by D. K. Hood
At times like these, he valued the years of intense training to withstand torture, hardship, and graphic bloodshed, yet no amount of dehumanizing deleted the memories. The moment he took the first step into the cellar, the smell of blood engulfed him, sending horrific visions dancing across his memory. The eyes of the dead held secrets. The innocents, the monsters, God help him he had witnessed murder in every form and had not hardened at the sight of it.
Pushing the ugliness aside, he squared his shoulders and moved down the steps, swinging the white beam before him. A scratching noise came from the void and he reached for his weapon. The Glock 22 slid into his hand, warm from his body heat. He pressed the flashlight along the muzzle and aimed the beam ahead. A pulse pounded in his ears with each step into total darkness. The dark, stinking pit closed in behind him, and the hairs on his body prickled at the threat of danger.
He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to regain control. The life of a cop was not like TV’s emotionless, unfeeling robots who strolled into a crime scene without breaking a sweat. Man, he had seen men’s faces after witnessing a gruesome murder and the horror reflected in their eyes. Before his injury, he could walk into danger, remain calm, and force his brain to evaluate a situation in a clinical way even as it screamed commands to run. Now, the constant throbbing in his head reminded him of his mortality. He gripped the handle of his Glock and the small action infused him with courage. One thing for sure, he could trust his aim.
The flashlight hit a long, red-brick passageway. At the end yawned a dark opening covered in torn, dust-laden cobwebs. A layer of dirt had been disturbed, perhaps swept as if to conceal who had entered the room in the past few days. He continued downward then as if another entrance had opened ahead; a light stinking breeze puffed dust into his eyes. This time a musky overtone like the smell of an athlete’s locker room laced the air. Flattening against the wall, he doused the light and waited, listening for any sound, then moved downward. “Black Rock Falls Sheriff’s Department. Sarah, are you down here?”
Nothing but the whistle of wind drifted past him.
At the bottom, the stench of fresh blood hit him like a train. He grimaced at the smell and turned on the flashlight. Easing around the corner into the room, and keeping his weapon raised, he waved the beam around the root cellar. The place was cleaner than expected, lined with shelves carrying bottles of dusty preserves. An old wooden chair sat in the middle of the room in front of a rusty metal table. He made out a pile of folded clothes and a pair of boots placed on one end and swallowed hard, recognizing the distinctive yellow windbreaker Sarah had worn during her visit to the station. He moved the light over a line of bunk beds. The row of four divided the space into two and obscured his view. “This is the Black Rock Falls County Sheriff’s Department. Is anyone down here?”
An ice-cold breeze brushed his cheek and he slid the light to the right, illuminating a ventilation shaft. A tar-like substance stuck to his boots, making a sucking sound each time he moved. He froze mid-stride and pointed the light directly at his feet. The black spots under his boots appeared to be blood spatter. This can’t be good. Keeping his back to the wall, he edged toward the beds. The smell increased and he pushed down the overpowering desire to run back to the barn. Anticipation cramped his gut and he bit back a moan then aimed the flashlight across the cellar floor.
It was a bloodbath.
A fall of blonde hair spread on the crimson ground, and blue eyes, so much like his sister’s, gazed at him in sightless despair. He recognized Sarah Woodward even though the once pretty face was blood-spattered and bruised. A mixture of anger and despair surged through him and he bit back the desire to run to her side. He gathered his senses and took in the scene, quartering the area to search for evidence, then something moved and he stiffened, his trigger finger dropping into place. Small red eyes reflected in the flashlight’s beam, and as if on command, a number of rats turned from their feast and vanished into the abyss. His stomach lurched and he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the revulsion.
With a heavy heart, he moved around the perimeter of the room as close as possible to Sarah, avoiding the blood to preserve the crime scene, then passed the light over her naked body. A wide red smile cut deep across Sarah’s slender neck, exposing the spine, and from the deep defensive wounds to her hands and arms, she had fought for her life. He pressed one hand against the wall then turned, and holstering his weapon, he retraced his steps. Bursting out of the root cellar, he ignored Rowley’s gibbering and strode out into the fresh air, off the path, and into a snow-covered garden. He sucked in deep breaths and puked on the fresh snow.
Thirty-Three
Desperately trying to push the image of Sarah from his mind, Kane leaned his back against the tree and blinked back the tears stinging his eyes.
“Oh, shit. You’ve left a trail of blood behind you. Did you find Sarah?” Rowley appeared at his side, his face pale. “Is she dead?”
“Yeah.”
“Sheriff Alton wants to speak to you.” Rowley stuck the satellite phone in his hands.
Kane wiped his boots in the snow then swallowed the bile rushing up the back of his throat. He lifted the phone. “Jenna?”
“Yeah. What’s happening out there?”
“Sarah Woodward is dead.”
“Sarah? Oh, no. Did she have an accident?”
“No, she’s been murdered.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s real bad. We’ll need help from the State Forensic Science Division. This murder goes way over the capabilities of a small-town ME.”
“I’ve contacted the Montana State Crime Lab about the body in the barrel case. They are sending people down from the FSD. They’ll arrive first thing in the morning.”
“Okay, good. Call them back and see if they can get down here now.” Kane shook his head to dispel the image of Sarah from his mind. “I found her in the root cellar. We’ll need a generator and lights on hand for when the FSD officers arrive.” He rubbed his throbbing temple, trying to calm his shattered nerves. “This is no thrill kill. It looks well planned. Whoever did this has cleaned the site, and apart from the blood spatter, the place looks spotless. They’ve even swept the driveway. I didn’t make out any footprints or recognizable tire marks anywhere.”
“No evidence at all?”
“Not what I could see with a flashlight in the root cellar but I haven’t had more than a quick look around the barn. We found the SUV parked over the hatch to the cellar, and my main concern was for Sarah’s safety. It’s pitch-black down there and I stepped in a patch of blood so I’ve contaminated the scene with my footprints. Although, I didn’t go near the body, I kept to the wall.”
“Did you check for a pulse? Try CPR?”
“No. The laceration to her neck goes to the spine and it was obvious she is deceased. There was no need to check for a pulse. The blood spatter is over a wide area and I would have contaminated the scene further.” He paused to gather his wits. The image of Sarah played a re-run reel in his mind. “We’ll need to secure the root cellar and we don’t have enough men to run twenty-four-hour surveillance. I don’t want any officer doing single shifts until we catch the killer and I’m not leaving here until forensics have been over this place with a fine-toothed comb.”
“No problems with the men and equipment.” Jenna let out a long, frustrated sigh. “I’ll grab some provisions and join you.”
Kane gripped the phone and moved away from Rowley. “Bring Walters with you. I don’t think anyone should be traveling the back roads alone.”
“Do you think it’s the same perpetrator as the barrel murder?”
“Yeah. There are similarities, and after being released from jail, if Stan Clough is our man, he would be anxious to kill again.”
He stared into the distance but could not dislodge the image of Sarah’s blank stare. “The body at the landfill, and now Sarah. Whoever is doing this isn’t going to be easy to profile. Most serial killers are attracted to a certain type
of person and these victims are poles apart. If I’m wrong, and we’re not dealing with a psychopath, this may be the work of an opportunistic thrill killer. I suggest you make sure our deputies are carrying a backup weapon and rifle in their vehicles.”
“Are you saying if you hadn’t come along when you did the other night, I might have been dragged off somewhere and sadistically murdered?”
“Yeah, there’s a chance, but most likely it was a warning. Psychopaths aren’t sane; maybe he believes you know he killed the man in the barrel and decided to keep his secret. When I arrived, he panicked and tried to warn you off from telling me. Remember what that guy said to you? ‘Keep your mouth shut and your dog on a leash or I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of doing.’ Maybe Sarah is another warning.” Kane sucked in a deep breath. “We have another problem. I found three other missing persons’ reports dated back before you took office. The last sheriff shelved them without a follow-up, which sends up a red flag. Walters’ name is on the original reports but he went on holiday, and the cases were handled by someone else or not handled at all. I asked Daniels to follow up before I left, so he may have something by now. Do you recall anyone mentioning similar cases?”
“No. The place was understaffed and chaotic after Sheriff Mitcham died. I didn’t have any communication from the missing persons’ families after I arrived. None of the officers mentioned one missing person let alone three. I previewed the current caseload on arrival and normal procedure should have had them listed as current or unsolved.” He could hear Jenna drumming her fingernails on the desk. “It might have been an oversight. When people die, the chain of communication often breaks down.”
“Yeah, I guess, but Deputy Andy Bristow was working at the time and he died after you took office, didn’t he?”
“Yes, in a boating accident on the river that runs adjacent to my ranch.” A long pause made Kane believe she had disconnected, then he heard her tapping on a keyboard. “There is no mention of these files in my current case folder or open case folders going back five years. Where did you locate the information?”
Kane kicked at a clump of ice and flicked a glance at Rowley, who stood staring at the root cellar door, face ashen as if in a trance. He needed to get him away from the scene. “In the archives, in the year prior to your arrival.”
“Found them. Okay, I’ll check for an update now.”
“Good. Ah, can you get out here ASAP? Rowley needs to be relieved.” Kane lowered his voice. “He is sheet-white and I don’t want him driving or I’d send him back in my vehicle.”
“Sure, I’ll be out there as soon as possible.”
“Be careful. You don’t know who you can trust.”
“Careful is my middle name.”
Kane swallowed hard. Jenna was in danger and they both knew it.
Thirty-Four
Jenna leaned back in her chair, the creak a familiar reassurance. She pressed the phone to her ear and listened to Kane’s calm voice.
“Don’t take chances with this animal. His fourth attempt on your life might be the charm.”
He was correct; after three attempts on her life, and two homicides in less than a week, she could not trust a soul except David Kane.
“I’ll make sure I have a deputy with me at all times. I’m not giving him another chance.” She sighed. “If the missing persons’ cases are active, then I’m worried about an inside cover-up. You mentioned the station leaked like a sieve and we don’t know who is involved, although Walters is the only remaining officer from that time. He doesn’t act suspicious. If Josh is involved and Walters is speaking to the mayor and reporting on everything we do, it would make sense he’d bury the files.”
“Yes, it would, and you’re traveling alone with him later. Be careful.”
“I will, but before I leave I need to ask the Blackwater Sheriff’s Department for backup. I’ll give them a call then grab my satellite phone and contact you when I leave.” She glanced at the door and a shiver of worry shot up her spine. “I’ll make sure Walters drives and I’ll keep one hand on my weapon.”
“Okay. Stay safe.”
“David?”
“Yeah?”
She rubbed her temple. “I’ll be there within the hour.” She sighed. “I’ll chase up the forensics on the hood my attacker used as well.”
“Roger that.”
* * *
Jenna pushed to her feet and strolled into the outer office. Daniels was at the front desk relieving Maggie and she beckoned for him. “Have you made any headway on the old missing persons’ files?”
“Not yet. I’ve been filling in for Maggie.” Daniels narrowed his gaze. “I’ll get straight on it the moment she comes back from her break.”
“No need, I’ll look into it before I leave.” She smiled at him. “You’ll be in charge until Rowley returns.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jenna returned to her office and called the forensics department.
“We have determined the existence of blood on the hood but have yet to determine its origin. Would you like me to call you the moment the results are available?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She disconnected then went down the list, dialing the missing persons’ next of kin. Hearing the excited voice of a relative expecting to hear she had found their loved one alive then the despair at her denial was heartbreaking. She spoke to an elderly woman about her daughter, missing more than three years. “Did you have any communication from Black Rock Falls County Sheriff’s Department after you filed the missing persons’ report?”
“I did, yes. They told me by the bank records, they had reason to believe Jessica left the area and told me to file a report in the next county. I haven’t heard a word since.” She let out a snort of disgust. “Blackwater Sheriff’s Department found no trace of her either and informed me I’d have to wait seven years before she could be declared dead.”
Jenna winced. “I’m so sorry. I’m the new sheriff and I’ll take another look at the case. I will inform you of our findings.”
“I won’t hold my breath.” The line went dead.
All the missing people had apparently visited Blackwater prior to their disappearance and their relatives had received the same information from her office. All had the sudden urge to drain their bank accounts, just like Mrs. Woodward. Jenna jumped to her feet, went to the firearms lock-up, and took out a rifle. Snatching her coat on the way, she strode to the office door and marched up to Deputy Walters’ desk. “I need you to check the ATM records for John Helms. Can you tell me if he disappeared immediately after withdrawing money in Blackwater?” She rested the rifle against his desk and shrugged into her coat.
“I’ll do a search.” Walters stared at the weapon and raised a gray eyebrow then tapped away at his keyboard. He turned the screen for her to view the results and a frown crossed his face. “It sure looks like it. He was moving around spending money left, right, and center. Maximum cash withdrawals each time, just the same as the others.”
“The others? You knew about the bank account checks on the other missing persons?”
“Not until today. I was on vacation as far as I can recall but I found the files in the old archives.” He hitched a rough thumb over one shoulder to an old computer. “I transferred everything I found to the new system.”
“I had no idea there was a separate archive.” Jenna leaned over and stared at the screen. “What is the attraction in Blackwater? Hookers and male escorts?” She ran her gaze down the five-figure amounts and raised an eyebrow. “High class, by the amounts.”
“There are hookers everywhere but I don’t know of any male escort agencies. If the men needed company, why go out of town? The Cattleman’s Hotel here in Black Rock Falls has high-class escorts at the bar most nights, not Blackwater.” Walters gave her an inquisitive stare. “You knew that, right?”
“No, I was not aware.” Jenna straightened and heard Daniels snigger from the next booth. “Prostitution is a crime in this sta
te, Deputy, and I intend to enforce the law. My next question is, why hasn’t this problem been dealt with before?”
“No proof.” Walters shrugged. “We can’t prove they’re engaging in prostitution, no money changes hands. It’s not a crime to meet a woman in a bar or to have sex with her after a date, is it?”
“I will be looking into this later but right now grab your coat and follow me.” Jenna picked up the rifle and headed toward the front desk. She tapped Magnolia on the back then drew her into a quiet space. “I’m pulling in a few deputies from Blackwater County. When they arrive, send them out to the Old Mitcham Ranch. I’ll be available by satellite phone if you need me. Oh, and if the media contacts you about the case at the landfill or anything else at all, you tell them ‘no comment.’ Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ve been ‘no commenting’ all day.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Deputy Daniels will be holding the fort. Walters will be back within the hour with Rowley. Make sure there is plenty of fresh coffee. It’s going to be a long shift.”
Thirty-Five
Kane stood beside Rowley on the front steps of the old ranch house, rifle in hand. He had switched all his incoming calls to the satellite phone and pushed it inside his pocket. If Jenna got into trouble on the way out here, he could track the device in her earring on either phone, but right now, with a crazy on the loose, her safety was his first priority. He pushed the unease to one side and glanced around. His gaze moved to the bank of trees, blocking his sightline to the road, and the idea someone might be watching them played on his mind. In their current position, they would be sitting ducks. He turned back toward the door. “Let’s wait inside. I don’t like being so exposed.”
