by Linda Berry
“Uh huh. If you say so. You still working out?”
“Faithfully.”
“You might want to cut back on those protein bars. Eat more junk food. Sugar. You grow outward, not up.” She patted her sizable paunch, laughed heartily, and turned toward her truck. “Gotta get this load to the compost center. At least they’ll make good soil out of it.”
“I’ll see you at the gym sometime,” Sidney called after her.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
As Vicki pulled out, Sidney walked slowly around the point of impact, studying the wet asphalt with her flashlight. She snapped more photos, pulled a couple of evidence bags from her duty belt, and bagged pieces of a broken headlight. Looking more closely, she noticed large chips of red paint. She scraped up a few pieces with one of her business cards and placed them in another bag.
She got back into the Yukon just in time. An eighteen-wheeler blew past, creating a rush of wind sufficient to shake the vehicle. It would have pulverized her evidence. Sidney took out a marking pen and dated and labeled the bags. No crime had been committed. Still, she documented everything. Old habits die hard.
Time to call it a night. Sidney headed toward town. It had been a fairly uneventful day, as were most of her days as chief of police of a town of two thousand residents. Just the usual rash of minor disturbances. Far cry from her life as lead detective of a homicide unit in Oakland, California. Admittedly, she missed the excitement of working with the best minds in law enforcement, out-witting killers and getting them off the street. But she didn’t miss the frenetic energy of urban life, or the unceasing murders: acts of heated passion, gang members protecting their turf. But the worst, were depraved individuals who killed for pleasure. If offered the chance to go back to her former life, she wouldn’t hesitate to decline. Fifteen years in that psychotic city left her battle-weary, haunted by blood-spattered crime scenes, and ready to give up police work entirely. She believed, unequivocally, that anyone could commit murder if faced with the right circumstances. Luckily, those circumstances were almost non-existent here in Garnerville.
Two years ago, at the firm request of her sister, Selena, Sidney took a three-month hiatus and returned home to Garnerville to help care for their mother who suffered from early onset Alzheimer’s. Watching her mom’s beautiful mind disappear in slivers day by day was brutal, and the two sisters made the gut-wrenching decision to place her in a memory care facility.
The slower pace of life, the small-town morality, and neighborly kindness rekindled Sidney’s faith in humanity, and helped her recover from cop burnout. Police Chief Kirk McDonald retired during that period, and his position came up for election. The town’s power players urged Sidney to run. She did, winning easily against an officer from another town who had a fraction of her experience. It didn’t hurt that her father had been a highly respected police chief in Garnerville for eighteen years.
Chief Clarence Becker was still a vital force when Sidney left for the police academy seventeen years ago at age eighteen. Though he appeared to be in robust health, her father died abruptly a few years back of cardiac arrest, catching everyone by surprise. His spirit still burned strong in the memory of the townsfolk, and his photos graced the walls of City Hall, the police station, and the historical society.
Static on the radio yanked her attention back to the present and she focused on her dispatcher’s alert voice. “Report of a possible homicide, Chief. West shore, Lake Kalapuya.”
“Who called it?”
“Ann Howard.”
Sidney blinked. Ann Howard? “Is there a body?”
“Not at this time. She saw a man dragging a woman in the woods. When he saw Ann, he chased her.”
An alarm sounded in Sidney’s brain. Ann Howard wasn’t the kind of woman who conjured scary stories. “I’m on it, Jesse. Tell all units to respond.”
“All? Officers Woods and Cruz are off duty.”
“All units,” she clipped. “I want the K9 unit out there, too.”
“Copy that. Over.”
Her stomach tightening, Sidney turned on her strobe and gunned the engine, high beams carving a tunnel in the night. Only three homicides had taken place in Garnerville in the last decade. None on her watch, but she took all threats of violence seriously. Three years ago, a woman was brutally murdered in the Siuslaw Forest bordering Ann’s farm, and the victim’s husband was Ann’s immediate neighbor. Sidney knew she should be better acquainted with Ann, considering the woman had been in business with Sidney’s sister, Selena, for seven years. But Ann had a reputation for being standoffish, and something of a recluse, rarely coming to town except to sell at the farmers market, allowing Selena to do all the public relations.
The crackling voice of her dispatcher filled the car again. “Officers Cruz, Woods, and Wyatt are on their way, Chief. A K9 unit is heading over from Treehorn.”
Forty-five minutes away. “That’s the best they can do?”
“Sorry. Busy night.”
“Tell them to step on it.”
CHAPTER THREE
OFFICER GRANGER WYATT’S Dodge Ram pickup arrived right behind hers as she pulled to a stop in Ann’s gravel driveway. Sidney shared the evening shift with Granger, while officers Amanda Cruz and Darnell Woods worked the day shift. Hustled out of bed, and driving from town, they would arrive within twenty minutes. Though a rookie, on the job for only six months, Granger was a Marine vet with combat experience. He was disciplined, accustomed to a chain of command, and had good instincts in a crisis. Raised on a cattle ranch, just a few miles up the highway, Granger was all-American handsome, and his perpetually tanned face and neck gave him the look of a rancher even in uniform. He caught up to her as she crossed Ann’s covered front porch.
“Chief,” he said hurriedly in greeting.
She nodded and rapped on the door.
Residual rain dripped from the eaves, and the moist air felt thick and heavy, almost like a presence. Pots swollen with herbs and flowers crowded the porch, scenting the air.
The door swung open and a sturdy-looking young man with pleasant, even features appeared. He was in his mid-twenties and wore a worried expression, his brows knitting together beneath a deeply creased forehead. “Hi, Chief Becker. I’m Matt, Ann’s son.” Matt ushered them into a spacious great room, tastefully decorated with overstuffed furniture and farmhouse antiques. The kitchen was at the opposite end of the room, separated by a granite-topped island lined with stools.
Ann rose from her seat on the sofa; a pretty woman with a slender build, large frightened blue eyes, and dark hair hanging in wet tendrils across her shoulders. Though dressed warmly in a brown turtleneck, corduroy pants, and sheepskin boots, she visibly trembled.
Ann looked directly at Sidney but showed no flicker of recognition. Not unexpected. Selena had shared a confidence—her best friend had facial blindness, a cognitive disorder that prevented her from distinguishing the features of one person’s face from another’s. If her own son passed her on the sidewalk, Selena had told her, Ann wouldn’t know it. The humiliation of not being able to recognize people was the primary reason Ann kept to herself.
“Ann, it’s me, Chief Becker, and Officer Wyatt. My dispatcher said you saw a man dragging a woman in the woods. Then he pursued you. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” Ann’s eyes seemed feverish, and her skin was ghostly pale.
“We need to go check it out. Can you give me exact directions?”
“No. It’s in the thick of the woods.” A chilling terror rose in her eyes. “Please don’t ask me to go back there.”
“Ann, I need you to show us,” Sidney said. “A woman’s life is at risk. You’ll be safe with us in the car.” She glanced at Matt, who stood by his mother’s side, body tense. “Matt can come, too.”
“Sure thing.” Matt’s eyes flashed grave concern to Sidney.
“We need to go. Now.” Sidney put a firm hand on Ann’s arm. “You can do this.”
Ann swallowed, no
dded.
Sidney hustled mother and son out to her Yukon, and Ann chose to sit with Matt in the rear seat, basically a steel mesh cage. It seemed to make her feel safe.
“Granger, follow me,” Sidney ordered. “Let Amanda and Darnell know where we’re headed.”
“Copy.”
Sidney opened the trunk, took out her Remington 870 shotgun, loaded it with shells, climbed into the driver’s seat, secured her weapon between the seats, and drove out of the driveway.
“Turn right on the highway,” Ann said.
Sidney glanced at Ann in the rearview mirror. Her face looked ashen, the muscles so tight it looked like her jaw might snap. “You okay?”
“Yes,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.
Sidney saw the bleating strobes of two SUVs racing toward them and heard Granger on the radio, telling the officers to fall in line behind their vehicles. She turned her full attention to Ann. “Why were you out here so late?”
“My hound was wired, so I took him for a walk,” Ann answered in a tremulous voice. “He caught the scent of something in the woods and yanked the leash out of my hand. He ran off and wouldn’t come back. I worried he’d been attacked by a wild animal, so I went after him.”
“Where’s your dog now?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a touch of panic.
They passed Miko Matsui’s farm.
“Turn here, Chief,” Ann said. “The dirt road on the right.”
Angling onto a road hardly wider than a hiking trail, Sidney had the sensation of driving into a tunnel. Bushes crowded the sides of the vehicle, a thick canopy of branches hung low overhead, and the headlights bounced over ruts in the road. The wheels spun in a deep puddle, seeking traction, then caught and moved on. The headlights of the three other vehicles bobbed behind her, evenly spaced. Sidney breathed easier when the trail widened to the width of two cars and the ceiling of the forest opened above them.
“Tell me about the woman the man was dragging,” Sidney said.
“I didn’t see her clearly. She had dark hair. A white blouse. A skirt. Her legs and feet were bare. That’s it.”
“Was she alive?”
“I couldn’t tell. She wasn’t moving. I focused on him.”
“Can you describe him?”
“He was huge. A giant.” Her voice quivered. “He wore dark pants and a dark hoodie. Long arms. He looked right at me and lowered the woman to the ground. But I blinded him with my beam. I’m sure he never saw my face.”
Sidney glanced at her in the mirror. Ann looked as if she were reliving the moment.
“I turned and ran for my life,” she continued. “I know these woods. I headed to the marsh and crawled inside a hollowed-out Douglas fir.”
Terrifying, Sidney thought.
Ann expelled a ragged breath. “Seconds later, I heard him splash into the water. He climbed on top of the fir. I could feel him walking up there.” Ann’s eyes squeezed tight. “After a long while, he left. I was wet. Cold. I waited maybe fifteen minutes before heading home, taking the back way, to the shore of the lake. It’s longer, but there’s more cover. I kept stopping to listen, to make sure he wasn’t following me. When I got to my driveway a man stepped out of the shadows. I screamed holy hell, I can tell you. But it was Matt. I’d never been so happy to see my son in all my life. While I changed into dry clothes, Matt called 9-1-1.” Ann pointed into the woods. “That’s where I saw him.”
Sidney peered into the forest but saw nothing that served as a distinguishing landmark, just columns of trees connected by tangled underbrush. She wondered how Ann could tell one bend in the road from another. After easing the Yukon to a halt, she studied her passengers over her shoulder. They sat huddled together, hands locked, Ann’s white-knuckled. Matt, she noted, wore dark pants and a dark Hoodie, and had a muscular build. “Where exactly was the man standing?”
“About thirty feet in.” Ann pointed again. “Between those two alders.”
Sidney zeroed in on the spot. “We’re going to take a look around. You two stay put.” Grabbing the shotgun, she climbed out of the Yukon, leaving the spotlight burrowing into the woods and the motor running to provide heat for her passengers. The exhaust formed a billowing white ghost behind the truck.
The three officers joined her, armed with AR-15 patrol rifles, Kevlar vests bulking up their uniforms.
Officer Amanda Cruz was a six-year veteran of small town crime, transferred from Auckland two years ago. Her ebony hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her fragile Latin features belied the grit of her character.
“Amanda, stay here and watch over the vehicles. Stay out of the headlights.”
Amanda nodded, brown eyes steady, muscles tight around her mouth.
Sidney sized up Darnell, a young black man who bore a striking resemblance to Pharrell Williams. Clean cut, lean build, father of two toddlers, two-years on the force. He’d never been placed in a situation where he had to discharge his duty weapon. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and upper lip. Sidney sensed his adrenalin pumping, as was hers. “You good?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“A sniper could pick us off one-by-one, Chief,” Granger said. “We need to spread out.”
“Copy that,” Sidney said, appreciating his military training. She’d had her share of urban warfare, which required a different skill set and was just as dangerous, but she had no experience hunting a perp in a forest. “Darnell, circle to the right. Granger, go left. I’ll take the middle ground where Ann saw the suspect. Look for any disturbance on the ground or bushes. Stay alert. Let’s roll.”
Their beams darted over the forest floor and burrowed through pillars of gleaming trees. The wind had died down, but a piercing chill hung in the air. A musky dampness breathed off the leaves and lifted off the spongy carpet beneath their feet. The only sound came from the rustling of footsteps.
Sidney’s light found drag marks in the debris between the two alders pointed out by Ann. She also spotted snapped twigs and crushed bushes where the suspect must have barreled through to get to Ann.
She and the two men continued deeper into the woods, beams sweeping through the mist. “Over here,” Darnell shouted, a stunned tone to his voice.
Sidney and Granger joined him, their beams merging and spotlighting a ghastly sight. It had been a while since she had witnessed a crime scene, and it struck her with a force that stole her breath. The staging of the body looked hauntingly familiar. The woman sat against the trunk of a massive tree, her skirt and blouse neatly arranged, one ankle jauntily crossed over the other, arms lying at each side, wrists slit, hands immersed in pools of blood. What struck Sidney as especially chilling was the relaxed appearance of the woman’s face—calm, with a Mona Lisa smile, eyes wide open, staring back as though this was a practical joke, and at any second she would spring to her feet, laughing.
Granger stepped forward. As a CLS Marine, trained to save lives in combat situations, his instinct was to provide emergency care. Sidney brought her hand down on his arm and stopped him. “She’s dead. Don’t contaminate the crime scene.”
Granger lowered his head and shook it. “You’re right. No one could survive that kind of blood loss.”
Darnell looked shell-shocked; his first murder scene. He turned away from the body and she thought he was going to lose it. But after a long moment, he composed himself and turned back, face tight.
He and Granger turned expectant faces to Sidney.
Though she felt a tension inside her, like a cold hand squeezing her chest, she forced herself to speak in a calm voice. “Darnell, call dispatch. Tell Jesse to get the M.E. out here with his crime scene specialist. Find out where that K9 unit is.”
“Got it, Chief.”
“Granger, tell Amanda to bring the crime kit. Set up a perimeter around the body. I want only one footpath in and out of this crime scene. Mark any footprints and tire tracks that may belong to the suspect.”
“What about Ann and her son?
” Darnell asked.
“Tell them to sit tight. Do a background check on Matt.”
The two men left, single file.
Sidney turned back to the victim, trying to close off her emotions and study the scene with intellectual objectivity, her shoulders and neck burning with tension. The staging of this victim was identical to the crime scene photos she had reviewed of Mimi Matsui. When Sidney became police chief, she carefully studied the homicide case, uneasy that a killer in her district had not been caught. No forensic evidence had been discovered at the time, and all possible leads had been pursued to no end. The case went cold.
Now it appeared the killer had struck again.
The weariness Sidney felt welled up from a place in her psyche that reviled humans who could kill others in such a cold-blooded manner. This was not a crime of passion. The killer had carefully planned this murder. The extent of blood loss told her that the woman was alive when brought here.
The way the victim was posed told Sidney several important facts. The killer carefully arranged her clothing to give the victim an appearance of modesty, yet he deliberately dragged her bare feet over the ground as a form of punishment, allowing them to get scratched and bloodied. Her bare legs and feet gave the woman a heightened sense of vulnerability. The violent act had been interrupted by Ann, a witness who could potentially identify him, yet the killer’s inability to catch her did not deter him from completing his mission. He returned, staged the victim, sliced her wrists, and let her bleed out, knowing the police could arrive momentarily.
From years investigating homicides, profiling murderers, and getting a ringside view into the workings of a psychopathic mind, Sidney recognized this murder to be an act of cold, calculated revenge, spurred by hatred. The killer perceived he had been the target of some threat, some injury by the victim, or she was a surrogate for a woman who wounded him deeply in his past. Sidney suspected the killer stood and watched as every moment of life seeped from his victim’s body.
