by J K Ellem
“That’s what I thought. Delicate, female fingers.” Clare added.
There were puncture marks on the palm and back of the hand where Shaw assumed the cougar had chewed through the wrist, then picked it up in its jaws.
“I should have the initial report by the morning. I requested a copy of the forensic report to be emailed to me,” Clare said.
Shaw was silent, thinking.
“So what do you think?” Clare said impatiently.
Shaw looked up. “You have a problem Clare. A problem here in your town.” He handed the cell phone back.
“What do you mean?” Clare said with a frown, looking at the picture.
“Under the nails is dirt, you can see it if you zoom in. Also there is a fingernail missing, the index finger. Ripped right off. Look closer.”
Clare magnified the image. These were additional details she didn’t notice last night. She hadn’t really paid attention, she was more concerned with the whereabouts of the owner of the hand, and if they were still alive or, if not, where was their body.
Shaw said, “Whoever she was, she was alive when they buried her.”
13
He was three blocks east of the centre of town when he finally slowed his pace. He cursed himself for being so stupid, for allowing his curiosity to overrule his professional judgement. He shouldn’t have been so brazen in following Emily Bell so closely. The man had been in the café, across the street, in the window, and he had seen him following her, he was sure of it. Their eyes locked just before a stream of cars went past and he thought he sensed recognition from the man, not just a cursory stare.
Damn it. He continued to berate himself as he walked, hands in his pockets, his hood pulled tight around his head. He found himself near a deserted parking lot at the rear of a strip of abandoned buildings, faded facades of small businesses long since closed down. He paused near a dumpster and scanned the street behind him.
Good. The man from the café hadn’t decided to follow him. He didn’t want to have to kill him out in the open. It would have been impossible to dispose of the body effectively.
The air was cold and clear, and the sun was a watery haze. He crouched behind the dumpster. Five minutes later he emerged with a new change of clothing on. The pants were the same but he swapped out his jacket and sweat shirt, and now wore a baseball cap pulled tightly down around his hair and finished off the look with sunglasses.
He’d kept a change of clothes in his backpack just in case.
His new-found confidence had made him sloppy. He would not make the same mistake again.
He checked the street before stepping off the sidewalk to the other side, making sure no one had seen him. He needed to get out of the open, go to ground and reassess. The man in the café was something else. The way he looked at him, knowingly.
He picked up the pace, looking over his shoulder every few minutes, his mind recalibrating his carefully thought through plans. He ducked down another alley choked with dirty ice, rubbish and crates stacked along its walls. Behind another dumpster he opened his backpack and pulled out a handgun, making sure he packed his silencer. He checked the magazine then thrust the handgun into his pocket. If he saw the man again he was going to shoot him dead.
* * *
“That nice young man came in earlier this morning,” Alice said, as Clare walked into the office and sat down at her computer. “Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but you were busy with the officers from Denver and I didn’t think it was important. He said he would be at Annabel’s.”
“Thanks Alice, I ran into him when I grabbed lunch. You’re right, it was not important.” Clare loved Alice like a mother, but she had to be careful what she said to her. She wanted to work with Shaw without the whole town knowing that—and his past.
“So they’re not back yet?” Clare asked.
“No, they’re still up there. They may be back tomorrow, depending on the weather.” The snow was starting to get heavier and a storm warning had been officially issued for the mountain.
“You know, you should ask him out for a drink,” Alice said, her back to Clare as she typed away on her keyboard.
“What? He’s like fifteen years younger than me,” Clare said with a laugh. “I’m too old, too tired and too busy anyway.” Clare checked on the local weather website. The storm was definitely heading their way. “Plus there’s a storm coming. I’m going to have my hands full when it hits.” The road in and out of Echo Mountain most likely would be closed if the storm got too bad. Clare thought about the Denver police up in the forest, looking for a possible body. They had staked out the area, but with more snow on the way it was going to be impossible to find anything if they didn’t soon. They would have to wait till the ice thawed in the spring and resume their search then.
“All the more reason to snuggle up with someone on a cold winter’s night,” Alice persisted.
Clare rolled her eyes. “I’m very happy as I am, thank you.” But the thought had crossed Clare’s mind a few times when she had been with Ben. Just the way he looked at her, his eye contact holding just for a few moments longer, the way she felt around him, safe, protected, like he would have her back. She had been let down by men before and she felt different with him. She would be lying to herself if she hadn’t admitted imagining him with his gear off with her. Her oestrogen hadn’t completely dried up.
Alice continued to type. “In case you’ve not had a good look around town, Clare, there isn’t much to pick from. A young buck like that walks into town only once in a lifetime, let me tell you. I can think of a lot worse things in town to keep you warm on a cold night, and believe me none of them involve a young hard body that’s full of stamina.”
Clare laughed again, she needed something to laugh about today. It had started badly at the logging camp and had gotten worse.
“What about your husband, Alice? What would Dick say if he caught you talking like this?” Clare said. “You’re a married woman. He’d get all jealous, if he heard you talking like you are.”
Alice turned around and peered over her glasses at Clare. “Dick? I’ve gotta hand-crank him like an old Model-T just to get him going. I’m surprised if he still knows where to put it.”
Clare smiled. Maybe she would ask Ben over for a drink later tonight when she got off work. She wanted to go through some things with him and it would be best not to be seen in public. It would be a better idea to ask him to her place. She didn’t want to fuel the gossip mongers around town by being seen together at McKenzies having a drink. It would be just a drink, nothing else, but it would send chins wagging. Plus given what he had done to the three workers, it wouldn’t be right if they were seen together, and McKenzies was frequented by the workers from the logging camp, especially on the weekend. It would be crowded with them. Her independence would be called into question and she didn’t want Taggart getting any advantage over her.
Clare let her mind wonder as she scrolled through emails that Alice had filtered for her. She allowed herself to imagine what may or may not happen if she asked him for a drink, nothing more, just to compare notes. But it didn’t leave her with a slight smile when she fantasized where the evening could go if he showed any interest in her. God, it had been so long. Four long, lonely years. Had it really been that long? A year after she had been divorced she had picked up a man in a bar in Denver. It was nothing more than physical sex and it was on her terms. The night had ended awkwardly, with regrets as Clare slipped out of the dingy motel room in the early hours before he woke. She felt cheap and dirty, but the real pain came from the disappointment she felt in herself. She deserved better. She cried as she waited for a cab on the street corner. She promised herself that she would never feel like that again.
The months, then the years, went by and work consumed her or she let it consume her to take her mind off the fact that she was in the middle of a long man-drought. She could hear her biological clock ticking.
She refused to use dating sites. A
few times her friends had set her up on blind dates, but they were complete disasters. Two dates had been with what people called “new age guys,” men who spent most of the time talking about themselves and checking their reflection in the restaurant mirrors. They looked like they spent more time grooming for the date than she did. Her last date was with an accountant and the conversation with him was like pulling teeth when you had no teeth to pull. Clare wondered if it was just her. Was she past her “use by” date? A few times when she was feeling courageous she went to some local bars, but she instantly felt very old when she saw that the places were full of good-looking people a lot younger than her. Pumped up boobs, lips and butt cheeks. Maybe she needed to lose a few pounds. Sitting at her desk now, thinking about the impossible with a younger man who was just passing through town—well, seemed impossible. There was no way anything was going to happen in this town or in her life.
Her cell phone rang. It was the police from Denver, up in the forest.
She listened and her heart sank.
They’d found a body.
14
They could have met in the mess hall, but it was a shift change and the hall would be full of people fuelling up and hungry workers who had just finished their work. And what they were to discuss was for their ears only. Wolves hunt in packs and they preferred the company of their own kind. So they met in the tool workshop where they had some privacy.
“What did the Doc say?” Micky nodded at Freddy’s wrist in a cast. The three of them, Micky, Freddy and Mack, sat around a small scuffed table, its varnished surface rubbed raw from where a million elbows and forearms had rested during countless games of cards.
Freddy shrugged, he had been reassigned to light duties, mainly behind a desk and console operating the cameras around the camp directing the traffic of the logging machines. During peak times it could be Grand Central Station out in the yard. “A month or two. Bastard broke it in two places. Deliberate, the Doc said.”
“Of course it was deliberate, you moron, you pulled a knife on him. What did you expect? I told you, no knives. Now the police have it and your prints are all over it.” Micky shook his head, his frustration obvious.
“I can still slice someone pretty good with my other hand,” Freddy retorted, his eyes cold and menacing. Next time he wouldn’t hesitate. He was going to find that bastard and gut him.
Micky looked at the others, trying to keep his temper in check. Maybe it was time to go it alone, he thought. The three of them had been working at the site for just over a year now, the longest stint they had done in any one place. They’d been on the road as a group for three years now, usually working construction jobs or in oil and gas, anything that had risk, paid a lot and was outdoors. Animals preferred the outdoors.
“What now, Micky?” Mack asked. The swelling on his jaw was starting to go down, but had left a nasty purplish welt.
Micky said nothing for a moment. Like the other two, he wanted retribution. He was made to look like a fool and he was none too pleased that Molly Malone didn’t get what she had coming to her. He was getting hard just thinking about the missed opportunity. But there would be others, maybe not in this town but in other places. There always were.
“We need to lay low. I saw that Sheriff’s car in the yard this morning. She was here making enquiries. Ray said he told her to get lost, that she had no right to be here.” Micky liked Taggart. He looked after his workers. He understood what drove them and that the work was tough, so he allowed them to play hard too. What happened in their own downtime was not the company’s business as long as it didn’t impact on them doing their job. He was a good boss who had their backs, and that was rare these days, especially with all the political correctness bullshit that seemed to have invaded the workplace. Taggart had also introduced Micky and his crew to the special perks of the job. Micky was the first to admit it didn’t interest him at first. Some say it was an acquired taste, but Micky believed all men had it in them after he had indulged himself for the first time. The special perks were probably one of the reasons they had stayed as long as they had on this job. It made up for the bone-cold winters and boring-ass town up on the mountain.
Micky looked at Freddy and Mack. “We’re leaving town, boys. Be out of here in the next twenty-four hours.”
That suited Freddy. He didn’t want to be around if the cops decided to haul him downtown for questioning.
Mack nodded. “I heard from a few of the guys who were at McKenzies last night that the woman sheriff and a man were there, having a drink, all kosher-like. They described him and he sounded like the guy who jumped us.”
“Probably talking about us,” Micky added. “It’s only a matter of time before they come knocking with a warrant. I know Ray can only do so much, but if they turn up and arrest us then it’s game-over. We were lucky with that woman in Memphis, remember?”
Both Freddy and Mack nodded.
“Bitch,” Freddy spat, thinking back. They had nearly been caught, and Tennessee had the death penalty.
“It’s OK, boys. I’ve had enough of the cold anyway. It’s time we moved on. Blow this popsicle stand. Maybe a warmer climate,” Micky said.
“What about Mexico?” Freddy offered. “Plenty of Latino whores down there.”
Micky looked at Freddy and felt like reaching across the table and smashing the man’s head into it. It was because of him that they had to run again. It was all too easy for Freddy to bring his knife out when he was displeased with a woman. He’d cut up the hooker in Memphis so badly, the only compassionate thing to do was for Micky to smother her in the motel room with a pillow. Maybe it was time to cut Freddy loose, put him down like the stray dog that he was. But like a dog, Freddy was extremely loyal too. He’d saved Micky’s ass with his knife skills more times than he cared to remember. There had been that time at a truck stop in Baton Rouge when three big guys had come at Micky simply because he was caught taking a piss on the wheel of one of their rigs. Freddy went to work on the three men with a knife in each hand like a crazy sushi chef. He ain’t seen nothing like it and hoped he never would again. Freddy had a switch in his head, and when it got flipped, he went beyond psycho.
No one else in the camp knew that Freddy kept a collection of knives in a special case in his locker. He lovingly sharpened and oiled the blades each evening when he was alone.
“No, not Mexico. We might not get back over the border if that Trump dude builds that wall he keeps yapping about. Too risky,” Micky said. He wanted to get away, go far, farther so the authorities couldn’t find him. Mexico was too obvious, a haven for all and sundry who were running from the law.
“Australia,” he finally said. He had been thinking about going there for a while now. He had a few friends working the mines there.
“Austria? Like where they make Glock? Where big Arnie comes from?” Mack said.
“I’ll be back!” Freddy said in the deepest voice he could muster, but it came out like he was constipated.
“Australia, not Austria, for fucks sake.” Micky shook his head. God give me patience.
“Australia? Where the fuck is that?” Freddy asked.
“The end of the earth, but if you want to disappear for a while, it’s the place to go. It’s a vast beautiful place, ancient landscapes, red earth, rich in natural resources, booming oil, gas and iron ore industries. Plenty of work there and they pay big bucks.”
Mack didn’t look convinced. “How do you know all this?”
Micky smiled, thinking about all the photos his mate had sent him. He said one day he would go to Australia and maybe now was the perfect time. “I’ve got a mate in Western Australia. He’s working in a place called the Pilbara for one of the mining companies, driving one of those haul trucks used for high production mining. Spends all day in an air-conditioned cab carting iron ore in an open cut mine. All food, booze and women are provided.” Micky’s eyes seemed to glaze over as he spoke, his words slow and longing, his mind transported to the far si
de of the earth. “And they pay him over a hundred grand for the effort.”
Freddy and Mack exchanged looks, the grubby little cogs turning in their grubby little minds.
“He works three weeks on, then gets two weeks off,” Micky continued, his voice dreamy. “Then it’s a short seven hour flight to Bangkok, Thailand. The gateway to endless debauchery.” Micky turned his focus back to Freddy and Mack who were hanging on his every word. He smiled. “Sex, drugs and more sex.” He had them in a trance. They were sold on the idea, but just to make sure he added, “Women, girls, boys, kids, whatever takes your fancy.” Micky’s friend, Grant, had also sent him some pictures from his Thailand escapades, but they were just for his private viewing, not for Freddy and Mack’s entertainment. He kept the photos stored on his cell phone, password protected. The photos were worth a five to eight year stint in a federal prison if he was caught with them.
“Sounds like paradise, Micky,” Freddy said. He was getting a hard-on just thinking about it. “When do we leave?”
Micky’s expression became serious. There were things to take care of before they left town, a few loose ends he wanted to square away.
“In twenty-four hours we leave. Get out of this place. I’ll tell Ray, he’ll understand. I reckon that sheriff bitch will be back asking more questions. I want to beat her to the punch. But first we need to take care of business.”
“What kind of business, Micky?” Mack asked.
“Molly Malone for starters,” Micky replied. He was going to fix her good. This time there would be no interruptions. Then he was going to hand her over to Freddy and his knives. He was going to let Freddy take his sweet time with her.
Freddy and Mack nodded in unison like two bobble heads, gloating in the anticipation.
“And then we’re going to take care of that guy. He’s not going to get away with what he did to us.”