River Bones (Sara Mason Mysteries Book 1)

by Mary Deal

  Tripp studied her, as if he might have figured out what she was up to. “I wanna plant your dog now,” he said, pulling himself out of his chair. “The rain's let up.”

  Sara stood. “After we finish our work.”

  He turned so quickly that she expected he might grab her arm. She passed him and walked into the dining room but didn't hear him follow her. She heard a click and looked back into the kitchen as he jumped through the doorway grinning fiendishly. What a child! He then simply followed her to the sitting room where boxes of household goods sat waiting.

  A king-sized mattress, still in its wrapper, leaned against the wall. The platform bed frame leaned against another. A dresser and bureau stood nearby among more boxes.

  While Tripp studied the mess, Sara walked toward the window, glanced out the south side and saw nothing but more rain streaks. She felt even more alone. Surely, they wouldn't desert her. Perhaps they had not rushed the house because they needed to hear something more convincing. Rushed the house? That had never been part of the plan and the plan had surely changed since Tripp showed up early. She, and hopefully the officers, was playing it by ear.

  Sara kept an eye on Tripp by watching his reflection in the darkened window. He walked to the dresser, pulled out the top drawer and struck his hand in, like rummaging for something. Then he slammed it hard. The sudden pop startled her and she turned around. Tripp's expression was again wretched. She avoided looking into his eyes. His murderous eyes!

  “I liked you, Sara. I liked lots of people, and they turned on me. Don't know why you did.”

  “I haven't turned on you, Tripper,” she said. “We're friends. You're here helping and I'll pay you better than most people would because you're worth it.” She heard her lie and realized she would say anything to get through the evening.

  His expression changed to pleasantness again. “Well, show me which rooms you want these things put into.”

  At least the back staircase was no longer enclosed. She could climb the stairs and not be trapped between walls. If they went upstairs, maybe the officers could get into the first floor and hide. To occupy his hands, she pointed and said, “Bring that box, please, and that smaller one over there.” She flipped on the light and walked swiftly up the stairs. Tripp simply followed. She turned on more lights whenever she came to a switch. Once in the empty master bedroom, Sara feared Tripp might try to block the doorway if he became unmanageable.

  “Where'd you want these?” he asked.

  “In the corner's fine,” she said, pointing again. She went to stand at a window. “Tell me, Tripp, how many people have you planted?” She had to remember to always smile like a good friend sharing secrets.

  He pulled back his chin and stared at her. Finally, he said, “Maybe thirty or forty.” He shrugged hard, like he didn't really care. “Hell, I lost track, I told you.”

  “You don't have that many rocks in your shadow box.”

  “Oh, no. Them's the ones in my flower beds. The shadow box was for special people. My daddy's in there.”

  “You have a dozen or more in your shadow box. But you've got way more than thirty or forty in your flower beds, all laid out nice and decorative.”

  “Then I guess that's how many I done planted.” He curled up the corner of his mouth and shrugged again.

  “Were they girlfriends? Drinking buddies, maybe?”

  “Almost forgot my roommates. My drinking buddies. One keeled over on his own. The other's in the box.”

  “Why did you plant him?”

  Again, Tripp rubbed his chin. “If I recollect, they asked my roommates about my whereabouts when ol' Talbot never turned up. My roomies told the cops I was drunk that whole weekend. Hell, they didn't know. They was drunk. After the first guy died, the other told me he was having second thoughts and wanted to tell the truth. He turned on me, Sara. He turned on me.”

  “So you added another rock to your collection.”

  He snickered. “They ain't found him yet, neither.” His smiled lingered. “Never will.”

  Sara's stomach tightened nervously again but she couldn't quit. “Why not?”

  “Cause he's under a big rock,” Tripp said, laughing. “A boulder. Didn't have to dig much. He was tiny, like my momma. Bunched him up into a ball in that hole, like my momma, and rolled a huge boulder over him.” He gestured with both arms, describing a boulder that had to be at least five feet in diameter. Tripp would know how to roll something that large. “Heard his bones pop and crackle when that ton o' rock rolled on him.” He laughed hideously.

  Sara held to her façade. “Where do you find boulders like that?”

  “Farther down from here,” he said, snickering again. “Niles Canyon, along a creek.” He walked to a window along the back wall and looked out.

  “Does your momma have a boulder like that?”

  “Hey, they got boulders in that dry wash at Cave Creek. We're from Arizona. I told you that.”

  Rain had distorted any view through the windows, not that they saw anything. She was at least thankful for the moonless night but hoped the officers were positioned close against the house so Tripp couldn't see them when he looked downward.

  “Can you remember where you did all your planting?”

  “Who wants to know?” He smiled again, that same hideous smile that made her skin crawl.

  “I was just wondering. Must be an interesting thing, planting someone.” She smiled and pointed to the north wall. “That's where I want the platform bed to go.”

  Tripp grabbed her arm. “I ain't here to be no interior decorator,” he said. “You turned on me, Sara, just like everybody else. I come to teach you about planting.”

  She tried to jerk her arm loose. “I'm not your momma or your daddy, Tripp. I've never hurt you.” His vice grip made her arm tingle and start to go numb.

  “I tried to be nice to you and you didn't like it.”

  She relaxed, but only to help him do the same. “Tripp, I'm not used to attention from people I don't know.” She smiled. “You move a little too fast for me.”

  “Not as fast as you're gonna see now. You got a right perty neck. I can do you without putting you to sleep first 'cause you ain't got no guy with you now.”

  Before he could say or do anything more, Sara painfully ripped her arm from his grip, took two steps away and turned back to face him. “There's no need to hurt anybody.”

  Why hadn't the officers come inside? Surely they could hear Tripp's threatening demeanor. She was sure she heard them at the locks earlier. Then she realized that Tripp had been in the house a while before he showed himself. He might have set the deadbolts while she changed clothes in the bedroom. Surely, he had reset the deadbolt when he hung back in the kitchen. She swallowed hard.

  “Well, you're just too late with your niceties. Left me too long to figure a way to handle you.”

  Sara gestured toward the doorway. “Maybe you should leave now, Tripp. I don't want to see you again till you understand I'm a friend.”

  He took a step toward her. “You can't change my mind. I been walking your backfield, deciding what I gotta do.”

  Another click came from downstairs but Tripp showed no recognition of it as he rushed toward her.

  “Stop where you are!”

  He came at her gurgling with both arms in the air. She ducked and fled through the nearest doorway, into the new dressing room. She slammed the door behind her and ran into the master bath. She would have fled from there into the hallway and down the steps but Tripp appeared in the hallway like a fiendish ghoul ready to pounce.

  Click-click.

  He threw back his head in a victory laugh that suddenly changed to a giggle. He was Tripper, the boy, and ready to kill.

  Chapter 64

  “You can't get away,” Tripper said, teasing from out in the hallway.

  Sara's legs felt like logs. “Stop right there!” she said, putting up her hand.

  Tripper moved slowly toward her, gurgling, his hands in the
air making clutching motions. He didn't pounce. Just took one slow step at a time, like a child imitating a movie monster. She backed up slowly. He was in the bathroom now, making ominous threatening sounds deep in his throat. “I gotcha!” he said, low and menacing.

  Sara backed against the closed dressing room door. She opened it and stood, enticing him further. Tripper kept coming. When he was as close as she could allow, she swiftly pulled the door closed behind her. He mumbled loudly as if confused, tried the knob, grunted, and tried again. Sara ran out of the bedroom. Just as she passed the hallway door to the bathroom, Tripper, jumped out wearing the night vision goggles. She screamed and ran toward the front of the house. Tripp closed in fast.

  She grabbed the banister railing on the front staircase and made it down to the landing just as Tripper appeared at the top. She started down the rest of the stairs and the weakened banister gave way. She screamed as she flew off the nine-foot height, but managed to grab hold of the restraining rope the contractor had installed. It broke her fall but she still smashed hard onto the floor. She sat, stunned, and looked up to see a goggle-eyed monster come sailing through the air from high above.

  Sara screamed and rolled away before Tripper could land on her. He grabbed her hair pulling her back, straddled her, and thumped her head hard against the floor. She lay stunned as the vibration rolled through her brain. She fought to hold onto consciousness.

  “I gotcha!” he said, through clenched teeth. His hands were tight around her throat. Tripper, the boy, gurgled with delight. At that moment he was both the man and the boy and they were in deadly conflict.

  She choked, couldn't get air, and it made her mad and gave her strength. She ripped the goggles off his head. Blood spurted as an edge cut into his scalp.

  Tripper groaned, swiped at his head, and strained to see his hands in the dim light filtering toward the front of the house. “Awk! Blood! Momma said can't be no blood.”

  Locks clicked. Cool air invaded the house. Tripp looked around, distracted, as if momentarily he had no idea where he was.

  Sara screamed again and fought with all her strength. It meant her life. Tripp tried to keep her pinned with one hand while the other swiped at the top of his head. More noises distracted him and he loosened his grip. She reached to scratch his face. He pulled away just far enough so she could kick him backwards. She twisted over onto her knees and lunged like an Olympic sprinter taking off at the gun, making it across the hallway and into the parlor, running headlong into someone inside the darkened room. Instinctively, she brought up her fists and began to thrash.

  “Sheriff's Department!” the man said, firmly grasping her wrists. “Whoa, there.”

  Someone tripped the circuit breaker and all the interior lights and exterior flood lamps came on. Voices barked orders. Sara spun around and saw Tripp, with bloody hands, climbing to his feet as an officer made a flying tackle. Tripp grunted hard. The sickening sound of one body slamming into another and then both hitting to the floor made her cringe.

  Uniformed officers filled the rooms, so many that some could only stand and watch as Tripp was taken down. He seemed stronger than the numerous officers combined. He screamed, high-pitched, like a frightened child. “I'm sorry, Momma… sorry!”

  Johanna and Isidoro's faces bobbed in the fracas.

  “Cuff him!” someone said.

  Tripp managed to get free until someone tackled him again at the knees. He went down hard hitting his head against the wall. Only then could they keep him on the floor. They cuffed his hands behind his back, but he kicked viciously.

  “Hog tie him!” another said.

  An officer produced chains. Finally Tripp was bound at the ankles with his legs bent backwards and the chain secured to his hand restraints. Four officers carried him outside like a dressed carcass headed for the barbeque pit. Tripp looked at Sara as they passed. She had not meant to look into his eyes ever again. Now, just for that moment, she felt pangs of pity, deep pity, for the boy.

  #

  Occasional drops of rain fell. Some of the officers wore wet rain slickers, a sign that many had waited outside.

  “Sit here,” an officer said, offering a seat in his car.

  Sara clutched the front of her torn blouse. “Can't… can't sit.” Despite the cool air, she felt hot. “Why the hell did you guys wait so long to come inside?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  “Ma'am,” the officer said. “Only eight to ten seconds passed between you falling off the banister and us taking him down.”

  “Seconds?” Sara felt dumbfounded. “It seemed like a lifetime.”

  “Hey, great tackle, Johanna,” someone said.

  Sara spun around. The voice was Isidoro who congratulated Johanna with a warm handshake and a pat on the back. That was worth watching.

  Johanna's always-crisp uniform pants were torn at the knees. She nodded to Isidoro, barking out more orders. She needed to leave well enough alone.

  Patrol cars had been parked along the levee, the Sacramento police among them. Several came down the driveway as gravel crunched. Soon as they had Tripp secured in a car, most of the officers departed. Several deputies and the forensic staff stayed behind to complete their reports. The rain stopped.

  Sara sighed angrily. “Seems like my not accepting his advances really ticked him off.”

  Johanna thumbed to the backfield. “It's more than that. If those graves hadn't turned up, no sense in taking you out and possibly giving himself away.”

  “It was Talbot's remains that told him he had to do something about you,” Isidoro said.

  “Yeah, and by then he panicked, meant to do you no matter what.” Johanna's mouth turned up at a corner. She shrugged. “Then you invited him in.”

  Sara shook her head, trying to dispel the truth of it all. “I need to change my clothes,” she said, as her hands continued to shake. Spots of Tripp's blood speckled her jacket and blouse.

  “Wait,” Isidoro said. He smiled at Johanna. “You take her.”

  “You can have the honor,” Johanna said.

  “Let's both go,” he said.

  Sara yelped when Isidoro took hold of her elbow to direct her toward the garage. Both she and Johanna limped.

  Flashlight beams radiated from the backfield.

  “What now?” Sara asked. “This ankle isn't going to let me walk far.”

  “Sara,” Johanna said. “I hope you don't hate any of us for putting you through this.”

  “Would you stop apologizing?” Isidoro asked. “Just tell her.” They sounded like a married couple.

  “Tell me what?”

  They came to the back corner of the garage. Johanna took her shoulder. “This isn't gonna be nice, but you need to see what Isidoro found.”

  They rounded the corner flashing their lights.

  “Stay back,” an officer said as he stretched yellow Sheriff's banner from the garage to some stakes another officer stuck into the ground out in the field. Two officers stood ready to begin marking, photographing, and collecting evidence.

  “Not again!” Sara's knees almost gave out. Johanna kept hold of her arm. A shovel stood against the back garage wall. Weeds and a thick layer of topsoil lay rolled back in strips, much like a person would lay sod on fresh soil when planting a new yard. A hole, big enough and deep enough to put someone into, waited. A small dead dog lay nearby.

  “He could have been back here at the time you arrived home,” Isidoro said. “No way you could have known.”

  Sara felt faint. That meant the officers had not arrived till after Tripp was inside the house.

  Johanna flashed her light around. Rain had already washed away much of the scattered soil from the hole. “All he'd have to do is roll those hungry weeds back over that grave and let 'em flourish in the rain.”

  Chapter 65

  Sara accompanied officers to Sheriff's Headquarters to attend a debriefing. It had to be done immediately. Timing was important for memory and talking things through would be g
ood therapy for her. They gave her contact information for the department psychologist if she needed follow-up. After signing over the tape from her recorder into evidence and on her way out, she caught Johanna leaving to resume patrol.

  “I-I'm sorry, Johanna. I couldn't get him to tell where all the bodies were.”

  Johanna chuckled and looked at her sideways. “You got enough out of him to send him to the needle. They'll keep him alive, maybe till we can turn up the bodies for some of those rocks he's collected.”

  Sara swallowed hard. “Who'll tell Esmerelda now?”

  Johanna started again for the door. “She already knows.”

  Sara glanced at her watch. It was after midnight. “Already?”

  Johanna stopped again and turned. “Detectives went to secure Tripp's cabin and work area till we can follow up on the search warrant.” She sighed and sounded weary. “Thanksgiving will delay lotsa paperwork, you know.”

  Esmerelda wouldn't get much sleep now. Sara headed straight over. The hour drive from Sacramento to River Hospice stretched to nearly two and seemed endless. The insistent rains and moonless night slowed her down. The heater was on, the radio off.

  All the lights were on in Esmerelda's house. Sara drove down the hill onto the hospice property and saw a nondescript sedan parked behind the edge of the patient building, pointed in the direction of the cabins. Sara made out movements of two people inside.

  She knocked lightly on Esmerelda's door and then let herself in. Poor Esmerelda had been weeping. Minus her immaculate makeup, her eyes sagged and swollen eyelids hung like eaves on a house. She fumbled nervously with the satin sash on her bathrobe. They rushed into each other's arms.

  “I'm so sorry for you,” Esmerelda said. “So sorry what you went through.” That stoic woman wasn't even thinking about herself and her loss.

  Sara couldn't hold back tears. “We got him,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “You're limping.”

  “I'll get over it.”

  They sat and talked about events from the time Sara knew who the killer might be. Esmerelda needed to hear every detail, plus why she wasn't told about Tripp earlier.