by Mark Tufo
“What?”
Calvin lowered his voice even more, “It’s almost as though she were a sensitive. As though she knows where to go, when to go there, and what’s about to happen when you do.”
She gave him a look that clearly stated that she didn’t believe him. “That’s giving her a lot of credit don’t you think?”
“There’s a reason why we’ve been so successful in our research, Quinn. Yes, I’d like to think that part of it had something to do with my knowing what the hell I’m doing in my field, but if truth be told, I pin a lot of my actions on her hunches.”
“Hunches? Is that what you’re calling it now?”
“What else should I call them? Premonitions? That’s a dangerous word in our line of work.”
“True,” she replied, leaning back in her seat and studying him. “Still, if everything you’ve told me is true, I don’t know that ‘hunch’ is the right word.”
“Right or wrong, she’s led me down the right path every time. I’m not going to start second guessing her now.” He glanced over Quinn’s shoulder and then back to her. “Look, I know she’s a pain in the ass, but—”
“Wait, if she’s never wrong, then what about the things she says about us?”
“What things?” Calvin tried to play dumb. “You mean about the tension?” He purposely avoided the word ‘sexual’. “She’s just messing with us.” He quickly tried to change the subject again. “But like I said, I know she’s a pain in the ass, but she’s a necessary pain in the ass. At least, as far as the research is concerned.”
Quinn studied him for a moment then simply nodded her head. “Okay, Cal. If you say so.”
He glanced over her shoulder again and then smiled at her. “Yeah. I do.”
*****
“Well, I’m not seeing anything from any of these locations that tie any of the vics together.” Sergeant Sanders huffed as she flipped through her notes.
“You don’t say,” Zimmer replied sarcastically as he got behind the wheel of his cruiser and started the engine.
Sanders turned to him and removed her sunglasses. “Did I maybe do something to you in a former life to cause all of this hostility, undersheriff?”
Justin turned to her and raised a brow. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.” She put away her folder and shifted in her seat to face him better.
“You come to my county, take over my case, assume responsibility for everything, and you have the nerve to ask me that?”
She bowed her head slightly and pursed her lips. She sat silently in his car for a moment allowing the cool air from the vents to blow across her face. She tried to count to ten for a moment to calm herself and when that didn’t work, she counted to fifteen. Finally she turned to face him and stared him in the eye.
“Have you taken a moment to even TRY putting yourself in my shoes?” He cocked his head and stared daggers at her. “Seriously, have you? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be a Ranger? I didn’t come into this job to be a one man army, rushing into these little backwater burgs to pull other cops’ fat out of the fire and steal their glory.” She kept her voice calm and steady. “I got into this job because, ever since I was a little girl, being a Ranger was the only thing I ever wanted to do. Like my daddy and his daddy before him. It’s in my blood.
“I literally am a third generation legacy. So when I tell you that I had no choice, I mean it. But I don’t get to pick and choose where I go. No, siree. DPS assigns the cases and I go there and do the best I can.
“Now, I came down here to see if I can help y’all figure out who, or what is killing these scumbags, and from what I can tell, you have no idea.” Justin started to interrupt but she held up a finger. “I’m not done yet, so hold your horse.” He pulled up short and stared at her. “I came down here to HELP. Not to steal anybody’s thunder or make anybody look bad. I’m supposed to be spearheading to see if we need to put together a task force, but I’m trying like hell to figure out a way to simply assist your department in solving this case.”
Justin’s gaze narrowed. “You’d do that?”
“I just said it, didn’t I?”
“Why?” He wasn’t sure whether he should believe her or not.
“Justin,” she began, “you don’t mind if I call you that, do you?” He smiled at her and it was the first time she had ever seen him smile. “We don’t have a whole lot of Rangers and most are stretched for resources. If I can simply assist you in solving these cases, then ‘Yay for the good guys’ and carry on. But if we don’t start getting somewhere pretty doggone fast, then, yeah, I’ll have to call in my team and they will take over.” She gave him a sad look. “Neither of us wants that. We both want you to keep jurisdiction on this.”
“Then what was with the whole ‘I need copies of everything’ shit back at the station?”
“I still have paperwork I need to turn in. I’ll have to show everything when I report to my bosses. And that will include a complete copy of the file that I assisted on.”
Justin nodded. “Okay, I guess that makes sense. But why didn’t you just say so in the first damned place?”
She smiled at him as she reached across and pulled the seat belt across her chest. “How else could I get you so riled up and alone at the same time?”
He chuckled and started the cruiser. “Anybody ever tell you that you’re an odd bird, Sanders?”
“Ever since I was old enough to talk.”
“Pretty eyes, though.” Justin pulled the lever down into drive and pulled away.
*****
Jerrod Miller sat at the desk in his study and opened the secret drawer that held the key to his display case. He sat silent a moment and stared at the key. Something wasn’t quite right but he couldn’t put his finger on it. The key was there, but he continued to stare at it. Why did he have this uneasy feeling? He brought his hand up to touch the key and paused, his hand hovering above the key, almost afraid to actually grasp it. He ran one finger along the antique steel and felt the cold of it, the roughness of the metal itself.
He turned and looked at the display case, the door still locked. He shut the secret door of his desk, the key still hidden within and approached his display. He walked from one end to the other, the entire length of his immense study and stared at all of his items. He knew where nearly every one of them had come from, their history, their previous owners, the rich heritage of each and every item.
He paused and studied each shelf, the bright lights glaring down from above, highlighting the rustic beauty of the items. Something just didn’t feel…right. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was amiss. He went from one end to the other then back. Everything appeared correct. Everything seemed to be in its proper place. He couldn’t explain this queer feeling he was having and it bothered him. It was as if he had suddenly awoke to discover a digit was missing from one of his extremities but he couldn’t tell you which one. He somehow knew something was wrong, yet he couldn’t’ tell you how he knew.
He sat back down at his desk and pulled out his log book. He had over a thousand items in his collection and if it took him a week, he would discover which item was misplaced or missing.
*****
Ben Gregory had just come off duty and was heading home when his cell phone rang. He almost didn’t look at the number, but since he had been working these odd ‘ghost murders’, he decided to chance it. He pulled the phone from his duty belt and looked at the number. It didn’t register at first but he answered it anyway.
“Gregory.”
“Bennie? This is Ruby. I remembered where I saw those names, sweetie.”
“Yeah? Where from?”
“Come by the shop and have some coffee. I’ll show you.”
He glanced at his watch and stifled a yawn. “Ruby, it sure is late. Too late for coffee, actually. Can I catch you in the morning?” He noted the setting sun and wished he were already home in bed.
“Ben, you’re going to want to s
ee this,” she said matter-of-factly. “Trust me. Once you see this, you’ll want the coffee.”
He sighed and pulled the cruiser over to turn around. “You better have pecan pie.”
“Fresh made.” He could almost hear her smiling over the phone.
Fifteen minutes later when he walked in the door, she was approaching him with a steaming cup of coffee and a piece of pecan pie, a book tucked under her arm. “I’m ready for ya.”
He chuckled slightly as she directed him to a corner booth. “Why the corner, Ruby?”
“Trust me. You’re going to want some privacy once I show you this.” He sat down at the table and she slid in across from him. “You remember I told you I was in this ladies book club? We do mostly historical and they just love the local lore. Well…” she slid the book across to him, “this was a featured book not too long ago.”
Ben picked it up and looked at it. “The Legend of Two Guns Tolbert?”
“He was a local sheriff back in the late 1800s. He disappeared, and local legend was he was killed by the gang of the town big wig’s son.”
“Okay?” Ben said, flipping haphazardly through the book. Damn. No pictures. “So what’s the Reader’s Digest version?”
“You need to read it Ben.” She placed the fork next to him.
“I don’t get it, Ruby. What’s the big deal about a 19th century sheriff?”
“The names on your list? They’re the same names listed in the book.” She tapped her finger on the cover. “The gang…they’re the same people.”
Ben’s eyes grew wide as she stood to go. “Are you messing with me?”
“No, sir, I most certainly am not.”
“Are there any other names in that gang that are still around here now?”
She turned and smiled at him. “Sure are.”
“Who are they, Ruby?” he asked, suddenly excited.
“Read the damned book, boy!”
*****
Henry Douglas slid deeper into the shadows, his back against the wall of the brick building next to the Dairy Queen. He knew that if he waited just a little longer, the little gal that operated the drive thru window would be coming out the back and walking home. He had watched her do it for three nights now and she was not a cautious person.
He liked to watch her walk home. She had a sweet little body and she wore her pants just tight enough to show off her bottom. Her top was baggy because she was naturally top-heavy and he liked them that way. He had a thing for girls with ‘cheerleader’ thighs. Thick and muscular legs with large heavy breasts was his idea of perfection and this girl fit the bill perfectly.
He slowly pulled out his black Bowie knife and ran his finger along its razor-sharp edge. He hoped that she didn’t scream. He preferred for them to be alive when he took them, but he’d finish what he came here to do even if he had to cut her throat first. It didn’t really matter to him, just so long as she was still warm.
He had been casing the place for well over a week now. It had been purely by chance that he had driven through this particular place on the same night she was working and she took his order. He knew she couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen years old, but that was prime pickings for him.
Fresh from prison, he had fantasized about doing this for the last six years, ever since his cellmate had gone into very long descriptive detail about how he had done this very thing and gotten away with it, only to be pinched for a liquor store robbery three days later. The way he had described abducting the young girl and torturing her while satisfying his own hedonistic pleasures for two straight days before killing her and leaving her body in an abandoned well had left him with the seeds of pure evil to take root in the depths of his soul. He had spent many a night, lying in his narrow bed, planning every detail of this moment and the anticipation was about to overwhelm him.
More than once he feared he would chicken out. He had become so excited since taking his position in the alleyway that he had reached orgasm twice without touching himself and his body felt drained, yet strangely rushed from the adrenaline pumping through him.
He waited still, his breathing coming in gasps, his fingers flexing along the handle of the knife, senses alert as he watched the back door of the Dairy Queen open and the all too familiar shape of his would be victim step out. He tried to think of the name on her name tag, but all he could bring to mind was the size and shape of her breast that the name tag was pinned to and he was instantly aroused again.
He tried to force his breathing to slow down as his palms slickened with sweat. His vision tunneled as he watched her say something to someone inside before turning to head in the opposite direction, away from him and his hiding place. He smiled to himself as he stepped out of the dark alley and fell into step behind her. He pulled the top of his hoodie up to cover his face as he slipped behind dumpsters or behind grease bins, anything to remain hidden from view until he could close the distance between himself and the succulent example of extreme female voluptuousness.
He watched every luscious inch of her as she walked, completely unaware that she was being stalked, behind the Dairy Queen then turn to make her way home. As soon as she was out of sight he increased his speed to close on her. As he approached the corner he put his back to the wall and stole a peek around the edge. She was so close that he could almost smell her perfume and it was more than he could bear. He stepped out from the corner to begin his sprint, to tackle her to the ground and make his threat when something icy cold gripped his knife hand in the darkness.
A brisk wind blew past his face, bits of dust and debris stinging his eyes as his ears picked up the distinct sound of a voice in the wind saying, ‘Do-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-n’t’.
He fought the urge to yelp and instead turned to face his own attacker. He found himself face to face with glowing red eyes born from the fires of hell itself…burning with the ferocity and anger of over a hundred years of hatred. Henry felt the bone numbing cold as it crawled up his wrists and settle into the joints of his elbow. His eyes widened as he inhaled to scream, but another hand gripped his throat, deadening the scream before it ever took root.
The girl continued on her way as Henry was dragged in the other direction out of view, his knife falling softly onto a bag of trash next to the dumpster.
16
Eckerson awoke to beating on his door. He stumbled through his house and jerked open the front door, squinting at the offending sunlight and the even more offensive Deputy Foo standing on his porch offering a cup of coffee. “Up and attem, good looking.”
“No fucking way, rookie,” Jeff muttered as he started to slam the door.
Jon propped a foot in the way to keep him from slamming the door shut. “There’s another body.” He pushed the door open with his foot and stepped into Eckerson’s home holding the coffee out to him. “Sheriff sent me out to get you.”
Eckerson sighed heavily and shook his head. “So tell Sanders. It’s her fucking case now.” He turned to go back to bed. “Besides, it’s daytime. I work vampire hours.”
“Oh, haven’t you heard? The good Ranger isn’t taking over. She’s just assisting now. It’s still ours. So get some clothes on and let’s get rolling.”
Jeff paused and looked over his shoulder. “You’re joking, right?”
“Nope. Zimmer wants us on the scene in,” he glanced at his watch, “ooh, ten minutes ago.” He smiled at him.
“Justin can kiss my ass.” Jeff stumbled back to his bedroom and collapsed on his bed. “I’m bushed.”
Jon followed him in there and shook his head. “Jesus, dude. Your house looks like an old person’s place. Smells funny, too. Come on. Scott said if you don’t get up, I’m supposed to dump a pitcher of ice water on you.”
Jeff cracked a sleepy eye and glared at the younger man. “You do, and so help me God, I’ll plant a foot so deep in your ass, you’ll taste my toenails.”
“Then get up. I brought coffee. From your favorite coffee place. Just the way you like
it.”
Eckerson groaned and rolled over. “Sweet Mary, mother of God, how do they expect me to function with three hours sleep?”
“Coffee. Lots and lots of coffee,” Jon quipped. “And my cheery disposition.”
Eckerson glared at him as he took the coffee. “Do you mind? I need to get dressed.”
“Yeah sure. But step on it. We’re already late.” He stepped out. “And for the love of Pete, open a window. The house smells like mothballs.”
“What do you know of mothballs?” Eckerson asked. “When was the last time you smelled mothballs? Did you hold him by his little wings or by his legs?”
“Yeah, ha-ha-ha.” He walked through Eckerson’s house and browsed through the knick-knacks. “Where you get all this old stuff?”
“It was my mom’s house. She passed away and I inherited it.”
“That explains the 1950s décor.”
“It’s coming back into style,” Jeff said through the door. “Slowly but surely, it always comes back.”
Jon chuckled. “Some of it does, yeah. But seriously? Lose the shag carpeting, old man.”
Jeff opened the door and was still tucking his uniform shirt into his pants. “At least it’s paid for.”
“Then for the love of Pete, update it a little.”
Jeff looked around and shook his head. “Why? It still works.” He shot him a smile. “Besides. Have you ever walked on shag carpeting barefoot? It’s the bomb.”
“Dude, there is something seriously wrong with you.”
