by Tony Urban
Turning toward the source, Carolina saw Jelly Jam in an awkward sitting position, her belly exposed and blood seeping from her incision. The cat had one stitch in its mouth and was ripping at it with all its tiny might.
“Stop that,” she said, hurrying to the cat. “You shouldn’t be doing that!” She stroked her hand over the cat’s back and down the soft fur, trying to distract it. The cat paid her no attention and kept at her business. “Come on, cat, knock it off.”
When Carolina noticed the incision was open in spots a wave of panic washed over her. Visions of the cat’s guts spilling onto the comforter and becoming yet another stain that would never be washed away filled her mind.
“Oh fuck, fuck. What am I supposed to do?” Carolina asked aloud. This was why she didn’t have pets. She wasn’t responsible. She wasn’t meant to be in charge of other living creatures.
She grabbed her phone and dialed four-one-one for the Information Hotline. She waited, listening to the automated voice, then said, “Hopkins Veterinary Clinic.” Another listen, another wait. “Connect me.”
The cat’s head whipped side to side, gnawing at its sutures and another thread popped. The incision opened a fraction of an inch further.
Fuck my life, she thought as she waited for the ringing to end and the call to be answered.
Then, it was. “Hopkins Veterinary Clinic answering service,” the woman on the other end of the line droned.
“Yeah, hi, have an emergency right now. I have a cat. She had surgery at your clinic a few days ago and she’s pulled out her stitches. I need to get her in and have this fixed immediately.”
The voice on the other line sighed. “I’m sorry, but there are no vets in the office right now. We can only schedule appointments.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. This cat is about to be guts-out on my comforter,” Carolina said. “Don’t you have an on-call doctor or something?”
“No, ma’am. We do not offer that service. The nearest emergency vet is in Columbus.”
“First, don’t call me ma’am, I’m not that old. Second, can’t you call someone in? Money is no object.”
Wow, she even surprised herself with that one. Throwing down dollars like a gangster all the while staying in a zero-star motel.
“I’m sorry, but no,” the woman said, not sounding sorry in the least. Carolina could hear the smile in her voice and pictured her smirking and laughing silently at her plight.
Yelling and panicking wasn’t working so she’d have to try groveling. “Please, miss, I’m going to have a uterus on my pillow any minute,” she said, knowing she might be exaggerating, but it felt like it could be true. Besides, she was never above a useful lie.
The woman from the answering service paused, giving Carolina a smidgeon of hope.
“You have no idea how important this cat is to its owner. It’s her whole life. And she’s going through a lot right now.” She might be getting slaughtered in the forest as we speak, Carolina thought, but didn’t add.
Another pause, then, “Sometimes Dr. Mitch saw patients after hours. But he resigned recently and--”
“I know him,” Carolina said. “Give me his address. I’ll take the cat to him.”
“I, uh… I don’t know. I’m not allowed to give out personal information like that.”
“I’m employed by the sheriff’s department,” Carolina said, piling another lie onto this tale of woe. “And I won’t tell him you gave out his address. I promise. This cat needs a doctor. She can’t wait.”
The woman stayed silent for so long Carolina thought a road trip to Columbus was in her future. Then, “Three four seven Sycamore Lane.”
“Thank you.” Carolina snapped her phone shut. She gingerly grabbed the cat and moved it toward the carrier. To her relief, the animal was too busy trying to disembowel itself to put up a fight.
At least she scored one win on this epically shitty day.
Chapter 58
Approaching the cabin from the west near sunset was a calculated decision on Billington’s part. If Terrance Mitchell spotted them and decided to open fire, he’d have a harder time with the glare of the setting sun in his eyes. And if they waited any longer, night would fall, and they would be blind on his territory.
The trek to the spot was long and rugged, but they drove close enough that they could see the cabin through the trees. It sat in a small clearing, the land around the foundation clear, almost barren.
You don’t want anyone sneaking up on you, Billington thought as she took it in from the lead SUV.
Once they broke past the trees, they would be exposed out in the open. They could stay where they were and approach on foot, but that left them a good thirty yards to cover and all the while they’d be sitting ducks if Mitchell became aware of their intrusion.
“Everyone follows my lead,” she said into her walkie. Then, to the agent driving the SUV, “Drive right to that door and park parallel to the structure. We can use the vehicles for cover if he starts shooting.”
The agent obeyed without a word.
Billington didn’t think it would come to that. If everything was going according to plan, Terrance Mitchell had no idea they were coming for him and the warrant she’d secured was a no-knock. They’d break down the door, storm inside, and take him by surprise.
It would all go according to plan. According to her plan. She was sure of it because she’d done this all before. Countless times during her twenty-plus-year career. When podunk towns found themselves with a problem they couldn’t solve, it was up to Special Agent Frances Billington to bail them out and this would be no different.
* * *
The cabin was small and run-down. A tarp covered half the roof, and the front porch was collapsing in on itself. Once upon a time this might have been a cozy retreat in the woods, but that time was long past. It looked infested with rot, termites, and evil.
The SUV carrying Billington stopped less than two feet from the front door. The other vehicles arrived on either side, but she was the first out. She was leading the charge even if that meant putting her life in danger. This was what she was made to do.
Without a modicum of fear, Billington charged the front door while simultaneously signaling to another set of agents to circle around for a rear exit. Guns were drawn and at the ready as everyone claimed their respective entry points.
With their warrant there was no requirement to announce themselves and the days of Come out with your hands up were long gone as far as Billington was concerned. On the off chance that Terrence Mitchell had Deputy Benner inside as a potential hostage, a surprise entry would give that woman a better chance at survival.
Billington stood at the front door, took a breath, then kicked it in.
The frame splintered and the crumbling door fell in pieces rather than opening. Either way, access was granted and Billington stepped through the egress pistol leveled, safety off, finger on the trigger, ready to fire.
Chapter 59
The door opened revealing a very confused woman in her late thirties.
“Uh, may I help you?” she asked as her brows knitted together.
Carolina stood in her doorway, holding the cat carrier while Jelly Jam meowed mournfully inside.
She could only imagine what a bizarre scene it must make. Showing up at a stranger's house with a bleeding cat. But Carolina did it anyway. She’d already failed Leigh. She wasn’t about to fail Leigh’s cat, too.
“I didn’t know where to go, and the answering service gave me Doctor Mitch’s address,” Carolina said apologetically, not caring that she broke her promise not to rat out the receptionist.
The confused woman in the doorway was average in every way. The type you pass a dozen times on each trip to the grocery store or restaurant without ever remembering.
There was one memorable trait, though, and it only took Carolina a second to notice. A white, jagged scar trickled down the side of her neck before disappearing below the collar of her shirt
.
Despite having plenty of scars of her own and knowing better than to stare, Carolina must have done so anyway as the woman instinctively raised her hand to her chest, pulling her shirt up as far as it would go, covering as much of the old wound as possible.
That’s one hell of a first impression you make, Carolina told herself. Staring at this kind stranger’s blemish like an unabashed asshole.
To change the subject, she held the cat carrier up and extended it toward the woman like Balthazar gifting frankincense to baby Jesus. “She’s bleeding,” Carolina said.
“What happened?” the woman asked, eyeing the cat with concern. Some of the uneasiness had left her face and she shifted into helpful mode.
“She’s chewing and pulling at her stitches and her incision has started to open. It’s my friend’s cat and I... Well, I’m not very familiar with cats, so I may have freaked out a little,” Carolina admitted.
“Mitch is out right now, but he always keeps extra supplies on hand,” the woman said, then backed away from the doorway. “Please come in.”
Carolina stepped inside the house, which was rich with the aroma of food cooking, maybe a pot roast from the smell of it. Her stomach growled in response, and she realized she hadn’t eaten anything since the bacon double grease burger at lunch.
“I’m Gina, by the way,” the woman said as she moved down a narrow hallway, leaving Carolina alone in the silence of the stranger’s home.
She swayed back and forth, looking at paintings and photographs on the walls. Most were nature shots. Two moose wading through the murky waters of a pond. Fox pups playing in a pile of fall leaves. A raccoon raiding a bird feeder. A mother black bear and two cubs crossing a rural road. The people who lived here obviously loved nature, but Carolina supposed that was to be expected from a country veterinarian.
On a mantle above a fireplace - a rarely used fireplace judging from how clean it was - sat more traditional photos. Images of the man and woman who lived here. The largest of them was an eight-by-ten in a chincy gold frame, a wedding portrait.
From the styles, Carolina guessed the photo to be fifteen years old, maybe twenty. Gina’s dress was long and strapless with a mermaid cut. Beading trailed from the collar to her waist. It wasn’t Carolina’s cup of tea, but then again, no wedding dress was.
The couple appeared blissfully happy, the kind of happiness you only experience when you’re young and stupid and don’t know what life has in store. Carolina noticed that Gina had more skin showing in this old photograph and there was no scar around her neck and collar bone.
Mitch wore a tuxedo with a necktie instead of a bow tie. He was clean-shaven and his hair was closely cropped to his head. A far cry from the man she had seen at the vet office. He looked much younger without the mane of hair and beard.
She continued on to other pictures. In the most recent shot, Mitch had his shaggier appearance, but not the full-on mountain man schtick he was spotting these days. Gina smiled in the image, but it was more forced than the photo taken at their wedding. Carolina saw that a small edge of the scar reached above her high-necked blouse. A mismatch of makeup had been applied, trying to cover it, but it still showed.
That’s when she noticed their hands. In what should have been a pose where they held hands, one on top of the other, Mitch had just one hand between Gina’s pair. The other arm was dropped to his side. Carolina followed it down and saw it ended-mid forearm. Where his arm should have continued on was a gnarled mass of tissue, still healing and purple.
Then it clicked.
Footprints. Handprints.
And a walking stick.
But it wasn’t a walking stick at all. The killer had been hunting his victims on all fours. Because he viewed himself as an animal and they were his prey.
Just like Lou Weaver’s sheep.
That made her think of Lou’s dogs, Jack and Ripley, and how he worried about them. The remembrance of his dogs made her recall Katie Eddows’s dog, Rico. And the magnet on Phyllis Arthurs’s refrigerator, the one that had said ‘my cat is purrfect.’
At least two of the murdered women had been pet owners.
And Leigh had just had her cat spayed.
With sickening dread, it all came together.
Carolina slowly crouched down, setting the carrier holding Jelly Jam next to her feet. She felt for her pistol that was holstered on her hip, her shirt covering it. She flicked the safety off, her mind running at lightspeed.
“Gina?” she called out.
“Yeah?” Gina answered, her voice echoey and distant like she was in a far room or maybe the basement.
“Where is Mitch anyway? I thought the clinic closed at six.”
There was a moment of silence, and finally, Gina answered. “He’s at his cabin. Well, his father’s cabin. He’s got this romanticized idea of getting it back to how it looked when he was a kid and turning it into our weekend getaway spot.”
Carolina looked around, debating on how much Gina actually knew. By the way she was acting, she was probably clueless. And why wouldn’t she be? The wives of serial killers were almost always in the dark when it came to their husbands’ perverse predilections.
Still, she needed to wade the waters gently and not tip her off.
“That sounds nice,” Carolina said. “Is it near here?”
“It’s out on Carter Mountain.”
“I’m not from Hopkins. Is that near Silver Gap?” Carolina gritted her teeth, hoping Gina wouldn’t get suspicious and connect Silver Gap to the murders. To the dump site which had been plastered all over the news.
The woman stayed silent long enough that Carolina was sure she’d blown it.
Then, “I don’t know. Mitch always drives when we go up there. I’m awful with directions.”
Carolina breathed easier. “You know, I’d really like for him to check out the cat and make sure she isn’t brewing an infection or something worse. If you give me the address, I can drive out there. Save you the trouble of finding those supplies.”
“Well, if you’re sure. I mean, I can put a bandage on, but I’m certainly not the expert he is.” Footsteps sounded, approaching, returning. Then Gina reappeared, brushing a cobweb out of her hair. “I swear, don’t let a man put something away if you hope to find it ever again,” she said, chuckling.
“One of the reasons I’m single,” Carolina said, trying to add her own laugh and only half succeeding. “Can I get that address?”
Gina nodded. “You bet. I know it’s on some paperwork in Mitch’s study. Are you sure you don’t mind waiting?”
“Not at all.”
With that, Gina was leaving again. Thank God, Carolina thought. Schmoozing it up with girl-talk and jokes was not her style. But she needed to get the information. She heard Gina trot up the stairs to the second floor.
“Gina, I’m going to take the cat out to my van and get it buckled down. Just give me a shout when you have that address. No hurry.”
“Will do,” Gina called from out of sight.
Carolina scooped up the cat carrier and hurried out of the house, closing the door behind her. She didn’t stop until she was beside the van, sliding the door open. While she sat the cat inside, she grabbed her phone and punched in a familiar number.
“Hello beautiful,” Max’s deep voice said on the other end. “I’m guessing you need a favor.”
“Shove the chit chat,” she said. “I need you to hack some records for me at Hopkins Veterinary Clinic. You can do that, right?”
Max groaned. “That’s illegal. And I do not discuss illegal activities over the phone.”
“Fuck off.”
She heard the keys clacking in the background and knew he was going to help her despite his protests. “I’d question you, give you some shit about being selfish, but you sound strange. Even for you. Everything okay?”
“I’m fine for now, Max. You’ve been following the case, right?”
“Working on an article for my blog as we speak.
I’m sure I can count on your inside information for some extra flavor, right?”
“We’ll see. But first, I need to know if all of the women who were killed had pets at that clinic. When you access the records, call me back.”
“Again, I remind you that what you are asking for is illegal, so please obtain that information via the proper sources.” Then more keyboard tapping followed.
“And Max?” she asked.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.” She ended the call.
But there was one other person she needed to reach out to. She knew Billington would be occupied, but the woman had to know what was going on.
It rang once. Then twice.
And then she heard the click and Billington’s voice on the other end. She was so shocked she almost dropped her phone.
“If you’re calling for good news, I have none to offer,” Billington said. “This was a dead end. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Deputy Benner, have you?”
As Carolina opened her mouth to respond she felt the sharp pain in her ear. The phone slipped out of her hand and she stumbled forward, smacking into the side of her van and bloodying her nose in the process.
An incessant bell began to ring, but it went silent soon enough as Carolina was unconscious before she landed on the pavement.
Chapter 60
A blast of cold water jolted her awake. She had no idea where she was or what had happened. Looking up, she saw a solitary bulb swaying from the ceiling. Pipes were above her head and a small drop of metallic-smelling water splashed onto her face.
Leigh’s head throbbed and she tasted remnants of blood in her mouth. She tried to stand up but could only make it to a seated position before the chain stretched taut. She scooted her butt backward, still trying to piece together what had happened and where she was.
And then she saw the outline of a man in front of her. She wiped her eyes, trying to clear them of the disoriented blur. She focused, but everything was still shrouded in a haze.