Fatal Intuition

by Makenzi Fisk

  “That direction.” Allie pointed north. Somewhere out there, sweet little Victoria, whose only misdeed was sneaking out for candy with a boy, was in danger.

  “Do you want to find a path, or try the helicopter thing from here?” Gina took the pack from her.

  Dread shrouded Allie’s body. Her beloved dog’s final resting place was in these woods, marked by a rock cairn to keep out predators. Predators like the wolves that had killed Fiona. Now there was a different kind of predator stalking through the forest. A predator with no boundaries or conscience. Nothing good happened in this neck of the woods. She backed away.

  “Let’s fly it from here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Derek, did you hear the radio transmission?” Erin tapped him on the shoulder. Curled on his side, sweating like that, he worried her. He’d perked up since consuming a bottle of water and two energy bars, but he still trembled like he was coming down from an adrenaline rush.

  “You’re in the clear. Z-man said a guard from Stillwater’s in custody for Badger’s murder.”

  Derek blinked and he focused on Erin, straining at the cable ties that bound his shaking wrists to the poles. “I friggin’ told you I didn’t do it, Ericsson, and you can tell Lizard Boy I’ve got no idea how my name got into Badger’s pocket. I wouldn’t meet with that bastard even if hell froze over. He had it in for me since I was inside.”

  The note in the dead man’s pocket had been confidential information gleaned from the unlawfully obtained police forensics report. Bert in Ident would not be pleased that his best friend Ernie had compromised the case.

  Zimmerman slitted his eyes, ignoring the dig about his reptile collection. “The guard had been working with Ethan Lewis to smuggle drugs inside, and when Ethan started a side business, he decided to take out the competition. His lawyer turned over a handgun and blood spattered expandable baton.” The tall officer towered over the hastily constructed stretcher. “By the way, Lewis was coming for you. The guard who killed him might have saved your life in the process.”

  “Lucky me.” Derek tugged his wrists against the restraints. “Now let me loose.”

  “This confession hasn’t been verified, and we still need to have a chat, you and I.” Zimmerman poked a finger at Derek’s defiant chest. “Once the medics have a look at you, that is.”

  “I ain’t gonna say a damn thing. Remember what happened last time I had a run in with you two yahoos?”

  “You may be clear on the murder, but what about this?” Erin pulled the police report from her bag.

  By the car, Ernie craned his neck to see what she was holding. He stayed put, smart enough to have figured it out.

  She had no business speaking on behalf of the local police, but right now, she didn’t care. “The department might be willing to cut you some slack for bribery of an officer if you cooperate.” All she wanted was to get Victoria back, safe and sound. “If you don’t, you might wind up in prison again.”

  Derek eyed the papers in her hand. Sweat beaded his forehead.

  She leaned in, her voice sharp. “Where’s Lily? Where’s she taking my niece?”

  “How the hell should I know? I ain’t seen her.” He glanced at the report again. “Maybe I could remember, but my wrists hurt so much I can’t think.”

  “All right, no ties.” Zimmerman snapped out his lock blade knife and sliced through them. “But you’re not going anywhere.” He crossed his arms, muscles bulging under uniform sleeves.

  “Where’s this place?” Erin resisted the urge to grab Derek by his lying throat. “Stop wasting our time.”

  “Remember the spot on the river where we, uh, danced ?”

  “Danced? You asshole. You gave me this.” She pulled up her sleeve where the pale scar snaked across her bicep. “And you nearly brained me.”

  “Yeah, well, you did this.” Like siblings one-upping each other, he lifted his chin to show the permanent flattening of his trachea. “You messed up my singin’ voice. The church choir won’t have me.”

  “Church, right,” Lockwood huffed behind them. “Come on kids, can we get past this?”

  Gonzales chipped in his two-bits’ worth. “She doesn’t want to find another missing kid dumped in a plastic bag.”

  Lockwood stiffened and Erin shot him a look that would have melted iron. If missing kids were Lockwood’s kryptonite, he should know better than to mess with old wounds.

  Derek pointed to where the late afternoon sun still glinted off the metal at the end of the plank. “You dig that buckle out for me and I’m yours, gentle as a lamb.”

  “I’ll do it,” Zimmerman growled. He stalked out and got to his knees. With his expandable baton, he lifted a mud-covered item into the air. “Is this what you wanted?”

  “Awww.” Derek’s chest caved in as if his lungs had collapsed. He sank back on the stretcher, skin pale.

  The urgency in Zimmerman’s voice brought Erin running. “What is it?” She tightrope-walked down the plank until it threatened to overturn with their combined weight. Lockwood and Gonzales stayed behind, their frowns keeping Derek in his place.

  Zimmerman held up an object, a bag of some sort. On the strap was a metal buckle, the horseshoe-style westerners liked. Clots of muck plopped onto his shined boots. “It’s a ladies’ bag.” As if the taboo about men looking into women’s purses still applied, he tossed it to Erin.

  She nearly tipped them both into the swamp when she grabbed the bag and her weight shifted. “It’s full of mud, but there’s something inside.” She smeared black ooze from a plastic covered folder and slid out a single card. “It’s a Minnesota Driver’s License.” Much of the surface had been destroyed but, notorious for its resistance to the degradation of time and elements, the plastic card still held the image of a young woman. Beside the smiling mouth, Erin read the owner’s name aloud. “Tiffany Schmidt.”

  Derek’s howl, a feral keening, reverberated through his damaged vocal chords, and sent goose bumps across Erin’s skin.

  Zimmerman knelt and scooped handfuls of mud from the hole with his bare hands. “There’s more,” he whispered. “I think…”

  “You can’t dig that by hand. It’s too much.”

  His head swung around to the heavy duty machinery trapped in the bog. “I played with one of those once. My uncle had a contract to demo a building. What if I can get it started?” He stood and, without warning, vaulted across and attached himself like a spider to the side of the cab. Erin dropped to her knees to avoid tipping. He beetled over, yanked open the door, and folded himself into the driver’s seat.

  “The key’s in it!” he called out. “Hope there’s gas.”

  “What’s he doing?” Lockwood hollered, likely none too pleased at having to babysit a sweaty, howling alcoholic.

  “Starting the excavator!” The machine squealed and coughed once before going silent. Zimmerman whooped. “Come on, baby.” The engine sputtered and turned over. He tried again and it caught, an erratic rumble that threatened to quit if challenged.

  Erin dashed back down the plank when the boom came around and the bucket shuddered on its arm, inches from her head.

  “Sorry!” he yelled. This time, the boom rose and traveled smoothly toward the little hole he’d dug with his hands. He worked the levers to scoop out sludge.

  Erin edged back out for a better view. Something was dangling from the bucket’s steel teeth. “It’s a stick, or a branch or something. Try again!” she shouted.

  She peered into the ragged hole as he was preparing for a second pass. It was slowly refilling with water, but protruding from the bottom was a distinctive shape that made her pulse skyrocket. She waved her arms like a flight deck crewman trying to abort a carrier landing. “Stop!”

  The boom halted mid-air, bucket gently rocking above her. Zimmerman poked his head out. “What’s wrong?”

  “You need to stop.” She motioned him over with a subtle shake of her head.

  He killed the motor, and she crouche
d low to brace for impact when he made an awkward leap back. One size-fourteen boot beside the other, he shuffled over and gave a low whistle. He glanced over his shoulder at Derek.

  In its boggy grave, a human skeleton rested on one side, arm extended as if to ward off death. A crack zigzagged across the skull from ear to forehead, the temporal area, she was sure a pathologist had once called it. “I think the skull might be fractured,” she whispered.

  Derek sat up and wiped his eyes with grimy fingers. “What did you say?”

  Zimmerman hooked a thumb through her belt loop, and she stretched as far as possible, but could not quite grasp the glimmer of gold encircling the skeleton’s left ring finger.

  “He gave her an engagement ring,” Erin breathed, “right before she disappeared.”

  “You realize that this makes him a suspect,” he whispered back.

  “Technically.” She shrugged, but she knew who was really responsible. Allie was always right. Heel to toe, she walked back to solid footing with Zimmerman right behind her. Derek raised teary eyes when they approached.

  She wiped muddy hands on her pants and tried not to think about all the swamp creatures teeming in the organic matter now seeping into her skin. She’d become a petri dish. She’d turn over her entire bank account right now for soap and water. How would she make it back to town like this? How could she concentrate?

  She scraped her fingernails with the seam of her pocket, hoping it would remove most of the grime. “You told me you gave Tiffany a ring the last time you saw her. Can you describe it?”

  Derek pounded his fist in the dirt. “Tell me, goddammit.”

  Zimmerman stepped in. “There are what appear to be human remains. We won’t be able to make an ID until we get a proper recovery team out here. You’ll need to stay in custody in the meantime.”

  “Da fuck I will,” Derek muttered, eyes hard as flint.

  Zimmerman stepped back and thumbed his mike to call it in.

  “What the heck?” Deputy Chief Williams bellowed back, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’d think this was New York City, with all this shee-it goin’ on. Are you sure?”

  Lockwood smirked. It sounded like something she might say.

  Zimmerman lowered the speaker volume, but Erin had a pretty good idea how the conversation went. The corpse isn’t going anywhere. Put a man on it. We’ll get to it when we get to it.

  Erin needed information before Derek completely melted down. She touched his shoulder, and he kicked out in animal fury.

  “She killed her!” he screamed, voice crackling with the force of his words. “She killed her own mother. I should have known. All the lies upon lies.”

  “Derek. Calm down, we won’t know what happened until…”

  “Oh, everything’s gone to hell.”

  “We need to find her, Derek. Where’s Lily?”

  “I’ve got nothing left.”

  “Where is she?” Erin snarled in his face. “You owe me. Now tell me!”

  One eye on Zimmerman, Derek whispered. “Only place I can think of is about a quarter of a mile from the spot where we danced. There’s a little creek that empties into the river, with an old trapper’s shack hidden a ways in beside it. It’s half fallen down but she liked it there.” Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he mumbled through trembling hands. “You can reach it through the woods, but it’s rough going. Boat is easier.”

  “I know where to look.” Erin remembered when she had chased Derek down the river. There were footprints in the sand beside a tributary creek. She’d almost followed them before Allie had insisted they press on in their pursuit of Derek. That was back when they were under the awful misconception that Lily was a victim. A victim! Not for one second was that kid a victim. After that day, everything had changed.

  Zimmerman shook his head at the man bawling at his feet. He turned and signaled Ernie, who was probably still calculating how many days’ suspension he’d get, or if he’d be fired outright, for what he’d done. Ernie jumped to attention and came within earshot. “Cuff him.” He jerked a thumb to Derek.

  Given a chance to redeem himself, Ernie gave a curt nod and assumed a position beside his previous mentor turned prisoner. The FBI agents backed off, eager to be free of their informal sentry duty.

  The radio squawked and a seven year old boy’s voice came over, loud and clear. “This is home base with an urgent message for Z, um, for Sergeant Z.”

  “Jimmy? What are you doing on the police channel? You shouldn’t be playing with this.” Zimmerman exchanged a questioning glance with Erin, who shrugged her shoulders.

  “But I have an important message for Auntie Erin.” The boy sounded offended that his hero would ever think he’d mess around.

  “What’s going on, buddy?” Erin spoke into the mike when Zimmerman held it out.

  “Allie said she needs you to come to the place where she drowned her car. She said you’d know.”

  Erin sucked in her breath. “That’s not too far from the place Derek told me about.”

  “I’m going with you. I have to.” Zimmerman considered the man on the ground and hauled him to his feet. “You’re looking better, Derek. Maybe you were hungry.” He cuffed him, and locked him in the back of the cruiser.

  Then he took Ernie aside. “Officer Jenssen. You will guard him and wait for the ambulance. They should be here any minute, and so should Rickby. He’ll take custody of the prisoner or escort the ambulance to hospital, if that’s the way it goes.”

  “I understand.” Head down, Ernie was a man seriously worried about his future.

  “When Rickby’s gone, you will stay here and guard the scene until a team arrives. Give me your radio. You can use the one in your car if you need to order a pizza.” Neither laughed at his joke. “We’ll discuss the issue of the wayward police report later, but I don’t need to remind you that the rest of your career is hanging in the wind.”

  “No, sir.”

  Zimmerman slid into the back seat with Agent Lockwood and exchanged opinions on a printed map while Erin drove, tires bouncing from pothole to rut on the dirt road. Quiet, and nearly invisible as usual, Gonzales rode shotgun up front.

  Gina waved Erin down when the FBI sedan, with its enhanced suspension system, ground its way over the last of the rocks embedded in the dirt road. They’d left a trail of engine fluid in their wake and might never get this car started once it seized up.

  Zimmerman was first out the door. “Darlin’ what are you doing out here? It’s not safe.” He scooped Gina in his arms and hugged her tight.

  “We had to help.” She pointed to Allie who was staring at the smart phone controller. In the sky, a high pitched mosquito buzzed, and the aerial drone obediently rotated side-to-side in a search grid.

  “Good idea, ladies,” he said, peering at the screen, “but I’m not sure how useful it will be in this dense bush.”

  “Like finding a needle in a haystack, I’d say.” Lockwood spotted the truck in the trees and hurried over with Gonzales to examine it. “There’s a purple bike helmet on the floor. She’s been here.”

  Zimmerman’s radio squealed an alert that was reserved for emergencies, and Erin’s posture straightened.

  “Sarge. Do you copy?” It was Rickby, the officer assigned to take custody of Ernie’s prisoner.

  “Go ahead,” Zimmerman replied and everyone else fell silent.

  “Uh, when I arrived, I found Ernie, uh, incapacitated.”

  “What the heck does that mean?”

  “Uh, he was, uh, handcuffed to a tree.”

  “What about the prisoner?” Zimmerman could guess where this was going. He’d seen stupid cop movies too.

  “The prisoner’s gone, escaped in Ernie’s squad car.”

  He looked at the sky, at the moving dot, and kept his thumb off the mike. “He had one task to keep his job. Ten minutes prisoner supervision.”

  “Ambulance has come and gone, Sarge. What do you want me to do?”

  Zimmerman
scrubbed his forehead with his knuckles, and then brought up the radio. “I need you to take over scene control out there, and I’m asking you to relieve Officer Jenssen of his sidearm and his badge. He is to present himself in the Chief’s office first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Uh, how will he get home? It’s five miles to town.”

  “Tell him to walk.” Zimmerman jammed his radio into its holder and took a deep breath. “Where were we?”

  “I trust that Allie’s idea will be useful,” Erin said. “But I think we also need boots on the ground. There is a shack they may be headed for and I’d estimate it at between two to three miles in, beside a tributary creek. I’ll try to find a path along the river and it might be a good idea for at least a couple of us to take the car and backtrack to the next forestry road. The map shows there's a trail from that direction, so you should be able to find another route.”

  Zimmerman handed the radio he’d appropriated from Officer Jenssen to Erin. “Let’s split up. Agent Lockwood can ride with me.” He addressed her like a southern gentleman. “I don’t expect you to trudge through the mosquito-infested swamp, ma’am. Gonzales can go on foot with Erin.”

  His sincerity disarmed her, and Lockwood practically curtsied like a lady. “Why, thank you.”

  Gonzales’ jaw dropped. “Does anyone have insect repellant? I get these really itchy—”

  “We’ll walk fast,” Erin said and started toward the river. “It’ll be dark soon.” Animals needed water, and there was almost always some sort of trail to give them access. She stopped to examine a cluster of broken branches at the entrance to an overgrown trail. Yes, they’d come this way.

  Gonzales slapped at his neck and skidded after her in his leather-soled shoes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Leslie is a girl’s name.” I like to make T’s neck flush red so I can zoom in on it with my camera phone. He’s still covered in swamp goo from the chest down and his mood is getting darker by the minute. They say you should never poke the bear, but panthers aren’t afraid of bears. “So is Madison.” The mottled color spreads to his cheeks. “And Trenton, that’s kinda pussy too, isn’t it?”