by Dan Padavona
“Yes, and I told Sheriff Lowe. I figured I’d hold the delivery until she got back, but Marianne said to drop it off before she went to bed.”
Bell nodded.
“What did you do next?”
“Well, I saw the lights on and figured she was still awake, probably all nervous about the flight, so I knocked. After a while, I started to worry someone broke in and robbed the place, and maybe they were still here. That’s when I thought I’d better call Sheriff Lowe.”
“Mrs Hinchey, do you know anyone who had reason to harm Marianne Garza or vandalize her property?”
Hinchey scrunched her brow and glanced between the sheriff and agents.
“What? No, not Marianne.”
“No jealous ex-boyfriends or someone she argued with?”
“Marianne went through a messy divorce a few years ago.”
“Messy how?”
Hinchey’s eyes flew among the agents as if she’d said something wrong.
“I didn’t want to say nothing because she’s a nice lady, always has a kind word for you, but she lost custody of her girl. Husband took the daughter to Florida.”
Bell looked at Gardy.
“Is that who she was going to Florida to visit? Her husband and daughter?”
“I assume so.”
They thanked Hinchey, who shot furtive glances over her shoulder as she hurried to her pickup.
“Nice lady,” Lowe said, bobbing his head at Hinchey. His thumbs curled in his belt loops. “Lots of good folk around here, Agents Gardy and Bell. And you fed them to a shark.”
Gardy raised his hands.
“Sheriff, please.”
“No, no. It’s my turn to speak. You knew Logan Wolf was here and you did nothing. Tell me, agent. If a tornado was about to sweep through Pronti, would you counsel me to keep it quiet so as not to panic everyone?”
“I phoned Quantico. They’re sending agents from Kansas City and Oklahoma City as we speak.”
“Well, then. I hope they’re more helpful than the two of you.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
The wind chewed into Marianne’s skin and found her bones. It was the cold that snapped her awake and out of a dream in which she drowned, pulled under by a black and frenzied sea.
She was inside a dilapidated barn. Panicking, she tugged and found her arms bound to a wooden support beam. The timber groaned as she struggled.
Time and neglect had torn the roof. Half the slats were gone, the night sky peeking in at her. The door hung cockeyed from one rusty hinge. Loose planks danced when the wind gusted.
And it was dark. So dark.
She twisted her arms and tugged, but the bindings were strong. Wherever she was, her abductor felt confident her screams wouldn’t be heard.
Something moved in the dark. Inside the barn.
Marianne’s breath flew in-and-out as the hulking shape shifted and drew closer. A monster sprung out of the dark. A nightmare face oozing pus.
She screamed until she tasted blood on the back of her throat.
She realized the hideous thing was only a cow. Blisters dotted the cow’s head, and a milky substance dripped from its mouth. Marianne had been around farms long enough to recognize foot-and-mouth disease. It wandered forward and back as though stuck in an endless loop.
A stable door created a barrier between Marianne and the cow. The animal made a snorting noise and lay down in the hay.
Marianne had never been so cold, not even when she snowshoed with her ex-husband in the Colorado mountains and became lost after sunset. Or maybe it was fear that raised gooseflesh on her skin and made her quiver uncontrollably.
An assortment of ancient-looking scythes, sickles, and pitchforks hung from the wall. They moved on their own with the wind.
The hay was up to her shins, brown and soiled. Allergens tickled her nose. She stood and listened for a long time but didn’t hear the man.
The Skinner.
As much as she tried to bury the thought, it kept crawling out of a shallow grave.
The belief her kidnapper was a serial killer brought the fight out in Marianne. She struggled with the ropes and twisted her arms. The beam made a squealing, crackling noise that ran to the roof. A jagged slat broke off and tumbled down. She ducked before it could gouge her face. It splintered against the ground and crumbled, the wood rotted through. If she wasn’t careful, the entire roof would come down on her head.
Nausea from the Chloroform sapped her strength. The exertion roiled her stomach, and Marianne bent over and dry heaved. A long string of spittle connected her lips with the hay.
The cow grunted. Marianne slumped to the ground and sobbed. This wasn’t the way she was meant to die.
She closed her eyes and imagined herself in Orlando where her ex-husband had custody of Erin. Exhaustion overcame her, and she fell into a shallow sleep.
“Wake up, Mommy.”
Marianne’s eyes sprung open. Erin sat before her in the hay, legs crossed. Only it couldn’t be her daughter, for Erin was twelve now, and this was the nine-year-old version, complete with wide, searching eyes and braces that glittered despite the darkness. Marianne shook her head, not as a negative but in the way one does when shaking the cobwebs free. The day after tomorrow Marianne was supposed to take Erin to Disney World, their first quality time spent together in three years.
“Why…how did you get here?”
Erin scrunched her brow.
“What do you mean? I’ve been here the whole time.”
“No. You can’t be here, honey. You’re in Florida.”
“You never came like you said you would, so we came to find you. Daddy says you always break your promises.”
Marianne glanced over Erin’s shoulder but didn’t see anyone else inside the barn.
“No…I did my best. I really tried this time.”
A branch snapped outside. Marianne’s eyes shot to the open doorway.
“You need to run. Run before he comes back.”
“Not unless you come with me.”
Marianne’s head slumped. Too heavy. Her eyelids fluttered, and when she lifted her eyes, she was shocked her daughter was still there. No, this couldn’t be Erin. The real Erin hated her, blamed her for the divorce. Explaining why she left Jeremy, who cheated on Marianne, would only drive another wedge between them. Which is why Marianne wanted to spend the day with Erin at Disney, just the two of them. Warm sun and shared laughs.
Marianne had stopped drinking. Six weeks sober, her peace made with God. Someone once told her it took sixty-six days to form a good habit or squash a bad one, and dammit, she was almost there.
“Why don’t you get up and come with me, Mommy?”
A tear crawled down Marianne’s cheek. Picked up dirt and grime and became gray before it dripped off her chin. She twisted her body so the bindings were visible.
“I can’t.”
“How did you get all tied up?”
“I don’t know. He hurt me, I think.”
Erin nodded once. Marianne looked over her shoulder at the infinite darkness. For the first time, Marianne caught a glimpse of a distant light. It only appeared when the wind moved the tree branches. The man’s house.
‘He’s coming, Mommy. You need to get your hands free.”
“I’m trying, baby. He tied the ropes too tight.” Marianne blinked. “Erin, is Daddy here, too? I need you to run and get Daddy. Tell him I need help.”
“Daddy is angry.”
“Why? Why is Daddy angry, Erin?”
Then her twelve-year-old daughter knelt before her. The girl’s eyes were hard and tinged with derision.
“Because you’re a drunk, a monster.”
“No. Don’t say that.”
“And when he comes, you’ll get what you deserve. You know who he is, Mom.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“You should be scared. Nobody escapes The Skinner.”
A frigid mist blew through the slats and wet her face. She brushed the wate
r on her shoulder, and Erin was gone.
Marianne collapsed and hung suspended by the ropes. Her tears wet the hay as a shadow moved past the barn door.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
As Bell expected, Sheriff Lowe pulled a power-play and took over the investigation. They were lucky the sheriff allowed them to search the house after the deputies walked through.
Muffled voices from the deputies and sheriff moaned from behind the closed door as Bell and Gardy entered the foyer. Deputy Keene, the tall man who’d already made clear his distaste for the agents, remained in the house to keep an eye on them.
Glass from the shattered window was sprayed into the dining room. Gardy knelt and pointed at a discoloration in the shag carpet.
“Mud from the front yard.”
Bell agreed.
“Deputy Keene,” said Gardy. “Have your men check for shoe prints between the window and road. He tracked mud inside, so it stands to reason he picked it up in the yard.” The deputy didn’t blink. “Please.”
Keene gave an exasperated sigh. He slammed the door behind him.
Bell wanted to scream.
“What an asshole.”
“He’s following Lowe’s lead and doesn’t know any better,” Gardy said.
“How about a little decorum? We’re on the same side.”
“We won’t get it on this case. Keep your head low and your eyes open.”
A dining room chair lay on its side. They followed the vague damage path into the living room. A picture frame held a photograph of Garza and a young girl, probably the daughter. No blood, no obvious signs of a struggle.
The faucet dripped in the kitchen, and the dish rack held plates and two glasses.
Gardy folded his arms and leaned against the counter.
“What do you make of the husband winning custody?”
Bell found it curious.
“It’s uncommon, but not unheard of. If she abused the daughter, there’d be a record. Lowe would have said something. There must be another reason.”
“Drugs?”
“This doesn’t look like the home of a drug user.”
“No, but it doesn’t look like the home of a woman who would lose a custody battle, either.”
The upstairs held a bathroom and two bedrooms. The first bedroom had been the daughter’s. A twin bed stood lonely in the corner, bare of blanket or sheets. There was a small dresser against the wall and a desk fit for a grade school student. Garza’s bedroom was cramped but neat, the bed made and no dirty clothes strewn about the floor. The bare light bulb in the closet didn’t work. A modest collection of shirts, pants, and dresses hung from hangers.
The front door opened with a momentary suction of air and closed. Keene was back.
Gardy listened at the bedroom doorway. It was quiet downstairs. He edged the door shut.
“I didn’t expect we’d find anything upstairs. I wanted to talk without an audience.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not Wolf,” said Gardy.
“What?”
“Think about it. The Logan Wolf murders are all men.”
“You’re forgetting he killed his wife.”
“No, I’m well aware. That pattern never sat right with me. He kills his wife, then murders a bunch of nameless males. Now he decides to murder women again? I feel like we’re forcing a square into a circular hole.”
“Serial killers shift their patterns. We know this.”
Gardy glanced out the window. The pane, blurred by raindrops, offered a nebulous view of the clouds.
“When I joined the BAU, Logan Wolf was a legend. Forget that he was the best profiler the agency had ever seen. Nobody ran an investigation like Wolf. Attention to detail. Visualizing the scene through the killer’s eyes.”
“Easy to believe since he was a psycho, himself.”
“That’s beside the point. Many of us thought he’d be Deputy Director. Ironically, Wolf’s downfall opened he door for Weber. But I’ll tell you this. If the unknown subject left a hint of evidence, Wolf uncovered it.” Gardy pointed through the floor toward the broken dining room window. “Which is why I’m not buying this shit-show. A shattered window, a footprint. Wolf wasn’t sloppy.”
Bell pressed her finger to her lips and put her ear against the door. Nothing.
“Then who did we see on the security footage? In a few hours, there will be more agents than people in this town.”
Gardy blew air through his lips. He walked in a circle, hands buried in his pockets until an idea came to him.
“What if it is Wolf on the video, but the abductor is someone else? Lowe jumped to the conclusion a serial killer took Marianne Garza. It could be anyone. A jealous ex-boyfriend. A prowler who lost control of the situation. We’re shooting in the dark.”
The floor groaned at the foot of the stairs.
“Agents? You still up there?”
Gardy poked his head through the doorway.
“Finishing up with pictures. We’ll be right down.”
Keene grunted and wandered back to the living room. The couch protested when he sat down.
Gardy closed the door.
“You’ll say I’m crazy, but I want to throw an idea out there.”
“Hurry. Keene’s getting suspicious.”
His eyes wandered to the ceiling. She could tell his confidence was low, too many perceived missteps following on the heels of being shot.
“What if there are two serial killers?”
“You’re fishing. This town is hardly large enough to support two killers. Anyhow, what are the odds of two active serial killers showing up in Pronti?”
“It doesn’t have to be by chance. There’s an established history of serial killers who worked together. The two guys in Italy.”
“Abel and Furlan.”
“Right. Not to mention the DC snipers.”
“In those cases, the killers worked together from the beginning. They didn’t suddenly connect and form a pact.”
Gardy shook his head.
“That part bugs me, too. There’s a first for everything.” He reached for the door and froze. “Oh, that’s not a good thought.”
“What’s that?”
“This is Skinner territory.”
Bell’s stomach dropped as she recalled the photographs. Bodies dumped in farm country, bloated and crawling with insects. It wasn’t likely they’d stumbled upon The Skinner’s latest victim by chance, but the location fit.
“This seems like a long shot. What the hell. I trust your instinct. Are you going to tell Lowe?”
“I have to.”
“He’ll have an aneurysm.”
Gardy opened the door and stood in the threshold.
“We have to get this right, Bell. Two serial killers in the same town is a slaughterhouse.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Marianne was numb from the cold when something pulled her out of a dream. A noise like footsteps swishing through the hay.
She glanced up and saw the diseased cow watching her over the stall. The gate glistened with mucus. The cow bobbed its head as if acknowledging her, then it paced through the stall’s shadows.
In the nightmare, Erin no longer remembered Marianne. Guilt made the dream seem real, and the hurt inside Marianne’s chest followed her out of the dream like a vengeful shadow.
She was slumped on the ground with her arms almost stretched to the point of snapping, the tension tearing at her joints.
Except her arms weren’t tied to the post. They lay extended behind her with the ropes severed and coiled at the base of the support beam.
This was impossible. She couldn’t have pulled the ropes apart on her own.
It hurt to raise her arms, and as she did she heard another whisper of a footstep on the hay. She swung around and saw nothing but empty barn.
Confused and delusional, Marianne believed Erin truly had been inside the barn and cut her free. She whispered her daughter’s name, and the wind answered.
Another plank tumbled from the ceiling and narrowly missed her head.
It occurred to Marianne her abductor might have cut the ropes. All part of a sick and twisted game. He wanted to stalk her before he…
Don’t think it. He’s not The Skinner. Just a sicko pervert.
Yet Marianne knew better. She’d felt the evil pouring out of the man. She knew her fate.
If releasing her was part of his game, she’d give him a fight. Make him regret underestimating her.
Marianne stepped forward and stubbed her toe on something under the hay. The bleach-white bone protruded from the hay like a skeleton rising out of a grave. She covered her mouth with one trembling hand and noticed more bones.
Her survival instincts took over, and she was almost through the barn doors before reality set in. She was alone. Only God knew where. Nobody to help her.
She stopped before she plunged into the meadow. Lights burned inside the house. No movement at the windows. As she crossed the yard, she kept to an area of unkempt field where the grass grew past her shoulders. The grass soaked her through and made the chill worse.
Marianne recognized the living room as she drew even with the farmhouse. When she remembered the ghostly figure outside the window, she knelt down. Had she imagined the man?
Now she saw the road ahead. A dirt road not unlike the farm-to-market road which ran past her house. She searched for a landmark, something she could use to pinpoint her location. Nothing appeared recognizable in the dark.
It didn’t matter. The Skinner was nowhere to be seen.
Burgeoned by hope, she willed her stiff legs to move and sprinted for the road, but running made too much noise. The Skinner’s face appeared in the living room window.
She heard him wrenching the cabinet away from the door as she broke out of the meadow. A door slammed open as she angled across the yard. All she could see was his shadow when she looked over her shoulder.
Marianne opened her mouth to yell, but the man screamed first. The same death rattle shriek she’d heard when Uncle Darrel’s hand caught in the wood chipper.
Something wet and viscous splattered the ground. And she ran like the devil himself was on her heels.