Dead River

by Fredric M. Ham

“How do you know?” Averly pressed. “You just said you haven’t run any lab tests or performed a complete physical exam.”

  “Some tricks of the trade,” Albright said smugly. “When we received the body early this morning we performed our standard pre-exam. It was then I noticed larvae around her labia majora, so I checked her vagina and found an aggregation of them. Then I checked her anus and also found larvae there. Maggots would quickly swarm an area where they would have something to feed on, in this case blood. And the blood could come from a violent sex act carried out on the victim.”

  “Yes indeed, larvae,” Bloomfield hissed. “They tell us a lot. Yes indeed.”

  Goldman turned to Albright. “What’s your estimate of the time of death?”

  “It’s difficult to determine the exact time because of the advanced stage of decomposition, but I would estimate that she has probably been dead for about four days. And because of the intense heat, the decomposition process was accelerated.”

  “So that would put the time of death between some time late Saturday night and early Sunday morning,” Goldman said.

  “That’s correct,” replied Albright.

  Goldman looked around at the men, demanding their attention. “Here’s what I think. This man is sophisticated. I believe the killer left the body out in the blazing sun for a specified amount of time before he called to let us know where it was. Long enough to make it difficult to determine the exact time of death.”

  “Probably so,” Albright agreed.

  Goldman formed a faint smile.

  “The second remarkable feature on the body is the three letters incised on the decedent’s forehead,” Albright said. He looked around at the men who were now huddled around the table. “Does anyone have an idea what they might mean?” he asked.

  “Maybe they’re initials,” Averly offered, “maybe the killer’s. But not many names start with an X. The only one I can think of is Xavier.”

  “There’s also Xanthus and Xerxes,” Goldman snarled. “But the letters aren’t initials. The killer isn’t going to leave his initials. Not this guy. The letters mean something else.”

  “What then?” Averly asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. I have a friend that might know.”

  28

  “LOOK, YOU CAN’T ROUGH up the girls, then start throwing drinks—”

  “But I wasn’t rough with her,” Sikes said, as he tried to position the handcuffs behind his back so they didn’t dig into his wrists.

  “Not according to the girl,” the Cocoa Beach police officer explained. “You’re lucky she didn’t press charges.”

  Sikes lowered his head. His oily dark hair tousled about with each wind gust.

  “If I have to come out here again, you’ll go to jail. Understood?”

  Sikes looked up. “Yes. May I go now?”

  “No,” the police officer said sharply. “I have paperwork to fill out because of you.” He helped guide Sikes’s plump body into the back of the patrol car and then shut the door. The officer checked his watch; it was 11:45 am. Shaking his head, he wondered how anyone could cause this much trouble in a strip club before lunch.

  As the officer swung open the driver’s door, another police car wheeled into the parking lot. “Hey, Alex, I heard there was a scuffle inside Baby Dolls,” the new arrival yelled through the open window of his patrol car. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “Hey, Drew. Give me a few minutes while I finish this paperwork.”

  “Sure.”

  The arresting officer slid back out of his cruiser and leaned against the front fender, listening to the blaring police radio while he wrote up the incident. Warm bursts of air kicked up sand, sending small vortices swirling around the parking lot.

  When the forms were filled out, the officer walked over to the second police car.

  “How’re you doin’, Drew?”

  “All right. What happened?”

  “Seems Mr. Sikes there decided he wanted a little more than the girl gave him after his table dance. So he refused to pay her.”

  “What do you mean a little more? He propositioned her?”

  “No—no, nothing like that. The song finished and she stopped dancing. He wanted a kiss but she refused. He got upset, grabbed her arm, she tried to get away, so he threw his drink in her face.”

  “A weirdo, huh?”

  “Yeah. He finally let go of her arm, but by that time one of the bouncers was all over him. Marcy, the bartender, called it in and they dispatched me to check it out. And here we are.”

  “How do the girls look in there?”

  “Give me a break, like you’ve never been in Baby Dolls.”

  “Never, I swear.”

  “Now that’s bullshit.”

  “Any wants or warrants on him?”

  “Nope. He’s your standard frequenter of strip clubs. Marcy said he’s been a regular at Baby Dolls ever since she started there. That’s been about two years. According to her, this is the first time he’s caused a problem. Said he always comes in alone and never talks to anyone except the girls.”

  “Are you going to release him?”

  “Yeah, I don’t see why not. They aren’t pressing charges. Besides, he hasn’t given me any trouble.”

  It was Wayne Chang calling. This had better be good news, Goldman thought.

  “Goddamn it!” Goldman shouted into the receiver. “You can’t get access to the ESDA until Monday?”

  “Listen, I tried everything,” Chang explained.

  “We need that machine right now.”

  “I know, but Shumberger’s group has it and won’t give it up.”

  “Fuck Shumberger.”

  “No thanks.”

  “We only have one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s the closest one we can get access to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What?” Goldman shouted.

  “I’ve tried to locate another one, but we seem to have the only one on the East Coast.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Transfer me to Shumberger.”

  “Hold on.”

  Goldman slammed the top of the desk with a crack. “That asshole,” he mumbled.

  Several seconds passed as Goldman listened to a muted line.

  A click. “He doesn’t answer,” Chang said.

  “Goddamn it! Call again, this time give me his voice mail.”

  Adam sat in his study, his feet propped up on the desk. His sandals hit the carpet, and he slowly slid off the soft leather seat of his executive chair. He walked to the window and stared at the long shadow cast by the house, darkening half the driveway. His eyes moved down the pavement toward Boca Tigre Drive. The driveway seemed to go on forever. He was going to miss having Peter Carillo around. In a strange way, he almost seemed to belong in the house, a permanent fixture, maybe more like their personal security guard.

  Carillo was winding the final equipment cord when Adam entered the living room. “Need some help?”

  “No thanks. I’m just about done.”

  “How about help carrying some of this equipment to your car?”

  Carillo stopped wrapping the cord and looked up with a warm smile. “Sure. I appreciate it.”

  Adam placed the last piece of equipment in the trunk of the black Crown Victoria and Carillo shoved the lid shut.

  “That’s it,” Carillo said. He faced Adam and stroked his thick mustache. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about a security system for the house. You should have one installed.”

  “I know. I’ll look into it.”

  “I think you should also buy a handgun.”

  “A handgun?”

  “For protection in the house.”

  “Never thought I would have to do that.”

  “It’s not a bad idea. Think about it.”

  “I will.”

  29

  SATURDAY AFTERNOON was gr
ay and drizzly. It was a typical Catholic funeral, Ordo Exsequiarum, and this was the final part, the Rite of Committal. The funeral liturgy had ended at the Sacred Heart Catholic Church only thirty minutes ago, and the Rileys now entered the Meadowview Memorial Gardens in the backseat of a black Cadillac limousine. Adam reached down on the floorboard for the umbrellas and placed them on his lap. The car slowly came to a stop on a narrow road. On the left was a tent; underneath it was Sara Ann’s casket. It rested on a metal frame over a hole in the ground, her final resting place. The Rileys waited for several minutes in the limousine.

  Adam peered through the back window and saw a long procession of cars. Umbrellas materialized from the open doors of the cars and popped open. It was time to go. He helped Valerie and Dawn out of the car and handed each an umbrella. The limousine driver escorted the family to the tent where a large crowd was gathering. Adam trudged along, occasionally ducking underneath either Valerie’s or Dawn’s umbrella, depending on which one swayed his way. His right arm was around Valerie’s waist, almost holding her up, and Dawn had her right arm locked around his.

  Adam recognized several faces as they approached the white tent. There were relatives, family friends, and many younger people Adam assumed were Sara Ann’s friends from high school. But also two people he didn’t expect to see here. Robert Averly and Glenn Wilkerson nodded their heads as Adam approached. He watched as Averly leaned over and whispered something into Wilkerson’s ear, then they turned and walked in opposite directions. Averly stood next to a large oak tree, and Wilkerson blended into the perimeter of the crowd of people.

  The drizzle continued the entire service. An array of umbrellas of every imaginable color surrounded the white tent. Wind gusts occasionally whipped across the open field, and the umbrellas all seemed to tilt in unison to block the rain. Or at least it looked that way from a distance.

  He made one final adjustment to the high-powered Bushnell binoculars, and everything was now in focus. The dense wooded area provided just the cover he needed for his furtive presence. The chest-high horizontal limb of the scrub oak provided the perfect support for his binoculars. Earlier he’d cleared an area in the bushes so he would have line-of-sight to the white tent. I know they know I’m here—they expect it. But they’ll never find me.

  “They don’t understand what this is all about,” Gabriel softly whispered, “no one does.”

  He could see only a portion of the wooden casket through the crowd, a section with two brass handles. Three empty chairs were positioned near this part of the casket, but now three people sat down in them. The Rileys, and there’s Dawn.

  Gabriel’s fingers were going numb gripping the binoculars, but he maintained his line of vision. He observed all that went on under the white tent, sometimes panning around the crowd outside the tent for a brief moment.

  The casket was being lowered now, slowly being cranked down into the hole in the ground. He watched them dig the hole earlier and put up the tent too. He’d been in the woods the better part of the day. His clothes were soggy, and he was cold and hungry, but this had to be done. This was the final step. Sara Ann’s been saved.

  I have saved her.

  The umbrellas started to move toward the road where there was a long line of parked cars. When the last umbrella disappeared inside one of the cars Gabriel lowered his binoculars and rubbed his eyes. I have so much more to do.

  So much more.

  30

  AUNT RUTH, or Annie Roo as Dawn and Sara Ann always called her, insisted on preparing the evening meal. The shoulder roast, potatoes, carrots, and onions were all cooked in the same pot, slipped into the oven by Annie Roo just before they left for the Sacred Heart Church. Adam wanted Chinese food delivered, but Annie Roo won out, as she always did. Adam had made the decision two days prior to not have a gathering at the house after the funeral; he said this was a time for the family to grieve alone.

  Aunt Ruth was Valerie’s oldest sister, and from the time Dawn could first talk she referred to her as Annie Roo. Then Sara Ann picked it up from Dawn. Annie Roo loved her moniker.

  The only thing Valerie and Annie Roo had in common was their smooth Alabama drawl. It begged you to hang on every word they spoke. Ruth was shorter than Valerie but much heavier. Most of the time her round face beamed with joy, but not today.

  “Come on,” Annie Roo called out, “dinner’s on the table.”

  Everyone came to the kitchen table except Valerie. Adam had tucked her into bed with two tablets of Valium shortly after they arrived home. The only sounds at the table while they ate were the clanging of utensils against their plates and the occasional shuffle of feet on the tile floor.

  After the meal, Dawn helped her aunt clear the table and clean the kitchen. When they finished, Dawn went to her bedroom. Adam had retired to one of the patio chairs by the pool in back after dinner. He watched the light dance around on the Indian River as the sun lowered. His backyard rolled off into the river, and he could walk to the ocean in five minutes. These were two major factors that attracted Adam and Valerie to this lot on the barrier island; a perfect place to build their dream home.

  “I’ll get that,” Annie Roo said. She lifted the receiver from the cradle mounted on the wall in the kitchen. “Hello.”

  “I would like to speak to Valerie.”

  Annie Roo jerked the receiver from her ear and stared at it for a several seconds, then spoke. “Who is this?”

  “I—want—to—speak—to—Mrs.—Riley.”

  “She’s not available.”

  “Then let me speak to Dawn.”

  “I need to know who is calling,” Annie Roo said firmly.

  “Hey, now you’ve done it.”

  “Done what?”

  “You’d better listen to me very carefully,” the voice said with a rising intonation. “I don’t answer questions, I ask them. So here’s one for you. It’s a riddle.”

  Annie Roo walked toward the rear door leading to the swimming pool, stretching the phone cord to its limit. “O—o— kay.”

  “If you wake up tomorrow and the sun doesn’t rise, will it be day or will it be night?” There was a long pause. “Will you be wrong or will you be right?” the voice breathed.

  She reached for the door knob, only a few inches more.

  “I—I don’t know,” she replied.

  “You don’t know much, do you?” The man laughed with a deep, haunting, thunderous roar.

  She removed the receiver from her ear, took a half-step toward the door, and with her fingertips, twisted the door knob. When she pushed the door open, it hit against the door stop with a dull thud. Adam turned in his chair. Annie Roo motioned for him and then jumped back to place the receiver to her ear again.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what it means.”

  The man continued bellowing. The sound reverberated in the phone like he was in a large concert hall.

  Adam was now in the kitchen standing beside Annie Roo. He motioned for her to put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Who is it?” he whispered.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered back. “His voice is distorted.”

  Adam felt a sickening jolt. It’s him! He snatched the phone from her hand.

  “What do you want?”

  “Mr. Riley. I want to talk to Valerie, but your maid won’t put her on.”

  “She’s not our maid, you sick son-of-a-bitch.”

  “Now, now, no name calling allowed.”

  “You’ll have to talk to me.”

  “All right then, I’ll talk to you.”

  There was only breathing in the phone, long, heavy breathing like the caller just surfaced from a long dive.

  “What?” Adam said.

  “I hope you and your family will forgive me for what I’ve done.” The voice was soft now. “But I had to do it, I was told I had to.”

  “Who told you?”

  “That’s none of your business!” the man snapped back. “Do I ask you your business? Things got crazy la
st Saturday. I gave Sara Ann a choice. She picked suffocation. It wasn’t easy with the pillow so I strangled her.” There was a pause. “Sara Ann’s an angel in heaven now,” the voice said softly.

  “You sick son-of-a-bitch. You goddamn sick, fucking son-of-a-bitch.”

  The line went dead.

  Adam slammed the phone in the wall cradle and looked toward his sister-in-law. Annie Roo stood staring at him, her mouth gaping.

  31

  THERE WAS NOTHING to be discussed. When Clara Sikes spoke, David was expected to listen and obey without question. This is the way it had always been, and now was no exception. David was fifteen, and he wasn’t sure that what he was being asked to do was right. But he couldn’t talk to his only friend about it. His mother had told him it was forbidden to discuss family matters with outsiders. And as far as his mother was concerned, everybody was an outsider. David knew what would happen if he didn’t mind her.

  “David,” Clara yelled. “Remember, I told you at dinner I wanted you to sleep in my bed tonight. So turn off your light and get in here now. And shut your door.”

  “Yes, Mother. I’m coming.”

  David did as his mother commanded. He closed his Bible and placed it on the nightstand, turned off the small lamp with a worn gray shade, and closed his bedroom door.

  He walked down the hallway. The hardwood floor creaked with every step. David stopped at the doorway to his mother’s room and waited patiently. Clara came out of the bathroom and closed the door. She wore nothing but an austere face.

  “Well, what’re you waiting for? Take your pajamas off and come to bed.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Clara settled into the large elevated oak bed and pulled the covers over her, then lifted up the other side so David could climb in beside her. The brisk winter night air left the upstairs rooms chilly. As David’s body touched the bed he felt the coldness of the mattress. His mother covered him with the white sheet and thick blanket.

  David knew what was coming next, and he didn’t like it. But yet he did like it. He was confused. Was this really wrong?