Don’t Tell A Soul: A gripping crime thriller that will have you hooked

by D. K. Hood

  “Me either.” Rowley shot him a fearful look and ducked inside the house. “The place hasn’t changed since I was a kid.”

  “Yeah? So did you take girls down the root cellar to party? With the ghost legend, it would have been the place to be on Halloween.”

  “Nah, I didn’t go near the barn, period. None of us ever went within ten feet of the door and I doubt anyone goes there now, or ever will again. I’d say the chances of selling this place now is zero.” Rowley leaned against a wall, disturbing the green peeling paint, which fell over his shoulders like dandruff. “The old man who last lived in this house hanged himself from the rafters after murdering his wife. The legend says he haunts the place day and night. Even his grandson, the late sheriff, wouldn’t come near the place.” Rowley swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “They say you can hear the rafters creaking as his granddaddy swings back and forth.” He stared sightlessly out the window toward the barn. “The old man’s wife had been beaten and near decapitated. That’s why his son cut up the property and sold the land surrounding the ranch house. He built a new place over the other side of town but the land backs onto this fence line.”

  “Really?” Bile rushed up the back of Kane’s throat. The image of Sarah’s battered body flashed across his mind like a scene from a horror movie. It was as if history was repeating. “Where did they find the wife?”

  “In the root cellar behind the bunk beds. Same place as you found Sarah.” Rowley lifted his gaze and frowned. “Josh went down there on a dare and told us the place was just as the cops had left it, like a time capsule. He said there are still bloodstains on the floor. It freaked me out big time.” He gave a short bark of a laugh as if to cover his embarrassment. “Being about twelve years old at the time, I had nightmares for over a year. I’m not looking forward to staying here overnight, not now, after what’s happened. The place is cursed. Now everyone will say Sarah is haunting the place.”

  “If you plan to succeed in law enforcement, you need to grow a pair.” Kane snorted and glared at him. “It’s not a ghost you need to be worried about; we have two unsolved murders, and the killer or maybe killers are still at large. I’m betting whoever murdered Sarah didn’t consider the tracker on the SUV and might return to move the vehicle to a different location.” Keeping his back to the wall, he shifted position to one side of the window and glanced outside. Josh Rockford’s name had come up again and made him wonder if the overconfident bully was the key player in this macabre play. “Keep a watch outside and stay clear of the window. I’m going to check out back.” He grabbed his rifle and strode into the kitchen.

  Running the facts through his mind, he scanned the backyard through the dusty kitchen window and then eased away from the wall to recheck the lock on the back door. He doubted the killer would return in daylight to relocate the SUV Sarah had hired but he would keep his guard up just in case. The evidence pointed to a local who knew the isolation of the Old Mitcham place and the existence of the root cellar. Rockford fit the profile, and Stan Clough more so with a background of cruelty to animals, and both would have relied on the haunted barn myth to keep people away from the root cellar. Yet leaving the SUV had been a massive mistake. The vehicle proved Sarah visited the ranch, and anyone looking for her would have started an immediate search of the area. He wondered why the killer had not moved the vehicle to a different location, especially after making a substantial effort to cover his tracks. Maybe he didn’t have time and planned to come back after dark.

  He slammed his palm against his forehead. What an idiot. The killer had not run out of time. He had the sense not to relocate the SUV then risk a long walk back to collect his vehicle. If anyone had arrived, it would have advertised his identity.

  Holy shit, the sick freak acted alone. Surely, two men would have moved Sarah’s SUV.

  Kane rubbed his chin, pondering his prime suspects, and his mind filled with doubt. His brief encounter with Josh Rockford gave him the impression he was a pack animal. As the alpha male, he liked to impress his friends and bathed in their praise, which would mean he would not go on a murder spree alone. As an exhibitionist, he would want the world to view his kills and stage his victims for the ultimate shock effect, not hide them in a barrel or root cellar. Unless he had planned to return with his groupies to show them the kill, maybe take some selfies. If the killer believed he was untouchable, aka the mayor’s son, anything was in the realms of possibility.

  He considered the recent release of Stan Clough. His profile fit like a glove but he needed to know more about his case. Had he brutalized animals in the same manner and escalated his killing spree to people? His thoughts moved to the realtor, John Davis. Instinct told him to dismiss him as a possible suspect, although being the last person to see Mrs. Woodward and to have interacted with Sarah hours before her murder should have placed him slap bang in the middle of his radar.

  Both murders had the hallmarks of a sadistic killer, someone who enjoyed inflicting pain and making their victims suffer. Causing the amount of damage on both victims would take considerable strength. He doubted John Davis had the physical capabilities and suspected a much younger, stronger person. The question of motive burned in his mind. Not a hate crime or a frenzied attack; from what he had witnessed on both bodies, the torture had been slow and systematic, the end brutal yet swift.

  He discounted an opportunistic thrill kill. Most in this group of crazies killed and left the body in situ rather than attempting to hide their crime. They discarded their victims’ bodies like burger wrappers in the open. Once the thrill was over, the life gone, they held no value. The chance of Sarah crossing paths with her murderer on this stretch of highway would be remote. No predator would hang out on an isolated back road, especially in winter, in the hope of finding a victim to lure to their death.

  The body in the barrel was not Mrs. Woodward, and he had no motive for the sadistic murders. Unless money was involved and the killer had murdered Mrs. Woodward as well. After all, she too had withdrawn large sums before she vanished. If someone had murdered her for her cash, then that alone would tie in Sarah. She had information in the letters from her mother detailing her grandmother’s last-known whereabouts; perhaps Mrs. Woodward had mentioned the properties she planned to visit. It would make sense for her to check every possible lead. Add in the fact she had failed to make her movements secret, and any number of people in the garage or real estate office could have overheard her plans.

  On the back roads of Black Rock Falls County, she would have been alone and vulnerable. He wondered if the murderer followed Sarah or lured her to this location. Had she called anyone in the hours before her death? He needed her cellphone records. If the killer murdered both victims, whoever had killed her must have believed the information she had in the letters from her mother led straight to him.

  He ran over the timeline. The last person to see Sarah alive as far as he could determine would have been Mary-Jo Miller. Sarah had signed out the SUV at eight and he had arrived on scene at four thirty. The killer had time, as long as eight hours, to murder Sarah, take her motel key, then trash her room and destroy the evidence. A local would know about the lack of security and check-out time, but how did the killer discover Sarah had the letters? Kane pushed his fingers under his woolen cap to rub the throbbing scar on his head and went over the evidence one more time.

  As far as he was aware, apart from her visit to the station, Sarah had discussed her information with at least three people: Rosa at the motel, Mr. Miller at the garage or perhaps his daughter, and maybe she had mentioned it to John Davis the realtor. He cast his mind back to the night her car broke down. She had informed him about the information she had discovered, and Billy Watts had been right there beside him in the Cattleman’s Hotel parking lot. Another link to Rockford. Watts had overheard everything, including his orders to Daniels to escort her back to her motel. Watts could have followed her to the motel and discovered her room number. He pulled out his notebook and jott
ed down a list of people to interview. His main aim would be to discover the suspects’ whereabouts between eight this morning and the approximate time of death. For now, he would have to cool his heels and wait for the autopsy report then discuss his theories with Alton. He would need her permission to haul in his list of suspects for questioning.

  Another chilling thought entered his mind. If the killer concealed the first murder but deliberately left Sarah’s body as a display of his brutality for Jenna to see, it would change everything. The words of Jenna’s attacker rang in his head like a death knell. Keep your mouth shut or I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of doing.

  Cold seeped into his bones as if he stood naked in the freezing temperature. The threat against Jenna hung in the air, unspoken but as sure as the sun rising in the morning. Sarah’s murder is an example of his brutality, and next time it will be Jenna.

  Thirty-Six

  The satellite phone signaled an incoming call and Kane snatched it from his pocket.

  “Good afternoon, this is Father Maguire returning your call.”

  He dragged his thoughts from his deliberations and cleared his throat. “Ah, Father Maguire, thanks for returning my call. I have a few questions regarding John Helms. Do you ever recall him wearing a gold bangle?”

  “A bangle, yes. A torque, he called it. I believe it was a family heirloom and he rarely removed it, as I recall. He said the inscription contained a story about his ancestors.”

  Shit. The body is John Helms. Kane leaned his forehead against the wall and swallowed a groan. The only connection between the murders had vanished like smoke in the wind. He had tied up everything so neatly in his mind, and the revelation that he had made a gaping error in his impeccable deductive skills came as a shock. If the body was John Helms, the motive for Sarah’s murder and the burning of the letters had flown out the window. He wanted to curse in frustration and sucked in a deep steadying breath. “That’s very interesting, and do you remember if he had any tattoos?”

  “Yes, a symbol of some kind on his right shoulder. He had it done recently and it was a bone of contention with his wife. He mentioned the argument with her about it before he left. Does this mean you have some news for me, at last?”

  “Not officially, no.” Kane backpedaled. “We found a body and can’t make a positive ID without dental records or DNA. We can’t jump to conclusions and assume the victim is Mr. Helms and I would not want to cause undue distress to his wife.”

  “I understand completely. How can I help?”

  “Is it possible to get me the name of Mr. Helms’s dentist?” Kane strolled to Rowley’s position and peered out the window, relieved to see Walters’ cruiser and a truck moving toward the house. “I’d rather not contact Mrs. Helms until we have more information. At the moment I am still conducting routine enquiries.”

  “There are three in town. I’ll have to tell a white lie and say John recommended him to me when I ask his wife for his name. I will call you back.”

  “Thank you.” Kane disconnected and strolled across the room to stand beside Deputy Rowley. “Stay here and keep watch. I’m going to help Sheriff Alton unload the equipment.”

  “Okay.” Rowley straightened. His face remained pale and his voice shook slightly. “Do you want me to keep the details of Sarah’s murder to myself? You know Daniels and Maggie will ask what’s happening out here.”

  Kane nodded. “Yeah, say nothing for now other than we’re dealing with an incident. For now, apart from me, only Sheriff Alton will know the exact details of the murder, and I’m planning to keep it that way. I’m hoping when the forensics team has examined the crime scene and completed an autopsy, they’ll be able to give us more information.” He placed a hand on Rowley’s shoulder. “Often, keeping specifics of a crime secret leads to an arrest. Sometimes murderers like to brag about the kill, and then you have the lunatics who come into the station to confess. It’s all in the details, so we keep our mouths shut. Got it?”

  “Yeah, no worries.”

  Kane did a visual scan of the area outside then pulled open the front door. He jogged to the truck. The door opened with a whine and Jenna slid out, landing effortlessly beside him.

  “Hey.” Jenna gripped his arm and her concerned gaze raked his face. “You look like hell.”

  Kane swallowed the lump in his throat and kept his voice just above a whisper. “I sure came close to hell in the root cellar.”

  Jenna’s eyes showed a flash of genuine compassion. She squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry you had to go down there alone.”

  “Rather me than Rowley, and I needed him to keep watch. I didn’t like the idea of someone trapping me down there if the killer decided to return. I must say, the killer’s idea of blocking the entrance with Sarah’s SUV was a stroke of genius. I almost missed it, and if Rowley hadn’t known about the root cellar we wouldn’t have found the body.” He glanced at Walters and, seeing he was way out of earshot, moved closer to Alton. “I have just received info on the body in the barrel. Father Maguire confirmed John Helms is in the habit of wearing a torque bangle similar to the one we found and he has a tattoo on one shoulder. I’ve asked him if he could send us the name of Helms’s dentist. I’ll have Helms’s X-rays sent to the forensics team to make a comparison before we contact his next of kin.” He puffed out a sigh in a cloud of steam. “After this murder, I’m worried about Mrs. Woodward.”

  Kane glanced at Jenna and wondered if he should confide his concerns to her. “After what the guy who assaulted you threatened, do you think killing Sarah was another warning for you to keep quiet?”

  “I hope not, but it’s possible.” Jenna peered at him and a flash of worry crossed her face. “I think Mrs. Woodward could also be dead and we just haven’t found her body yet. She could be in a barrel as well and buried in the landfill.”

  Kane rubbed his chin. “You could be right, but what is confusing me is why someone wanted to destroy the letters Sarah had in her possession. Before we identified the body in the barrel, it was reasonable to believe whoever killed her had something to do with Mrs. Woodward’s disappearance.”

  “Unless she ran into Stan Clough and mentioned she’d told her daughter all about her visit? Maybe we should ask her mother?” Alton flicked a glance in Walters’ direction and lifted both dark eyebrows. “We’ll talk later in private.” As the old deputy strolled toward her, she raised her voice. “There’s nothing we can do for her now. We need to get to work and find her killer.”

  Kane grimaced. “It would help if we had a suspect.” He looked at Deputy Walters. “Any luck finding Sam Clough’s current address?”

  “Not yet. Davis likely sold him a new place but he is out of the office right now. I left a message.”

  “I picked up a couple of flasks of fresh coffee and hot food from Aunt Betty’s for you and Rowley.” Jenna waved a small hand toward Walters’ cruiser. “There’s a box of cakes, apple pie, and cookies as well in the trunk. Eat first then we’ll unload the truck.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t feel like eating right now. You should go inside and I’ll grab Rowley to help me unload the generator.”

  “No need. The generator is set up to work from the truck bed.” Jenna walked to the back of the truck and pulled out a box of equipment.

  “Did you bring floodlights?” Kane peered at the lanterns packed inside a box.

  “I’ve brought everything we need. I have survival packs in the back of the cruiser, blankets, heaps of food, my coffee machine, and a change of clothes. I even brought my microwave.” Jenna gave him a dismissive wave. “I can handle things from here and Walters is keeping a watch out for unwanted visitors. Go and eat before the food gets cold.” She lifted her chin as if defying him to disobey her. “That’s an order.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Jenna waited for Kane to return, picked up a halogen flashlight, depressed the button, then moved down the steps of the root cellar, the extension cord tucked under one arm. Halfway down, the st
ench leaked through the face mask and apprehension of seeing a brutal, insane act of violence cramped her stomach. She refused to allow Kane to witness any weakness and squared her shoulders. It would have taken guts to walk down the steps alone in the pitch-black knowing death lay in wait. A faint glow of light spilled from the room and she tightened her grip on the flashlight. Breathing through her mouth, she turned the corner and moved the beam around a room cloaked in deep shadows. A single dusty lightbulb hung from a long string in the middle of the cellar.

  She plugged in the cords and bent to attach power to the floodlights Kane held out for her. Straightening, she peered into blue eyes looking intently at her over his mask. She cleared her throat and willed her knees to stop shaking. “You ready?”

  “Yeah, power up.” As the powerful lights streamed across the room like sunlight, Kane averted his gaze. “Man, that’s bright.” He blinked rapidly then indicated with his chin toward the bunk beds. “She’s over there.” He pulled his cellphone out of a pocket. “You’ll want our own set of photographs, I imagine?”

  Jenna nodded absently and stared at the blood spatter extending from under the bunk bed barrier to the wall. She dragged leaden feet toward the body, keeping to the wall to avoid stepping in the sticky, dark, crimson blobs. Glad to have Kane’s solid strength at her back, she pressed against the wall and edged around the beds. Kane’s description of the crime scene as a bloodbath had been an understatement. Sarah had suffered for a considerable time before her killer had mercifully cut her throat. The blood pattern splashed on the walls and ceiling told of a prolonged, brutal attack. She had to dismiss the wave of compassion for the girl staring at her, with blue eyes opaque in death and mouth stretched open in a silent scream.

  Stepping outside the brutality before her, Jenna called upon her years of training to observe the murder scene in a clinical, professional manner. She turned and followed the drops of blood back to the entrance and glanced up to examine the blood spatter on the ceiling. “Look up there. I believe she was hit from behind, knocked senseless, and staggered over here.” She pointed to the trail of droplets and Kane’s footprints. “The disturbance in the dust on the table makes me believe she grasped it to get her balance. There is blood on the floor and a few drops on the table. If the killer had been in this area, he would have wiped it down.”