We hopped into Jess' beater and drove the few miles to the nearest hospital. I didn't pick up anything along the way, or once we got there. The nurses didn't seem to like us hanging around. We tried to get to the ICU, but couldn't name anyone who was there, so they got all weird about it.
----------
Later, on the ride home, Jess tries to keep my hopes up. "It's a small hospital. Probably ain't got no one about to bite it."
Just then, it hits me again. Sticky, sweet, musky, and strong, too. Like outta nowhere.
"Should we turn around, back to the hospital?"
"Nah, it's probably just another cow or horse or somethin'. Plus, it's comin' from the direction we're goin', not back that way. Let's just go home."
Yup, definitely getting stronger as we get closer to home. I hope the damn cow or sheep or whatever it is dies soon so it don't keep bugging me. I just need to lay down. Wish I wasn't so drawn to it. It's literally tugging me toward it. I can't resist. Finally, I sigh, and tell Jess to follow my directions to the scent.
As we get closer, Lance gets nervous. "We're gettin' near our place. I hope all the chickens and goats are ok." He always liked the chickens cuz they walk funny. I don't think I wanna know why he likes the goats.
As we approach, I see Jess getting antsy, too, and I guess so am I. It's coming from our farm. But not the chicken coop, or the fields. It's coming from the house itself.
We pull up to the door, and Jess turns to me. All I can manage is a nod, and she rushes inside, as I help Lance and his crutches out. Before I can even get him out of the car, we hear Jess scream.
I rush inside, leaving dipshit to hobble in at his own pace, and I see why. Uncle Bill's lying face-down in a small pool of blood. Small, but growing. There's a little trail, too, like he tried crawling a little ways from his favorite chair before winding up here. We always called it the Archie Bunker chair, cuz it looks just like it, and it pissed him off, cuz he wasn't ever no bigot like Archie was.
Jess can't think of what to do, but my first thought is to roll him over, make sure he can breathe. But the smell is here, so I know it's too late. Not sure how I know that, exactly, but it's true. The best I can do for him is to end his pain.
"Daddy? ...Daddy, no." Jess holds his hand while his eyes flutter. He tries to get a fix on her, but can't. He says something, but we can't hear. He's so weak, in so much pain.
"Hello, is this 911? Oh, right. We need someone here, quick. My pa's hurt." Sorry, Lance, but they won't get here in time to do any good.
"What, daddy? What are you tryin' to say?" He's trying to say that he's in a bad way, that we need to end his pain.
"P...Pa..."
"Pauline? Aunt Pauline? She ain't here, daddy. She's gone, don't you remember?"
"P...Pass...on...sweet...heart...Pass...it...on..."
I take Jess' hand and pull it away from his. She resists, and it's all I can do to pry her away. She's like a bull, this one. "No, Will, no!"
I put my hand over Uncle Bill's face. I can feel his sense of calm. Jess wraps her arms around me, tries to pull me away. It almost works, too, and I swear I feel a rib or two cracking. But with each tug, I can feel her fading, giving in to the reality of his fate. She sees his calm, too, maybe feels it like I do. Her screams die down, giving way to deep, animalistic sobs. Soon, he's still as a summer's evening, his pain gone, all of his earthly concerns washed away. The smells fade, and finally, I look up. Lance is still as a stone, a single tear streaming down his face. Jess keeps clinging to me in a bear hug, bawling like a baby. It seems like forever, but she finally lets up, and looks me in the eye. I can feel her staring into my soul. "Thank you," she whispers, and gives me a great big hug again, a different kind this time.
Lance wipes away his tear and nods. I nod back. Nothing else can be said that our eyes ain't already saying.
----------
The police that showed up later had a few questions, but no answers for us. They wouldn't even say whether they thought Uncle Bill had an accident, or someone done this to him. They seemed a bit secretive to me, but Jess told me not to read into it. They said they'd be in touch as they wheeled Uncle Bill's body away. I say they're fulla shit.
Jess wrapped her arms around me again as they left, her head on my shoulder, and my ribs yelled at me a bit. Lance made an excuse to go to his room, probably too ashamed to cry in front of another man, but I wouldn't have made fun of him or nothing. Ain't no shame in bawling over losing yer daddy. Just cuz I didn't when I lost mine don't mean nothing.
Jess stayed in my room that night, and we made love for the first time, and far from the last. I did think it was weird at first, but you don't exactly turn down someone who just went through what she did, even if she is your cousin. We never talk about it, she always instigates it, and I just go along. It's the closest I felt to anyone for as long as I can remember, and maybe it helps her forget what happened to her daddy for a little while.
Weeks go by, and the good news just keeps on coming. We can't make the mortgage on the farm, not with my and Jess' puny salaries, and with Lance outta work, just tending to the animals and fields. And Uncle Bill left us just enough to cover his funeral expenses. Those funeral people prey on the grieving, but they'll get theirs someday. And all the cops can tell us is that Uncle Bill had a stroke, and that was that. None of us believed that, though. Uncle Bill was in great shape, had plenty of years left in him, and besides, that don't explain the blood. They was hiding something, I just know it.
"It's time for a change, boys."
Lance and I stare at each other, neither of us clued into where she's going with this.
"There ain't nothin' left for us here. Just a buncha the same. We need a change of scenery. Somethin' excitin’."
"...Like Memphis?"
Good god, why couldn't his thing involve being a mute?
"Noooo, Lance. I mean, like, the beach. The open ocean. The amazin’ weather. The surfin’."
"But...none of us surf, Jess."
"Duh, Will, I know that. But we could learn. And I know just the place. California!"
"Aw, maaaan!!! The land of fruits and nuts?!? You gotta be kiddin', little sis. Where'd you ever get a dumb idea like that from?"
Jess gets shy. Jess never gets shy. "...From Larry."
Larry... Larry... Now there's a name I ain't heard in a long time... "You mean your ex-boyfriend Larry, who treated you like shit, then left without even sayin' nothin'?"
She won't even look me in the eye.
"Yeah, me an' him, we been chattin' online a bit. He's been tellin' me all about the cool stuff they got out there."
"Like what, sis?"
"Like, beautiful roads for us to drive on, with incredible views of the coast. And the beaches. And the boardwalk at Santa Cruz, with lotsa rides and awesome food."
"They got boardwalks in Jersey. All that other stuff, too. Well, 'cept maybe the nice roads and views. And Jersey blows."
"Oh, come on, darlin', it'll be fun. Where's your sense of adventure? Ain't y'all tired'a this place? Ain't nothin' happenin' here for any of us, and you know it."
We shoulda thrown in the towel sooner. Once Jess has her mind made up, it's made up. And this time, it’s more made up than usual. Fuckin’ Larry.
"California dreamin', huh? Our winters ain't even that bad. Hell, maybe me and Lance'll have a shot at better jobs."
"Yeah, and I can be a bartender anywhere. We'll drive cross country on our hogs, once Lance is all healed up."
"Aw, man. I gotta sit behind him again? For two thousand miles?"
"Don't worry, bro. He won't be speedin' like that again, I reckon."
"Yeah, sure. And this time, Lance, tell me a little more aheada time when ya see somethin’. Put that thing you do to good use for once."
I smile a real smile, not a mocking one like usual. Jess does, too, and even Lance gives in and shows us a toothy grin. California here we come.
Chapter 8
Frank
&nb
sp; "Foley, our friends from the FBI are in Interview Two. And the looney tunes woman is over in Five."
"Whadaya mean, looney? I thought she had good info."
"We thought so at first, but...Well, you and Weathers talk to her yourselves. You'll see."
What a shit-eating grin this asshole has. And that laugh, he's like a fuckin' hyena. Ten years, I been dealing with this tool as my superior. I should be barking orders at him, not the other way around. It's amazing he was able to tie his fuckin' shoes this morning, let alone keep the Feds off our witness.
I head over to my desk before going to talk to this woman, since Troy's in the crapper. Kid's got a decent eye, but phew, that gas he had in the car made me wanna demand a new partner, pronto. I grab an envelope that's sitting on my desk and start to open it up. No return address, doesn't look like junk mail or anything official. Who the fuck mails letters anymore? Huh, no stamp or postmark, either. Must’ve been dropped off.
"Hey, where's our girl at?"
"Five, but dipshit said she may not be as promising as we were lead to believe." I open the folded note that was in the envelope and start to walk over with Troy.
"Why? What'd he say?"
"He didn't. He's giving us the joy of discovering for...ourselves." What the fuck is... Who sent this? I double check the envelope. Nothing.
"Something wrong?"
Shit, Troy, you don't have to notice everything. I hold up the note, but in a way that he can't see what's on it. "Fucking doctors."
He nods. "Yours or hers?"
"Hers."
"Bad news? I thought she was doing better."
"It ain't great, no. More tests, think they found something. It's fucking endless."
"Ah, I'm sorry, Frank. She's a good woman. Shouldn't be going through this crap."
"You're tellin' me." This is not good. I need to find out who sent this shit, and what they really know. It can’t be those fuckers who took Vinnie, right? We’ve had an unspoken understanding ever since…
"You ready, big man?"
I raise my eyebrows and nod. Let's see how loopy this one really is. I open the door and see a petite Hispanic woman staring down at the table. She looks... not bored. She looks like she's in shock.
"Ms. Gutierrez, I'm Lieutenant Foley, this is Sergeant Weathers. How are you?"
She looks up blankly, stares at me, then stares at Troy, then stares at the table. "They think I'm crazy."
I shoot Troy a quick look. "Who does, ma'am?"
"Your captain, the other officers. We heard them talking."
Christ, Doyle and his band of merry men couldn't even keep their mouths shut within hearing distance? Fucking amateurs.
Troy takes over. "They said you had some information about one of the recent murders?"
She flinches as he approaches, so he instinctively backs off. Pro move, kid. Try to put her at ease. But why's she so on edge in the first place?
"Yes, but like we said, they don't believe us."
Who’s this "we" and "us" she keeps talking about? And, actually, you said they think you're crazy, but ok, let's go down that road. "Why don't they believe you, Isabel?"
"They're talking about us out there right now." She looks around, shakes her head. "We told them, we know what happened to this woman, we know what he sounds like, what he did to her. He told her before he did it."
Um...ok. "You know what he looks like, you mean?" Maybe she misspoke.
"No, we have not seen him. Not yet."
Troy tries to hide his disbelief, but I pick up on it. She probably won't notice it, at least. He takes the next stab at it.
"So, you say you haven't seen him, but you've heard him? Did you happen to walk by a house and thought you heard--"
"We don't think we heard. We heard...when we walked by...an open window." She's lying.
"Ok, so you heard him. What did he say, exactly? Do you recall any specific words or phrases?"
"He says..." She looks uncomfortable now. She's having a hard time describing it. "He says he's going to remove her pants. Then he tells her he's going to remove her panties."
That's it? Just like that? "He tells her what he's gonna do, and just does it? She doesn't resist?"
"We don't hear her say a word. At first, we assumed he gagged them."
Them? Does she mean there was more than one woman, or is there more than one person in that head of hers? "So there was more than one woman?"
"No, Mr. Frank, we meant...ugh..." She seems sincere now, but boy, she can't string two damn thoughts together. What's real and what isn't, lady?
"It's ok, Ms. Gutierrez, take your time." Troy's getting better at slowing things down, getting them calm and focused. I let him steer for awhile. "After he removed her clothes, what then?"
"Then we realized she wasn't gagged, she just couldn't talk, or move, either."
"What made you realize this?"
"He described it, what he did to her. He described how he paralyzed her, froze her stiff."
Motherfucker. How does she...?
Troy looks my way. He's tapping out, but I can't let on to him that she just described a detail that she couldn't possibly know. Because Troy doesn't know it, either. But I do. Fuck me.
"Uh...frozen stiff, you say? How, exactly, does he paralyze her? Did he have a taser, something like that?"
"No, we didn't hear anything like that. We don't know how he does it."
Well aren't you a huge help? How the hell do I know if you really heard what you think you did, or if you're a fuckin' loon who just made the luckiest guess ever? "Alright, what happened then?"
"Then, he doesn't say so much. He just...takes her. All we hear then is his moaning, grunting, her whimpering. It breaks our heart. I'm afraid for her."
"Why didn't you call 911 right then?"
"We...left our mobile phone at home." Another lie. She knows more than she's saying. Is she helping him? If so, why come forward now? If fucking Troy wasn't here, I could follow up on this paralysis angle, find out how much she really knows. But if I do that now, he'll just think I'm badgering her, barking up the wrong tree.
"Right, ok. What else can you tell us, Isabel? Did he say anything else after he took advantage of her?"
She chooses now to clam up. "No. we were afraid to stay there. We couldn't find a safe place to hide, to watch him leave and see what he looks like. We’re sorry." She does seem very disturbed to be describing this. And I can tell that Troy thinks she's of no value to us. But I know otherwise, so I've got a couple more questions. Let's see if I can get her to open up a little again.
"It's very brave of you, coming down here to talk to us. We really appreciate you taking the time. If you can think real hard, Isabel...can you remember how his voice sounded? Young, old, any accent, high pitch or low, anything at all?"
She concentrates hard, almost like she's meditating. "Yes. He's not too young or too old, middle age, you'd say. And he was Asian. Japanese, maybe, but we’re not sure. We can't tell them apart, often. So many of them in my head, can't always pull them apart." She instantly regrets saying that, knowing how it makes her sound. Troy even rolls his eyes, wondering why we're still here.
I do the usual good cop thing, smile, shake her hand, ask her if she'd like more water or to use the ladies' room, or if an officer can show her out. She doesn't hesitate to ask for a quick exit, so I call for a uniform to come get her. I make a mental note to follow up with her later, on my own.
"No can do, Lieutenant. Captain says he wants to hold her."
"What? Why the fuck would he do that?"
"Says he wants the agents to have a crack at her."
Fucking Doyle. On the one hand, keeping the Feds occupied would be helpful, and it'd be fucking hilarious to watch them deal with our less-than-stable witness. On the other hand, I'm not thrilled with them maybe finding out the one important nugget that she does know. If they believe it, and dig into it, I could have a whole other headache to deal with.
"Thanks, offic
er..." I look at his badge, "Davis. Have a wonderful day." I wonder if this rookie even understands sarcasm.
"You're welcome, sir. Oh, and the Captain also said he wants you to speak to the agents as soon as you were done with the witness." Fucking smugness of these Millennials, I swear. Crawl up Doyle's ass a little more, why don't ya?
On the way to Interview Two, I tuck this damn letter into my back pocket. I considered stashing it in my desk, but no fucking way I'm letting it out of my sight. Not until I have a chance to destroy it.
"So, it's clear she's just attention seeking, right? She can't know anything. She just told us the kinds of things that go on in every rape, mixed in with some nonsensical stuff." I just nod at Troy, and grunt. "One thing that's bugging me is how she knew there was no struggle. Think that got out on the Internet? I don't remember seeing it in the papers."
"Could be, or maybe just a lucky guess." A lucky guess, like the kind I’ll need in order to figure out who the hell sent me this note that's burning a hole in my right ass cheek. "The woman's clearly disturbed, probably needs to see a shrink."
Troy agrees, and we head into Two to meet our unfriendly neighborhood suits. With their polished shoes, slicked back hair, and neat suits, they really do look like a couple of dickheads. Even the chick.
"Ah, you must be Lieutenant Foley. And Sergeant Weathers." Dickhead Number One shakes our hands, but he's got a weak ass grip, which says a lot about a person. "I'm Special Agent Dan Carter, and this is Special Agent Nora Fitch. Please, have a seat." Her handshake was firmer, more confident. I can't help but notice that Doyle's already here, too. I'll bet he wants to make sure I don't fly off the handle, or say something that makes him look bad, since that's all he seems to care about anymore. His image. Judging by the looks of Agent Farter and Agent Bitch here, they have similar concerns.
"Thanks. Captain Doyle says you guys maybe have some similar cases to ours in Nevada, wanna compare notes."
Agent Bitch chimes in first. "Had, Lieutenant Foley. There was a string of related murders about a year and a half ago, but they've long since stopped. They were all in a small town near Reno, and the local sheriff called us in when it was clear he was in over his head. We took an interest in your case when we noticed some...similarities." Well, isn't she coy?
The Ripper of Blossom Valley Page 6