The Promisor: A Suspense Thriller

by Dustin Stevens

  Briny droplets that stung his eyes and tasted salty on his lips as he remained completely prone, staring through the scope of the rifle, making sure that his efforts had their intended effect.

  The one time he would be able to do such a thing, the remote location providing him with the rare opportunity. Because of that, he knew for a fact that the body of the woman had been found. Hours had passed, yet still there was no mention of it on the local news, that being the real reason he had decided to stop.

  A quick check to determine if word had gotten out yet, dictating how careful he needed to be in the hours ahead.

  A concern that, for now at least, seemed to be quite unfounded.

  “Everything here is just great.”

  Chapter Seven

  The decision was made for Sheriff Meigs to ride out to the crime scene with Reed. A drive of ten minutes or so during which she could fill him in, providing a framework they could work from upon arrival.

  A plan that was great in theory, though the information she had to share about the incident itself was thin at best. A slight upgrade from what Chief Brandt had earlier, but still nowhere near what Reed would prefer. Data that was almost entirely aimed at the victim, but woefully lacking as to what happened or the possible motivations behind it.

  A start that wasn’t the worst Reed and Billie had ever been handed but was definitely on the short list.

  Based on the narrative shared, the victim was a woman in her early thirties that had just returned home after attending a yoga class in town. Exiting from her vehicle, she was walking along the sidewalk lining the front of her house when she was hit by a round fired from a high-powered rifle.

  A single shot that struck her center mass, putting her down on the spot.

  A visual Reed envisioned being much worse than the simple summation intimated, the wince Meigs displayed each time she alluded to it going far beyond a simple gunshot wound. An image the woman was probably ill-equipped to see made worse by the fact that in such a small community, it was virtually impossible that she didn’t know the victim personally.

  Running through the story in the first two minutes of their drive, Meigs had pointed them in the right direction and then fallen silent. Allowing Reed to process what was just stated, she stared out the passenger window, waiting until finally he started to speak before turning back.

  “Cara Salem,” Reed began. Seated behind the wheel of his sedan, he spoke without matching her gaze. Instead, his focus moved to the world outside, the landscape much closer to his drive south than that of Gallipolis itself.

  Moving at a northwesterly angle away from the river, forestation pushed within a couple of yards of the road. Hardwood trees interspersed with pine and tamarack, any gaps that might exist in the dead of winter now completely filled in by the full foliage of summer. A mottled mass in various shades of green, the world resembling one enormous camouflage jacket.

  Ideal cover for somebody hoping to take a shot from long range and slip away undetected.

  Same for the uneven topography rising on either side. A series of uneven hillsides rising a hundred feet or more, towering over them as they drove on, the road itself a pale riverbed carved into the valley floor.

  “Wife of Harrison Salem,” Reed continued, repeating back the information Meigs had already imparted. An oral recap meant to put everything in order in his mind. “Himself a longtime resident of the area who moved back three years ago when his father took ill.”

  “Right,” Meigs confirmed. “Harrison grew up here, went to Columbus for college and law school, did the legal thing up there for a while before coming back to take over the family practice after his dad had a stroke.”

  With each word shared, questions sprang to Reed’s mind. Inquiries about the nature of the law that the family engaged in and if there was any bad blood in the community. What the husband had done in Columbus. If there was more to their sudden return than simply wanting to get back to his roots or uphold the family name.

  Scads of things that he pushed aside for the time being. Matters all ancillary to the topic at hand. A path that could potentially lead them through decades of existing local lore, Reed’s peek behind the curtain regarding relations between the police and sheriff’s departments more than enough dirty laundry for the time being.

  “Since arriving, Cara has been unemployed herself, correct?”

  “Correct,” Meigs replied, “though she has become quite involved in the community. Served on the board of the annual Harvest Festival last fall. Her and her husband are active in their church.

  “A few months ago, she even started volunteering at the public library in town.”

  Grunting softly, Reed could feel a picture of the victim beginning to take shape. A young woman that had married an attorney in the bigger city before relocating unexpectedly to a place much, much smaller.

  A transition that had to have been difficult, at best. An adjustment that needed some time before fully taking hold, allowing her to become integrated into the community.

  A process that likely wasn’t without its stumbling blocks of various forms.

  “What about her time before she got here?” Reed asked. “Any idea where she was from? What she did?”

  Ahead of them, the road seemed to narrow. A concrete path not wide enough to bother painting a stripe down the center, made to look even tighter by the thickening brush to either side.

  Dense tree cover that blotted much of the sun from view overhead, the temperature inside the vehicle dropping several degrees.

  “Columbus, I believe,” Meigs answered. “Truth be known, I’ve only met the woman a few times. Not sure how they got together or anything.”

  An answer that sounded almost like an apology, she added, “We can ask Harrison when we’re done.”

  Extending a finger toward the windshield, she said, “It’s just another mile or so up here.”

  Grunting softly, Reed slowed his speed further. Not wanting to burst upon a host of response vehicles under such tight spatial constraints, he allowed them to roll forward, his mind still working through what was shared.

  “Harrison, the husband, he’s the one that found her?”

  “Yeah,” Meigs answered. “Like I said, she works a few shifts a week at the library, so when she didn’t show up this morning and they couldn’t reach her, they called him.

  “When he couldn’t get her either, he drove out.”

  Stopping short of stating the obvious, Reed glanced over to see the lines framing her eyes. Another faint grimace, this one either at the scene awaiting them or at the thought of being a spouse arriving home to find it.

  No doubt, a few extra things as well. Feelings of professional responsibility or even frustration at the unwanted community intrusion.

  Things Reed had felt himself more than once.

  “Where is he now?” Reed asked.

  “He’s waiting at the coroner’s office,” Meigs replied. “He stayed on the scene while the M.E. did the initial analysis and then followed behind as they transported her body.”

  Letting the statement go for a moment, Reed put his focus on the cluster of vehicles that appeared before him. Three in total pulled off the side of the road, resting on the front edge of a wide lawn. A swath of ground carved out of the forest long before, making room for the home sitting thirty yards back from the road.

  Parked with their passenger tires in the short grass of the lawn, the first in order was a sheriff’s department Bronco matching the one he saw earlier. Beyond it was a pair of crime scene vans, basic white panel jobs with titles and insignias stenciled down the sides.

  Parked facing opposite directions so that their back ends opened toward one another, stacks of plastic cases and equipment were piled onto the ground between them. Moving among them were a pair of criminalists in white paper suits, their features largely obscured beyond the glisten of sweat painting their cheeks.

  “Local unit?” Reed asked.

  “Portsmouth,�
�� Meigs answered. Glancing over, she added, “Same reason I called you guys. We have a few people who are pretty decent locally, but this is way beyond what any of us have ever seen.”

  An innocuous enough explanation, Reed hoped he and Billie’s inclusion was really that simple, that his concerns of just a few minutes earlier about the governor dropping them into a hornet’s nest were unfounded.

  A valid worry he was not about to let go just yet.

  Allowing the sedan to roll on, he moved past the vans to a gravel driveway bisecting the front lawn. Crushed rock bleached almost white by the sun, the first break in the green resting flush against the pavement since they turned miles before.

  Standing in the center of the drive was a young man in a uniform to match Meigs. The owner of the Bronco parked behind them, he looked to be in his late twenties at most, with a head of blonde hair shorn down in a buzzcut.

  A recent discharge from the military, if Reed were to wager on it.

  Slowing to a stop, Reed watched as Meigs rolled down her window and leaned over a few inches, greeting the young man as he walked out to meet them.

  “Hey, Devin,” Meigs said, “these are Detectives Reed Mattox and Billie down from the State BCI. Reed, this is Devin Brinkley with my department.”

  Leaning forward to see past Meigs, Reed nodded. “Deputy.”

  “Detective,” Brinkley replied.

  “Had any trouble out here?” Meigs asked. “Any media or nosy neighbors or anything?”

  Bent forward with his hands resting on his knees, Brinkley shook his head. “Outside of a couple old-timers about twenty minutes ago, you guys are the first car I’ve seen.”

  Turning toward Reed, Meigs said, “That’s good, at least.”

  Unable to imagine there being a great deal of media or onlookers in the area to begin with, Reed nodded in agreement.

  Not having people looking over their shoulder or whispering wild theories around town was, in his experience, always a good thing.

  Even if one already existed regarding it being nothing more than a hunting accident.

  “Yeah,” he agreed before raising his attention back to Brinkley. “Up ahead here in the grass alright?”

  “Yes, sir,” Brinkley said, extending a hand before him. “Anywhere through here should be fine.”

  Waving in thanks, Reed lifted his foot from the brake, allowing them to roll forward a few feet. Just far enough to clear the drive and let them get off the road before coming to a stop and killing the engine.

  “Last two things,” he said, making no effort to pull the keys or to climb out just yet. “First, you mentioned that the body had already been moved?”

  “Yeah,” Meigs replied. “We didn’t know how long it would take for you to get here, and with the heat, the M.E. was worried about exposure.”

  “Right,” Reed said, dipping his chin slightly. “And second, I get the impression the husband wasn’t here at time of death? Isn’t being considered a suspect at this time?”

  “No, to both.”

  Chapter Eight

  The first question Reed asked Meigs before stepping out of the car was pretty straightforward. He simply wanted to know if the body of Cara Salem was still present because, if so, he needed to focus his efforts there. A timeframe that was much more accelerated based on basic human anatomy and the humidity that came with being so close to a large body of water.

  The second was a bit more nuanced.

  Already, he knew of at least one theory being floated around. Something that seemed quasi-feasible based on location and setting, though time of year definitely didn’t seem to fit any hunting season Reed was familiar with.

  If another prevailing notion was already out there, he wanted to be aware of that as well. Something to keep in the back of his mind, his approach to the scene being as much to eliminate nonstarters as to find new ones.

  A frame of reference to be used, absolutely no point in scouring the hillsides nearby if there was already a high probability of the killer being an angry spouse in the driveway.

  The responses both filed away, Reed made his way up the gravel drive. Walking along the edge of it, Meigs was to his left, both of them crunching their way through the crushed rock. On his right was Billie, her bare feet afforded the benefit of the soft grass of the front lawn.

  As they moved forward, Reed passed his gaze over the spread before them. A quick sweep taking in the lawn that had been wrenched from the clutches of the forest, all but a handful of the largest trees stripped away. No more than a half dozen in total, towering oaks or ash trees with wide branch spreads providing swaths of shade.

  Roughly an acre or so in size, the lawn employed straight edges all the way around. Hard lines extended back from the road, forming ninety-degree angles in the rear corners.

  A uniform design that Reed imagined was the result of an ongoing battle to keep the forest from encroaching.

  Tucked back almost all the way to the rear of the lot was the Salem home. A square two-story structure employing red brick and green shingles that looked like it had been airdropped in from a Norman Rockwell painting. A house that combined rustic charm with a few modern updates, such as the shutters lining each of the windows and the flower boxes underscoring them.

  An aesthetic that would be quite inviting if not for the scene splayed out across the front sidewalk. The reason for them being there, Reed spotting immediately what had brought about the reaction from Meigs earlier.

  The very same one she seemed to still be having as her pace slowed, her entire body growing more tense with each successive step.

  “Give me just a second to take a look?” Reed asked when they were just over twenty feet out.

  Slowing her pace further beside him, he caught a twirl of dark hair as Meigs looked over his way. “I’m good.”

  “I know,” he replied. “I just like to have a minute alone with a scene.”

  For a moment, Meigs seemed to consider the request. An internal debate between whether it was really his process or some form of patronization.

  A back-and-forth that ended with her landing on the former, nodding slightly in agreement.

  “Thanks,” Reed muttered before shifting his focus to Billie. “Down.”

  Beside him, his partner did as instructed. Folding her back legs up under her, she dropped her rear to the ground, her focus aimed straight ahead.

  Another part of their process, a fresh scene being one of the very few places that Billie wasn’t able to go with him, the risk of contamination too great at this early stage.

  Leaving them both halfway up the driveway, Reed proceeded onward, his various senses picking up details as he went. The smell of blood in the air, the unmistakable scent he would recognize anywhere. Same for the taste of pennies that found his tongue. And the faint buzzing of insects, flies starting to swarm in, the proximity to the Ohio River and the humidity creating optimal conditions for them to descend en masse.

  Gravel crunching beneath his feet with each step, Reed made it as far as passing onto the front edge of the concrete walk before pulling to a stop. A post that put him less than a dozen feet from where Cara took her last breath, allowing him to view the full breadth of the scene for the first time.

  A schematic giving life to the narrative that was shared on the drive out.

  Ten feet behind him sat a champagne-colored Lexus SUV. With no garage attached to the home, it was parked up tight to the front walk. The shortest route from her vehicle to the door, chosen with the intention of not being home for long.

  A route she had probably walked countless times before, this time making it no further than halfway there when the bullet struck. An impact that seemed to have managed a handful of things simultaneously, a host of evidence markers dotting the ground to catalog all of them. Nearly a dozen small white tags resembling miniature pop-up tents, each of them denoting some aspect of what was found and would need to be recorded.

  Most obvious was the damage the bullet did to th
e woman herself. A brutal collision of gas-powered projectile and human flesh that had tossed her sideways against the side of the home after passing through her torso, leaving behind a circle of blood spatter well over a foot in diameter.

  The edges of it uneven, it was as if an enormous, macabre water balloon had been smashed against the house. A smear of fluids that a couple of hours ago Reed imagined was bright red. A neon light painted atop the brick that the combination of the natural drying and oxidation processes had already made much darker than the brick it rested on.

  A sphere that, by nightfall, would be nearly black.

  A stage that the pool on the sidewalk beneath it appeared to already be nearing. More than three times as wide as the one on the side of the house, it was likely where Cara came to rest after being shot, resting flat on the concrete while a fair percentage of her body’s blood capacity pooled out beneath her.

  Taking each of the stains in, Reed envisioned the sequence playing out. Multiple times in order, he tried to imagine the unknown woman making her way forward and the jarring impact of the bullet.

  A scene that he forced himself to endure, putting each of the telltale markers before him in order, before moving on to the inorganic matter present, starting with a set of keys resting just beyond the far edge of the blood stain. A small tangle of brass and silver implements splayed in the center of the sidewalk. Items Cara probably had in hand, perhaps even extended before her, already reaching toward the door, that were flung from her grasp by the force of the shot.

  Same for the tattered remains of a purple yoga mat resting in the grass nearby, the top half of it obliterated, the remaining jagged edge stained with blood. Around it rested handfuls of small shards of the same material, small chunks ripped free and left to flutter to the ground thereafter.

  A scene that, even without Cara’s body, was plenty gruesome.

  One that certainly explained Meigs’s ongoing reaction and her reluctance to getting any closer than necessary.