the side, have you?” Katie said. Marcella’s flirtation was only harmless fun, and Katie knew it.

  Skip cleared his throat. “It’s the uniform, dear. Honest.”

  “I bet.”

  “Honey, you’re the only woman in my life, I swear. I will love you ‘til the day I die.”

  She smiled, hooking her index finger under his chin. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”

  Lloyd entered the diner noisily, greeting customers as he walked over, a stack of folders tucked neatly under his left arm.

  “Greetings, Lloyd,” Katie said, looking up from her sandwich.

  “Hello, good-looking,” Lloyd replied. “How about you and me running off to Mexico together?”

  “Careful...I’ll tell Barbara on you.”

  “Oh God, don’t do that. She’ll beat the hell out of me.”

  Skip motioned for Lloyd to join them. Katie slid over to make room.

  “Do you know the mayor’s looking for you?” Lloyd asked Skip.

  “Let him look. You didn’t tell him where I was, did you?”

  Lloyd swiped a pickle off Katie’s plate. “Are you kidding? I told him you had to run over to Warrenton and wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours.”

  “What’d he say to that?”

  “Let’s just say he wasn’t too happy.”

  Skip grinned. “Good. I hope it ruins his day.” He looked at the folders. “What did you find out?”

  “I spoke with Fred Granger a few minutes ago. He’s still going over Roy’s body with a fine-tooth comb.”

  “You mean he’s going over what’s left of it,” commented Skip.

  Katie’s sandwich paused midway to her mouth.

  “Yeah,” Lloyd continued. “So far it looks like the same M.O. as the last one. “He slid the folders across the table. “I got on the phone and called around like you asked. It seems there have been some sixteen hundred cases of cattle mutilation reported in twenty-eight different states.”

  Skip whistled in surprise.

  “I couldn’t get the specifics on all the cases, but I did get some information on the mutilations in Kansas, Arkansas and Minnesota. Fascinating stuff. No clues or physical evidence ever found around any of the bodies; nobody saw or heard anything; sexual organs, eyes and tongues surgically removed. In a couple of cases they found a filmy white substance that couldn’t be identified stretching from the carcass to the ground.”

  Katie put down her sandwich.

  “And nobody saw anything?” Skip asked.

  “Not anything they could put their finger on. They did have a rash of UFO sightings--”

  Skip held up his hand. “Hold it right there. Flying saucers and little green men?”

  Lloyd frowned. “I just read the stuff, I don’t write it.”

  “I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

  “Like I was saying,” Lloyd continued. “At the time the mutilations occurred there was a rash of UFO sightings, but a connection could never be proven. There’s also a couple of reports about unmarked helicopters buzzing ranch areas and leading the air force on a merry chase.”

  “Helicopters, huh?” Skip rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose it’s a possibility. That would explain why we haven’t found any tire tracks, or why nobody saw any suspicious vehicles in the area. You said some of the cattle had certain internal organs surgically removed?”

  Lloyd pointed at one of the folders. Skip opened it and glanced through the computer printouts and fax copies.

  “Sexual organs, mainly,” Lloyd said. “In some cases the hide where the incisions were made looked burned. The most incredible thing is the total absence of blood remaining in the bodies. Do you have any idea how hard it would be to drain a full-grown cow of all its blood?”

  Skip admitted he didn’t.

  “Hell, it would be next to impossible. First off, we’re talking about a good sixty pints of blood. Even with a portable hand pump it would take you at least ninety minutes. Another thing, once you remove a third of the blood the veins collapse. The only way it could be done is by injecting a saline solution into the heart while the animal is still alive. The solution increases the heart rate and makes the blood pump faster.”

  But the blood wasn’t drained from the Owens’s cattle,” Skip stated. “And they were ripped apart, not surgically operated on.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Lloyd nodded. “I think these files are all UFO nonsense, but they make great reading.”

  “Anything else?” Skip asked.

  “Did I mention the devil-worshiping cults?”

  Katie gave Skip a look. “No, you didn’t,” Skip said deliberately.

  “Actually, they’re not sure if it was devil-worshipers or not. There was one incident where a circular altar was found not far from where a couple mutilations had occurred. A couple of the stones used to form the circle had pentagrams and other religious signs on them. One had the word Isis painted on it. Isis was an Egyptian goddess, or something like that. It’s all in the files.”

  Skip shook his head. “Well, Lloyd, I want to thank you: this really clears everything up. Jesus, if I didn’t already have enough to think about, now I’ve got to consider bizarre cults and little green men from Mars.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Seriously, though, I would like to look into this cult thing a little more. Round up a few volunteers and go through the cemetery again. Look for unusual stone formations, names, carvings--anything that might indicate a cult is involved. I’m gonna see if I can’t tear Doc Scriber away from his office for a couple of hours to take another look at those cows.”

  Lloyd started to rise.”

  Oh, yeah,” Skip said, remembering something. “There’s been a reporter from the St. Louis Post-Di
spatch hanging around the office. Take him with you. Keep him busy and out of my hair for a while.”

  Lloyd frowned. “Thanks a whole hell of a lot.”

  “Anytime,” Skip smiled.

  Lloyd left at the same time the waitress brought Skip’s order to the table. Funny, but he didn’t feel nearly as hungry. Maybe thoughts of cattle mutilations and a quarter-pound cheeseburger didn’t go so well together. Electing to stick with just onion rings, he folded a napkin over the burger, laying it quietly to rest.

  He said to Katie, “Look, I don’t want Billy leaving the yard.”

  “You think there’s any danger in town?” she asked.

  Skip let out his breath. “I don’t know. Three people dead in less than twenty-four hours and we don’t have a clue to go on. At first I thought it might be drug related, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it is some kind of cult. Lord knows what kids today are into.”

  “You think it’s kids?” Katie asked.

  He shook his head. “No...not really. I don’t think kids could have done it; the murders are too vicious, too insane. Our killer isn’t a kid. He’s a monster.”

  Chapter 10

  7:15 P.M.

  The cow lay on its right side, legs stretching straight out. It had been split along its underside from about six inches back of the udder, right through the udder, with two teats on one side and two teats on the other, clean to the brisket between the front legs. The head of the cow had been split open lengthwise, the separation running between the upper and lower jaws, which looked as if they had been pulled in opposite directions, causing the entire head to rip all the way back to the base of the skull.

  There were twelve bodies in all, eleven cows and one bull--thirteen if you counted Roy Owens at the morgue. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn't put Ol’ Roy back together again.

  The poem came to Skip as he stood staring down at the mutilated cow. He almost smiled. Not that he found anything funny about the murder of Roy Owens, but wasn’t it strange how the mind could conjure up humor in times of tragedy? Maybe it was a cushioning effect, the brain’s way of softening the terror and protecting the sanity. Maybe he was just tired.