A Troubling Turn of Events

by Darrell Maloney

  “Say no more. I’ve got a lot already, as I said. And I can provide even more. What kinds of seeds are they looking for?”

  “Anything and everything. If you can spare some raw coffee beans and peanuts I’m sure they’d appreciate those as well. As far as I know, you’re the only people growing them.”

  “Peanuts require a lot of soil preparation.”

  “I know. Julio already told me. But as I said, they’ve got agricultural students on site to advise them how to do it.”

  They came to one of the rooms which had a large garbage can in its center.

  A water hose came through the sliding patio door and rested inside the can.

  The can was about half filled with water.

  Maria lifted up the hose to show a small spigot attached to the end.

  “You saw the sending end of our watering system,” Maria said. “This is the receiving end.

  “This is one of the four cans which catch the rain water Julio sends down from the roof.

  “Once it’s here we use the bucket over there in the corner to dip it out and water our plants.

  “We’ve got it down to a science. We can water every plant on the whole floor within a couple of hours.”

  “How often do you water them?”

  “It depends. Typically every three days, although sometimes when it’s particularly hot we might have to water more often.

  “The opposite is true too, though. If it’s been cool and the soil is still a bit damp we’ll skip an extra day. And of course if it rains and the wind blows it onto the balconies it does the watering for us. We can typically skip a cycle when that happens.”

  In the next room there were no plants on the balcony.

  Instead there was a pile of ashes.

  On the balcony’s bare floor.

  “This is where Julio burns things to boil our drinking water,” Maria explained.

  “We also do most of our cooking here.

  “Things like stews and chili and soups. Things we can’t cook in our microwave.”

  Sure enough, there was a camper’s wrought iron tripod standing over the ashes.

  A cook pot hung from the tripod.

  “You have a microwave?”

  “Oh, yes. It only puts out fifteen hundred watts. But that’s enough to run our microwave and a floor lamp. Or our television and DVD player.

  “As long as we don’t try to run everything at the same time it won’t overtax the generator.

  “But we’re minimalists anyway.”

  “Were you preppers before the blackout?”

  “No. But one of our friends knows a prepper. We’ve never met him, because he didn’t trust us enough to meet with him. Our friend played the role of middle man for us and negotiated a deal.”

  “Can I ask how much you paid for them?”

  “We got the generator, the microwave, the lamp and the DVD player for a quarter pound of tobacco seeds, half a pound of raw coffee beans, two live hens and a rooster.

  “Do you think we paid too much?”

  “Actually, no. It sounds like a deal that benefited you both. He didn’t give you any DVDs to watch?”

  “We didn’t ask for any. So many people traveled with their favorite movies in their luggage we collected a couple of hundred.”

  That confused John.

  Maria could see the look on his face and elaborated for him.

  “The day the power went out the hotel was booked solid. Every room was full, because there was a Star Wars convention and the Spurs were in town. They were supposed to play the Warriors that night.

  “When the power went out the guests couldn’t take their luggage. They had no way to carry it, no vehicles with which to move it.

  “They typically took their valuables out of it and disappeared. Scattered to the wind.

  “At first we felt uncomfortable for rooting through other people’s belongings.

  “But then we got over it, deciding it’s no different than going through the abandoned trucks on the highway. Or shopping for bargains at a thrift store.”

  Julio chuckled.

  “Ask her what else she found in the luggage.”

  Maria blushed.

  “Shut up, Julio.”

  Then, “Let’s just say you’d be very surprised the kinds of things you find in peoples’ private luggage when they think no one else will see them.”

  John was afraid to speculate what she might be referring to.

  So instead he refocused his attention back to the pile of ashes.

  “You burn your fire directly on the balcony’s floor. Aren’t you afraid of starting a fire?”

  Maria smiled.

  “You must not know the history of the hotel.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I don’t”

  “Oh, you’ll love it. It’s really fascinating.”

  -25-

  Jeff Barnett didn’t mean to fall asleep. He sat down and leaned against the concrete wall of the highway overpass and closed his eyes intending merely to rest them.

  And he woke up half an hour later.

  He was a sadistic murderer, but that didn’t make him an idiot.

  He knew he could lose only so much sleep, push his body only so far, before it rebelled.

  Its first sign of rebellion was overruling him when he wanted to stay awake and to fall asleep anyway.

  He knew all that, and closed his eyes anyway.

  And now he was kicking himself.

  Despite his never finishing high school, or middle school for that matter, he wasn’t a stupid man.

  Anyone who’d notched twenty seven murders on his belt couldn’t be stupid.

  But he did occasionally do stupid things.

  Like fall asleep when he was on the overpass overlooking Highway 83, when he was supposed to be watching out for his prey.

  He still didn’t know Sara’s name.

  Didn’t know anything about her, really. Except that she was a sheriff’s deputy.

  He didn’t hold that against her, necessarily. It meant she was probably a bit tougher than most of his previous victims.

  But it was more fun when they fought back a bit.

  She wouldn’t be a serious threat to him. She was small of height and of frame.

  Not much more than half his size and weight.

  She was young and pretty too.

  He couldn’t help but notice that either.

  Young and pretty.

  Just his type.

  She’d make a tasty treat for him before she died.

  From his vantage point he had a clear view of Interstate 10 west and east of Junction.

  She had to pass his way to get to Kerrville to pick up her partner.

  If she came out of the west, heading east, she’d drive beneath him.

  And he’d have all day to change his position. To move farther west until he came to the next highway overpass.

  If she came from the north, from Junction or Menard, he’d have a much better idea where she lived

  The same held true if she came from the south, near Uvalde.

  He knew he was drawing closer, getting a bead on her.

  Within another day or two he’d be able to lay his trap.

  But he wouldn’t kill her.

  At least not right away.

  Eventually he’d have to, for she was the only one who knew what he looked like.

  Or so he thought.

  He’d planned on hanging around Kerrville as a self-test of his killing skills.

  He’d wanted to see how many people he could torture and kill before any of them were found.

  He was banking on half a dozen or more. It was a bit ambitious, sure. But he’d proven himself to be a killer beyond compare of late.

  In his mind he was equal parts untouchable and invincible.

  Then that dumb bitch, that little deputy, had to come driving up that road and saw him walking. They’d locked eyes, which was his mistake.

  He should have gone to one knee and
tied one of his shoes when she drove past.

  She couldn’t see his face if he was looking down.

  It was his error, sure. But she’d be the one to pay the price.

  He’d hidden himself behind a vacant house that day, watching all the commotion after they found the body.

  It was while he watched he decided she had to die.

  It wasn’t that he feared getting caught, necessarily.

  If he spent the rest of his years in prison at least he’d get hot meals and a soft cot, and hopefully a cellmate he could bully into doing his bidding.

  If they executed him instead, that was okay too; he wasn’t afraid of dying.

  The sooner he died, he reasoned, the sooner he’d get to meet Lucifer, his lord and savior.

  No, if he got caught it wouldn’t be the biggest tragedy.

  The biggest tragedy, should he ever get caught, was that his killing spree would have to end.

  And there were oh, so many people still out there he wanted to kill.

  That was the reason he hung around.

  That was the reason he challenged himself.

  That was the reason why, instead of just beating feet out of Kerrville and going elsewhere, he decided to stay.

  To take the sheriff’s deputy alive.

  To abuse her emotionally, sexually, physically, and any other way he could think of.

  To torture her until her heart gave out from the pain and agony.

  And then to dismember her body and to pose it in such a way to let the sheriff and the other deputies know they’d messed with the wrong man.

  From the north, about a mile away, a pair of headlights came into view.

  He left his vantage point, left the overpass, and took refuge in a stand of trees.

  As the vehicle grew closer he smiled.

  It was still too far away, and still too dark, to make out the make and model of the vehicle.

  It was probably her, for these days there were precious few working vehicles out and about.

  And now, from half a mile away, he had confirmation.

  The idiots who maintained the pickup apparently didn’t know that headlight bulbs were supposed to be replaced in pairs.

  The idiots who maintained the pickup replaced a burned-out bulb and left the other one untouched.

  That made the truck ridiculously easy to identify even in the dark, and even half a mile away.

  The driver’s side light was brilliantly lit.

  The passenger side headlight was dimmer than dim.

  It was a no-brainer, really.

  As Sara took the on-ramp to the I-10 and disappeared in the distance toward Kerrville, Jeff Barnett left his overpass surveillance post.

  And moved in the direction of Junction.

  -26-

  Another long and trying day.

  Sara and Charlie covered a bit more ground, and even got a lead to run down.

  A woman told them, with all sincerity and the best of intentions, that this was the man who lived in the house at the end of her block.

  “Are you sure?” Charlie asked her.

  “Yes. Absolutely. Well, pretty sure. His name is Mark, I think.”

  “Which house at the end of the block?”

  “The one on this side of the street. It’s a blue house and has an old pickup truck in the front yard.”

  Now, Charlie and Sara were patrolmen. Although he had several years’ more experience as a deputy than she did, he’d never taken down an insane murderer before either.

  They had a general idea what to do, but only that.

  They also shared the sense it wouldn’t be easy, and might not bode well; that it could very easily turn violent.

  “Should we call the sheriff for backup, Charlie?”

  “No. We outnumber him two to one. We can take him.”

  “What if he starts shooting?”

  “Then we shoot back.”

  They left their pickup truck at the witness’s house and walked to the end of the block, staying close to the houses between the two and ready to dive behind one at the first sign of trouble.

  The trouble never came, though, and they made it onto the front porch of the last house on the street.

  It wasn’t blue, as the witness stated, but rather a dirty gray.

  Close enough.

  There was indeed an old Apache pickup truck in the yard.

  It was once blue, based on the few patches of paint which stuck stubbornly here and there to its body.

  Now it was mostly rust.

  The hood was missing, as was the engine.

  It was obviously there pre-blackout, for it had a six foot tall elm tree growing out of the engine compartment.

  The pair of deputies stood on either side of the door and Charlie rapped on it loudly.

  “Sheriff’s office!”

  They could hear rustling and voices inside.

  They steeled themselves for the worst possible scenario.

  Then the door opened with a loud creak and an old woman peered out.

  “May I help you?”

  “Ma’am, are you okay?”

  It seemed a rather odd question under the circumstances.

  But Sara was still new to this game and still lacked the instincts of a seasoned law enforcement officer who’d participated in many felony arrests.

  To her, the frail old woman might be the killer’s next victim, sent to the door at gunpoint as bait to draw the deputies inside.

  But there was no fear in the woman’s voice or demeanor.

  She smiled sweetly.

  And the smile was genuine.

  “Oh, I’m fine, dear. And how are you?”

  Sara was relieved. But they were still in the midst of a potentially violent situation, and she tried her best to maintain her professionalism.

  She still had her weapon drawn, as did Charlie. She didn’t holster it, but she moved it to her right hip, where it was out of the woman’s view.

  Charlie took over.

  “We’re fine, ma’am. We’re looking for a man named Mark. Can we speak to him for a moment?”

  “Mark?” She smiled again. “I’m afraid he’s not home. He walked up to the creek to see if he could catch us some supper.

  He should be coming along again shortly. He’s been gone for a couple of hours. Would you like to come in and wait for him? I can make you some hot tea.”

  Sara and Charlie locked eyes.

  To Sara the woman seemed harmless.

  She seemed that way to Charlie as well, but Charlie was just a bit more cynical than she was. A bit more suspicious, a bit more cautious.

  And maybe, just maybe, a bit more paranoid.

  He shook his head no, nixing the invitation.

  “Which creek, ma’am?”

  “Oh, my. I don’t think it has a name. We’ve always just called it ‘the creek.’”

  “Can you tell us where it is?”

  “Oh, it’s that way,” she said while pointing up the street.

  “Turn the corner and go north, and the road will come to a dead end. It’s just inside the woods, going in the same direction.

  “I used to go fishing there myself. I’ve pulled a thousand fish from that creek. I’m afraid it’s too far for me to walk these days, though. I’m not as young as I used to be.

  “I have coffee if you’d rather have coffee than tea…”

  Sara saw the woman for what she was. Merely a lonely soul longing for attention and conversation.

  But then again, she could be exactly that and still have a sadistic killer living in the same house with her.

  It wouldn’t be the first time a vicious murderer led a double life.

  It wouldn’t be the first time a killer went out at night to perform his dastardly deeds, leaving behind a loving family who thought he was in bed sleeping.

  It wouldn’t be the first time looks were deceiving.

  This time it was Sara who declined the invitation, and a bit less brusquely.

 
; “Maybe another time, ma’am. But thank you. It’s so sweet of you to offer.

  “We’ll head down to the creek to talk to Mark. We’re sorry to have bothered you.”

  The old woman smiled and told them to have a nice day, then closed her creaky door.

  Sara and Charlie, in whispered tones, discussed their options.

  But it was a short discussion.

  Sara said, “Look!”

  Up the street, a block away and strolling down the middle of the street as though he didn’t have a care in the world, was a man.

  A man who, at least from a distance, looked a lot like their suspect.

  -27-

  Sara whispered, “What do we do?”

  Charlie, although not the most experienced in felony take-down procedures, knew the basics.

  The first thing they needed to do was get away from the house.

  If there was going to be a shootout, he didn’t want the house to be behind them, where it might take fire. The elderly woman, whoever she was, didn’t deserve to fall dead by a wayward shot coming through the wall or window.

  Until she proved otherwise, after all, she was merely an innocent bystander.

  The second thing they needed to do was separate.

  The killer couldn’t shoot in two different directions at the same time.

  “We’re going to approach him. You walk up this curb and I’ll walk up the other one. Keep your weapon out and at the ready and follow my lead.”

  Sara was nervous but her hand was surprisingly steady.

  As they walked up the street she held her duty weapon behind her back, finger off the trigger, but ready to fire in a split second if need be.

  From a living room window at the house they’d just left, the old woman watched.

  For the first time she could see that the deputies had their guns drawn.

  And they were approaching her Mark.

  Her hand went to her mouth and her eyes started to tear.

  She closed her eyes.

  She didn’t want to see what might come next.

  They approached the young man, who saw them coming and gave no response other than a smile.

  That might mean he was friendly. Was merely the wrong man. Meant them no harm.

  Or, Charlie suspected, the smile might be meant to give them a fall sense he was no threat to them.