Donors

by C. M. Sutter

  I flipped to the last few pages. “Here it is, late model white Civic, plate number 429-FNP. We have a definite match, and we’ll need forensics out here right away. They’re going to have to open up the car. I hope to hell there isn’t a DB inside.”

  J.T. found an open spot along the curb and tucked the cruiser in between two other cars. He grabbed a flashlight from the door pocket and got out. I called Sullivan again and told him what we needed as I watched J.T. shine the beam into the interior of the car. He craned his neck as he followed the light from the front seat floors and into the backseat area. He turned toward me and shook his head. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  I closed the cruiser’s door at my back and walked to the Civic, where J.T. stood. “Sullivan said forensics should be here in twenty minutes.” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder. “I could go back and talk to Jen. There’s no need for both of us to wait here.”

  “Yeah, let’s do that. Hop back in the car. I’ll drive you over.”

  J.T. dropped me off at the front door of Paul’s Tap. The parking lot had filled considerably with cars as the night got later. I excused myself as I passed patrons huddled on the steps and smoking as they tried to stay out of the wind. My thoughts on that? Quit the nasty habit.

  I opened the door and stepped into a warm, youth-filled bar. Jackson looked up as I entered, and waved me over.

  “Hey, Agent Monroe, are you back to interview Jen?”

  “I am. Could you point her out for me?”

  “Sure thing. I’ll have Abe cover for her. Do you know how long it’ll take?”

  “Hopefully not more than fifteen minutes. There’s somewhere I need to be.”

  “Understood.” He yelled out, and a cute brunette turned and faced him. “That’s Jen.”

  I thanked him and approached her. With the introductions made, I asked if there was a quiet place where we could talk.

  “Either in the storage room or outside. Take your pick,” Jen said.

  I’d had enough of the outside for a while and opted for the storage room.

  “Sure, follow me.” Jen led the way to a locked door. She reached into the pocket of her skinny jeans and fished out a key ring holding a half dozen keys. She thumbed through them until she found the one with a yellow happy face sticker on it. “Damn keys all look the same otherwise.”

  She grinned at me, and I instantly liked her. She pulled the old wooden door open and hit the switch on the wall. A flight of stairs leading to the basement was directly in front of us.

  “Sorry, the basement is really dark and creepy. I usually don’t go down here alone, but in the company of an FBI agent—hell yeah. No worries.”

  I chuckled and began descending. A musty, damp smell filled the air when we reached the basement floor. The small room was jam-packed with wooden crates and boxes. The more stable crates were stacked and nearly reached the ceiling. The basement was cool, but with my coat still zipped, I didn’t mind.

  “Sorry about the air quality down here.” Jen shook her head as if disgusted. “I swear, if I was a smoker, I’d light one up right now just to kill the basement smell.” She pointed at a crate. “Grab a seat.”

  I did. “Did Jackson give you a heads-up?”

  “Not much, just said a couple of feds stopped by and wanted to talk to me about Kristen and Bethany. Where’s your other half?”

  I laughed. I loved the fact that she had very little filter when she spoke. She seemed forthright and uninhibited. Jen would do fine with the interview.

  “My partner is busy at the moment. Anyway, Jackson said you waited on Bethany and Kristen last night?”

  She snapped her gum. “Yep, I sure did, just like every Tuesday night. Those two are permanent fixtures here on ladies’ night. Bethany always gets here first. Come hell or high water, nobody better take their table. She’d have something to say about that. Seniority, you know?”

  “I bet. Did they stay until bar time?”

  “Yeah, I think so. We were swamped last night because of the pay-per-view boxing match. It brings the guys in by the truckloads, which naturally brings the chicks in. The double banger was the ladies’ night specials—two-for-one drinks. It was wall-to-wall people, but we stayed within the fire code limit.”

  I smiled. “I’m not here to bust your chops.”

  “Thanks, you’re cool. Anyway, it’s the same every night starting around two thirty. All hell breaks loose. Everyone wants their final few drinks before last call. The bar gets really jammed up at that time. The last time I glanced toward Beth and Kristen’s table, they were nursing a couple of beers. They didn’t look like they were too enthused to stand behind fifty people and get shoved toward the bar while they waited their turn to be served, if you know what I mean.”

  “So you didn’t see them again after that?”

  “Only from behind and for a split second when they headed out the door. It was right when Jackson turned on the lights. That’s fifteen minutes before we actually herd everyone out to meet the three o’clock closing time. We’re pretty strict with that. We don’t want fines or our liquor license pulled.”

  “Did the girls walk out alone?”

  “Hmm.” Jen massaged her eyebrows as I waited for an answer. “A guy walked out with them or maybe just the same time as them. I couldn’t really say they were together given the number of people here at the time. It could have been nothing more than a coincidence, and they got mashed together at the door.”

  “Could you tell what he looked like?”

  “Hell no. All I saw was a blond guy wearing a parka, and that was from the back.”

  “Could it have been a dark goose down jacket?”

  “Yeah, I guess it could have been. It didn’t have the fur around the hood like a true parka does.”

  “Did he look taller than the girls?”

  “Hard to say, but he didn’t tower over them at all. Keep in mind, especially when women are out for the night, they usually wear heels of some sort.”

  “True enough.” I sighed and reached into my coat pocket. I pulled out two cards and handed one to Jen. On the other, I wrote down her full name and phone number then stashed it in my pants pocket so I wouldn’t accidentally use it. “Okay, I think that should do it. I really appreciate your help, Jen.”

  “No sweat. It isn’t every day I get to talk to a fed.”

  We headed up the stairs and parted ways as she thumbed through the keys again to lock the basement door. I thanked Jackson for his help and called J.T. as I made my way to the exit. “Hey, partner, are you able to pick me up, or do I have to hoof it?”

  “Nah, the cavalry is on site, and they’ve already popped the trunk. Thankfully, it was empty. They’re loading the car up on the flatbed as we speak. It’s going to the evidence garage so they can give it a thorough once-over tonight. Sullivan dispatched a half dozen patrol units to check the neighborhood for Bethany’s car, going out five blocks in each direction. If there’s smoke, there’s usually fire. We already spoke to the lookie-loos who were peering out their windows. Nobody saw the car being dropped off. So did you get anything from Jen?”

  I chuckled. “What a character. I’ll tell you all about it on our drive back to the station. Come get me.”

  “Yep, I’m a block away. Watch for my headlights.”

  Chapter 34

  Sam busied himself in the corner of the workroom. He’d removed the tubes from Molly’s body, and the plastic jugs containing her blood sat on the counter. With the jugs elevated upside-down, the lids tightly twisted on, and a hole in each lid large enough for a drain tube to fit through, Sam transferred the blood into sterile transfusion bags. He would use them for resale and for his mother. He managed to get four pints out of Molly before her heart stopped. He placed the bags in a plastic container, snapped the lid closed, and stepped from the workroom into the garage. With the container wedged under his arm, he pulled the key from his pocket and locked the door behind him. Back in the house, Sam placed the individual bags
of blood next to the condiments in the refrigerator shelf space and closed the door.

  The TV was on in the living room. Sam recognized the game show that played just by the host’s voice. It was one of Adeline’s favorites. He taped it nightly so she could watch it at her convenience. He peeked around the corner and saw his mother snuggled on the couch. The blanket was pulled up to her chin. “You okay, Mom?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Mom?” Sam pushed the coffee table out of the way, knelt on one knee, and stared at his mother’s neck. His breath caught in his throat when he saw a pulse. She was breathing—just sleeping soundly. He gave a deep sigh of relief before he pushed off the coffee table and stood. Sam grabbed the laptop and took a seat on the recliner. He had to find a spot to dump Molly and somebody to sell her blood to because he was running out of cash.

  He glanced at the clock—it was after ten thirty. The best time to dispose of a corpse was closing in. He needed to do it in the dead of night as he had with the others but at someplace where Molly wouldn’t be found. Abandoned homes like the one he’d used for Taylor wouldn’t work. She’d been found in a matter of weeks by junkies who regularly squatted in that drug house. He needed somewhere even more remote, preferably outside the city limits.

  Another half hour passed. The eleven o’clock chimes sounded a few minutes ago.

  Wait—what’s this?

  Sam stumbled upon pictures of an abandoned steel mill within a half hour’s drive. He clicked on the images tab and studied the photos. The caption below several images of old newspaper articles showed the name of the place was Dasher Point. It had closed in 1987. The entire site was set for demolition years ago, but that had been put on hold. Recent articles noted the thirtieth anniversary of the closing of Dasher Point. The steel mill, standing in ruin, still hadn’t been taken down. It appeared that even though it was an eyesore, the city couldn’t afford to demolish it.

  Sam zoomed in on the aerial view and saw several old driveways that still connected to secondary roads.

  That place should work, and it’s doubtful Molly would ever be found. But before I do anything, I have to get Mom to bed. I may be gone for a while.

  Sam clicked on the map’s image and hit Print. Then he pushed the handle on the side of the recliner to lower the footrest. He rose quietly and went down the hall to get the wheelchair and retrieve the map from the printer. He returned to the living room, moved the coffee table aside, and situated the wheelchair next to the couch.

  “Mom.” He gently tapped her shoulder several times. “Mom, wake up.”

  She cracked her eyes and squinted. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s late, and I need to help you to bed. You’ve been asleep for hours.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Let’s sit you up for a minute so you aren’t dizzy.” Sam helped her upright and sat next to her on the couch. “Tomorrow you’re getting a pint of blood. You’re going to need a little more than I originally thought, maybe a pint every other day. It’s a work in progress, Mom, but I’ll make you a good breakfast in the morning and get you well hydrated. Then we’ll start the transfusion. Feeling okay to go to bed now?”

  She nodded silently.

  Sam held her under the armpits and lifted her to the chair. “There you go. Let’s get you settled for the night.”

  By eleven thirty, Adeline was comfortable in bed, and Sam had said good night. He entered the garage and opened the sliding side door of the van. He tossed the map of Dasher Point on the passenger seat. He crossed the garage, reached up on the top shelf of the built-in cabinets, and pulled down the folded tarp he always used to transport bodies. The last thing Sam wanted was for blood traces to be found in the van if he was pulled over. He tucked the tarp under his arm, unlocked the workroom door, and stepped inside. Instantly, moaning sounded from the other side of the hanging sheets.

  “Shut up. I’m not in the mood for you two tonight. Go to sleep.” He kicked a stray two-by-four. It slid across the floor to their side of the curtain. The room temporarily quieted.

  Sam shook out the tarp and spread it across the floor near the gurney. He turned to Molly and unstrapped the restraints that had imprisoned her since Monday. “There, no more straps. You’re free again.”

  With a grunt, he lifted her from the gurney and placed her at the edge of the tarp. He folded the top and bottom over her then rolled the stiffened body until he came to the end of the fabric. “That should do it.”

  Sam lifted her a second time, pushed the door open with his foot, and carried her to the van. He slid the door closed. After returning to the workroom, he turned off the lights and locked the door.

  According to the map he’d printed, the mill was about twenty-five minutes south. Sam turned the ignition in the van, pressed the garage door remote, and drove out. He peered out the windshield at the sky as he drove—no moon in sight. The night would only get darker once he was south of the city’s ambient lights. A flashlight he kept in the van at all times would definitely be helpful that night. He’d leave the headlights on too once he got there. Sam knew nothing about Dasher Point or its current condition. He hoped to find structures still standing so he could hide Molly’s body deep inside.

  Sam listened to the radio as he drove. The quiet wasn’t his friend—it made him think too much. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the music as he made his way south.

  His mind betrayed him, and he began to think, anyway. He thought about how he could continue to get enough blood for his mother’s transfusions. It had taken only three days of blood draws before Molly’s veins collapsed and were useless.

  Maybe I could rob a blood bank or steal blood from somebody else that uses it regularly. I don’t have enough, I’ll never have enough, and Mom is only getting worse.

  He slammed his fist against the dash and turned off the radio. He was getting closer to the mill. The drive needed his full attention, anyway.

  Sam decided to take what used to be the main entrance. The aerial view had made it look like a straight shot in off two secondary roads. When he reached Countyline Road, he turned left and continued for three miles. The green street sign reflected off his headlights. Sam slowed and checked the street name. He was within a mile of the mill.

  Okay, I’m almost there.

  He turned right on Greenfield Street and continued. The hair on the back of Sam’s neck bristled. Other than the headlights guiding the way, the night was as black as tar. He was going into an abandoned steel mill, no lights anywhere in the area, and he had a dead body in the back of his van. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm his anxiety. What he wanted to do was roll Molly out into the ditch and take off, but he knew better. She had to disappear for good, and so would everyone else he might have to kill going forward. Somehow he’d get through this rough patch, his mom’s health would improve, and life would go on—at least he prayed it would.

  A rusted-out, broken sign caught his attention near an overgrown driveway. It wasn’t legible, but it had to be for the mill. Nothing else was out there. The area was devoid of any sort of building or house—he was definitely in the boondocks. Sam turned right and inched forward. He stared straight ahead. He pressed the brakes, shifted the van into Park, and craned his neck as he leaned against the dash and peered out the windshield. He pulled the lever for the high beams, and his eyes widened.

  “Shit! How can there be tire tracks out here?”

  It hadn’t snowed for several days. Even then, it was only an inch or so of accumulation, but there they were—tracks leading down the driveway.

  Now what the hell am I supposed to do?

  He tried to make sense of it—rationalize it in a way. He wondered who could have been out there and why.

  Cops, that’s it. They patrol the area now and then, probably a few times a year at most. The place is a hazard, and they don’t want anyone getting hurt. That’s the only logical explanation.

  With his mind satisfied,
relief washed over Sam. He continued on. He’d place Molly deep within the belly of whatever building remained so she’d never be discovered. He crept a half mile farther in, extremely cautious. He didn’t want to hit deep ruts that could cause a flat tire or, worse, cause him to get stuck. His high beams illuminated the path, and he finally saw the mill, or what was left of it, straight ahead. Rusted sheet metal, broken timbers, and skeletal remains of the structure were all that was left of what likely had been a thriving steel mill fifty years earlier. Sam stopped and took in his surroundings. “What the hell?”

  In front of him stood what looked to be a recent but short-lived bonfire. Unburned timbers still stood upright, wedged against each other and shaped like a teepee. The lower pieces of wood were charred. The enormous ring of rocks and broken bricks that had kept everything intact was filled with ash.

  Sam fumed. Nothing was going his way. He turned the ignition and shifted into Drive. Pulling ahead, he inched as close as possible to the largest standing structure. He killed the engine but left the high beams on. With the flashlight jammed in his pocket, Sam exited the van and rounded it to the passenger side. He slid the door open and rolled Molly toward him before picking her up and heading into the building. No doors remained on the structure, so the van’s headlights cast light inside. Once he got farther in, he’d depend solely on his flashlight.

  After rounding several corners, Sam noticed his light had diminished. He clicked on the flashlight and wedged it in his armpit. The old building squeaked, and feral critters scurried about. He needed to make it fast—anxiety was getting the best of him. A pile of broken and fallen beams, the size of a one-story building, lay straight ahead. Sam knew this would be Molly’s final resting place, and he’d hide her within the rubble. He needed to make an opening—a crypt of sorts to place her in. He’d cover her with sheet metal and a few heavy beams so animals couldn’t drag her body out. Coyotes and fox were prevalent in the remote areas of the county.