Mellow Yellow, Dead Red

by Sylvia Rochester

  Doctor Vince Leggio, dressed in protective garb, stared into a microscope. He lifted his head upon hearing them enter and swiveled on his stool. “She’s talking to me, boys.”

  “What’s she saying?” Wesley asked. “I hope it’s good news.”

  “Come take a look.” Vince led them to a steel examination table where the dismembered body lay washed and pieced together as much as possible. He waved a gloved hand over the remains. “No one deserves to die this way.”

  Wesley couldn’t help but notice Charlie’s reaction. His face took on a greenish tinge, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back and diverted his eyes from the victim.

  “You’re not going to faint on me, are you?” Wesley asked.

  “Just a little queasy,” he mumbled.

  “Any report yet of a missing person?” Vince asked.

  Wesley shook his head.

  “If she weren’t so messed up, we could release a photograph, but we don’t always get what we want. Best I could do was to piece together things that might help.”

  Wesley pulled a small note pad from his pocket.

  “Don’t bother taking notes,” Vince said. “I’ll give you a copy of my report before you leave. When I arrived at the site, the first thing I did was have my assistant take photographs, and I swabbed everything. I’ve identified two blood types—O and B positive.”

  Bile rose in Wesley’s throat. Edith’s blood type was O.

  “The B positive belongs to the victim. Maybe the other belongs to the killer. He could have gotten careless and cut himself.”

  Wesley swallowed down a bundle of nerves. At least the victim wasn’t Edith.

  Vince continued. “After a closer examination of the partial pelvic, I believe our victim was in her early thirties.”

  “That and the blood type eliminate the missing girl in my cold case,” Wesley said. “Edith Nelson would be in her early twenties.”

  Vince pointed to what remained of the shoulder and arm. “The length of the humerus suggests our victim was about five-foot nine or ten.”

  Again, Wesley made a mental note—Edith was much shorter.

  Vince continued with his findings. “After washing all the mud and debris from her hair, she turned out to be a blonde. Of course, we sent off everything we could for DNA testing. That’ll take a while. We might even get lucky on dental records, though. She had several crowns.”

  “What about time of death?” Wesley asked.

  “Analysis of the vitreous fluid indicates she has been dead about forty-eight hours.”

  “Any fingerprints?”

  “Not without hands. I’m guessing the killer chopped them off in hopes of eliminating her identity. They weren’t inside the gator and Wildlife and Fisheries found no trace of them.”

  The clock in Wesley’s head turned backward. Forty-eight hours would put the time of death close to when he and Susan stumbled on the thrashing gator. “I can’t believe I was nearby when the killing took place. Had she screamed, I might have heard her.”

  “I doubt she made a sound. Whoever killed her probably rendered her unconscious before transporting her to the swamp. She had a severe blow to the head, but it wasn’t a fatal blow. That came later. By the time you spotted the gator, she had been dismembered.”

  “Looks like we don’t have much to go on,” Wesley said.

  A sly, little grin crossed Vince’s mouth. “I saved the best for last.” He crossed the room and lifted a couple of evidence bags from a plastic container. “I showed you the yellow blouse yesterday,” he said, placing the bag on the end of the examining table. “This I didn’t find until I washed her head. It was tangled in her matted hair.”

  Wesley squinted at the clear plastic bag as the overhead light reflected off something shiny.

  “It’s an earring in the shape of a silver cross,” Vince said. “What do you want to bet the killer took the other one for a souvenir.”

  Wesley reached for the bag, but Vince pulled it back.

  “Oh, no, my friend, this one’s going to the lab for trace evidence. I have a digital photograph for you.” Vince placed several photos of the victim’s remains on the table next to the evidence bag. “You can have these, along with my report for your file.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Wesley caught a glimpse of Charlie, whose face had lost all color. His chin quivered as he stared at the evidence. Clamping his hand over his mouth, he bolted for the sink. Vince and Wesley waited until Charlie finished upchucking.

  “Guess this was too much for him,” Vince whispered.

  Charlie washed his face, rinsed out the sink, and dried off on a paper towel. “Sorry about that.”

  “Been there,” Wesley said. “You okay now?”

  Charlie shrugged. “I’ll be better when we get out of here.”

  Vince gathered up the photos and added his report. “Here you go,” he said, slipping them into a folder and handing them to Wesley.

  “Thanks. The chief will be anxious to see this.” He tapped the folder against his thigh. “Let me know if anything else turns up.”

  Susan stayed busy most of the day helping with customers and working on the books. Nevertheless, she couldn’t get Wesley off her mind. She wanted very much to know what was happening on the case and must have picked up her phone a hundred times to call him. By the hardest effort, she didn’t. She knew he’d be swamped with the investigation and would call her when he could. That didn’t make waiting any easier. Patience was not one of her strong points.

  She had promised Wesley she would be careful and that included leaving the boutique before dark, but a last minute rush of customers put a kink in her plans. By the time she locked up and slipped behind the wheel of her Camaro, the sun had dipped below the trees. Sitting in the darkened parking lot, she would have given anything to have Wesley sitting beside her.

  “Sorry, Wes,” she mumbled. “This won’t happen again.”

  The night was eerily quiet. All the birds had gone to roost, and the night critters had yet to find their voice. The click of the seatbelt when it locked into place was the only sound. Susan locked the doors and checked her surroundings. The woods were shrouded in darkness, offering cover to anyone who might be lurking. Her mouth went dry at the thought. She started the engine and turned on the headlights. Even the bright beams did little to calm her fears. Once again, she thought about calling Wesley, but she couldn’t pull him away from his job just because she was scared of the dark.

  What she needed was to stop letting her imagination run wild. She took another glance around the empty parking lot and told herself that she’d be home in a matter of minutes. Taking a deep breath, she pulled onto the highway and checked the rearview mirror—not a vehicle was in sight. Ahead, lights from an approaching car illuminated the deserted road. This was one time she wouldn’t mind having big-city traffic.

  By the time she reached Tilly’s Diner, she had encountered only two cars, both heading in the opposite direction. The diner represented the last business and structure of any kind until she reached her apartment complex. For the next two miles, she would be following alongside the black water of a narrow bayou. The road had no shoulders to speak of, and the center line marker was barely visible. Well, conditions could have been worse. It could have been raining or foggy.

  Lights in the rearview mirror caught her attention, and the muscles in her shoulders tensed. Gripping the wheel tighter, she told herself it was just another homeward-bound person. But when the headlights drew closer and switched to high beams, the hair on her arms bristled. She couldn’t make out the vehicle because its lights were blinding, but for sure, the vehicle was lots bigger than her Camaro.

  She eased off the accelerator, hoping whoever was behind her would either back off or pass. The driver did neither. She thought about accelerating, but the road was too curvy, and she could easily lose control in the dark. Then the lights swerved from her mirror, and the sound of a loud engine pull
ed alongside. Perhaps now she could see who the idiot was that was harassing her, but she had to be quick. They were approaching a sharp curve.

  Gripping the wheel even tighter, she stole a quick glance. It was a dark colored truck. The loud, rhythmic chugging of the engine reminded her of souped-up cars from her high school days. The truck edged closer, sending a surge of adrenalin through her. Her sweaty palms had difficulty holding the steering wheel. Her heart pounded in her throat. This might be her last chance to get a look at the driver who seemed intent on pushing her off the road.

  Instead of a face, all she saw was the barrel of a gun. She ducked. Glass shattered. Only then did the deafening sound of gunfire echo in her ears. The Camaro swerved to the right, and the front wheels left the road as the monster truck barreled ahead.

  Susan fought to maintain control, but the right front wheel sank into the soft, narrow shoulder. She jerked hard to the left, trying to get the car back onto the road, but the Camaro flipped.

  Metal screeched as the car skidded on its top across the asphalt. More glass shattered. Her scream joined the hellacious sounds. Then silence. Everything seemed to move in slow motion in a topsy-turvy world. The Camaro had left the road and was airborne. Hanging upside down, the black water loomed like a fantasy sky through the cracked windshield. The seat belt dug into her shoulder and cut even deeper when the Camaro hit the surface of the bayou with a thud. The car came to an abrupt stop, as if someone had slammed on the brakes...only the wheels were in the air.

  The engine spit and hissed as the car began sinking, taking her down to a watery grave. Cold water gushed through the broken windows, filling the car in a matter of seconds. Before going under, she took one last gulp of air. Then everything went black. She had to feel her way to freedom. Fingers, numbed by the cold water, struggled to find the release for the seat belt. Just when she thought her lungs would burst, she broke free and wiggled through the driver’s window. She cupped her hands and clawed her way upward. As the last bit of oxygen escaped her lungs, she broke the surface and sucked in the cold night air. A second deep breath brought water and the smell of mold into her mouth. As the slimy scum that floated on the bayou slithered its way to her stomach, her dying car belched and gurgled.

  Susan glanced around, trying to get her bearings. The road was a good thirty feet from the submerged vehicle. She wasn’t sure if she could make it that far. Lifting her arms took all her strength, and her legs were useless. They had already surrendered to the cold. Weighted down by her shoes and jacket, she sank beneath the dark water. Holding her breath, she pulled off her ankle-high boots and shimmied out of her jacket. Once again, she managed to pull herself to the surface. By sheer determination, she dog paddled her way to the bank where she grabbed hold of a handful of roots—a lifeline. She rested her head against the muddy bank, thankful that she was still alive.

  For a moment, darkness and silence filled the night. Then she heard the chugging sound of the truck’s engine backing down the highway.

  He’s coming to finish the job. The thought filled her with anger. No, I won’t let him. She thought about Wesley and their dreams for the future. They were so close to committing to one another, so close to planning a life together. To think that it might end right now filled her with rage. She was determined to fight. Hide! She had to hide.

  Keeping hold of the roots, she propelled herself along the bank to an overhanging tree. There the weeds and undergrowth offered cover from this maniac. The red glow from the brake lights tinted the surface of the water as the truck came to a stop. With the engine idling, a door slammed. Footsteps approached. A beam of light scanned the water.

  Once again, fire seared Susan’s lungs as she held her breath and turned her face into the bank. Then she heard the heavy footsteps run across the road. As she drew a breath, she glanced over the edge of the bank in time to hear the tires squeal and see the truck flee the scene. Headlights from an approaching car had sent her attacker running. All Susan could do was pray that the on-coming person would stop. If not, she wasn’t sure she had enough strength to pull herself out of the bayou.

  Car doors slammed, and voices drifted toward her.

  “There’s glass everywhere. Here’s a hub cap, and there’s a strip of side molding,” someone said.

  “Look at the scrape marks,” someone else said. “They lead straight to the bayou. Get a flashlight.”

  Susan tried to get their attention but couldn’t find her voice and was afraid to turn loose of the roots. All she could manage was a weak croaking sound.

  The voices continued. “Hey, that looks like tires just below the surface.”

  “Call 911. I’m going in,” another person shouted.

  Susan had worked her way out from under the tree and managed a weak call for help. “Here.”

  A flashlight’s beam hit her in the face.

  “Over there,” someone shouted.

  “I see her,” someone answered. “I’m coming, lady.”

  Susan heard splashing, and then a hand grabbed her arm.

  At first, she jerked back. What if they were in cahoots with her attacker? No. They can’t be. He left.

  “Lady, don’t fight me. We want to help you. I’ve got to get you out of the water.”

  Susan realized the person who had hold of her was just a kid. She relaxed and quit resisting. The young man pulled her toward a smooth section of the bank. There, several hands lifted her onto the shoulder of the road.

  One of the boys took off his jacket and put it around her. “Are you hurt?”

  “I...I don’t know.”

  “Well, I don’t see any blood. We called for EMS and the police. They should be here any minute. What happened?”

  She shook her head. “I...I’m not sure. Yes, I do remember. Someone shot at me, and I lost control. Your headlights scared him away. Did you see him?” She hugged her arms.

  “All we saw were taillights, and then one of them disappeared. After that, the other one left, too. We stopped when we saw all the debris in the road.”

  Susan sat shivering, trying to gather her thoughts. She kept reliving the sounds—the windows shattering, the car skidding across the road. She looked up at the startled faces. “You saved my life.”

  One of the boys shrugged. “We just happened to be behind you.”

  “Not everyone would jump into that water.”

  The boy who pulled her from under the tree said, “Oh, I forgot something.”

  To her surprise, he dove back into the water. A few minutes later, he returned. “I figured you wouldn’t want to leave all your personal stuff behind.” He handed her a drenched purse. “I also found this.” He held up her phone. “I’m afraid it’s toast.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Nathan.”

  “You’re awfully brave, Nathan, but promise me you won’t go into the water again.”

  He smiled.

  “Any chance I can borrow your phone?” she asked.

  “Sure.” He went to his car and returned with his cell phone and a sweatshirt, which he pulled over his head.

  She stared at the phone as if it were something foreign then handed it back to him. “I can’t remember the number. That’s what programming will do for you.”

  A car screeched to a halt.

  “Must be a cop,” Nathan said. “It has flashing lights in the grill.”

  Wesley ran to her side.

  Susan reached up a hand to him. “How did you—”

  “I was on my way home and heard it on the scanner. When they mentioned a Camaro, and I hadn’t heard from you this evening...well, I had to check it out. EMS and police are on the way.”

  Even as he spoke, Susan could see flashing lights in the distance. She pointed to the three boys. “They saved my life.”

  “Did any of you see what happened?”

  The three boys looked at one another and shook their heads.

  “They only saw taillights,” Susan said.

  Wesley
removed the coat from Susan’s shoulders and replaced it with his own. “Whose jacket is this?”

  “Mine. Thanks.” The boy with the flashlight took it from Wesley.

  “I can’t thank you boys enough. This lady is very special to me.” He handed one of them his card. “If I can ever do anything for you, give me a call.”

  The police arrived and began questioning Susan and the boys. Wesley stayed at Susan’s side while EMS examined her. The medics found no serious injury but insisted she go to the hospital and be checked by a physician. She balked at the idea, but Wesley said with no uncertainty that she was going.

  One of the officers asked Susan for more details as to how the other person tried to run her off the road and how she lost control. “Can you describe the vehicle?”

  “Only that it was a dark colored truck.”

  “What about the driver? Did you get a look at him?”

  “Are you serious? When I saw the gun, I panicked. All I could think to do was to duck. Then the window exploded, and the car veered, and...and it all went crazy. Whoever it was came back to make sure I was dead. If those young men hadn’t shown up, you would have found me floating in the water.” Susan pointed a shaky finger at the bayou. “I need to get my car out of there.”

  “I’ve called for a wrecker,” the officer said. “In the meantime, you need to go with EMS.”

  “I know you’re upset about your car,” Wesley said, “but it can be replaced.”

  “And my phone,” she moaned.

  “That, too,” he said, slipping an arm around her and hugging her head against his chest. “You’re okay. That’s all that matters.” He picked up her soaked purse and handed it and Susan over to the paramedics who helped her into the ambulance. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  When they arrived at the hospital, the paramedics wheeled Susan into the hospital where a nurse met them.

  “I’m with her,” Wesley said, catching up with the gurney.