Kill Six

by C. E. Nelson

  And now there was a slight odor. Not pleasant. Ken looked to either side of the steps, thinking it must be a dead animal, but saw nothing. Put his nose in the air and sniffed. Something was ripe. Two steps up to the door, and he knew. As he reached for the doorbell, he glanced inside. There wasn’t much light, but there was enough. His brother was curled up on the floor. No need to see if he was OK. Ken Bishop turned and ran for his car.

  Bishop sped west on Fairview, barely slowing to make the turn south in Gleason, his tires squealing like pigs running from a butcher. He was on the centerline, doing nearly eighty when an old woman in a tan Buick pulled out from a driveway. His car fishtailed as he swerved to miss her, inches from her front bumper. Not wanting to chance the woman calling in his license plate, he kept his speed up until she disappeared from his rearview mirror.

  What the hell was happening? His brother and sisters weren’t suddenly deciding to commit suicide. Someone was killing them off, and it wasn’t just him. Bishop turned on Rice Lake Road and slowed. It hit him. They were all gone now. Laura, Dan, Helen, Fran, and Tom. All gone. He’d get everything. No more money worries. But he couldn’t go to the bank yet. He needed someone to report Tom’s death to the cops. He supposed he could make an anonymous call, but he wasn’t sure how anonymous those things actually were. Tom had a job. He’d be missed at work. Probably tomorrow. He’d wait. And try to stay alive.

  Chapter 38

  Dave Trask called Linda as he was about to leave the office, catching her at work. “You ready to quit for the day?”

  “I already did. A couple of hours ago. I have zero energy.”

  “Then why didn’t you go home?”

  “I’d just sit around thinking about how fat and ugly I am.”

  “You’re not ugly.”

  “But I’m fat?”

  Dave knew this was headed down a bad road, but he couldn’t help himself. “You are pretty fat.”

  “Gee thanks.”

  “Sorry. I meant it in a good way.”

  “You’ve got a lot of work to do on your ability to give compliments, Trask.”

  “So, you want to meet for dinner?”

  “I am not going anywhere in public looking like the star of the Two Rivers sumo wrestling team,” she said.

  “Is that a thing?” he said.

  “What?”

  Trask sensed her capacity for witty repertoire was waning. “Never mind. I’ll pick something up. What would you like?”

  Linda released a defeated sigh. “I don’t know. Think I’ll just have a smoothie.”

  “You have what you need at home for that?”

  “Yeah, I think so, although I don’t seem too certain of anything lately.”

  Dave thought he heard her sniffle. “Are you OK?”

  “No, I am not OK! I am going to have a baby, and I have absolutely no idea what to do with it when it does show.”

  “It will be OK, Linda. I’ll be there to help.”

  “Oh, God! And how much do you know about raising a kid?”

  “Well…”

  “I am screwed.”

  Dave blew out a breath. “OK, well, I guess I’ll see you at home.” He waited for a response, only hearing Linda crying softly in the background. “Do you want me to come and get you?”

  “No. Goodbye.”

  Trask listened to the silence on his phone before looking at the screen to see that she had disconnected. “Wow.” He sat at his desk for a moment, unsure of what he should do. Didn’t feel hungry anymore. He felt thirsty. Like he needed a drink, thirsty. Maybe a quick stop at Canal Park Brewing. They had a new IPA he heard was good.

  Ten minutes later he was turning right onto South Lake. A couple of blocks later he took a left into the brewery parking lot. He looked toward the lake, seeing someone running under the light on the walkway. Something he should probably be doing instead of drinking beer.

  He hustled across the lot and into the building. Trask was shown to an elevated table and ordered a beer. He looked around. The place wasn’t full, but he assumed it was a pretty good crowd for a Tuesday. Too early to be noisy, but he guessed it would get there as the night wore on. It surprised him to see the Twins on the monitor. He took a few moments to figure out it was a replay of game seven of the 1991 World Series. As he sipped his beer, the aroma of the meals being served around him turned his appetite back on. The waitress returned, and he ordered a burger, medium with swiss, mushrooms, tomato, and fresh sliced onion. Trask was halfway through his burger, engrossed in the Twins’ game when his phone buzzed. Linda.

  “Hi.”

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “Um, I stopped to grab a sandwich for dinner.”

  “You need to be here now!”

  Trask stood. “Now?”

  “I am not driving myself to the hospital, so move your butt.”

  Carlisle made it to Central Avenue, pulling into the lot of the convenience store on the corner. She looked at her gas gauge. Nearly half a tank. She could fill it up but gas had gone up nine cents a gallon in the last week, and she was hoping it would come back down. She’d wait. A guy in a red plaid jacket finished filling his car and walked into the store. He held the door for two men in jeans, work boots, and matching gray sweatshirts. They each had small personal pan pizza boxes in one hand and large plastic cups filled with soda in the other. Dinner. She’d need dinner. But not here. Convenience store food was only for emergencies. She’d been eating too well at Pearson’s lately and needed to get back to healthy.

  But that wasn’t why she had pulled over. She was lonely. And she needed to talk. This was new territory for Danny Carlisle. Sure, she’d bitch about things with her girlfriend Hillary Thomas, and she’d gone a little deeper a few times, but she needed something a little more. And she’d always been fine by herself before, but tonight she wasn’t. Someone else was part of her life now, and she needed to talk to him and have him listen.

  She liked that about Jeff, among other things. He was a good listener. But he was also good at drawing her out. Getting her to open up. Share. Share her life. And work too. Jeff thought like a cop. He made good suggestions. Got her to see things in different ways. And she needed someone to do that right now. Carlisle backed up and pulled back onto Grand Avenue moving north.

  The dark sedan had pulled into the convenience store lot after Carlisle, finding a spot by the dumpster in the corner. It was risky, the lot was well-lit and the car would be visible, but there was no parking on the street. The sedan parked so the view of Carlisle for the driver was through the passenger window. The driver had his phone out, calling to say that Carlisle had stopped, when Carlisle backed up and moved out onto Grand. The sedan followed, the driver’s phone to his ear.

  “She’s turned around. Heading north on Grand.”

  “Where is she going?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe forgot something at work. Hang tight. I’ll let you know when I’m sure.”

  Carlisle jogged over to Superior and went north. She thought about calling Pearson as she drove but decided to surprise him. She took a right on 26th, took it to London Road where the freeway ended and went north again. Traffic was heavy, and she was a little anxious. Dinner with Pearson, watching the World Series in bed, maybe doing something else there too. And a little talking. It all sounded just right.

  Slowing as she approached Pearson’s driveway, it surprised her to see the gate open. She had expected she’d need to buzz him, but now she could go right up to the house and surprise him. Better yet. Carlisle turned in and started up the drive, the house with its circular drive coming into view. Suddenly she stepped on her brakes, put her car in park, and shut it off.

  There was a red Mercedes Benz convertible directly in front of the house. She guessed it must be new. Even with just the light from the entryway, the car sparkled. Maybe Jeff had a new car? He hadn’t mentioned getting a new car to her, but, it was his money. And then it struck her that that was something else they needed to talk ab
out. Money. She had her job and her salary and her slightly funded 401K, but Jeff, well she really had no idea how much money he had. No idea of his financial situation or any stipulations on the money he had received from his parents after their death. Was he going to want some kind of prenuptial agreement? Man, she really did not want to talk about it. Not tonight anyway.

  Carlisle put her hand on her door handle but suddenly froze. The front door to Pearson’s home opened. Out stepped one of the most beautiful women Carlisle had ever seen. Granted the lighting wasn’t great, but this woman was a stunner. Long dark hair cascaded halfway down her back. She wore a navy knit dress that ended well above her knees and made sure anyone looking could see the incredible body underneath.

  Pearson and the woman were talking and laughing. He took the black mink coat that hung from his arm and helped her into it. She reached for his right hand and pulled him close, kissing him on the cheek. Pearson hugged her, holding her tight.

  Carlisle had seen enough. She started her car, put it in reverse, and spun the wheels as she backed out of the driveway and onto London Road, narrowly missing the rear of a pickup going north. A car coming north slammed on its brakes to avoid rear-ending her. Carlisle put her car in drive and stepped on the accelerator.

  Almost immediately her phone buzzed. Pearson. She tossed the phone on the passenger seat and kept driving. He buzzed her three more times before she finally turned her phone off.

  The dark sedan had pulled to the curb short of Pearson’s driveway, and had just shut off its engine, when the rear end of Carlisle’s Subaru came flying out and onto London Road.

  “Geez!”

  The driver watched the car speed up going north, soon losing sight of it. The driver pushed a button on his phone.

  “She turned into the boyfriend’s place but then backed out and headed north in a hurry. Must be some kind of work thing. I’m going to follow. Stay there.”

  Chapter 39

  Canton didn’t know how long Catholic funerals were, but she assumed she had at least an hour. She tried to hurry as she drove south, going nearly the speed limit at times, sneaking peaks at the directions she had laid on the seat next to her at stop lights and when the traffic slowed. She made it all the way to 39th Avenue West. Told herself she needed to make a right at the next stoplight which should be Haines Road, but the light at Haines was green and the traffic flowed right through. Canton saw the sign for Haines as she passed through the intersection and began to panic. She knew she needed to get off Grand but was afraid that when she did, she’d have no idea how to get home.

  She followed a silver pickup for four blocks, trying to decide what to do, when the pickup’s signal came on. The truck slowed, turned right, and Canton followed. Canton crawled along, looking at the signs for the cross streets, trying to figure out how she would ever get home, when she realized that the streets were numbered. 4th Street, 5th Street, 6th Street. Ken Bishop lived on 6th Street. Canton turned right.

  Reading numbers off the houses as she slowly made her way back toward Haines, Canton figured out that Bishop’s home would be on the left with the even numbered homes. She crossed 41st and stopped two houses down. Pulling to the curb in front of a beige stucco rambler with green shutters. Across the street was the home of Ken Bishop.

  Bishop’s home had red brick running across the front to roughly four feet off the ground. Curled cedar siding was above the brick, a sickly yellow she could only think must have been the color of butter at one time. There was a small picture window to the left of the door at the center of the front, a small screen porch to the right. A large pine dominated the yard, the grass underneath dead, its needles blanketing the cracked cement walk to the front door. An unruly growth of some kind of shrubbery covered most of the brick on the front of the house. The longest sides of the home ran towards the alley behind. A chain-link fence separated the small lot from the homes on either side.

  Canton looked at the street ahead of her and then turned sideways to look back. She had a problem. Two, really. The first was that the homes were close together. People would likely see her dropping off her package. She counted three cars on the street. There were neighbors of Ken Bishop at home. The second problem was tied to the first. Even if she wasn’t seen delivering the package, it was highly likely that someone passing by, in a car or on foot, would see the package at the front door. She had seen the numerous stories about people stealing packages from houses, and she did not want that happening to her delivery. Not that it would bother her much that a thief would likely die eating her cookie, it was the fact that Ken Bishop would not.

  She had to be as certain as possible that the man found her package. A mail slot in the front door told her that Bishop would come out to the door to get his mail, but that did not mean he would ever look outside. As she stared at the house trying to decide what to do, she glimpsed a vehicle driving down the alley behind the house. Canton had an idea. She started her car, drove to Haines, took a left, and then another left down the alley.

  It was easy to pick out Bishop’s yard. The uncut grass, piling leaves, and half dead shrubs matched what she had seen in the front. The neighbors apparently did not appreciate Bishop’s landscaping here and had put up high wood fences on both sides. Canton pulled into Bishop’s short driveway and parked. When he returned from the funeral, he would park in his garage and enter his house through his back door. This would work.

  Canton looked around. Bishop’s backyard was effectively screened from his neighbors on either side by the fences. The garage blocked the house across the alley. She picked her package off the floor in front of the passenger seat and got out of her car. The latch on the metal gate on the fence from the side of the garage to the wooden fence was broken off. Canton pushed the gate in, the gate catching on the dirt. She pushed it harder, and it moved enough for her to squeeze through. She hurried to the back door, hung the bag on the knob, and left just as quickly, making sure the gate was closed. Back in her car, Canton pulled into the alley. She only went a short distance, backing up until she was as close to the garage across the alley form Bishop as she could get. Canton turned off her motor and waited.

  It was dark now, Canton feeling a chill when a car pulled into the alley in front of her. The headlights were turned to bright as they approached, Canton putting a hand over her eyes and ducking down behind the dash. The car slowed as it reached Bishop’s driveway. The driver’s window came down, and Bishop shouted, “You can’t park in the alley, asshole,” before he pulled into his garage. Bishop came out of the side door on the garage, walked to the gate and gave Canton a dirty look, before walking to his house.

  Canton watched him go. Bishop had a yard light in back. The black figure stopped at the door. He turned sideways, holding the bag high, trying to get a better look at it in the light. The man took one more look at Canton’s vehicle and then disappeared inside the house. Canton wanted to be there when he ate the cookie. Wanted to see the last Bishop suffer, and to have him know why. But she guessed the police would be getting close now. She’d watch the news. Canton smiled, started her car, and drove away.

  Carlisle drove and drove, finally stopping at a convenience store in Silver Bay. She pulled up to the side of the store, turned off her car, and sobbed. Deep, gut-churning sobs. Sobs that made her chest and throat hurt. Tears flowed like a spigot had been opened and she didn’t try to stop them, letting them run off her face and over her hands. This hurt like nothing before. Worse than Meeker. Worse than being shot. Like someone was ripping out her insides, her soul.

  She could not understand why God was doing this to her. What had she done that was so bad that she deserved this? And why had Pearson done this to her? Said he would marry her only days ago and then cheat on her. And why hadn’t she seen it coming? She was a cop, a good cop she thought, but apparently not good enough.

  The tears slowed, and Carlisle wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Found a tissue in the armrest and blew her nose, wiping her tear
s from her cheeks and chin. Her breathing slowed, but her body ached. Hurt like she had been beaten and left to die. She took a deep breath, looking to her left to see a car pull in to the pumps. Collecting herself.

  “No more.” Carlisle was strong. When she set her mind to something there was no stopping her. Her father’s nickname of ‘Bulldog’ fit her. And now she had set her mind to something new. No more relationships. No more men. No one will ever get close to her again.

  A headache was building, and Carlisle rubbed her forehead, feeling something hard scrape across the skin. The ring. Tears started again as she looked at it, the sobbing coming again too. She cringed in pain, bending to the steering wheel.

  Finally composed again, she considered what to do with the ring. She thought about throwing it out the window, or into the lake, but decided to return it. She wanted him to at least feel some pain. To see her take it off. To hopefully see some kind of pain in his face.

  Carlisle called up all of her inner nerve and headed back south. As she approached Duluth her pulse and breath quickened. She wasn’t sure she could do this, not yet. Pulling even with Pearson’s home she could see light beyond the trees and the gate was still open. He was home. Carlisle didn’t realize it, but she had come to a complete stop on London Road. A car came up behind her, flashed its brights, and honked its horn. Carlisle looked in her rearview mirror and drove on.