by J. C. Kenney
“And that will tell them who the killer is?” It sounded too good to be true. I perked up, nonetheless.
“Not quite. What it can do is narrow the search if enough of the murderer’s DNA matches someone who’s already in the system. Like, for example, someone who took my genealogy class.” He glanced at his watch. “Time to get back up front. Give it some thought. A hit in a public database might at least help determine whether the killer is related to someone from around here.”
I sat there, mouth agape from the stunning information. I’d assumed the police would test whatever DNA they found and check it against some law enforcement DNA databases. If they came up with a match with someone already in their system, bingo, mystery solved.
If there was no match in a government-supervised database, then the DNA sample was of no help. At least, that’s what I’d thought.
How exciting to be wrong.
My heart rate picked up as I put my things into a backpack. I couldn’t go home. Not with this information. I needed to stay on the hunt for clues.
Before I got ahead of myself, it was time to apply Occam’s razor to the case. The most straightforward solution to a problem was usually the correct one. If the murderer was someone local, there was a decent chance that Valerie knew them. And if Valerie knew her murderer, it followed that other folks who knew her would know the murderer, too. That meant the next step should involve interviewing people who knew her.
My stomach growled. It was a sign of where to continue my investigation. It was time for another visit to the Rushing Creek Public House.
Chapter Six
When I left Rushing Creek for college, there were no plans to return. I thought the only redeeming qualities the town had were my family and Sloane. Such was the misguided arrogance of my eighteen-year-old self.
It took four years at Indiana University, another eight living in New York City, and the death of my father to realize how wrong I was.
Rushing Creek has its warts, just like any community. But it’s also populated with honest, hardworking folks who want what’s best for the town. Two of those people were my siblings, Luke and Rachel.
Luke had been with the parks department since college, when he spent the summers cutting grass. From there, he worked himself up the ladder to a full-time employee, then the department head. During his fifteen years serving the good folks of Rushing Creek, he’d met everyone in town. Truth be told, my brother was probably on a first-name basis with everyone in the greater Brown County area over the age of five.
While Luke served Rushing Creek in the public sector, Rachel helped keep the wheels of commerce rolling in her role as one of the town’s restaurateurs. A classic type A personality, Rachel was as successful in business as she was blunt in conversation.
She was oil to my water, which had made for a lot of problems between us over the years. It didn’t change the fact that Rachel knew almost as many people as Luke. She was also highly regarded for her success as a woman in a male-dominated industry. People talked to her. She listened. And remembered.
It was going to come in handy that my siblings, who also knew everyone in town, were close in age to Valerie. That made the Pub the ideal place to visit. I could get a bite to eat and make inquiries at the same time.
I texted Luke and Jeanette, asking them to meet me there, and headed for the exit.
Once outside the library, I took a deep, cleansing breath to calm myself. Just because I might have a way to connect events separated by two decades didn’t mean I’d succeed at it. As I donned my helmet and slipped my research materials into the bike’s saddle bag, I repeated the time-tested mantra slow and steady wins the race. I wasn’t going to solve the mystery tonight. But I could continue to make headway toward a solution.
The bike ride through town only took five minutes but was enough time to come up with a plan. I’d ask questions about Valerie and let word spread that I was looking into her murder. With some luck, my interviews would bear some fruit, and hopefully, someone would overhear my conversations and get in touch with information. Couldn’t beat the promise of a two-for-one scenario.
When I went to the Pub, I normally got a seat in the dining area. The bar was an impressive structure of oak and granite, but the tall bar stools left my feet dangling, like the twins when they did homework at my kitchen table. Such was the life of one who was all of five feet, one inch tall. Tonight, I would make an exception. I wanted people to know what I was doing. The bar tended to facilitate a lot of casual and open conversation, so it was an ideal place for that to happen.
I was waiting for a spiked seltzer when Luke dropped onto the bar stool to my left. He was in his usual summer loungewear—Jack Johnson concert T-shirt, board shorts, and flip-flops.
“Late for a luau?” It never hurt to start the teasing first.
He glanced downward, no doubt at my feet, which were swinging back and forth like opposing pendulums.
“Good thing people are allowed in this place based on age instead of height, like at an amusement park. You would’ve been sent to the kiddie section.”
“Ha ha.” I tried to kick his shin but only managed a glancing blow. “I may be small, but that makes it easier to sneak into your house to prank you without being detected.”
“But if you do that, you risk disturbing Sloane. She wouldn’t like that.”
“Oh, she’ll be totally in on it. I’ll do it when she’s out of town. That way, you won’t have anyone to protect you.” I lifted my drink. “Checkmate.”
“Whatever.” He gave me a smirk, then took me into one of his Luke Cobb bear hugs.
“Luke, stop smothering Allie.” Rachel placed a beer in front of Luke. “If she dies, I’ll have to call for an ambulance and deal with a lot of insurance paperwork that I don’t have time for.”
I pushed Luke away from me with a grunt. It wasn’t easy moving someone who had seventy pounds on me. “Saved by the Beer. That could be a title for one of my authors’ cozy mysteries.”
“Why have you summoned us”—Rachel glanced at Luke as she grinned, revealing perfect white teeth—“O Little One?”
While Luke and Rachel shared a high five, I pulled my case notebook out of my bag. Despite being the butt of their little joke, I couldn’t hold back a smile. Since I’d returned to Rushing Creek, my relationship with my sister had gone from ice-cold tolerance to friendly most of the time.
It was a sign of progress that she felt comfortable enough to make a joke at my expense. It was an even better sign that I could joke right back.
“Little One, eh?” I made a big deal of opening the notebook to a blank page and began writing. “Note to self. Next time Theresa and Tristan spend the evening with Aunt Allie, load them up with lots of ice cream, chocolate, and soda pop. The more sugar the better.”
Luke howled with laughter while Rachel and I participated in a stare-down. The struggle to keep a straight face was tougher than maintaining eye contact with her.
Eventually, she raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Touché.”
“So, let me guess.” Luke pointed at the notebook. “You’re playing Veronica Mars again. You want to know about Valerie Briggs.”
“I am and I do.”
“Called it. Pay up.” Luke put out an open palm to Rachel.
With a growl, she slapped a ten-dollar bill in his hand.
She turned her focus on me. “When we heard about Valerie, Luke said you’d get involved. I told him no way, especially after last time.”
“Yeah, well. That’s what I thought, too. Never say never, right?”
“Depends on what the never is.” Jeanette exchanged greetings with my siblings and settled onto the bar stool to my right. There were still dark circles under her eyes, but the glossy sheen to her long black hair had returned. “And I’m assuming this time never has something to do with the Briggs case.”
I told them about Connie’s visits and the poking around I’d done so far. “I need your help. What can you
tell me about Valerie?”
“Off the record?” Jeanette asked.
“Absolutely.” I excelled at keeping information confidential. It came in handy when negotiating book contracts.
“In that case, we have a cause of death. She was strangled. Preliminary analysis points toward a nylon rope of some sort.”
That was intriguing. Southern Indiana is a haven for outdoor recreation, and between the people who liked boating, camping, hiking, and horseback riding, among many other activities, one of the things they all had in common was the need for rope. And given the wet conditions often involved with outdoor recreation, nylon rope was commonly used.
“That could mean the murderer was an outdoorsman.” I scribbled down my thoughts. “Or at least had easy access to camping or fishing equipment.”
“Slow your roll, Allie.” Luke scratched his chin. “I see where you’re going, but nylon rope has a lot more uses than just outdoor fun. We keep a supply on hand at the parks department for when we need to secure something in a pinch.”
“Yeah, it does seem like a pretty big leap in logic.” Rachel shrugged. “Besides, what are the odds you can connect someone to twenty-year-old rope.”
My shoulders sagged. They were right. Connie and Valerie had been denied justice for two decades. Jumping to conclusions in the name of a speedy investigation wasn’t going to do them any favors.
“Between the equipment bag and the rope, we’ve something to go on, at least.” Jeanette took a drink of the root beer Rachel had placed in front of her. “Thank goodness for that.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked. Normally, Jeanette didn’t make editorial comments about work. She was the consummate professional, so something had to be amiss.
“I probably shouldn’t say anything, but since you’re investigating, you need to know, Allie. The chief is taking this case personally. He feels like his family’s reputation is on trial. Everyone in the department’s feeling the heat.”
“What Jeanette’s trying to say, Allie, is to steer clear of the police on this one.” Rachel poured a beer and delivered it to a man with a dark bushy beard at the end of the bar. “Before you try to argue with me, I know Matt. Right now, he’s a wounded animal. Don’t test him. He might bite back.”
Great. An antagonistic police chief. Just what I needed.
While the good people of Rushing Creek had been happy to heap praise on me during my previous exploits, I hadn’t done that work in a vacuum. In fact, much of the credit was due to the unique and open relationship I had with the Rushing Creek Police Department, and Chief Matt Roberson in particular.
Matt had tolerated my poking around and even gave me access to information that normally wouldn’t be available to the general public. Part of his reasoning in doing so was that he wanted murderers brought to justice. If that meant letting me do my thing, so be it. Our unorthodox collaborations got results.
There was another reason he’d chosen to work with me instead of throwing me in a cell for interfering with a criminal investigation. He recognized I had unique skills as an investigator. He valued my attention to detail and refusal to take no for an answer. In effect, I became an extra investigator who didn’t show up on his budget.
Some people questioned the arrangement. There had been letters to the editor of the Brown County Beacon that the police shouldn’t be aligning themselves with me. A few people thought I was merely a pushy buttinsky with a “New Yorker” attitude who thought I could do whatever she wanted because I came from a family with connections.
I found the criticism laughable. It wasn’t like I had my own cubicle at the police station. Nor did I spend my nights listening to a police scanner, ready to spring into action like a small-town version of Wonder Woman. Then again, I could afford to ignore those who disapproved. My livelihood didn’t depend on it.
Matt’s did.
He needed to be seen as an effective department head. Even more, he needed to demonstrate he could investigate a case that would likely end up making his dad look bad, regardless of the outcome. He couldn’t afford even the slightest appearance of weakness or inability to do the job.
In short, he needed me to stay out of the way and let his people investigate the case.
I could do that. Besides, staying out of the way didn’t preclude me from giving the police any helpful information I might dig up. Like the DNA issue.
“Fair enough. I’ll keep to the sidelines.” I turned to Jeanette. “I assume you guys are going to have the blood on the bandage tested for DNA.”
She took a drink before answering. “Yeah, but don’t hold your breath on that end. We’ll cross-check the test results with the databases we have access to. The problem comes from the fact that if the perp has never had to give the police a DNA sample, they might not be in any database.”
“Wait a minute.” Luke scratched his head. “Do you mean to tell me you can identify DNA from something that’s twenty years old? I thought stuff like blood broke down over time.”
“You’re right. Organic tissue does naturally decompose. We may have caught a break in this case, though.”
She told us how air and sunlight are among the components that can speed up the decomposition process. Since Valerie’s body and the bloody sock were placed in a bag that was then buried, those factors were removed from the equation.
“What you’re basically telling us is the killer screwed up big-time when he went to such great lengths to hide the body,” Rachel said.
She laughed out loud when Jeanette confirmed her conclusion. “That’s some serious karma coming around to bite him in the butt, my friends.”
“Serves the monster right,” Luke said and then went on to call the murderer a lengthy string of horrible names that would make a sailor blush. Despite the extreme language, I was in complete agreement with the sentiment.
“What about public DNA databases?” I told them about my conversation with Brent. “Can you check those, like they did with the Golden State Killer?”
Jeanette drummed her fingers on the bar top. “It depends on whether the people who uploaded their information agreed to make it available to be publicly searchable. Not everybody does that.”
“It’s possible, though, right?” Brent had made it sound so cut-and-dried. For Connie’s sake, I hated the possibility of Jeanette pouring cold water all over the idea.
“Yes. And before you get yourself all wound up, I promise we’ll explore every avenue open to us. Trust me, Allie, the department wants to find whoever did this as much as you do.”
“I’ll drink to that.” I lifted my seltzer in Jeanette’s direction.
After clinking glasses, I spent the next thirty minutes asking my siblings to tell me everything they could remember about Valerie.
Since Luke was only one class behind Valerie in school, I was banking that his recollections would be more helpful.
“We didn’t hang out, but she was nice enough. I remember she had straight brown hair that she parted on the side. She always wore jeans, even in the summer. It was part of this tough-girl vibe she had.”
Tough Girl. I didn’t know why, but that caught my attention. I made a note to look into it later.
“What about friends?”
He scratched his head. “I remember she was buddies with Ava Crusie, Star Rockwell, and Anita Young.”
“What can you tell me about them. Back then, I mean.”
“They were practically inseparable. It was common knowledge that if you messed with one, you answered to all of them. They called themselves the Four Horsewomen of the Apocalypse. They even had matching jackets with a Four Horsewomen logo on the back.”
“Oh, wow.” Rachel refilled Luke’s glass. “I remember that. Weren’t they a bunch of troublemakers?”
As Luke’s junior by two years, Rachel would have been a freshman when Valerie was a senior.
Luke snorted. “That’s what the school wanted you to think. They weren’t bad people, just girls from the wrong side
of the tracks who didn’t feel like taking crap from anyone. Star was their ringleader. She used to color her hair black, had a nose ring, and liked to wear a dog collar necklace. She’s a nurse at the hospital now.”
“What about the other two?” Jeanette beat me to the punch by asking the very question that was on my mind. Great minds thinking alike, I guess.
“Ava liked to wear purple and tell people she was a practicing Wiccan. Supposedly some guy, I don’t remember his name, dumped her and she put a hex on him that caused the worst case of acne ever. I don’t know if it was true, but it made for a good story.”
“More like tall tale, brother,” Rachel said. “I know Ava. She owns a fusion restaurant in Indianapolis. The menu is strictly farm to table, organic fare. She was into sustainable foods before there was such a term.”
Rachel promised to give Jeanette and me Ava’s contact information.
“Anita was into art. She’s the one who designed their jacket logo.” He chuckled. “You all would know here these days as Arwen Young.”
“Arwen Young, as in the artist?” I pointed to a gorgeous landscape painting on a nearby wall. “The same Arwen Young who painted that?”
Arwen Young was one of Rushing Creek’s most sought-after artists. She’d had shows all over the United States. After living in Europe for a while, she’d set up shop here about ten years ago. The first time I visited her studio, I almost choked when her assistant told me the price of one of her pieces.
“The very same. She hates being called Anita, so if you go see her, don’t tell her I gave you her real name.”
“Speaking of names, why the nickname?” Choosing to name your group after the mythical figures symbolizing war, pestilence, famine, and death seemed awfully grim.
“It was their way of telling people, ‘Don’t mess with us.’ The guys back then, especially the jocks, thought they could get away with anything. That included girls. There was a story that a guy came onto Star when she was a freshman. When she tried to say no, he sexually assaulted her. Not long after, the Four Horsewomen were born.”
