JACK AND THE GIANT KILLER

by Christopher Greyson

  Jack shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Have you asked her?”

  Jack nodded. “She doesn’t want to talk about it. Something’s really bothering her, but she shut me out.”

  “Then just sit there.” Patty tossed a rock.

  Jack chuckled. “What’s that going to do?” He let the rocks fall out of his hand and watched as the pebbles fell to the ground. He sighed and put his elbows on his knees.

  Patty scooted a little closer to him and nervously looked around. “Let her know you’re there.” She gazed back up into the tree, and her voice was faint as she said, “Steven did that for me.”

  Jack swallowed. She never spoke about his father. “Really? How?”

  “He brought me flowers. No one ever did that before. I gave them back to him. I told him that he might not want to give them to me.” She chuckled.

  Jack waited. Patty looked around and kicked the ground with her foot. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and her lips moved, but she didn’t say anything. He reached out and rubbed her back.

  “It was nice he brought them,” Jack said.

  “I’m not done.” She opened one eye and scowled. When she started to speak again, she kept her eyes closed. “He came to take me to the movies. I told him I wanted to talk. We went to the park near my house. It was cold so no one was outside but us. I told him all about me. Everything—good and bad.” She opened her eyes and they glistened. She exhaled loudly as she put both hands on the back of her head. “I figured he’d take off.” She rocked back and forth. “But he gave me back the flowers.” She looked at Jack like a little kid who just finished giving a report to the class.

  “Thank you for sharing that with me,” Jack said and his mother laughed.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” she asked.

  “He gave you the flowers back but,” Jack shrugged, “other than that, he just sat there.”

  She nodded, crossed her arms, and then stretched them out. “He was there for me. That was special.”

  Patty leaned back into the bench and turned her face to the sun. Jack closed his eyes.

  Have I done that? I know I’ll always be there for Replacement, but does she know it? Does she believe it?

  He opened his eyes when Patty touched his leg. “Steven?” Her voice rose higher than normal.

  Jack sat bolt upright. Patty wasn’t looking at him. She focused her attention on the parking lot.

  She kept reaching back until he took her trembling hand. “Your car’s moving.”

  Jack looked at the Charger: it rocked back and forth. He exhaled for a moment, when he realized Lady must be making the car move. When he started to wonder what the dog was doing, relief twisted into panic.

  “No. Not my car!” Jack jumped up and raced over to the Charger. As he reached the passenger side, he saw Lady was only pacing back and forth between the back doors. Because of the size of the dog, the whole car shook.

  “Lady.” Jack looked at the sky and sighed. “I thought you were eating my car.”

  Lady stuck her snout out the window and whimpered.

  “A doggie,” Patty cried as she came over to stand next to Jack. She clapped her hands and then pulled open the door.

  “Wait—” As Jack went to hop between the giant dog and his mother, Lady bashed the door straight into him and jumped out.

  Patty squatted down, and Lady happily danced around her and licked her face.

  “Mom, that’s disgusting.” Jack reached for Lady’s collar.

  “No,” Patty protested. “They’re kisses. Huh, baby? Good girl.” Patty’s speech turned into baby-talk as she rubbed noses with the dog, who was ecstatic by all the attention.

  Jack looked up as Peter approached.

  “Hi, Peter, I know you can’t have animals, but just give my mom a second?”

  Peter nodded. “They use lots of animals for therapy. Look how happy the dog makes your mother. I was just making sure everything was okay. That’s one huge dog.” He grinned and rubbed Lady’s back before he walked away again.

  Patty moved to sit on the backseat of the Charger and kept the door open. She rubbed, petted, and scratched Lady until Peter walked back over and motioned to Jack. Peter held up his arm and pointed to his wrist.

  Jack stood up.

  Patty frowned. “Sorry, Lady, I’ve got to go.” She kissed the top of the dog’s head.

  Jack put Lady back in the car, and Patty let her lick her hand through the window for a minute.

  “Bye, Lady. Bye baby.” Patty blew kisses at the dog.

  After Jack took his mother back inside, she pulled him close and gave him a huge hug. “Just be there,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Keep Me on Speed Dial

  Jack flew down the highway with his windows open. Lady sprawled across the backseat, loving life. She stretched out as much as her large frame allowed and let the wind blow her fur. Jack let his head relax onto the headrest.

  His phone barked in his pocket, and he scrambled to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Good morning, Mr. Stratton.” Mrs. Stevens’s voice sounded strained.

  Damn. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. I took Alice breakfast, but she’s still upset. I’m making a pot pie now, and I’ll take it up for lunch.”

  “I’m coming back now, and I can talk to her.”

  He heard Mrs. Stevens breathing on the other end, but she didn’t say anything. “Well, the pie won’t be ready for a few hours, and if you have some additional errands to run…”

  “Does she not want to talk to me?”

  “I think she’s not ready to talk to anyone right now. But give her a little more time.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Stevens. I do have some things to take care of. I’ll be home later.”

  Jack hung up the phone and tossed it on the passenger seat.

  Put it out of your head. Give her time. Your to-do list is a mile long. Start on it.

  He picked up his phone, and twenty minutes later he’d filled the rest of the day with appointments. First, he’d swing by the house of the girl who lost the phone the killer had used to call the tow company. Then, Vicki had left a message saying the mayor wanted an update, and the ME’s office emailed they should have some information by the end of the day. He’d tackle them in that order and wait for Morrison to call him back.

  As he laid the phone back on the seat, he felt his hand tighten around the steering wheel. All he could think about was Replacement and how she hurt.

  It’s going to be a long ride home.

  **********

  Jack parked in front of the two-story white colonial with an enormous backyard. Lady barked.

  “Sorry. You have to stay in the car.”

  She whined.

  “I let you out when we got off the highway. Stop complaining.”

  Lady rubbed her mouth against the headrest, and Jack saw her canine teeth gleam.

  “You so much as think about taking a bite out of my car after you ate my couch and I’ll start giving you cat food.”

  He shut the door and walked briskly up the brick walkway. As he reached up to knock, the door flew open and three teenage girls stared wide-eyed up at him.

  “Dixie Barker?” Jack asked, and they giggled.

  Two of them looked to the third girl with round glasses, a rounder face and a huge smile. “I’m Dixie,” she squeaked.

  “Is your mother home? I have a few—”

  “MOM,” Dixie yelled down the hallway.

  “There’s no need to—Hello.” A woman in her early forties hurried down the hall as she adjusted her blouse and fanned out her hair. “Can I help you?”

  The girls snickered.

  “Mrs. Barker?” Jack asked and the woman nodded. “I’m here to ask Dixie some questions about the cell phone she lost.”

  “Oh, the police were already here. What was his name?” She tilted her head.

  “Detective Castillo,” a short girl with brac
es whispered and then slid over to stand behind Dixie.

  “That’s right. Castillo. Did you have more questions?”

  Jack nodded. “Dixie”—more giggles—“can you tell me where you think you lost your phone?”

  Dixie turned to her friends and scrunched up her nose. “I think I lost it at the library, but I’m not sure.”

  Ten minutes later, Dixie and her friends were still listing possible places she may have lost it. Jack couldn’t even get her to narrow down the day she could have lost it. The closest he could figure out was the phone had been missing for possibly four days, and she had gone all over town with it.

  Jack held up a hand and then the girls stopped chattering. “I take it you didn’t have a password on your phone?”

  Dixie shook her head.

  “Thank you for your time.” Jack tried to walk slowly to his car, but he was eager to get away from the girls who giggled in the doorway.

  You’d figure they’d run out of gas after a bit.

  **********

  The black-tiled room felt like a crypt. Jack hated the morgue worse than a hospital. He stood between Bob Morrison and Ed Castillo. A petite woman dressed in a white hospital coat stood behind a stretcher with a corpse laid out on it.

  Morrison nodded, and the woman pulled the sheet off the corpse. It was Greg Freeman. They had laid his body onto his stomach so the many deep knife wounds on his back were clearly visible.

  “What did you guys get, Mei?” Morrison addressed her.

  “He was stabbed multiple times with a large knife. Nine times.” She adjusted her rectangular blue and pink glasses and glanced at the clipboard in her hand.

  “Nine.” Castillo clicked his tongue and jotted a note. “Wasn’t that how many giants that guy killed in the children’s story? You know, nine in one blow?”

  Morrison shook his head. “Seven. It was the Little Tailor.”

  “A tailor?” Castillo asked.

  “It’s a fairy tale. The Brothers Grimm,” Morrison said. “My dad read it to me.”

  “Mine too.” Mei looked up and her brows knit together. “That story was in a book called A Book of Giants. I remember the cover.”

  Castillo scribbled.

  Morrison cleared his throat. “It was still ‘seven in one blow.’ The tailor wrote that on his belt, but it was seven.” He rubbed his curly black hair at his temples, right where it was graying.

  “What else did you find out, Mei?” Castillo asked.

  “I’m just reporting,” she explained. “Neil Fredrick is the ME. He’s still at the capital while they run tests on the material from the Branson crime scene.”

  “They have an ETA yet?” Morrison asked.

  “Neil thought they’d have something by now. The condition of the torso and the amount of material has really slowed it down.”

  “What do you mean by the amount of material?” Jack asked.

  “Daniel Branson’s torso was found in a large green trash bag with a great deal of blood on the inside. There were also a number of spots on the outside. Because of that, a large amount of hair and fibers clung to the bag. Hopefully, they’ll have something back soon.”

  “Do you want me to call up there, Bob, and see if I can speed things up?” Castillo didn’t look up from his notebook.

  “I’ve spoken to Neil twice today. He’s fully aware of the urgency.” Morrison nodded at Mei to continue.

  “The knife used was similar, if not the same, in both the Davis and Freeman killings. A drop-point hunting knife with a six-inch length.”

  “Have they conclusively linked the two killings?” Morrison popped a stick of gum into his mouth.

  “Statistically they’re a match.” Mei pushed her glasses as she turned a few pages. “If you look on page sixteen, I noted the similarities. Both were stabbed with a hunting knife multiple times. They’re still comparing the wounds, but they’ve been able to say the same knife was used to stab Freeman and Davis. The blade scraped along the bones in several places and they used that for positive identification.”

  “They can’t link the knife to Branson?” Castillo asked.

  “I didn’t say that.” Mei shook her head. “They’re sure it’s a similar knife, but they need to do more analysis.”

  “It’ll match.” Jack flipped back to page sixteen. “They were all stabbed multiple times in the back. No other areas?”

  “None of the men had other injuries besides superficial or post mortem.”

  “Who had the post mortem?” Morrison asked.

  Mei flipped back in her report. “Davis had additional bruising on his back. That was most likely caused by the assailant kneeling on his back during the attack. There were minor facial abrasions from the dirt and gravel.” She scanned another page. “Freeman had injuries to his neck from hanging, but they determined they were post mortem. He was deceased before he was hung.”

  “None had any defensive wounds.” Jack leaned over to look at the close-up of Freeman’s hands.

  Mei shook her head.

  “What did they come up with on Freeman?” Morrison asked. “Similar to Davis?”

  “Except for the thirteen knife wounds and the pattern.” Mei turned to a page with three different diagrams. The drawings detailed the pattern and direction of the knife cuts. “With Branson and Davis, the killer stood almost directly over and stabbed down into their backs. As you can see on diagram eighteen C, the first knife wound was from an angle almost directly behind Freeman. That angle changes to an almost forty-five-degree angle for nine wounds.”

  Mei cleared her throat before she continued, “They’re still analyzing the fibers and foreign material on Freeman and Davis but so far there’s nothing of note. There’s a lot of additional material on Branson. Mostly hair fibers.”

  “Inside the bag?” Castillo asked. “Did they get the type of bag or manufacturer?”

  Mei flipped pages again. “Page nineteen details the types and locations of the hairs. The trash bag itself is a regular lawn and leaf trash bag. There was no stamp of brand or manufacturer. The blood on the outside was all from Branson, but you’ll see there are three different types of hairs: dog hair and two cats. It was the same inside the bag.”

  “Do you have the breed of dog?” Jack asked. “Daniel had a Shepherd. She’s a King Shepherd, and Ray Davis had a Great Dane.”

  “Not yet. They sent out samples. They hope to hear back today.”

  Castillo flipped the pages of his notebook. “Wait a second. I checked those missing persons like you asked.” He started to hum as his fingers darted around the page. “Alan Barnes. They had a Saint Bernard. Fat. Two hundred pounder. It wasn’t there when he disappeared, though. His wife took it.”

  Morrison turned to Jack. “So he could be targeting big men with big dogs?”

  “Freeman didn’t have a dog,” Castillo pointed out.

  “The guy killed Freeman to make a point,” Jack said. “I think he picked him from the TV commercial.”

  “I can see that.” Castillo nodded. “That commercial really set the poor guy up. Think about it. The attacker knew where and when he was working. The guy called him to kill him like he was ordering a pizza.”

  Mei shuddered.

  Jack pointed at a bruise on Freeman’s lower back. “Do you know what caused that?”

  Mei looked at the notes. “Blunt force trauma.”

  “It could have been a knee,” Morrison noted.

  Mei nodded.

  Castillo stepped back and looked at the ground. “Killer is stabbing him and kneels on his back. Makes sense. Can you tell anything about how big or small the guy was from that?”

  Mei shook her head. “Maybe with more analysis. I asked that too.” She smiled sheepishly. “Neil said it depends on the weight, and also if he just knelt down or dropped. He’s checking into that.”

  “What about height from the angle of the knife wounds?” Castillo asked.

  Mei shook her head. “Neil is still working that up too. Beca
use almost all of the wounds occurred when the victim was on the ground, determining height of the assailant has been problematic.”

  “We know he’s a strong guy,” Jack said. “He’s moving all these huge guys around. He has to be strong.”

  “What if there were two of them? Like the Hillside stranglers,” Castillo offered up.

  “I think it’s one,” Jack said. “Ray Davis’s wife heard one car door close. That and the fact there are no defensive wounds. The killer’s first strike is in the back and takes them by surprise. He sets them at ease. If two people came up to you on the side of the road—”

  “You’d be on your guard,” Castillo interrupted.

  “So we know we’re looking for a strong guy. We have your standard profile, but one thing we’re missing is height. How is it we have no foot impressions?” Morrison asked.

  Castillo held up his hands. “In the Davis crime scene, the guy stayed on the tar. The whole area around the Welcome to Darrington sign was eco-landscaped with gravel. The place where you’d figure we’d get a hit on a shoe, the fire road—there were too many. It’s a jogging path, so people are all over it. Of course, none of the joggers saw anything, but—”

  “But we have nothing.” Morrison rumbled and then looked down at his watch. “Castillo and I need to see the mayor. Keep me on speed dial, Jack.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Don’t Do It

  Jack knocked on Mrs. Stevens’s door and his hope fell when he saw her face.

  “Mr. Stratton.” Her eyes grew large and she tipped her head. “I dropped off lunch, and she did open the door a crack and speak to me.”

  “How did she seem?”

  Her mouth pulled back into an awkward grimace. “I don’t think it’s you she’s upset about. I thought you had to be the cause at first but Alice has had it hard. She might not seem it, but she has a very open and sensitive heart. But I’m sure in time, she’ll come to terms with whatever is bothering her.”

  Jack exhaled. She’s smiling with her mouth, but not her eyes. “Thank you for watching out for her, Mrs. Stevens.”

  “Do you want me to take Lady tonight?”