by Tony Urban
Have I reached the pariah stage of life? Carolina thought. Are people embarrassed to be seen with me?
Regardless, she was relieved to see Leigh when she appeared at the door. The younger woman glanced around the restaurant, as if confirming that no one was spying. With her fear allayed, she headed to Carolina’s booth and claimed the seat across from her.
“Thanks for meeting with me,” Carolina said.
“No problem, but I can’t stay long. Told Billington I was gonna take a quick lunch before heading back in,” Leigh said, a nervous undertone to her voice.
“She runs a tight ship,” Carolina said.
Leigh frowned. “I’m sorry. I feel awful, but I just don’t want her to know I’m talking to you. That makes me a bad person, doesn’t it?”
Carolina shrugged but agreed.
“Maybe I should walk out,” Leigh said with zero conviction. “Tell her if she wants my help, she needs to bring you back. I mean, what are her other options? Hank and Odie?”
Carolina smirked but shook her head. “I don’t need any favors. Do your job and don’t mess up your career for me. I’m just some private investigator who won’t be around once the case is closed.”
Leigh nodded. “Still, I feel bad.”
Carolina sucked down a mouthful of soda, glad that someone cared as much as Leigh did. “I wanted to ask you something,” she said, changing the subject.
“What’s up?”
“Don’t you want to get some food first?” Carolina asked.
Leigh wrinkled her nose. “Oh, no way. I wouldn’t eat this slop again if you paid me. A few years back and got the worst food poisoning here. Out both ends at the same time, like someone was running my guts through a woodchipper.”
Carolina was halfway through her burger by the time Leigh said that. She looked at her meal, questioning her decision, assumed it was too late, and continued to shovel the sloppy mess into her face.
“Were there any attacks or assaults before the murders popped up?” Carolina asked, three bites of burger tucked into her cheek. She wiped a smear of ketchup off the corner of her mouth with her hand and licked it clean.
Leigh thought for a moment. “I mean, sure. Bar fights, husbands using their wives as punching bags. That sort of thing.” She paused, eyes brightening. “Oh, there was this one woman that was run off the road and hit a tree. When she got out to check on the damage to her car, she was hit from behind and knocked out. Woke up and her car was gone along with her belongings. But she was fine.”
“That last one was a robbery though, right?”
Leigh nodded. “Got a call two weeks later that her car was found at the border between New Mexico and old Mexico. Never caught the guy.”
Carolina sighed. “How about something more life threatening? Out of the ordinary. Knife attacks? Violent sexual assaults? Maybe even reports of peeping Toms or prowlers?”
Leigh shook her head slowly. “Don’t think so.” She checked the time on her phone. “I should head back before Billington gets her hackles up.”
Carolina had hoped for more. Both in terms of potential leads and company. But she supposed the saying about beggars and choosers held true, and she was firmly in the former camp. “Okay. Maybe call me after you’re done for the day?”
God, she was so needy; she annoyed herself.
“Sure will,” Leigh said, bouncing toward the door where a cartoon of a large chicken holding a platter of hamburgers stared back at her. She paused, hand on the handle, focusing on the cartoon for a short while, then she spun and returned to Carolina.
“That chicken made me remember something,” Leigh said.
Carolina looked at the graphic, thoroughly confused. “What?”
Leigh reclaimed her seat, leaning across the table and speaking in a near whisper even though no one was within five yards of them. “Early last year, I think around Easter time, we had some animals go missing. No one thought much of it at first, but then they found a few of them, all shredded and mutilated and whatnot.” She shivered. “After that, I kept Jelly Jam inside for a few weeks. Wouldn’t even let her go outside to potty.”
Jelly Jam? Carolina thought. But she’d ask about that later. “Mutilated?”
Leigh nodded. “Yeah, like some sacrifice. You know, like those devil cults make?”
“Hold on, devil cults?” Carolina asked.
“I know, sounds like it's something out of the seventies, right? Real Charlie Manson stuff.”
“Did you have any suspects?”
Leigh shook her head. “No. Hank said it was just kids being kids. And by the time summer rolled around, it stopped. So, whoever was responsible must have headed somewhere more interesting. Or just got bored, I guess.”
Carolina furrowed her brow, not buying into the satanic cult theory. Even if devil-worshipping had been the cause, why wasn’t it investigated thoroughly? Hank was always an advocate for the path of least resistance, so she couldn’t blame Leigh too much for following in those same (lazy) footsteps.
But at the very least, it was a potential lead she could look into without raising Billington’s ire.
“Can you get me the files pertaining to those sacrificed animals?”
Chapter 45
As Mitch drove back to the veterinary clinic for his afternoon appointments, the cat wouldn’t stop meowing. He glanced at the plastic pet carrier and stole a peek inside. The cat was pressed against the front cage, its whiskers snaking through the crisscrossed metal bars. Its eyes were wide, pupils dilated.
“Don’t be afraid,” Mitch said in his most calming tone.
Nevertheless, the cat’s incessant whining continued, bleating in endless annoyance. It was giving him a headache.
He pulled the sedan onto the side of the road and put it in park. Then he grabbed a roast beef sandwich with a lone bite missing. He couldn’t bring himself to eat the overcooked, bland meat, but maybe he could still get some use out of it.
“I bet you’re getting hungry, aren’t you?” Mitch asked as he tore away a small chunk of meat and poked it through the carrier’s door. It dropped inside and the cat took an inquisitive sniff, nose twitching. Then, apparently satisfied, it gobbled it up.
“I bet she doesn’t feed you real meat often, does she?” Mitch asked the cat, already knowing the answer. The kitchen cabinet where her pet supplies were stored was stacked high with dry kibble and canned food. The labels promised things like genuine chicken and ocean fresh fish, but that was far from the truth.
The contents were overly-processed scraps. The waste trimmings left from slaughterhouses, unfit even for sausage. It was boiled, ground to paste, mixed with fillers and byproducts, and marketed to ignorant owners who thought they were giving their animals treats. But in reality, they were feeding them literal garbage.
Garbage would be better, Mitch thought. Feral cats lived more authentic lives than their domesticated cousins. Those scrappy, angry animals knew what it was like to stalk prey. To kill. To survive.
He’d take a life like that over lounging on a sofa day in and day out, never knowing your true reason for being alive.
He pushed some more roast beef into the cage and the cat greedily consumed it. “Good kitty,” Mitch said.
The clock on his dashboard read 1:07. He should have been back at work by one, but found it hard to care. However, if he wanted to stay off the radar from the sheriff and his lackeys, he needed to return to work and carry on with his facade of normalcy. So, he reluctantly shifted the car back into gear and pulled onto the street.
“Come now, Jelly Jam,” Mitch said to Leigh Benner’s cat. The cat he’d stolen from her home less than an hour ago. “There is work to do before your mommy realizes you’ve gone missing.”
Chapter 46
Dressed in black leggings and a maroon blouse, Leigh arrived at Carolina’s motel room just a few minutes after six. It was the first time Carolina had seen the woman out of uniform and it took a second glance through the peephole before she
was certain of her identity.
Leigh’s blonde hair was freed of its ponytail and flowed past her shoulders in lazy waves. But the other difference - the most shocking difference - was that she was wearing makeup. Nothing extravagant: lipstick, eyeliner, mascara, and a bit of rouge on her cheeks. It had transformed the plain young woman into someone who could turn heads. Probably not in New York or Los Angeles, but certainly in rural Ohio.
A small stack of files was tucked under one arm and her free hand gripped a paper sack. As Carolina granted her entrance, she noticed the young woman’s panicked eyes scanning the parking lot. As if Frances Billington was going to pop out from behind the single battered, rusty Toyota Celica that was parked there, like the world’s bitchiest jack-in-the-box and scream, Gotcha!
“You’d make a terrible criminal,” Carolina said as Leigh pushed past her and into the cover of the room.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Leigh said, setting the files on the bed where a much larger pile of paperwork was sprawled haphazardly.
“Depends on your perspective.” Carolina closed the door and double locked it, even though she suspected one well-placed kick would send it careening inward.
She noticed Leigh poking around her notes but didn’t mind because she’d realized that the oxycontin pills she’d bought from Frijole were still sitting on the nightstand, waiting to be discovered.
Carolina pushed herself between Leigh and the pills, deftly scooping them up and depositing them into her pocket. Then she turned to Leigh, who apparently hadn’t noticed a thing.
A terrible criminal, and maybe a terrible detective too, Carolina thought. Then she cursed herself for being so harsh. A girl who’d logged less than a year on the job could hardly be expected to notice every detail or be wary of someone she thought an ally. It took many years and a multitude of betrayals to reach that level of cynicism.
And being so cynical was hardly an asset.
“What’s in the bag?” Carolina asked, hoping she sounded cordial, and not relieved that her little stash of opiates hadn’t been spotted.
“Oh,” Leigh said, then looked at her own hand and the bag in it like she’d forgotten it was there. “I brought dessert!”
She sat the bag on the bed, opened it, and pulled out two hot fudge sundaes. They were loaded with whipped cream and cherries and contained approximately five thousand calories a piece.
“I haven’t even had dinner yet,” Carolina said, then scooped one up along with a blue plastic spoon. She dropped onto an exposed section on the bed, popped the clear plastic lid off the sundae, and dove in.
To her surprise and mild dismay, Leigh sat right next to her and did the same. Carolina considered directing the woman to the nearby chair that was going unused but decided to skip being rude. After all, Leigh had just brought her food and case files, risking the wrath of the FBI. The least Carolina could do was overlook her personal space being invaded. Besides, the first heaping bite of ice cream was so damned delicious she couldn’t even be mad.
“Fuck me, that’s good,” Carolina said, going for round two without pausing for a breath.
Leigh nodded. “It’s hand-churned. My favorite.”
Carolina could see why. She couldn’t even muster the mental clarity to talk. Eating this decadent dessert was too important and consumed all of her attention. It wasn’t until the bowl was half-empty that she managed to speak again.
“Did anyone ask you why you were pulling those files?” Carolina nodded toward the manilla folders Leigh had delivered.
Leigh shook her head. “Hank was already home for the day. Agent Billington was on the phone with someone in D.C., and I think Odie was sneaking a nap in the supply closet.”
“That poor old guy’s going to die in there one of these days, and no one will even realize until he starts to stink,” Carolina said.
Leigh threw her head back and broke into a peal of braying laughter . Carolina hadn’t thought it that amusing but enjoyed seeing a less-stressed side of Leigh. But she also seemed a little off. And when Leigh recovered from her laughter, Carolina had a better idea what was up.
“Have you been drinking?”
The girl’s glassy eyes blinked rapid-fire. “No.”
Carolina examined her, skeptical. “You’re over twenty-one. You’re allowed to drink, Leigh.”
Then Leigh smiled and giggled - no, she tittered like a schoolgirl. “I might have had a margarita or two. But I gave myself a breathalyzer. I’m under the limit.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Carolina said, amused at the spectacle.
“It was a very long day at work, and I needed to unwind,” Leigh explained without being asked.
“I’ve been there.” Carolina’s hand went to her pocket, feeling the small mound of pills pushing against the denim of her jeans. Yeah, she’d definitely been there.
“I don’t know how you can do it,” Leigh said, suddenly serious, if not sober. “Deal with these sickies and killers all the time.”
Carolina wasn’t sure either, but it had certainly been easier when a constant diet of oxy had dulled her emotions. “It’s just part of the job. I can’t say you get used to it, but--”
“I could never get used to it,” Leigh interrupted. “It’s horrible, imagining what those women went through, what they felt and thought. I mean, think how terrifying it must be, being taken by some psycho, not knowing what was going to happen to you?”
Carolina didn’t have to think about it. She’d lived through it. Although a cold-turkey detox had, in some ways, been even worse than her time chained up in a horse stall. Not that she intended to share that life experience with Leigh now, or probably ever.
“Yeah,” Carolina settled on. “It’s not pretty, but that’s why we’re here.”
“Why?” Leigh downed another mouthful of sundae.
“To stop the bad guys,” Carolina said, hoping that was a good enough answer to end this semi-drunken tangent and get the evening back on track.
It seemed to work. Leigh’s knitted brow returned to its normal state and she stared at Carolina with a dopey but peaceful smile. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” Leigh asked. Then, without waiting for an answer she leaned forward and planted her lips on Carolina’s.
Shocked into temporary paralysis, Carolina sat statue-still as Leigh put one hand behind her head, running her fingers through her hair. It was oddly relaxing, and Carolina had to admit, the girl was a hell of a kisser.
After a few seconds that felt like an hour, Leigh pulled back, not just smiling but full-on grinning. “What did you think of that?” she asked.
At a loss for words for one of the few times in her life, Carolina considered her options before saying, “You taste like hot fudge.”
Leigh giggled again and went in for a second attack, this time dropping a caressing hand onto Carolina’s breast.
It was Carolina’s turn to pull away, putting distance between them before their lips could meet for the second time. The wounded, embarrassed look on Leigh’s face made Carolina wish she was gay or at least bi, but she was neither.
“Leigh, I--”
But Leigh was jumping to her feet, a move that sent her sundae tumbling sideways and onto the bed where molten chocolate flowed onto the bedspread. Carolina had a second to think the that fabric had a buffet’s worth of food on it, before Leigh was at the door, fumbling with the locks with little success.
“I’m sorry,” Leigh muttered. “I’m usually good at reading people and I--”
Carolina was behind her, easing a hand on her shoulder. “I like you, Leigh. More than I like most people.”
Leigh risked a glance back, her face pinched like she expected to get slapped. But when she saw Carolina’s kind, reassuring eyes, she softened. “Really?”
“Yes. Really. I don’t have many friends in my life, but I consider you one. And I hope you think of me as a friend too.”
Leigh shrugged, sheepish. “Of course I do.”
“Good,” Carolina said. “So, let’s stay friends. This doesn’t have to be awkward. I promise.” Even though Carolina reveled in her ability to tell a good lie, that was the truth. All of it.
“Okay,” Leigh said. “I’d like that.”
Carolina pointed to the files. “Want to stay and go over those with me? See if we can come up with anything?”
Leigh seemed to consider it, then shook her head. “Maybe you can tell me about it tomorrow? I think I should head home. Jelly Jam wasn’t around after work, and I want to get her back inside so she eats her supper.”
It sounded like an excuse, but there wasn’t anything wrong with letting the girl leave with some of her dignity intact. “All right. How about you meet me at the shitty burger place for lunch?” Carolina suggested.
“It’s a da--” Leigh stopped herself. “I’ll see you there.”
“Good.” Carolina reached around her and unlocked the door. The humidity of the early evening spilled inside as it opened, along with a fly that made a fast track for the spilled food.
Leigh exited the room, moving to her car, a sensible green Prius.
“You’re okay to drive, right?” Carolina called after her.
Leigh flashed a thumbs up. “I’m good. See you at lunch.”
With that, she was in the car and backing out of the space. Satisfied that her friend was going to be okay, Carolina retreated into the room, locking the door, and then went on the hunt for that damned fly.
The files on the missing and mutilated animals were thin and scant on details. There were some hastily-written reports, a couple interviews with pet owners, and photocopied pictures of the animals that had been found.
There was an unseemly mixture. Small dogs, too many cats to count, a few rabbits and something that might have been a squirrel or mink. Some were likely strays or wild, but several had collars and tags. One Siamese cat even wore the tattered remains of a pink sweater, but in the photo it had gone crimson with blood.