The River's Secret

by Peggy Dulle

  “Then why didn't I find him?”

  “I moved him. When I saw all the people you had looking for William, I knew it was just a matter of time. I didn't want you to find him so quickly, so I moved him. It's a game, Connie. Games aren't supposed to end quickly. They're supposed to go on for a long time. Like chess. I love games.”

  “Why did you kill Erma? I thought you loved her.”

  “I did.” He shrugged. “But I was afraid she'd spoil the game. She wouldn't understand and she knew a lot about me. If you'd talked to her, you'd probably have found which hiking trails I like in the mountains and where we have a cabin up there.”

  Great, he was telling me all the things his wife knew that got her killed. “Is that where William is, at your cabin?”

  “No, he's here with us.” He glanced toward my living room.

  My mouth went dry. “He's here?”

  “I threw him on your couch when I came in the front door.”

  My heart jumped into my throat and elation spiked through my body. I jumped up and ran into my living room. Then my insides shattered into a million pieces. No one was on the couch.

  When I turned, Ron stood in the doorway with my gun leveled at me. He had a huge smile on his face.

  “Got ya!”

  “Where is he, Ron?” I snapped, unable to keep the disappointment and anger from my voice.

  “I like this game.” His voice trembled with delight, like a child enjoying his first taste of ice cream.

  Could I rush him? Take my gun away before he could fire it? No, keep him talking.

  “Make the game fair, Ron. Give me a clue to find William. It's not a game if I can't win, too.”

  He frowned at me. “Okay. William's at the place where it all began.”

  “What the hell does that mean? I've already searched the riverbed where you buried your first victims.”

  “Not there, before that.”

  There was a knock at the front door. We both looked at it. Ron pointed my gun at me. “Don't answer it.”

  “They know I came home to change. It's probably one of the officers to pick me up and take me to the station,” I whispered.

  Ron shook his head.

  Someone knocked again.

  “If I don't answer it, they will know something's wrong.”

  Ron sighed and waved my gun. “Open it, tell them you'll take your own car to the station, and send them on their way.”

  “Fine.” I opened the door slowly, all the while trying to devise a plan to let whoever it was know that the Jackal was in my house. Matthew stood on my porch. A chill ran down my spine. First Ron got William and now, maybe, Matthew would be his next victim. Matthew needed to go away, before Ron figured out who was at the door.

  “Hey, Connie.” He nodded. “I knew you'd left your squad car at the station, so I stopped to give you a ride.”

  “That's okay. I'll drive my Jeep to the station,” I said, as I began to close the door.

  He stepped closer and lowered his head. “I'm sorry we didn't find William.”

  “We'll find him,” I declared, keeping my voice calm and controlled to mask the volcano that erupted in my stomach. I needed to get a message to Matthew, something that would sound plausible to Ron but utterly false to Matthew. In all the years we were together, Matthew had never heard me admit I was wrong about anything. It was a standing joke between us. I always told him the clues were wrong, not me. I hoped he would understand the message now.

  “I was totally wrong about the river, so we'll just have to figure out how I misread the clues. I'll be down to the station in a few minutes.”

  “Okay, Connie. Don't worry about William.” He squeezed my arm. “We'll find him.”

  “I know we will.”

  He stepped away from the door. “See you at the station.”

  Matthew left and I closed the door.

  “Good girl, Connie.” I heard Ron call from behind me.

  I turned toward him. “Now what?”

  “Now we continue our game.” He placed the barrel of the gun against the side of my head. “But not here. Let's you and I take a ride in your car.”

  That wasn't a good idea. But what else could I do? I hoped Matthew understood my message, but he seemed more concerned about my feelings than about my words. If he hadn't caught it, I was on my own. Maybe I could overpower Ron in the small confined space in my car or crash it in the nearest ditch. Both were better ideas than to get shot with my own gun.

  I started toward the front door.

  Ron pulled me back. “No, let's go through the kitchen and into the garage. There's too much open space in front of your house. Someone might be driving back from the river and see us.”

  I shrugged, and walked back toward the kitchen. My last ditch effort to get out of this situation before we left my house would have to be in the kitchen. My utility belt still sat on the table. If I could get to it, I'd have access to my club and mace.

  When I got to the kitchen, my belt was gone.

  Ron laughed behind me. “I'm not that stupid, Connie. I got rid of the belt when you rushed into the living room looking for William.”

  My car keys hung on a hook by the door to the garage. Normally, I drove my squad car around town, so I rarely used my own vehicle. I grabbed the keys, opened the door to the garage, and pushed the button to open the garage door. The afternoon light filtered into the garage, illuminating my dark blue Jeep and the overstuffed shelving that lined the walls.

  “This place is a mess, Connie,” Ron said as he motioned for me to get into the car.

  I scowled at him, “It's on my to-do list, I've been busy.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted into a huge grin. “Busy with me, huh?”

  I turned away, then felt the barrel of my gun in the center of my lower back.

  “You drive, Connie. And don't try anything stupid. The longer you live, the better chance you have to win the game and find William.”

  He left me and went around the front of my car to the passenger side. I could make a run for it, but then what would Ron do to William?

  As I slid into the driver's seat, Ron got into the passenger seat. He stuck the gun into my side and smiled. I started the engine and pulled out, hoping to find several squad cars waiting for me. Nothing and no one was there.

  I backed onto the street. “Now where?”

  “Use the back streets and go around the center of town. Then drive out on the highway. I'll direct you from there.”

  At every turn, my pulse spiked with anticipation. I expected to see squad cars, but none came. Within minutes we pulled out of Arroyo and onto the highway. “Now what?”

  “Just drive, Connie.” He brought the gun away from my side and laid it across his lap. “I'll tell you when to turn.”

  We drove for another ten minutes in silence. Then he had me turn toward the Sierra mountains. “Are we going to your cabin?”

  “Not mine, a friend's. I'm sure once they figure out you're missing, they'll check for any property that I own. Erma actually owns our cabin under her maiden name, but I'm sure they'd find that soon enough too.”

  “You're pretty smart, Ron.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  It was such a cliché, but I thought I might as well get some answers while I drove to my death. “So why did you change your M.O.?”

  “I got bored with it.” He shrugged.

  “You got tired with kidnapping, raping, gutting, and burying women alive?”

  “Yes.” He shrugged again, then his creepy grin returned. “But I do like playing games with you. We used to have such fun playing together when we were kids.”

  I didn’t remember hardly ever playing with Ron when we were children. He was a couple of years older than me and we didn't live anywhere near each other. But it wasn't good to contradict a crazed serial killer, so I let him ramble on.

  “We used to play hide-and-seek in the old riverbed. That was great fun. And at recess at Arroyo Elementary, I use
d to love chasing you.”

  Okay, I did remember playing hide-and-seek with all the kids from Arroyo. We would all go out there and play together and I certainly loved playing tag. But I didn't remember that Ron ever chased me. Although tag was a pack game - there was always a huge group of us playing, maybe he was there.

  “And then in junior high, we were in band together.”

  So were thirty other kids. I couldn't even remember what instrument he played. My mom and dad had insisted I learn the clarinet. I hated that instrument, all the endless hours of practicing, and then the concerts. My parents were so proud, it was humiliating. And actually he shouldn't have been in junior high with me, unless he had to repeat a grade someplace along the way. No use pointing that out, now.

  Ron rambled on and on about all the classes and things we did together. He said we went to dinner together before the Winter Ball during my freshman year. As I recalled, we went to the only restaurant in Arroyo, along with everyone else in our school. The man was delusional and I was an integral part of his fantasy.

  His incessant talking began to grate on my nerves. I considered driving my car into a ditch to shut him up.

  “Then my mom and dad got a divorce. I didn't get to spend my senior year here.” He pulled out his knife and showed it to me, again. “My dad gave this to me a few days before my mom took me to Michigan. I never saw him again.”

  “Why not?” I asked. This at least was a new part to the story.

  “He was killed in an accident a few months after we left.”

  “I'm sorry, Ron.” God, I felt sorry for him. I turned my thoughts back to the twenty-three women I knew he had murdered in the last five years. Although now that I knew he killed his first victims when he was just a teenager, there probably were bodies spewed all over the wooded areas of the US in the Jackal’s signature shallow graves.

  A few minutes later, we started to climb. The scenery changed from oak to pine trees. It would have been a nice drive if not for the fact that I rode with a killer. And since I hadn't seen a patrol car since I left Arroyo, Matthew hadn't understood my cryptic message. There was no way I would have ever admitted I misread the clues, especially to Matthew. He once told me that my ego might someday get in my way. I replied that “ego had nothing to do with it. When you're right - you're right.” I had hoped he remembered that conversation, but obviously he didn’t.

  Twenty minutes later, we arrived at our destination, a small cabin nestled between tall pine trees, off a dirt road with no markings.

  “Who owns this?” I asked, as we pulled up.

  “Doc. He bought it from my mom and dad before we left for Michigan. He hasn't come up here in years, he hates the cold, but I know he keeps a key under the front door mat.” Ron laughed. “Why would anyone buy a cabin at six thousand feet if they don't like the snow?”

  “As an investment,” I suggested.

  Ron laughed louder. “You're a kick, Connie.”

  “I'm glad I'm amusing you.”

  He put his arm around my shoulder. “I'm so glad you came hunting me, Connie, or I'd never have known how much fun you still are.”

  That was my opportunity, so I elbowed him with all my strength and he went down. I had no idea where I was but I ran and kept running, zigzagging through the trees. There was no path that I could see and the ground was covered in pine needles and was slick from the rain. I slipped several times, landing hard on my forearms. But hearing Ron stomp behind me made me quickly scamper to my feet and keep going. I deliberately headed downward rather than higher in elevation. Down meant back toward town and away from Ron.

  “Connie! I'm going to find you. There's no place to hide,” Ron screamed behind me.

  I heard gun shots, but didn't turn around to see what he had hit.

  That's when I heard helicopter blades whirl. Maybe people were looking for me after all. It didn't matter who they were. But they couldn't see me with all these trees. I needed to find an open area before Ron caught me.

  I wished I had taken time to hike in these mountains earlier in my life. Then maybe I would have a clue as to where I was. Was there an open area anywhere up here? Or was I running and searching for something that didn't exist? It didn't matter anyway, the helicopter sound got further and further away. And soon there was only silence. It was gone and I was totally lost. That's when I felt a hand grab my arm and pull me down to the ground.

  I rammed my head into his chest; he fell and I scrambled to get up. Then I felt an excruciating jolt of electricity and blacked out.

  Chapter 32

  When I came to, I was in a small bedroom and lying on a bed. My arms hurt from where I used them to break my fall and the damn headache was back from being stunned again. I shifted, then felt someone next to me. Great, Ron was getting cozy with me. I slowly turned my head.

  Oh my God! I sat up quickly. It was William. He looked like hell. The right side of his face was swollen and bruised, but he was breathing. He was alive.

  Ron stood at the door, smiling. “I told you I hadn't killed him. Are you happy to see him, Connie?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Good. I'll leave the two of you alone for a while. I haven't been able to get him to wake up, maybe you can.” Ron closed the door, I heard the lock engage.

  I sat up and brushed William's matted hair away from his eyes.

  He immediately opened his eyes and frowned. “You call this a rescue, Constance? I did better when I rescued you.”

  Relief flowed through my body at the sight of him but it was quickly overshadowed by an overwhelming desire to hit him. “Well, I was just about to find you, so Ron moved you to a different location. And, remember, he doesn't have a specific dump site anymore, which made it harder to find you. And…”

  William raised his hand and put his fingers over my mouth to stop me.

  I glared at him. “What?”

  “Headache,” he whispered and closed his eyes again.

  “Oh, sorry.” I grimaced. “Can you sit up?”

  He ignored me.

  I tapped on his shoulder and he opened his eyes again. I repeated my question, “Can you sit up?”

  “Maybe.” He shrugged.

  “We've got to get out of here before Ron decides to kill us.”

  He smirked, then grimaced in pain from the effort. “I have to rescue myself? I thought that was your job.”

  “Shut up, William.” I slid off the bed and extended my hand. “Come on, let's see if you can stand.”

  He took a deep breath, grasped my hand, and let me pull him to a sitting position. He moaned and held his head.

  “Headache worse?”

  He lifted his head and met my eyes. “Thank God you're not a nurse, Constance.”

  “Never said I was.” I put my hand out again. “Let's see if you can stand without collapsing.”

  William took another deep breath and I pulled him to his feet. He faltered a little but remained standing.

  “How's the head?”

  “It hurts like hell.”

  “What happened to your face?”

  “He hit me with a shovel when I was getting into my car.”

  “Oh, ouch.” I shuddered.

  “Why don't you have a dog or something? A dog might have heard him sneaking around your house.”

  “I have a cat.”

  “Not the same thing.” He frowned. “You need a dog.”

  “Shall we stand here and argue about what kind of pet I should have or should we figure a way to get out of here?”

  I left him standing and checked both the bedroom windows. They were nailed shut. When I glanced back at William, his legs wobbled as he tried desperately to stay on his feet. Even if we could get out, he didn't have the strength to walk out of the mountains or take on Ron in a fight.

  I crossed the room and stood by him. “Maybe you better sit back down.”

  “Good idea.” He collapsed back onto the bed. He looked at me and said, “Sorry.”

 
“That's okay.” I sat down next to him. “How long have you been here?”

  “Couple of days? No. Hours, I think,” he said.

  “Tell me what you remember about the night you were taken.”

  “Okay, I left your house, he hit me with a shovel, and I woke up in his car. I tried to sit up, but I think he must have given me some kind of drug because I could barely move. Every time I did move, he’d zap me again and I think he pumped more drugs into me. Then I woke up in some kind of ditch or cave. My hands and feet were bound, so I couldn't move a muscle, which was actually a good thing. I think he dropped me several times trying to get me from his car to the cave. And by the excruciating pain in my ribs, legs and arms, I think he had a tantrum after dropping me because I feel like he kicked the shit out of me. He’s used to overpowering woman who are a lot lighter than I am. He came back a few hours later and made me walk back to his car. Every muscle in my body hurt with each step but I was happy to be out of that dark damp hole. Then he zapped me with his stun gun again. The next thing I knew, I woke up here. He's come in and tried to wake me up, but I pretended to be unconscious. That stun gun hurts and I’m tired of being his punching bag.”

  “Has he talked to you at all about what he's doing?”

  “Not much, but he sure is fixated on you. When I first woke up in the car, he talked incessantly about you. I don't know whether he was talking to himself or me, it's hard to say.”

  “What did he say?”

  “It was all about how you and he were such good friends and how surprised and lucky he was when you ended up being one of the agents that pursued him.”

  “Some luck.” I sighed.

  “It was in his mind. He said that after he decided to take you, the whole experienced changed. Before it had been about being in control, being the one with the power.”

  “And after?”

  “It became a game for him. He said you two always played games when you were kids and he'd really enjoyed it. I think he associated you and the games with a happier time for him. He wants that time back, so he's made up a game that he can play with you.”

  “Wouldn't checkers or chess have been better?” I suggested.