Before I Wake

by Dee Henderson

  He clicked off his light and the dark night surrounded him. Nathan took a long breath of the cold air and knew a deep exhaustion. The violence he feared had erupted today, a skirmish of what was coming on Friday when strikebreakers tried to enter the tile plant.

  He didn’t have enough men if things got truly out of hand; first thing tomorrow morning he would need to talk with the surrounding police departments and warn them he might need their assistance. Lord, there are days I don’t want to be sheriff. The scattered violence today would become coordinated violence if Adam wasn’t able to keep control of the union men.

  “Did you hear it?”

  Nathan turned on his torchlight to illuminate the man coming his way through the pasture. “I heard it, Jack. Have you seen any dead animals or bones, any indication we acquired a fox or a bobcat in this area?”

  “I’ve had the hunting dogs out through this stretch of woods a couple times and they didn’t alert.”

  “Maybe a screech owl killing its prey, I suppose there are a few that could make that cry.”

  “It sends shivers up my back and I’ve heard a lot of ugly things. What are you doing down this way?”

  “One of Mom’s dogs got out, the old sheepdog that belonged to the O’Keefes. I figure he might head back toward their old house again; that’s where he turned up last time.”

  The dog was a favorite of his mom and Nathan would go the extra mile to help her find it. Neither one of them wanted to see the dog get lost.

  “I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Nathan cast one more sweep of light across the tree trunks and clicked it off. He didn’t have the heavy coat and leggings needed to be wading back into that heavy brush. Maybe this weekend he’d bring his own dogs along and hike into the woods. If it was a human sound, he’d find the traces.

  The county task force suspected there was a clandestine meth lab operating somewhere in his area. He supposed a pressure kettle cooking over could make that noise although he could smell nothing on the breeze.

  Strange unexplained sounds at odd times of day—it raised his hackles. One county over, they’d found a field where a gypsy group had been burying their dead. They’d died of natural causes, but the mere idea of a field of buried bodies was enough to make a man think twice about the woods around here.

  “I’ll be back when I’ve got more time to try and figure out what exactly it is.” He lifted a hand in farewell as his radio cracked and faintly gave tones.

  Nathan took one last look at the woods and walked toward his squad car. This stretch of land adjoined his grandfather’s farm and in the back of his mind he wondered what his grandfather might be doing. That mystery he wasn’t eager to investigate.

  He depressed the transmit button on the radio and asked for clarification of the garbled message. “55-J, 10-9.”

  “55-J, possible 10-54. York Hotel.”

  A possible dead body at the York Hotel. Nathan stopped, not wanting to believe the words. “10-4, ETA four minutes.”

  A false report? Copycat calls came in regularly after a crime made the front page of the newspaper. He hoped it was a false report, either that or a man in his nineties who had already lived more days than his doctor told him he had left.

  Nathan turned on the lights and pushed the speed, but in deference to the hour and those asleep, he left the sirens off.

  19

  “This is troubling,” Nathan said, trying not to let the icy fear that wanted to take over get a foothold. He stepped into the hotel room, careful not to disturb the newspaper pages scattered on the floor by the door. He stopped beside the bed.

  A twentysomething brunette lay on her stomach with her right hand lax against the pillow and the other tucked in a fist under her chin. Death was clear in the absence of breath, the way her mouth slacked, and a fly walked across her chin.

  Detective Sillman, kneeling near the bed, turned. “A young lady dead in her sleep, with no apparent cause of death. No blood that I can see, no sign of violence, no prescription bottle or liquor bottle. No signs she was ill, suffered food poisoning, got bit by a deadly spider.”

  “That last one is probably a reach,” Nathan remarked, understanding Sillman’s frustration. He knelt to study the lady. “There’s no sign of a seizure this time.”

  “Not that I see,” Sillman agreed.

  Nathan looked around the room. The lady’s glasses rested on the bedside table beside a folded-open television guide. Money rested on the dresser, very nice luggage by the door, an expensive coat over the chair. “Not a robbery.”

  “Can we have two natural deaths within four days?” Sillman asked as he stood.

  “Yes, but it’s the equivalent of lightning striking in the same place twice.” Nathan accepted reality because it was staring at him. “Either we have two natural deaths, we have one natural death and someone just copycatted what they read in the newspaper to try to cover up a murder, or we have two murders. Wake up Will, we need him on this. And send a patrol officer to pick up the coroner; minutes are going to matter. Who found her?”

  “She was traveling with a cousin who came down to deliver a message from their aunt. She’s the one who dropped the newspaper. The blood splatter on the edge of the door is hers; she came close to breaking her nose when she rushed out to get help.”

  “At least we got early word this time. It might help the coroner find a trace of whatever this is,” Nathan said.

  “She never struggled, never even lifted her hands by the appearance of this. What is it that a coroner would miss after several hours of death? A gas maybe?” Sillman asked. “She breathes something that kills her and the traces fade quickly?”

  “Toxicology was clean with Peggy, but maybe there’s something more sensitive they can test for.”

  “I take back what I thought of Miss Gabriella meddling on the Worth case; I hope she has found out more about where Peggy went and who she saw Saturday night. We need to know if these two ladies ever crossed paths or what they might have in common.”

  “I’m going to guess the only common link we find between them besides female, twenties, and staying at a Justice hotel is the killer they have in common.” Nathan didn’t like the close timeline between the deaths. “We need to track down Bruce and Rae tonight and reopen the Worth case.”

  Gray nodded. “If they can tell us anything more about Peggy, it will give us a leg up on this. I don’t want to shift officers away from the strike patrol to run down the questions they have already spent time working. We are way too shorthanded to be chasing threads they’ve already pulled.”

  “I’ll leave Will with you to handle this scene, while I work with Rae and Bruce to see what I can turn up at that end. I figure we get half a day to decide if this is a murder or not before we have to make some very tough resource calls.”

  Nathan dialed, and while it rang, he found the lady’s purse in the closet and opened the billfold. “Karen Reese, twenty-nine, from Lefton, Georgia.” Nathan found a business card. “She’s an associate CPA.”

  The phone was answered. “Bruce, hey, buddy, wake up. It’s Nathan.” Nathan stepped into the hotel room bathroom and scanned the countertop. “I’m at York Hotel, room 167, and we’re dealing with another young lady apparently dead in her sleep. You awake now?”

  “You’re not kidding.”

  “No.”

  “I’m up; my feet are on the floor. What do you need?”

  “Answers. Where are things with Peggy Worth?”

  “She cancelled her date Saturday night in order to meet with someone about a story she was writing. We don’t know who she met or what the story was about, but we think it was related to the Prescott kid’s death. Rae was still working on that puzzle when I left the agency about ten.”

  “Find her.”

  “We’ll be with you in twenty minutes.”

  * * *

  Rae covered a yawn as she leaned against Bruce’s car. The hotel had t
oo many cops crowding the first floor and the beginnings of a spectator crowd to want to wade through them to find Nathan. He knew she was here; he’d find her as soon as he got a free moment.

  “You need gloves.”

  Rae glanced over her shoulder to see Bruce heading her direction across the parking lot. “The cold keeps me awake. What’s happening in back?”

  “The coroner has arrived.”

  “This looks the same as Peggy?” Rae asked.

  “A young lady dead in her sleep, with no indication of violence or cause,” Bruce confirmed.

  “They’ve got to be related despite that natural-causes ruling for Peggy. And it’s got to be something the coroner wouldn’t pick up on standard toxicology screens.”

  Bruce reached in the car to store his flashlight. “Nathan is working under that assumption, which is why they are putting a rush on this case since she may have died within the last two hours. It’s something not leaving much of a trace.”

  “What do you think, Bruce? We may not know the story Peggy was trying to write, but the general topic that brought her to Justice seems clear—that rave party and the designer drug deaths of several teenagers. Maybe a bad lot of drugs is killing them?”

  “I doubt Peggy would voluntarily take something, and this lady was apparently passing through town with her cousin. I’m thinking something they ate or drank.”

  “Really?”

  “Hotels have a few things in common—vending machines for one. Nathan’s got an officer clearing the contents of the machines on that floor.”

  “If it’s something being put in a food or drink, this could just as easily be twenty deaths instead of two,” Rae said.

  “A scary thought, isn’t it?”

  “I’m trying to remember what I last got from the vending machine on my floor at the hotel. I would have used the same one Peggy did.”

  “Please, I don’t need nightmare ideas like that one. Why don’t you avoid the hotel food for a while?”

  “It could be something absorbed through the skin, put in something like a shampoo bottle or the soap, randomly placed for whoever happens to check in to the hotel room,” Rae offered. “Although the odds of picking off two single young women at two different hotels being purely at random—that suggests the victims were chosen.”

  “You fit the victim profile: young, single, pretty, staying at a Justice hotel,” Bruce pointed out.

  Rae smiled. “If someone wanted to target me they’d probably shoot me in the back.”

  “What are you two talking about?”

  Rae turned, as did Bruce, to see Nathan walking over to join them.

  “The odds Rae becomes the next victim of the ghost killer,” Bruce replied.

  “Please, that name will stick. And I don’t want to think about a third victim.”

  “Is this victim number two? Or is this a coincidence?” Rae asked.

  “I would love to know that answer. The coroner stands by the autopsy results for Peggy Worth, and this death doesn’t show the same early signs of a seizure. Maybe this is natural too, but for now we’re assuming it isn’t. We’re reopening Peggy Worth’s case to see what we can find as common. Tell me about the progress you’ve made. I understand you ruled out her date.”

  “Stan Bartlett. He’s not part of this,” she confirmed. “Peggy cancelled the date to meet someone involved in the story she was working on.”

  Rae wished she had worked it another hour before calling it a day. “Peggy was asking about Joe Prescott. That’s where she began, and where we’ll probably find a thread to tug. My best guess—it was a local call to her at the hotel that arranged the meeting Saturday night, and the first name for who she met may be Jason. It does appear she went somewhere she didn’t need to write down directions.”

  “At first light, we’ll go out to Prescott’s old place and talk with the neighbors,” Nathan decided. “We’ll see if it was one of them who Peggy went to see that night.”

  “That isn’t likely to connect Peggy to this lady.”

  “I know. Hopefully by the time we finish figuring out Peggy’s movements, we’ll have Karen’s full itinerary. Her cousin is already taking an officer through step-by-step who they saw and where they went; he’ll have that account confirmed by midmorning. The coroner should have early answers by then too. I’ve got just over twenty-four hours before strikebreakers start entering the tile plant. I need to know if I’m calling in the state police to help us also track down a serial murderer, or if this town is just having a string of very bad luck.”

  * * *

  She’d died. He shoved his briefcase into his car, annoyed with the outcome. No seizure this time, just stopped breathing. Either two milligrams was still too much, or the formula was a fractional amount too high in the sedative.

  It was such a finely balanced designer drug, beautifully conceived, but in practice hard to perfect. Maybe if he extended the base and slowed the release down . . . the instant high was important to sales, but it triggered an equally fast fall off of the drug. That change was the next logical tweak to make.

  He looked at his watch and the date in the corner. Nine days, he didn’t want to move the meeting with his backer again. Devon’s patience had limits. If he recalculated the mix and got the next batch prepped and drying by tomorrow afternoon, and if his partners could do the forming and wrapping tomorrow evening . . .

  They’d have to consider moving beyond Justice to test it, and that would complicate things. Maybe if they split up the testing to be done, they could get the final checks done before his meeting with Devon. He started his car.

  He passed the hotel and squad cars in the parking lot, ignoring the officers swarming over the crime scene. There was nothing there for them to find. He’d been seen at the hotel, he was likely already in their to-be-interviewed lists, and no one would think anything of it. They’d call or be around to ask him questions tomorrow. He made a mental note to stay in town until they came by. He wouldn’t want to delay their investigation.

  20

  Nathan turned off the two-lane country road onto a private rock drive that was broken up in several places where rain had washed away segments of the ground. “Andrew Kirk is Prescott’s closest neighbor.”

  Rae leaned forward to see the house up ahead. In the early morning light, it was clear the once white two-story farmhouse was in need of a new coat of paint. The land they had passed did not look actively farmed; the brush was high and the one fence she had seen needed repair work. There were two large metal-sided buildings beyond the house. “Does he have a family? Has he lived here long?”

  “I went to high school with him. Andy’s been divorced about four years.” Nathan pulled to a stop before the larger of the two storage buildings; the huge doors swung open. A semi and trailer were pulled inside and music blared into the countryside.

  “Andy, do you have a minute?”

  The man stepped down from the semi cab, a black trash bag in his hand. “Hi, Nate. Sure.”

  “How was the run?”

  “Not one of the best for turning a profit. I lost a tire in the middle of the night on a road to nowhere. A rock struck the window and began a splintering crack. Gas prices were obscene heading east.”

  “Not exactly what you hope for.”

  “That’s for sure.” Andy dumped the trash bag in a metal can and secured the lid. He walked out of the garage toward them, snapping his finger at his dogs racing from the backyard to join them.

  “When did you get back?”

  “Saturday evening. I’m heading out this afternoon to ship some wire spools from Chicago down to Indianapolis.”

  “I’d like you to meet Rae Gabriella; she’s new in town and working with Bruce Chapel.”

  Andy touched his cap. “A pleasure, Ma’am.”

  “We’re looking for a lady who might have been asking about Joe Prescott.” Nathan offered the photo he held.

  “Sure, she was by. She left a note tucked in the front door.
I called when I got back.”

  “She was out here Saturday night?”

  “Around nine, I guess. Nice-looking lady, overdressed for standing around a garage while I unloaded gear. She brought an offering of beer; I answered all the questions she had.”

  “What was she asking about?”

  “Prescott, and where his place was. She seemed stunned to hear the old man was dead. This town doesn’t like reporters much, if it took finding me to get that answer.”

  “Did she say what story she was working on?”

  “She asked about Prescott’s grandson, who he hung around with, what rumors I heard around town about who he was buying stuff from, did I remember much about anyone who left town back then who had recently moved back here. She seemed to have the impression that designer drugs were being readily sold around here. A bunch of big-city jive if you ask me.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  “Well, it gets troubling, all them drug assumptions and not a trace of evidence behind them. She was asking about Prescott’s land, who owns it now, if I saw strangers coming and going at odd times. As if I would and not give you a call on the radio first thing.”

  “I know you would; you have in the past. Did she mention any names? ask about any other people?”

  “She read off some names from this bright orange-covered notepad she carried but no one sounded familiar. You know me, Nathan. I’d been pushing hard for the drive, half a beer and I was not remembering names or dates that well. I suggested she talk with Nella down the road. If there’s gossip in town worth knowing, Nella would have the details.”

  “What time did she leave here?”

  “Before ten, I guess. She drew herself a map for Prescott’s place. I half expected to see her back out here this week.”

  “She passed away Sunday morning, Andy.”

  “She what?” The man’s voice broke higher and he held up his hands. “She left here, Nathan, driving that fancy rental car and talking about seeing Nella and the river. You know I don’t take the town paper; this is the first I’m hearing of this.”