by Tim Waggoner
“I’ve read the Sheriff’s original report. According to him, they found nothing to indicate the leg was taken from the scene. No tracks, no blood trail.”
“Maybe Manchester just did a sloppy job of investigating.”
“Could be. But I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone else. I’ve never gone back to Barrow Hill Mound. I drive through the park whenever I’m on patrol, but I don’t get out of my vehicle.”
“Poor baby.” Another kiss on the neck, this one including a tiny flick of Terry’s tongue on her flesh. The sensation sent an electric jolt running through her body and down into her sex. She felt herself moisten, and she was tempted to see if Terry had rested enough by now to go another round.
“That wasn’t the worst part, though. Of the dream, I mean. My memory got mixed with the investigations I’m running now, I guess. I saw Carl Coulter.”
She felt Terry stiffen, and not in the good way.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“No … well, yeah. You know I don’t put much stock in psychic phenomena or however you want to classify your Feelings. But I can’t help thinking there’s something ominous about your dreaming of Carl.”
She grinned in the dark. “Ominous as in omen? That sounds like you believe in my Feelings more than you want to admit.”
“You know what Emerson said about foolish consistencies. So, what was Carl the Cutter doing invading your dream?”
Joanne told him about Carl’s role in her nightmare. When she finished, Terry said, “And you have no idea what he was trying to show you?”
“Faces, I think. A pair of them. What does it matter? It was just a dream.”
“Oh, so now you’re a skeptic!”
“I believe in my Feelings because I’ve experienced them. I’ve never received dream messages from the spirit world.”
“Maybe this is the first time.”
That thought hadn’t occurred to her before, and now that she contemplated it, she wished Terry had kept it to himself. Especially after the eerie experience she’d had out the Deveraux Farm earlier in the day, when she thought she’d seen someone — or something — resembling Carl Coulter.
Several moments of silence passed before Terry spoke again. “There’s something I always wanted to ask you, Joanne, but I’ve never been able to bring myself to do it.”
Her breath caught in her throat, and he could feel her heart pound in her chest. Surely he wasn’t going to ask her to marry him. Their relationship was more along the lines of friends with benefits than deeply committed lovers. At least, that’s how she viewed it and how she thought Terry did too. But what if she was wrong, what if he was going to ask her to marry him? How could she say no in a such a way as to avoid hurting his feelings? And she would turn him down … wouldn’t she?
She forced a smile, though it was a nervous one. “Just go ahead and ask.”
Now it was his turn to look nervous. “All right. I know about what happened to you when you were a kid. I guess everyone in the county does. It’s a local legend.”
It sounded like Terry wasn’t going to discuss marriage, and she surprised herself by experiencing a brief pang of disappointment. “A legend, huh? Kind of makes a girl feel important.”
“You really don’t have any memory of what happened?”
“None. I was riding my bike in front of my house one morning, and the next thing I knew it was six days later and Dale found me in the woods. He said I was just sitting on the ground, but I don’t remember that part.” She’d been naked too, but she decided not to share that tidbit of information with Terry. She wasn’t comfortable with the thought of Terry imagining Dale carrying her like that. It was something intimate — though in no way sexual — between Dale and her. A private moment not to be shared, not even with a man she’d just made love to.
“And you weren’t … hurt in any way?” he asked.
She could tell by how Terry had paused before saying hurt that he was asking more than if she’d been injured. “I was examined at the hospital soon after Dale found me. I was uninjured, and the doctors said there was no evidence that I’d been sexually abused.” And despite the fact she’d been naked when found, she’d shown no signs of exposure.
Terry looked embarrassed, and Joanne found it endearing. Considering all that he’d seen and done as both a doctor and coroner, he should’ve been a model of clinical detachment, but she was very glad he wasn’t.
“Doesn’t it get to you sometimes?” he asked. “Not knowing? You lost six whole days of your life. Anything could’ve happened during that time.”
Terry’s words caused a cold flutter of panic deep in Joanne’s belly, but she suppressed it. She’d had lots of practice over the years. “It didn’t bother me much at first. I was so happy to be home that I just tried not to think about it. But I kept having bad dreams, and my parents made me start seeing therapists. By that point, I figured something must’ve been wrong with me, and I began obsessing over those six days, trying to make myself remember where I’d been and what had happened. With time and counseling, I got over that. I adjusted and got on with my life. Now whenever I start to think about it, I remind myself that there’s a lot about my childhood that I don’t remember. Who does? We remember some things with crystal clarity, sometimes weird and insignificant things. Like I can remember the very first time I managed to blow a real bubblegum bubble. But the day-to-day moments of our lives fade from our minds almost as soon as we’ve lived them. Memories are echoes, and some are louder and last longer than others, that’s all.”
Terry looked at her for a long moment before saying, “You’re a remarkable woman, Sheriff Talon.”
She grinned. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“The capital of Paraguay is Asuncion.”
It was an old joke between them, and though it had long ago ceased to be funny, it always made her smile. Before either of them could say anything more, however, Joanne’s cell phone rang on the nightstand.
“I wish you’d turned the damned thing off, or at least left it in the living room,” Terry muttered.
Joanne didn’t bother replying. Terry knew what her job was like. She rolled out of his arms and toward the nightstand. She grabbed the phone and answered it.
“Sheriff Talon.”
“I assume you saw the news tonight.” It was Dale.
She glanced at the clock radio on the nightstand and saw it was only 8:17. She’d thought it later than that.
“I hate seeing myself on TV. They say the camera adds ten pounds, but I think it’s more like twenty.”
“Who is it?” Terry whispered.
When she said Dale, he made a displeased grunt, got out of bed, and headed for the bathroom. He turned on the light, giving Joanne a nice view of his toned backside before he closed the door.
“I take it that the estimable Dr. Birch has paid a house-call this evening?”
“I’d say that was none of your business, but you’d just ignore me.”
“You’re right. Sorry it’s been so long since I checked in. I wanted to give you some time to deal with the media vultures … and to talk to the Porter boy’s parents. How did it go?”
She sat back against the headboard and drew the sheet up to her chest to cover herself. She knew it was stupid, but she felt awkward talking to Dale naked. It was like having your father accidentally see you without any clothes on.
“As well as it could. His parents hadn’t even realized he didn’t come home last night. They figured he got in late and left again before they got up this morning. That, or as Mr. Porter put it, Ray got lucky and slept over at some girl’s place. They gave me some names of friends Ray hung out with and we’re in the process of tracking them down and questioning them. Maybe we’ll learn something useful. Maybe not.”
“How did the Porters react to seeing the son’s body?”
From anyone else, it might’ve seemed like a ghoulish question, but Joanne knew why Dale was asking. “They were shocked, and b
oth husband and wife broke into tears. If they had anything to do with Ray’s murder, then they both deserve Academy Awards for their performances.” Remembering how the Porters had broken down in the coroner’s office filled Joanne with sympathy. Their grief had been palpable, so strong she’d almost experienced it as a physical force. She was certain they had no involvement in their boy’s death.
“I’ve had a lot of calls from other reporters, wanting me to give them background information about the infamous Carl the Cutter,” Dale said. “I of course responded like the consummate professional I am.”
“You told them they could screw you.”
“Sideways, as a matter of fact.”
“To be fair, the coverage I’ve seen so far has been more restrained than I expected.”
“I imagine you have our friend Marshall to thank for that. But even his influence only extends so far. The coverage will get more lurid tomorrow as the vultures start fighting to hold onto the public’s attention. Just wait and see.”
Joanne had no doubt Dale was right, but she was grateful for small favors, wherever they came from.
She heard the toilet flush, followed by the faucet running.
“Speaking of Marshall, he met me at the Porters’ home,” she said. “He told me to tell them he’d pay for Ray’s funeral.”
“Really? That’s odd.”
“I thought so too. I did tell the Porters, and they were surprised. But they accepted.”
The bathroom door opened and Terry came out. He left the light on, and Joanne could see the disapproving expression on his face. Before she could say anything, he bent over — giving her another great view of his ass — and began picking up his clothes. The two of them had been in a hurry to get naked earlier, and their clothing had been discarded in haste and left to lie wherever it had fallen.
“I wonder why Marshall offered to do that,” Dale said.
Joanne shrugged, watching Terry as he began to get dressed. So much for round two, she thought.
“He acted like it was almost a matter of honor or something.”
“Interesting.”
Even over the phone, she could almost hear the wheels turning in Dale’s mind.
“You learn anything from Sadie?” she asked.
Dale was silent for a moment before answering. “I think I picked up a thing or two.”
There was something strange about his tone, but before she could ask about it, he gave her a quick summary of his afternoon visit to Sadie Muir’s houseboat.
“So there’s no connection between Ray Porter and Carl Coulter’s victims, and Carl had no father on his birth certificate,” she said for Terry’s benefit. He acknowledged her words with a nod then returned to getting dressed.
“I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to find out why Carl’s father wasn’t named on his certificate. I checked with some contacts of mine at the hospital, went through my files, even tried to track down Tyrone, but I guess he’s tired of talking to me because I couldn’t find him. Didn’t find anything on the Net, either. The only thing I didn’t do was check with Debbie. I figure she’s got enough to worry about right now. You talk to her recently?”
“After I was done with the Porters I had Ronnie take them out the back to avoid the reporters, then I went out to talk to them and be made to look fat on TV. After that, I stopped in on Debbie to see how she’s doing. She stayed home all day and kept the curtains closed and the phone turned off. A few reporters came by and knocked, but she didn’t answer the door. Hell, she almost didn’t answer it for me, even after I called out to her. She said she’d been sleeping on and off. I think she’d probably taken a tranquilizer, but she didn’t say anything about it. She’s worried that whoever broke into the café last night might come after her at home tonight. I suggested she go stay at a friend’s house, but she said she didn’t have any friends. I told her I’d assign someone to watch her place tonight, and I’d step up patrols in her neighborhood.”
Terry had finished dressing and now sat on the edge of the bed, listening, brow furrowed in a slight scowl.
“Do you think she’s in any danger?” Dale asked.
“At this point, I don’t know what to think. But I’m not going to take any chances. Did you hear we found Ray’s car at the Burrito Bungalow?”
Dale hadn’t and so Joanne filled him in.
“Witnesses say he met a girl and drove off with her,” Joanne said. “A Cross girl in her twenties, blonde hair, gorgeous.”
“Naturally. Anyone give a name?”
“One person did, the manager who was on duty that night. He said he thought it was Lenora Cross.”
“Now that is damned interesting,” Dale said.
“Isn’t it, though?”
“Have you spoken with Marshall yet?”
“I called him at home. He didn’t seem surprised when I told him about Lenora, but you know Marshall. He never gives anything away. I asked him to bring Lenora in for questioning, but he said he’d rather I come out to Sanctity and talk with her there. ‘To spare her the embarrassment of going to the station,’ he said. He also requested that I arrive at ten o’clock because he had a ‘very full schedule’ this evening. From his tone, he sounded as if he thought he was being more than accommodating. I didn’t like it, but I agreed. You want to come? I like to have another person else present when I question someone. I’d ask Ronnie, but he’s driving the wallet to the state crime lab in Columbus tonight.”
“Do you have to ask?”
Joanne grinned. “How about I swing by and pick you up around 9:45?”
Dale paused. “It might work better if I meet you there. Okay?”
There was something about his tone that bothered her, as if he were trying a bit too hard to sound casual.
“Something wrong?”
“Not at all. It … will just be more convenient.”
Marshall Cross wasn’t the only man she knew who played things close to the vest. “Sure. Whatever works.”
They said goodbye, then Joanne disconnected and put her cell phone back on the nightstand.
“I’m not trained in law enforcement,” Terry said, “but it seems to me that taking a reporter along during questioning isn’t exactly standard procedure.”
There was an edge to Terry’s tone, and Joanne responded to it with a surge of irritation. She got out of bed and started getting dressed.
“Dale might not be a cop, but he’s got the sharpest instincts of anyone I’ve ever met.” She slipped on her panties then started to put on her bra. “You really do sound jealous now.”
He fixed her with a penetrating glare. “Should I be?”
She finished hooking up her bra then turned to look at Terry. “Dale and I are friends. Since my parents divorced and moved out of the county, he’s the closest thing to family I have here. He’s like an uncle or an older brother.”
“Much older,” Terry said, almost sneering.
“I don’t like what you’re implying,”
They glared at each other for a moment, and then Terry looked away and let out a long sigh. “Sorry. I guess I am a little jealous.” He looked at her again and gave her a sheepish smile. “I’ll work on it. While you were talking with Dale, I remembered that there’s something I forget to tell you — about Marshall.”
Terry went on to tell her about Marshall’s visit to the coroner’s office earlier. When he finished, Joanne frowned. Still wearing only her bra and panties, she sat down on the bed next to Terry.
“That’s weird. Why would he want time alone with Ray Porter’s body?”
“Why do the Crosses ever do anything? Because they have the power, that’s why.”
Joanne knew Terry held no love for the Cross family — few people in the county did — but she was taken aback by the sudden venom in his voice. Her surprise must’ve shown on her face, for Terry said, “Sorry. I’m territorial when it comes to my office, I guess. I hate the idea that Marshall thinks he can just barge in when I’m about to b
egin an autopsy and ask to pay his ‘respects’ to the body. Since when did the Crosses become so pious anyway?”
Joanne was about to respond when she realized she had no idea if the Crosses practiced any type of religion. She’d never known any of them to attend the Christian churches in Rhine, or for that matter the Jewish synagogue or Unitarian church over in Somerset.
“When I talk to Marshall tonight I’ll ask him about his visit to your office.” And why he neglected to tell me about it. Joanne leaned over and gave Terry a kiss. When she drew back, she said, “Now if you don’t mind, it’s time for you to go home. I need a shower before I head out to Sanctity. It wouldn’t do to enter the hallowed halls of the Cross family manor smelling like a twenty-dollar whore.”
Terry grinned. “Don’t sell yourself short, love. You’re worth fifty dollars at the very least.”
She punched him on the arm, hard enough to make him wince.
“All right, all right! One hundred dollars and not a penny more.”
Instead of hitting him this time, she jumped on top of him and knocked him back onto the bed, laughing and giggling as they wrestled. When Terry began to kiss her, she said, “I suppose you can stick around for a few more minutes.”
And that was the last either of them spoke for a while.
• • •
Dale stood at his living room window, looking out. He saw nothing but an empty street washed in the muted blue-white glow of fluorescent streetlights. There were shadows too, of course. There were always shadows, but he told himself there was nothing hiding in them … nothing that was looking up at the window on the second floor of the Echo offices, watching the old man standing there.
He told himself that he’d turned down Joanne’s offer of a ride because he hadn’t wanted to inconvenience her, not because he feared that whatever had followed him from Lake Hush might decide to forget about him and start stalking her instead.
He glanced at his watch. 8:47. He had a little less than an hour before he needed to leave for Sanctity. He should put the time to good use, maybe go back through his files to see if he’d missed anything, get on the Internet to see what he could turn up. But he didn’t step away from the window. He remained standing there, staring through the glass into the night, keeping watch on the shadows below.