Heron Park

by C. K. Raggio

  The agent didn’t flinch. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  Timmy was impressed with the man’s poker face. Voices shouted out objections all around.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Doesn’t the public have a right to know?”

  “Why is the FBI here?”

  “Do we have a serial killer on Long Island?”

  Let’s take it a step further and test your instincts, Mr. Agent. Timmy pushed his way through the mass of people: locals, businessmen, reporters in suits with tape recorders and video cameras. He brushed against a good-looking woman with pouty lips and wondered if she lived in the area. He quickly turned his back on her. No time for that now, he needed to concentrate.

  The agent quieted the crowd. Reminded everyone to stay in groups, then his eyes darkened. They were controlled at first, but narrowed as Timmy came up behind the first row of onlookers. The agent coughed, took a sip of water. His eyes moved left and right over the rim of his glass. He searched the people before him like a shepherd searching for a wolf among his sheep.

  Timmy slouched his shoulders, frowned, looking just as confused and scared as everyone around him. The agent’s eyes passed over his. Not a hint of suspicion resided in their depths. Pride filled Timmy’s chest. This would be easier than he thought.

  “That’s all we have for now, thank you.” Agent Sanders walked off the stage. He whispered with the Sergeant of the Homicide Division. Timmy was sure they were discussing how the media knew so much and who the leak could be. How long would it take them to figure out he was the leak?

  Mr. Agent strode toward the parking lot, his fists clenched at his sides. Timmy guessed the agent’s destination and made his way to his own vehicle. He smiled. He’d stood a few feet in front of the FBI and police department and went unnoticed. He was unstoppable.

  ~~~

  The bark from the big oak tree dug into Timmy’s spine, but he stayed still, a statue. His last victim’s pleas vibrated against his skull. The high from torturing her was stronger and lingered longer than the others. He’d done it in the open, not far from where he now stood. He could’ve been caught at any moment. His pulse raced.

  This new thrill brought with it an urge unlike anything he’d ever felt. His muscles contracted under a wave of adrenaline. He didn’t want to wait, didn’t want to relive the moment from memory.

  He wanted more.

  He wanted to feel the warm blood dripping from his fingertips. To frighten the everyday people into sleeping with their lights on. Make the people who worked directly on the case go insane with frustration for not being able to catch him.

  A young couple sat on the beach in front of him while their children played tag in the surf. He watched as the parents turned to look at a lone figure walking toward them from the woods.

  The agent strode closer and Timmy smiled. The man obviously wasn’t a complete moron. He probably had a feeling the only way Timmy could safely get in and out of the park was by boat.

  Timmy moved closer, hiding behind one of the many illegal duck blinds along the shore. The agent studied the beach and stared at the water that flowed around the Robert Moses Bridge a few miles away.

  A small wave lapped against the sand, and the agent jumped back before the water licked his shoe heels. Timmy’s hard stare must’ve got the hairs on the man’s neck standing up because he whipped his head toward Timmy’s duck blind. The agent’s hand went beneath his blazer to his hip, and he took a step in Timmy’s direction.

  A soccer ball hurled up the beach and smacked into Mr. Agent’s leg. He smiled at the little boy who ran up to him.

  “Sorry, Mister.”

  “That’s okay,” the agent said, and glanced back at the bushes.

  The boy shuffled his feet in the sand. “My mom says you’re probably a cop. Is that true?”

  Timmy backed out toward the thicker area of woods. He’d wait for the agent to pass him before going back the way he’d come through the marsh.

  He pushed aside branches on the deer trail, keeping a close eye out for patrolling officers. After walking a half-mile into the woods, he stopped. The sound of girlish laughter and heavy footsteps came down the main trail adjacent to him. He dropped to the ground and crawled under a large bramble bush.

  A group of young girls in green and white high school track uniforms jogged by. They were led and followed by their coaches. The coach in the back slowed up for the two lagging behind. They passed close enough for him to smell their sweet sweat.

  He stared between the web of prickly branches. A brunette caught his eye. She was the slowest, the weakest. Her breathing short and shallow. He wished he could grab her, drag her into his woods.

  He’d rip the hideous uniform from her body. Hold her down by her hair, his knee pressed into her throat. Her chest would heave and her nipples would tickle his leg. He’d trace his knife down to her toes, memorizing every detail down to the tiniest freckle.

  Her eyes would go wild with fear. Maybe he’d start with those. A little slice at her lower lid, just enough to break the skin. Blood mixed with the blue of her eyeliner. Then he’d go lower, make a deeper cut into the soft flesh at her hip. She would buck against him then. Bloody tears streaming down her face.

  He placed a hand at the growing bulge in his pants. His fingertips danced across the denim. How loud would she scream?

  Timmy’s stomach gurgled, the sudden noise brought him back to reality. The track team had disappeared around a curve. It was way past dinnertime. Burger Joe’s sounded good right about now. His favorite booth so he could watch the comings and going of the customers. Maybe he’d get lucky and the pouty-lipped girl from the news conference would come in.

  Footsteps crunched over leaves on the deer trail behind him. Timmy froze. He closed his eyes and covered his mouth to suppress his excited breathing. The person passed by without slowing down. Timmy turned and stared at Mr. Agent’s back.

  It was all too easy. Even when he wasn’t paying attention he could outsmart them.

  With the trail deserted, he slunk from under the bramble bush. The teenage runners’ screams echoed in his mind. His stomach voiced its hunger again, but his thoughts wandered to a greater need. The need to go home and plan for the next one.

  CHAPTER 6

  On her couch, Cassie balanced her laptop on her knees, a glass of her favorite Long Island cabernet close at hand. It was Friday night, and the first time she’d been home for more than a few hours since the start of the case. Her couch never felt so good.

  She once again looked over the results Doc Benton received earlier that morning. He’d been right. The dog hairs he’d found on the victim did not all belong to the deceased dog, Rooter. DNA testing for dogs was able to distinguish breeds. This wasn’t conclusive but there was an eighty percent probability the hairs were from an English mastiff mix. She placed the computer on the coffee table.

  Those hairs matched the hairs found on and around the missing women’s dogs from Virginia. There was no doubt. The cases were related. Long Island had its first serial killer since Robert Shulman confessed to killing five prostitutes in 1996. She never thought she’d have to deal with a case like this. But here she was, no choice.

  The dog hair lead was a dead end for now, but at least it gave them something to look at. They’d already called every vet clinic in the area, but nobody had any records for a yorkie named, Rooter. Nor, did they have any for a mastiff mix of over 250 pounds, the estimate based on the bite wound measurements for both Rooter and Jane Doe.

  She yawned. Talk about being exhausted. She took a sip of wine and stretched back on the couch. The strong-bodied cab warmed every muscle in her body. What she’d give to jump in her car and head out east, grab a seat on the patio of a vineyard and drink until she went numb.

  Back to reality. Until they found out Jane Doe’s ID, they couldn’t relax or sleep. Of course, she didn’t really want to sleep. She’d always been proud of her ability to deal with gore, but for wh
atever reason she couldn’t seem to find her stability on this case. Every time she closed her eyes she saw fat seeping from Jane Doe’s stomach wounds. It looked like a cross between yellow pus and a lifetime smoker’s morning phlegm.

  She exhaled and gulped down half of her wine. She forced herself to change tactics. She’d focus on the murderer not the victim. This guy had practiced a lot. Took his time. He stripped rectangular areas of skin and flesh from Jane Doe’s body like he was filleting a fish. Not down to the bone, but enough so he could peel the skin free.

  Also, decapitating a body wasn’t as easy as most thought. You had to know the exact spot to cut and Doc hadn’t found any hesitation marks on the vertebrae.

  A door slammed and Cassie jumped to her feet. She grabbed her 9mm and went to the window. A figure walked toward the back of her house in the shadows. Her back door was open! Before she could move four sets of nails scrambled on the side deck. She shook her head and laughed. It was only her Dad and Snow. She placed the gun back on the mantel and closed her eyes.

  Muscle and flesh, hanging like a filthy wet dishrag off glistening white bone flashed on the back of her lids. She flipped open her eyes. The door swung in and a streak of white barreled toward her. “Easy, Snow.” Her father’s dog skidded to a halt and the tip of her tail brushed the wine glass perched on the coffee table. It teetered.

  “Hey!” Cassie threw her hand out and almost knocked it to the floor herself before righting it. “Calm down.” Her voice came out rougher than she’d meant.

  Snow dropped to the floor, cowering, her big brown eyes questioning. Her head cocked to the left, then the right. She poked at Cassie’s leg with her nose as if hoping the slight touch would snap her out of her bad mood.

  Cassie sat on the couch with a sigh. Snow laid her head in her lap. Multiple old wounds, pink and raised like braille, crisscrossed the dog’s face and jowls. Snow had been a fighting dog. She’d been good, too good. The damage inflicted on her never came close to being life threatening.

  “I’m sorry, girl. I didn’t mean to yell.” Cassie massaged the soft dimpled fur under the dog’s chin.

  “You know, you’ll never be rid of her if you keep that up,” her father said from the doorway. He laughed a deep belly laugh as Snow glared at him.

  “Have you eaten?” He held up a small bag. “Brought you some sushi.”

  Cassie threw her head back. “Oh, Dad… I’m so sorry. I forgot the fishing meeting.” They’d been getting sushi every month after the meeting since she was twelve. How could I forget?

  Worry put her mind into overdrive. “How did you get there? Who took you home? I hope you’re not mad, I – ”

  “I know you’re busy.” He reached a gnarled hand to her shoulder and laid a kiss on her head. “I figured you’d be swamped with the new case. Don’t go acting like I’m some sort of invalid either, just because I don’t like driving at night.”

  She cringed at his puffed out chest. He refused to acknowledge he was getting older and not able to do everything on his own. Talk about jamming her foot in her mouth with all the questions.

  “Sam drove me there and he dropped me here.” He sat next to her and opened the bag. “He’ll be back in an hour to pick me up. If I was mad, I wouldn’t be bringing you dinner.”

  She rubbed her eye. Sam was a lifesavor. She made a mental note to call and thank him. Maybe she’d even make him those chocolate cupcakes he loved so much.

  Her father handed her chopsticks and she smiled. Snow took her cue and moved toward her favorite spot by the fireplace. She sniffed at the empty hearth. The neighbor’s dog barked and her ears perked up. She looked at Cassie’s dad.

  “Go ahead, say hi,” he said.

  Snow trotted to the back door, nosed open the screen and sprinted into the darkness.

  “I still can’t believe she’s the same dog from two years ago,” Cassie said through a mouthful of sushi.

  “Yeah, I’m so glad you talked me into taking a look at her.” He grinned toward the window. “Josh did such an amazing job with her. If she didn’t have all those scars, you’d never suspect she grew up a prize-fighting dog. It goes to show Josh was right. Those dogs didn’t do it for themselves, they did it for the people they loved and trusted.”

  “You still taking her to Josh’s rehab center on Saturdays?”

  “Yup. Sam takes Sable too. Snow hasn’t so much as growled at any dogs or handlers, but she loves going,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Waits by the car every Saturday morning until we go. Sable’s still having some problems, so I go to keep Sam company and make Snow happy.”

  Cassie looked down at her near empty plate. The conditions she’d found those dogs in were deplorable. She wished she could’ve saved them all, but the state took over. They only let Josh Meyer, from the dog rehab center, take in six out of the twenty. Ten of them were put down for being un-trainable, or so they said. The other four were sent to another shelter out west. Sam’s dog Sable had been the only German shepherd in the bunch, all the rest were pit bulls. Which meant they already had two strikes against them.

  She popped the last piece of sushi into her mouth, savoring the kick of wasabi at the end.

  “You were hungry, huh?”

  “Starving. Thanks for this.” She refilled her wine glass, wishing for a moment she’d opened a white instead of the red. “So, what have you heard about the murder? I’m sure everyone’s flapping about it by now.”

  Her father frowned and scratched his temple. “Unfortunately, Cass, more than I’d like to.”

  It turned out he knew almost everything. The beheading, the dog hairs found on the body, the missing skin and hands. The only thing he didn’t seem aware of was that Jane Doe had been alive for much of the torture. More than half of what he said wasn’t supposed to be known to the public.

  Cassie sank down into the couch, hugging her glass of wine. Damn this small town. Who had leaked all that information? Agent Sanders was already pissed the media knew about the dog and the possible connection between all the cases. Wait until he found this out.

  “Dad, who did you hear this from?”

  “Everyone in town is talking about it. Peggy from the diner thought the dog’s name sounded familiar. Maybe owned by a doctor or a nurse at the hospital.”

  Cassie sat up, sloshing wine onto her pants in her haste to reach for her phone. “Damn.” The stain spread across her favorite pajama bottoms, and leaked onto her couch cushions.

  Her father stood. “I’ll get it.” He grabbed stain remover from under the sink, ran a cloth under water and handed them to Cassie.

  “Why does Peggy think that about the dog’s name?” She gripped her cell in one hand and sprayed the area on the couch with the other. There was no way it would come out. She dabbed at her pants with the cloth.

  “Her grandson fell down the stairs, broke his arm. While they were waiting in the ER, he started crying, going into shock. One of the staff was showing him pictures of her dog to help take his mind off the pain. Peggy was a little out of her mind at the time but she could’ve sworn it was a yorkie, and the woman said the animal’s name was Rooter.”

  Cassie gaped. She dropped the towel on the coffee table. How could this information not have reached her department sooner? “When did she tell you this?”

  “I stopped into her place when I picked up your dinner. She said she’d remembered the name of the dog this morning after seeing it on the news. But she wasn’t positive, so she hadn’t called it in yet. I promised her I wouldn’t say anything to you until she spoke with her grandson. She doesn’t want him questioned for no reason.”

  “Sorry, Dad.” She dialed and held her breath. Nothing happened. She checked the screen. One bar. Damn cell phone service sucked in her area. She strode toward the kitchen counter, her blood pressure rising with each second.

  Her father mumbled something, but she kept her eyes glued to the screen. She debated chucking the darn thing against the wall and running to their ne
ighbors who had a land line. When she walked out onto the porch, another bar popped up. She froze and dialed again.

  The phone rang. She tapped her hand on her thigh. Before Hank could say hello, she said, “Sir, I think I have something.”

  CHAPTER 7

  The coffee machine in the hospital’s visitors lounge gurgled and died. Cassie held back the impulse to smash the damn thing. Just her luck. She leaned down and studied it while waiting for the chief resident of the ER to get out of surgery.

  A red light flashed on the coffee machine. What the hell did that mean? And, where did Izzy go? She strained her neck to see past the patients lining the room. An older man, her father’s age, lay in the fetal position across three chairs, arching his back, his teeth clenched. She cringed at his moans.

  The machine hissed. She smacked it on the side and punched some buttons. Finally, it burped, splattering her waiting cup with black sludge.

  Great, just great.

  Izzy’s voice pierced through muffled voices and moans. Crap. She grabbed her cup, chucked it in the garbage, and then hurried down the hall.

  Izzy had cornered a middle-aged doctor and was blasting questions at him like a drill sergeant having a bad day.

  “Are you saying, Dr. Harrison, that you heard all about the murders? That you were fully aware the police found an unidentified female victim?”

  The man cast his eyes down from Izzy’s furious glare, looking like a kid caught watching porn by his grandmother. He must’ve said something to piss her off. Not like it took much.

  She jabbed a finger at his chest and Cassie wondered for a moment if she’d need to tackle her partner. “You had a nurse who hadn’t shown up for her shifts, and you never thought to contact us? How is that even possible? And you look at me like I’m the moron?”

  Cassie placed a hand on Izzy’s arm and stepped forward, giving the man time to answer.