Garrett stepped over and took the lighter. He lit the cigarette for her, but had to follow it around as she continued to sway. She’d once been a bright young kid who won the Spelling Bee at Artemis Elementary. It had been a long, hard road from there.
“Still, sorry it had to happen,” Garrett said.
She pouted her lower lip and blew a plume of smoke straight up past her oily bangs. “Why do you keep coming back here? Three times now since Bradley started the lab.”
“Uh, no, Ma’am. I came out after, you know, to offer Misty my condolences. I came out here today. I can’t really say why, exactly. A lot of things have gone wrong lately, and I was feeling like this was one I could have prevented,” Garrett said.
“Yeah, if you busted him the other night, instead of just peepin’ in the barn, we’d still have a shitty barn out there and Misty would still have a fucking halfwit as the father of her new baby. So all in all, I’m glad you waited.”
“What? I never came out here at night.”
She cackled and blew smoke at him. “Bullshit.”
Red behind his eyes. Garrett had the cigarette crushed in his hand, his palm burning. She stood there with a cartoon O for a mouth.
“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” Garrett said. He leaned in close and her nervous eyelids twitched. “I didn’t come to your property any night at all. But I want you to think about it and tell me exactly what you saw the night someone peeped in your barn. Do you understand me, Mrs. Heideman?”
“Y-yes. Fine. It was... a man. I know that.”
Garrett stood up tall and backed off the porch a little bit. “You think he was taller or shorter than me?”
“I don’t know. About the same I guess.”
“What made you so sure it was me?”
“I just figured it was, since you’re the Chief of Police. Who else would be spyin’ on Bradley when he’s cookin’?”
“Yeah, I really think they need to put out some kind of community bulletin on the whole Chief thing. Why do you say you’re sure it was a man?” Garrett said.
“Walked like a man, you know? Don’t no woman walk that way.”
“Did you see a hair color?”
“No, I couldn’t see much but the shape of him, it was kinda late,” she said. She gave him a sad shrug.
“And you were a little drunk?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Did you see a car, or hear one?” Garrett said.
“Nope. He left over the knoll there.” She pointed to the mouth of a draw leading down to public land.
“Thanks, Mrs. Heideman. Why don’t you get inside now?”
She seemed to just notice her shivers. “Oh yeah.”
Garrett watched her list to the right and make a slow turn for the door. She shuffled inside, and he turned back to the place she’d pointed out.
Cursing every inch of the trek, Garrett waded through ankle and shin deep snow to reach the mouth of the draw. It had been snowing off and on for days, so he knew he wouldn’t see tracks. He followed the draw as it angled downward away from the Heideman place. Toward the bottom, his feet felt like someone stuffed two frozen steaks in his boots.
He stopped. He didn’t know what he was doing out here, wandering. New snow, no tracks. Go home, Garrett.
A chattering gray squirrel jumped from limb to limb, making its way through the dormant woods to the left. The squirrel skittered down a hoary oak trunk and ran across a seasonal creek bed. Springtime runoff would fill this to a respectable two-foot depth. Right now, it was nothing but water-polished rocks poking out of the snow like the scales on some old dragon’s back.
Garrett caught sight of mud on top off one of the smaller rocks. He hopped from one exposed stone to the other until he reached it. It had been flipped over at some point. Deep scoring on the other side said something metal did it. Garrett tried to gauge the direction of travel, but couldn’t really get a read in the fresh snow.
He saw a natural path up from the creek bed, through a small stand of birches. Following the path, examining the trees and exposed rocks as he went, he came to a low deadfall where a single tree trunk blocked the path. No bigger around than Garrett’s thigh and partially buried in the snow. Easy enough to drive over.
He knelt down and brushed snow off the tree.
Crescent-shaped rips in the bark and down deep into the wood. Someone drove over it in a snowmobile. Garrett took out his phone and snapped a few photos.
The frozen steaks that had replaced his feet were in need of defrosting and Garrett had a lot to think about. He trudged back to the Mustang, trying to figure how a bunch of missing girls tied into a burned down meth lab.
***
The flat crack of the .22 echoed through the snowy woods. Smiley breathed in the smell of the gunpowder as he listened to the excited chatter on the County radio. The County Coroner rolled out a forensic team and the whole area had been shut down not long after Smiley left.
Smiley went to the back of his pickup. There were a dozen cages stacked in there from this week’s round of feral cat traps. He opened one and a dirty orange cat hissed at him and sprang out. It ran about fifty yards away and went to ground under a bush. Smiley could barely see the orange head in the shadows.
Normally, he’d take most of the cats back to the County shelter to be either adopted out or euthanized. But so much nervous energy crackled through him he was surprised he didn’t hum like a high tension power line. None of these would make it back to the shelter today, and still his palms would itch and his scalp would tingle and he would search for something gruesome to do with his hands.
He hadn’t felt this unbridled excitement since the long ago failure at the rest stop. The one he had to leave. Florida, they called her. She fought too hard, and the estocada thrust had done her, but he vented his rage on her face when he knew the headlights wouldn’t go away.
He could see why some Hunters left their prey to be found, or even taunted the idiots on the police department. There was a divine thrill in knowing someone was examining your handiwork, shaking their head, horrified by your art and yet totally clueless they stand in the presence of the artist.
He’d always controlled the need to show the world, choked it down. He buried his beauties below, until he built the trophy room. Then he kept them for himself, as much as he was tempted to share them.
The Hunter rampant in his heart, he leaned across the hood of the truck and sighted in on his orange target.
His prediction had been right. It took every one of the cats to even mildly sate his thirst. He didn’t have to be at his place until six, but he left early. He wanted to be sure Angela had nice clean comforters to sleep on tonight.
He left the cat bodies for the coyotes.
***
Misty fussed over the bruise on Smiley’s cheek when she brought Angela. A few folks at work had commented as well, but everyone kind of backed off when he said he slipped on the porch like Momma and nearly cracked his own skull.
“Oh my gosh, Smiley, you have got to remember to salt those stairs,” Misty said.
“Believe me, I’ll remember now.”
Angela perched on the couch, looking glum.
“What’s the matter, Princess? You okay?” Smiley said.
“I’m just sad for Mommy. She’s been crying.”
“Oh, baby,” Misty said. She sat with Angela and hugged her. “Mommy’s gonna be okay.”
“But you said the topsy made you cry.”
“The what?” Smiley said.
“The autopsy results. I guess little ears hear more than we think,” Misty said.
Angela pushed her ears out with her fingers so they looked like monkey ears. This got a ghost of a grin from Misty. Angela held up her doll and said, “Poor Smiley. You want Anastasia to kiss your bad bruise?”
He smiled and winked at Angela. “It’s okay. It’s gonna get better, you wait and see.”
The rumble of an engine outside made his heart race.
***
Garrett parked beside Misty’s pickup and shut down the Mustang. He picked up a large manila envelope and saw Smiley’s front door open. The smile was bigger than ever.
“Howdy, Garrett. What brings you out?”
“I wanted to talk to you real quick. Wow, nice shiner,” Garrett said.
“Yup. Earned it the hard way, not knowing how to walk up a set of icy steps.”
Angela and Misty came to the door and waved. Garrett exchanged hellos and pulled Smiley aside. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you to have company. Remember when I showed you the last picture, but I didn’t have a copy for you?” Garrett said.
“Yeah?” Smiley said.
Did his eyes bounce down to the manila envelope?
“I brought one with me, but...” Garrett glanced back at Angela, waiting in the doorway.
“Misty, why don’t ya’ll wait inside? Garrett has grownup stuff to talk about,” Smiley said.
Misty corralled Angela and they closed the door. Garrett made a show of messing with the flap to open the envelope. He couldn’t decide if he was talking himself into it, or if Smiley actually looked anxious. He slid an eight-by-ten glossy of Nadine’s lost girl Taylor out of the envelope. He folded the envelope to put it away, but never took his eyes off Smiley’s face.
The clear blue eyes went down and back up, down and back up.
“Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell, but in the winter, they all look like a puff of hair and a big coat,” Smiley said.
“Do me a favor and show it around, will you?”
“Is this an official police investigation?”
“Oh, no. You know that, Smiley. I’m just a private citizen. In a way, it’s kind of freeing, you know? You don’t have to follow all those silly rules,” Garrett said.
Smiley gave him an odd look. “If you say so. I don’t mind helpin’ out. If you get any information, keep me in the loop.”
“Sure thing. I’d appreciate the help. Hell, if I was still the Chief, I’d deputize you.”
Smiley beamed at him. “Boy, that’d be the day.”
“Say,” Garrett said, hoping his acting skills were up to par. “Do you still have that old hit and miss engine of your daddy’s? I saw one on eBay go for a pretty penny.”
“Nope. Sold it to a young picker not long ago. Sold everything, in fact. Nothin’ left in the barn but dust and old cow farts,” Smiley said.
Damn. “Too bad. I sure would’ve liked to see it again. Those things are like a lost piece of the good old days.”
“You got that right,” Smiley said.
Garrett hadn’t really put together a Plan B on how to get a look inside Smiley’s barn. No way he would’ve bet on Smiley to selling the antique engine. Ah well, he’d had to bullshit his way into more than one dope house when he worked Narcotics. He decided to wing it.
“Hey, while I’m here, Tracy has been on a barn kick lately. She’s painting different construction styles and has me taking pictures for her whenever I can. Would you mind?”
“You wanna take a picture of my barn? Sure, I suppose.”
“Would it be okay to take some of the hay loft and all that?”
“Like, inside?” Smiley said. His smile twitched a little at the corners. “Sure, why not?”
Garrett took out his phone and followed Smiley out to the barn. He felt like time crawled while he took the obligatory shots of the outside. He couldn’t wait to get inside.
Smiley cracked the door open and disappeared into the gullet of the shadowy barn.
Garrett eased in after him, letting his eyes adjust. Even in the dead chill, he felt sweat slide down his spine, and his hand desperately wanted to be curled around a pistol, not a phone.
He found Smiley standing in the middle of the mostly empty barn.
“What do you think?” Smiley said.
“Like everything else you own, Smiley, it’s in great shape.”
Off to one side, there were three large humps under separate tarps. Between the tarp and the floor, Garrett could see the wheels of an ATV and the treads of a snow machine. He spied the crescents down the middle. A Hacksaw Trail Tread.
The third covered thing was a sled of some kind, with wide rails peeking from under the tarp. Rails that would leave parallel straight-line tracks if you pulled it across dirt.
Smiley made no move to show him and Garrett couldn’t think of a way to ask. The barn felt stuffy all of a sudden and Garrett’s heart picked up speed.
Nope. Everything under control. Focus.
Garrett snapped a few pictures. An old-school wood plank floor. Some sections looked newer than others. Near the back, a big stack of hay bales. Some old tools hung on hooks here and there. And in a far corner, the hacked apart stump of an old whipping post.
Garrett had been in here as a kid when his dad and Smiley worked on his dad’s bass boat. His dad explained what a whipping post was back then, and it had always stuck with Garrett.
“You mind if I go up in the loft?”
“Make yourself at home,” Smiley said.
Garrett climbed up a ladder made of two-by-fours. The hayloft had no hay. The only thing up here was a dusty stuffed cat with green glass eyes. The gray and white fur looked a little mangy in a few patches. Creepy. He took a picture of it.
“What on earth is a stuffed cat doing up here, Smiley?”
“Oh, I forgot about the darn thing. I musta made it when I was eighteen, nineteen. I guess I left him up there to keep guard.”
Garrett leaned carefully over the edge. From up here, he saw a dark spot on the floor behind Smiley, a little less than a foot in diameter. He aimed the phone. “Smile for Tracy.”
Smiley gave him a good one.
Climbing down from the loft, Garrett saw an old trashcan, the metal kind. All sorts of odds and ends filled it nearly to the top. Bicycle parts, bits of taxidermy forms, old tin cans with flawless labels antique collectors would swoon over. And stuck down the side, jammed under a sprocket, was the only clean thing in the can.
A pie tin. Smashed by something heavy, but he could still see the little rim it had.
Everything felt hot and loose in Garrett’s stomach. Unbidden, his brain produced an image of Smiley teaching him how to gut a fish. He poked around inside the can. “Pickers would lose their minds over some of the stuff in here.”
“No,” Smiley said. He moved a step toward Garrett, but stopped himself. “Uh, all that stuff kinda reminds me of either Ma cookin’ or Papa workin’ on an old bike. I’d like to keep it.”
“I don’t blame you. There’s some stuff you don’t see anymore. What do they call those pie tins with the lip thing?”
Smiley didn’t even look in the can. “I’m not sure. I was never a good cook, so I didn’t pay much mind to it. ‘Sides, Daddy squashed that one with his truck.”
He gestured toward the door. “I hate to be a pill, but I should get Misty on the road. I got old Donnie Burton to give her some shifts now and again waiting tables at the truck stop.”
“That’s really nice of you. She needs it right now,” Garrett said.
“I do what I can,” Smiley said.
They shook hands and went back out into the main yard. “I’ll let you run. I do appreciate the pictures. Tracy will love these,” Garrett said.
“I hope so. I’d be proud to have my barn in one of her paintings.”
Garrett drove away slow, the low-slung Mustang not liking the bumps. At the main road, he glanced in the rearview mirror.
Smiley’s lone figure was still standing there, watching.
18
“You seem preoccupied,” LaSalle said.
He and Garrett sat at Garrett’s kitchen table. Sweet tea in takeout cups and the remains of burgers from the diner stood like islands among pictures of missing girls and scattered copies of Missing Person reports. Garrett’s face had gone slack, his mind in “cop mode.”
“Hmm? Just thinking. Only three of these girls have even been confirmed as
missing by family members. The others could still be out there for all anyone knows,” Garrett said.
“Makes ‘em perfect, doesn’t it? No one to make too much of a fuss over them disappearing,” LaSalle said.
“No one local, anyway. These girls are from all over the place.” Garrett pushed papers around until he found the incident report for the Florida girl. “So why mess up her face? He had to know nobody around here would recognize her, and he left her teeth, so they might have hit with dental records. He had no way of knowing they wouldn’t get a match.”
“Anger, man. He was either mad at being interrupted, or for all we know that’s what he does to all of ‘em,” LaSalle said.
Garrett tossed the report on the table and opened the fridge. He grabbed two beers and gave one to LaSalle. “We’re assuming a lot. One murder has us thinking about a serial killer.”
“Why do you keep going back and forth on this? You know the pattern is there. Tell me you wouldn’t take this case to your supervisor in LA and ask for manpower to look into it.”
“Yeah, maybe. In LA,” Garrett said.
“That’s it, isn’t it? You still can’t convince yourself someone around here would kidnap and kill these girls. Look, you know these people because you grew up here. But you don’t know them as well as you think you do.”
“Don’t I?” Garrett said.
“When I was nineteen, I helped Moms move to a new apartment. I found a box of pictures during the move and one of ‘em was an old mug shot. Of my mom. The most church-goin’ woman I ever knew. I asked her about it and she told me right after graduating school, she spent a year in jail for stabbing another girl in an argument. I was blown away.”
“She never told you about it?” Garrett said.
“As I got older, I thought about it. I think she locked it away, you know. Put it aside and never talked about it, so it became part of someone else’s life. Not the person she was now. Point is, you can’t know what people did before you came around. Unless they tell you. And most people don’t tell you,” LaSalle said.
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