Murder On The Mind

by L.L. Bartlett

  * * *

  After dinner, I escaped to my room for a little research. Despite the lingering headache, I forced myself to study the library books, and it wasn’t long before I knew more than I cared to about bow hunting and field dressing game. From the description in the newspaper, that’s exactly what had happened to Matthew J. Sumner.

  The body had been shot through the back with an arrow. I didn’t have to imagine the consequences of such an injury. My scrambled brains served me a graphic display of frothy blood spraying across stark, white snow. And the photos of gutted deer helped harden me to the vision of Sumner swinging from the rafter, his body looking more like a slab of meat than a human being.

  While the newspapers hadn’t mentioned mutilation—the severed and missing genitalia—it would be consistent with what I’d read about butchering Bambi. A bullet in the back of the skull would’ve been a quicker, neater death.

  Settling back on the mattress, I did a little educated guesswork. Sumner was probably shot with a three-blade razor-sharp broadhead, carbon-shaft arrow from a compound bow. At least that’s what the book’s author recommended for greatest efficiency, speed, and accuracy.

  I could get a look at the autopsy report at the medical examiner’s office. In the case of violent deaths, such records are usually made public. The death certificate was also public record, but I didn’t need to see that either.

  I spread the clippings across the floor and bed and read and reread them all. The newspaper’s speculation that the killer was some kind of crazed woodsman seriously differed from my own impression.

  Most of the articles had been written by a Samuel Nielsen. Was he the familiar-looking guy at the church? I’d known a Sam Nielsen in high school. Could he be the same person? If so, it might be worth making his acquaintance again.

  I picked up all the clippings and put them back in the envelope, then attacked the stack of parapsychology books. They weren’t enlightening. Most of the information seemed anecdotal, rather than scientific. No wonder Richard remained skeptical. Besides, nothing seemed to apply to me.

  All this investigating exhausted me. Would Richard be secretly pleased if I pushed myself beyond my physical limits and ended up back in the hospital?

  To forestall that, I hit the sack early, but even after I’d turned out the light my mind continued working. I kept thinking about the weapon. I could call or visit all the archery supply stores and ranges listed in the phone book, but who said the killer had to buy locally?

  I fell asleep to images of gutted deer and men, their dead, glassy stares focused on nothing.