Of Blood and Water: Campground Murders (Virgil McLendon Thrillers Book 1)

by catt dahman

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay. You do it when nervous, you know.”

  Virgil sighed and said, “I know. When I was young, my parents made me take piano lessons, but while I practiced, I thought of other things: maybe a cute girl in my class or a history assignment or baseball; anyway, all of those things got tangled up in my head, I guess, because when I had a test at school or was at bat, I would hum my piano music and think about playing, wiggling my fingers.”

  “Logic and concentration?”

  Virgil nodded and said, “I think so. My parents were killed in a traffic accident when I was eighteen and about to graduate from high school. During the service, I sat and drummed my fingers and played Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto #3 in my head the entire time. It’s complex, and one of the most difficult to play, and it’s a cacophony of notes. It fit.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “I sold cars in the city for a while, and then I worked at the lumber mill here in town, but then one day I decided that I could do something about drunks and their driving that way…like the drunk who was driving and hit my parents’ car. So then, I asked Jess Harding for a job.”

  Jess Harding had watched Virgil grow up, so Harding laughed when Virgil applied. He told him, “Boy, you’re way too shy and intense, and you’ll fold when I need you.”

  Virgil said he would work a month without pay and prove himself, and if he failed, then nothing was lost, but if he could do the work and Jess was pleased, then he would be hired on with the department. Harding was a little impressed with Virgil’s guts, but mainly he was curious, so he took the offer. A month later, Virgil was a deputy; Jess Harding accepted that at times, and Virgil hummed and pretended to play the piano. It didn’t affect his work; it was just a quirky habit.

  “I don’t know what to do, Vivian. Everyone is depending on me, and what do I have?” He spread his arms wide. He needed Harding to lead. He was good at following. There were dozens of interview notes that Janice had helped put into labeled folders for him. Tina and Tobias talked to scouts, leaders, campers, and everyone else they could find.

  In another pile were the initial reports from the medical examiner and doctors but were not complete and wouldn’t be for a few days. In other stacks were photographs, drawings Kurt had done, lists of the evidence, descriptions about each scene, and heaps of notes. In boxes were the pajamas from the boys, personal items, leaves and rocks, sheets, blankets, the canvas tent’s back, cut away and folded, and plaster casts.

  The room was filled with boxes and papers, and folders littered both desks in the room. Vivian looked at all of it. She was a good listener, was supportive, and was always teasing Virgil in a good-natured way.

  “Each was killed in a different way. Two crime scenes and one dump site. No weapons. No prints. Nothing. Whoever did it came and went. So what do I do now? I need Sheriff Harding to tell me,” Virgil complained.

  “He can’t. And if he could, who is to say it would be the right way to approach this? You have a mess. How do you feel it would best be solved?” Vivian scowled. “You need to step up and handle this. There is no other choice, so do it.”

  Virgil looked stricken.

  He thought for a second and then chuckled, “Harding always laughed at me and teased me because I was always coming up with these things; maybe you could call them profiles, but profiles are like stories of the bad guys and what we know so we can guess what they will do next. I always did profiles when we got domestic calls and noticed patterns. I am good, too. I can take an offender, and about ninety percent of the time, I’m accurate and can tell you if the offender will repeat the action or stop.”

  He stopped as she listened. He felt a little foolish in telling her all that, but it was a goofy thing he did. The sheriff frequently laughed at him, but Virgil was convinced that offenders could be figured out with profiles and could be anticipated and caught.

  “What do you do with this? Tell me about this case.”

  “The offender is white because the victims are white. In almost all cases, the race is the same: just statistics.”

  Vivian didn’t laugh. She mulled it over and said, “Okay, I’ll play. Why did the killer or killers do this that night? What triggered the event?”

  Virgil sat back in his chair, sipping coffee, and said, “Okay, the killers are watching the camp. Maybe for a few nights. That night, they see the boys go into that tent, and that gets their attention. That tent….”

  He grabbed a picture and then a drawing and studied them both. The tent sits farther back, and cutting a hole is a way in that will not be found. They picked this tent the same as I would. It’s the one that looks the least likely to be attacked, but if it were, the killers would not be caught. They do not want to be caught. They do it because this is a chance to get three victims out of four without being found out.”

  Vivian smiled, “There you go. So the boys were random, not special to the killer. He didn’t know them.”

  “Right.” Virgil played Tchaikovsky’s Concerto #1 because he was thinking, but it felt on track and as if pieces were falling into place. “What? It’s obvious. What does it say?”

  “Virgil, you just told me that the killers are not trying to be noticed or get attention. They work not to get caught. They watch. They are careful and cautious. They want to get away with it.”

  Virgil nodded. He had said that. He hummed. Then, he nodded.

  He thought aloud, “They chose kids. The kids couldn’t fight back. They took them away so they would have privacy and time to do horrifying things to them. The kids were killed differently but in ways that made looking at the bodies unbearable when they were found. They want to scare us.”

  “You are saying ‘they’,” Vivian pointed out.

  “There are two: at least. That’s why the methods are different in all of killings. There had to be more than one person to control the children. Viv, adults don’t do that. I know Harding would laugh, but seriously, adults together don’t do things like this.”

  Nick, leaning on the doorframe and listening in, nodded, “That makes sense. So you’re saying the killers aren’t older people. The killers are young adults?”

  Virgil rifled through photographs and then said, “All the sneaker prints. Campers. I want each camper’s shoes to be inked and printed. Every damned one, even if there are a few hundred. The ones we can’t match may belong to the killers because they are young people and wear sneakers.” He grinned crazily.

  “Do you want me to tell Tobias? Joey and I can help him do that,” Nick suggested.

  “Yes, do it, please.”

  Vivian reached for a notepad and pencil and said, “The scenes?”

  “The tent was just because: Jerry awakened or was handy. He wasn’t important. That part was an impulse and like an appetizer. Erby and Charlie were important, and they were the focus. They were tortured because the killers enjoyed it, and then they left the bodies for us to find and be scared and upset. They had control.”

  “I am in control. Look what I did,” Vivian intoned.

  “Why aren’t you laughing at my methods? And by the way, that’s exactly what they thought then and are saying now.”

  Vivian sniffed and said, “This is a crazy case with bodies all over and no real cause such as drunkenness or jealousy. There’s no motive, so we have to accept that this is not a murder like most when there are angry people or when the motive is for money. Strangers did this, and that makes it almost impossible to solve. I’m not laughing because I think it will take a new way of thinking. We may as well try your way.”

  Virgil stopped thinking of the case for a few minutes. Nick, Joey, Janice, and Vivian had already moved into the hotel in town, leaving the campground behind. Having the help of people from another department and even from another town was odd. But Virgil felt as if he would give up and run away if they weren’t there to help him.

  “Thanks, Vivian.”

  Getting the call about Sheriff Harding
was almost too much. While Virgil was concerned for his boss and hoped he would survive and while he also worried for Harding’s wife, it was only human for Virgil to feel as if a huge weight were dropped onto his shoulders. He went through the emotions of anger, refusal, resentment, excitement, and then a quiet acceptance.

  Virgil knew couldn’t continue with Harding’s ways, but maybe he could investigate this case his own way. And Vivian would help. And that was his line of thought as Vivian sat with him.

  She was twenty-two, fifteen years his junior, which caused him some concern, and she was pretty, with classic features, a nose and chin a little sharp. Her eyes were bright green and her hair, worn long, was a mass of blonde and reddish shades. Someone from far away would call her a strawberry blonde, but no, her hair was a hundred shades of blonde, from almost white to a dark, wet-hay color as well as a peachy shade, and strands of gold and deep red.

  She looked as if she was a quiet, regular girl, but when she was in a ‘deputy-mode’, she was strong and focused. She grew up with love, and she was self-assured.

  She listened to Virgil, laughed a little at his stupid jokes, and smiled a lot at him, but he wondered if she were interested in a small-town, older deputy (acting sheriff now), once divorced, and set in his ways. He lived with two dogs and three cats in a cabin and didn’t date, but stranger things had happened. He tried to keep an open mind and some hope.

  He had been married only a few months to a woman he had known all his life and even had gone to school with. The marriage was comfortable. However, she was sharp enough to realize that the marriage was a mistake and that if they stayed married, they would get more bored with the routine and eventually would hate one another when life became too predictable. He was too logical and boring, and she wanted excitement and city life. They parted on friendly terms; she left town.

  “Tell me about the killers,” Vivian suggested.

  “I think the killers are mentally stable because they didn’t make mistakes. They aren’t exceptionally brilliant or geniuses, but they are intelligent. They work well together.

  Tina? Tina? Hey, do me a favor. Pull anything around here in the case files. I want anything that could match. Maybe Vivian can help?”

  “Sure. What are we matching?”

  “Young kids or women killed and posed. Anything brutal or unusual. And then I want you to look at cases that are open and around us, say three-state radius. Look for similar victims: stabbings, fingers removed, and anything unsolved that is vulgar.”

  Tina nodded, “Gotcha, Boss.”

  “Missing people. Children and women.”

  “Give us a while. I can’t promise we can get this for a day or two, Virgil,” Vivian said.

  Virgil stood and pressed the shirt of his uniform to remove wrinkles, reached up to smooth his hair, and rubbed his badge. He took a deep breath and walked outside to where the reporters were gathered; they began yelling questions that he ignored. Clearing his throat, he tried to sound assured, “I have a statement. I will not answer questions at this time but wish to make my statement, now.”

  The noise quieted.

  “As all of you know, Sheriff Harding is in critical condition, and our prayers are with him and his family. I am acting sheriff at this time and leading the investigation into the Scout Murders,” he said as he called it the same as the press had nicknamed it.

  “We believe we are looking for two or more individuals in this case. They are white men, twenty-five or younger, and of advanced intellect. They don’t associate with other campers and may not even be campers, but they watch the campground and probably stay to themselves. They are trying to gain control over situation but are avoiding coming near the campground.”

  He felt he was right as he said, “Campers need to go everywhere in pairs at least, and everyone should be watchful for the killers. If anyone fitting this description is seen watching the campers or campground, then he should be reported at once. Do not go anywhere near strangers. I am looking into several leads. We will find justice for the scouts who died far too soon.”

  To the killers of these boys: “We are following clues and looking for you, and we will find you. You know this, and I know this. I am coming for you,” Virgil emphatically added as he emphasized the word I.

  The reporters shouted questions, but Virgil walked away, going back to his notes and papers. “I’m going out. If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the campground, and I’ll be back when I can.”

  “What’s up?”

  Virgil shrugged. “No one was watching the back of the tent. The killers wouldn’t circle all around so that meant either to the right or the left in some upper spot, the killers watched. I want to find their nest.”

  Vivian shivered, “You meant that, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. I did. I think I’m just a few steps behind them now,” Virgil said, his jaw set, and his eyes intense. He reached out, took Vivian’s hand, and squeezed it for just a second. In his mind’s eye, he could see the shadows of the killers just ahead.

  He only had to run faster.

  Chapter Seven: David and Friends

  David took his father a tray of food: a big mug of French onion soup, steaming and mouth-wateringly fragrant; toast covered with gooey, melted Mozzarella cheese; and a creamy almond sauce covering fresh fruit in a bowl: berries large and small, sliced peaches, plums, and a half a banana.

  Aaron nodded happily; it was comfort food in the best way and smelled delightful. These days, the most joy he got was good meals. “Is everything going well?” he asked. Giving up control and not running things was difficult for him.

  “Perfectly.”

  “And your guests are still here? Fitting in?”

  David grimaced. His father seemed concerned that the guests had stayed, but David enjoyed the company on his own terms. Stan and Ronnie worked hard doing repairs, and they were currently helping David re-roof the massive house with its many turrets and over hanging porches, bay windows, and awkward peaks.

  A huge amount of trim still needed to be replaced and painted, and gardens needed to be re-mulched and flowers added, along with shrubs that needed to be trimmed. The house needed a lot of work to bring it back to its former glory.

  “You’ve looked out the window. It looks better than it has in decades,” David said. His father never allowed anyone to work for them, and the two men simply fell behind in upkeep. The barn and house both were back in shape.

  “It does look nice, but I don’t like strangers living here and nosing about,” said Aaron as his steel-grey eyes met David’s lighter grey eyes.

  David held back a response. If the house fell into serious disrepair, there would be plenty nosing around when it blew away in a storm. He huffed as the doorbells chimed.

  “Regular busy spot,” Aaron grumbled.

  Opening the door, David found two women on the porch, one in a deputy’s uniform and one in denim pants with a tucked in, pale green blouse, black jacket, and black leather boots.

  “Officers, what can I do for you?” asked David as he smiled. He felt fear nestled into his heart and struggled to keep from striking out at them or running away; they didn’t look concerned, just smiling.

  “We’re speaking to everyone in town and asking a few questions just as a formality.”

  “For?”

  “The recent murder at the campgrounds.”

  “What a mess that is. I hope you’re close to an arrest. Have you suspects?”

  “Well, it’s ongoing, and we’re working on it, but we want any information the public could share. May we come in?”

  “Please, I’m sorry; forgive my manners, but just being reminded of that terrible business is almost too much for me. Those poor families. May I get you some coffee? Iced tea?”

  “No, thank you,” Tina Rant said.

  Vivian didn’t correct the man after he called her an officer. She was going around with Tina to help, just a deputized helper, but it was better to work in pairs.

 
This house was one of the largest she had ever seen, and a roofing job was going on that must be grueling. Some of the flowerbeds looked as if they were being reworked, and all kinds of flowering vegetation were being added.

  She thought this was as close to a mansion as she’d ever be and was impressed until they went inside. While the furnishings and décor were of silk, fine silver, expensive damask, and some Oriental rugs, everything was timeworn and a little musty, despite the lemony wax scent. The interior was the same as it had been for over a century, cleaned, but old.

  Tina explained that she was working on the case of three scouts who had been killed and was out speaking to natives of the town to ask if anyone had possibly seen someone out spying on the camp or hanging around the area. “We are asking about anything, no matter how small, that anyone may have witnessed.”

  “I don’t go into town. My father is ill, and I care for him, and as you can see, we are renovating the house a little. I did hear of the murders, and while the campground is fairly close, it’s far enough away that I can’t see anything of it.”

  David’s formality was unusual. Vivian nodded absently as she looked over the sitting room and said, “I hope your father gets better.”

  “I do, too. But at least he is at home and comfortable,” David replied.

  “Your grandfather delivered my mother,” Tina said, “but I moved away when I was old enough and then came back, but I never really knew him or your family.”

  “Our loss, then. I suppose we always have kept to ourselves, but it was a shyness, not snobbery,” David said with a chuckle.

  Tina smiled back, “This is just a formality, as I said. We’re looking for anything that anyone can think of.”

  “I wish I could help, I really do, but I just haven’t heard or seen anything helpful.” David figured that might end the interview, and he felt it was a shot-in-the-dark for the law department because they were no closer to solving the crime than they were a week before. However, reading the guesswork about the acting sheriff’s supposed suspect had given David some concerns; it was similar to David.