Dark and Twisted Reads: All the Pretty GirlsA Perfect EvilBone Cold (A Taylor Jackson Novel)

by J. T. Ellison

  “Don’t you dare talk to anyone or print a damn thing until you hear from me. And stay the hell away from Michelle Tanner.” He wagged an angry finger in her face, then stomped out.

  Christine waited until the Jeep’s taillights turned the corner at the end of the street. She grabbed the phone and punched *69. It rang only once.

  “Deputy Langston.”

  “Hal, hi, it’s Christine.” Before he could ask any questions she hurried on. “Nicky and Maggie just left. Nicky asked me to keep trying George Tillie. You know, ol’ George, he could sleep through World War III.”

  “Yeah?” The one word was filled with suspicion.

  “I can’t remember the exact location, you know to tell George.”

  Silence. Damn, he was onto her.

  She took a stab. “It’s off Old Church Road…”

  “Right.” He sounded relieved. “Tell George to go a mile past the state-park marker. He can leave his car in Ron Woodson’s pasture, up on top of the hill. He’ll see the spotlights down in the woods. We’ll be close to the river.”

  “Thanks, Hal. I know it probably sounds insensitive and unlikely, but I keep hoping it’s some runaway and not Matthew, for Michelle’s sake.”

  “I know what you mean. But there’s no doubt. It’s Matthew. I gotta go. Tell George to be careful walking down here.”

  She waited for the click, then dialed Taylor Corby’s home number.

  CHAPTER 32

  Light snow glittered in the Jeep’s headlights. They parked on an incline that overlooked the river. Bright spotlights illuminated the grove of trees below, creating eerie shadows, ghosts with spindly arms that waved in the breeze.

  It reminded Maggie of a similar night, years ago, searching for a killer in the dark woods of Vermont. She wondered how much of her memory bank was filled with horror stories where other normal people stored things like Christmas traditions and family events.

  The temperature had plunged in the last two hours. The cold cut through her wool jacket, sharp slashes like tiny knives. She hadn’t thought to pack a coat. Even Morrelli shivered in his denim jacket. Within seconds, snowflakes clung to her eyelashes, her hair and her clothes, adding wetness to the biting cold. To make matters worse, they had over a quarter of a mile to walk. After contaminating the last crime scene, Morrelli was now overcompensating, instructing his officers and deputies to create a wide perimeter. A perimeter they guarded like military sentries.

  The underbrush was thick—like walking through knee-deep water. What was once mud had begun to freeze, leaving a crunchy film. A narrow path twisted through the trees. Nick led the way, snapping branches and twigs. Those that escaped his grasp whipped Maggie’s face. She could no longer feel the sting of some where the cold had left her skin numb.

  Tree roots jutted up out of the earth, tripping her once. The final descent to the riverbank was steep, forcing them to hang on to branches, tree roots, vines, anything strong enough. The snow had accumulated just enough to add a slick finish to the rugged terrain. Nick lost his footing, slipped and slammed down hard on his butt. He scrambled back to his feet more embarrassed than hurt, waving off her help.

  The path ended at the river’s bank, where a line of cattails and tall grass separated the woods from the water. Hal met them. Maggie noticed that a pasty white had replaced his normal ruddy complexion. His eyes were watery, his demeanor quiet. She had witnessed it before—the murder of a child momentarily reducing men to speechless shells. He led the way while Nick threw questions at him, receiving only nods as answers.

  “Bob Weston is sending an FBI forensic team to collect evidence. Nobody else gets through. Nobody. You got that, Hal?”

  Suddenly, Hal stopped and pointed. At first, Maggie saw nothing. It was peaceful and quiet despite the presence of over two dozen officers scattered throughout the woods. In the distance, a train whistle cut through the thick silence. Snowflakes danced like fireflies in the harsh light of the massive spotlights. Then she saw him, the little, white body with a necklace of blood, naked in the snow-laced grass. His chest was so small, the jagged X slashed from his neck to his waist. His arms lay by his sides, his fists clenched. There had been no need to tie this boy who was much too small to present any threat to his killer.

  She left both men and approached slowly, reverently. Yes, the body had been washed clean. Of that, she was already certain. She knelt beside him and carefully brushed the snow from his forehead. Without leaning forward, she saw the smudge of oily liquid. It smeared his blue lips and left another smudge between the X over his heart.

  He seemed so fragile, so vulnerable, she wanted to cover him, protect him from the snow that glittered on his gray skin, covering the nasty red-raw slashes and gaping wounds.

  He had been out here for a while. Even the sudden cold couldn’t disguise the smell. She noticed small puncture marks on the inside of his left thigh, deep but leaving no trace of blood. They had been made after the boy was dead. Perhaps an animal, she thought as she dug out a small flashlight. The punctures were definitely teeth, but human teeth, she realized, overlapping several times as though bitten in a madness or purposely to disguise the imprint. They were close to the groin, but she couldn’t see any marks on the penis. He hadn’t done this before. The killer was adding to his routine, getting reckless and accelerating. He had only taken the boy two days ago. Something had changed. Maybe the news reports were making him nervous. Something was different. Something was wrong.

  She sat back on her feet, suddenly dizzy and a bit nauseated. She never got sick at crime scenes anymore. In fact, years ago when she stopped vomiting at the sight and smell of dead bodies, she had seen it as an initiation passage. Had Albert Stucky dismantled her defense system, punctured her armor? Or had his evil simply made her human again? Retaught her to feel?

  She started to crawl back to her feet when she noticed it. A torn piece of paper peeked from between the tiny fingers. Matthew Tanner had something clutched tightly in his fist. She glanced over her shoulder. Nick and Hal stood where she had left them. Their backs were turned to her as they watched five men in FBI windbreakers descend the wooded ridge.

  As gently as possible, she twisted the fingers, now stiff and unbending in the advance stages of rigor mortis. She dislodged the crumpled piece of paper. It was thicker than paper and no more than a torn corner. Without even examining it closely, she recognized what it was. Just hours ago she had seen dozens spread out on Timmy Hamilton’s bed. Twisted tightly in Matthew Tanner’s fist was the corner of a baseball card, and Maggie was pretty sure she knew whom it belonged to.

  CHAPTER 33

  The forensic team worked quickly, now threatened by a new enemy. Snow fell more heavily and in large, wet flakes, covering leaves and branches, sticking to grass and burying valuable evidence.

  Maggie and Nick were huddled near the tree line, out of the wind’s merciless path. Maggie couldn’t believe how cold it had become. She dug her hands deep into her jacket pockets, trying not to wrinkle the photo she had borrowed from Timmy. She and Nick watched in silence as they waited for Hal to bring a blanket, extra jackets, anything to warm them. They stood so close Nick’s shoulder brushed against her. She felt his breath against her neck, reassuring her that she could still feel despite the numbness.

  “Maybe we should just head back.” It was cold enough to see his breath. “There’s nothing more we can do here.” Nick rubbed his arms, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She could hear the soft chatter of his teeth.

  “Do you want me to go with you to Michelle Tanner’s?” She pulled her jacket collar up. It didn’t help. The cold had invaded every inch of her body.

  “Tell me if you think this is a cop-out.” He hesitated, gathering his thoughts. “I’d like to wait until morning, not just because I’d be waking her up in the middle of the night. She probably hasn’t slept since Sunday. But it might be a while before they get him to the morgue. And no matter how painful it is, she’ll want to see him. Laura
Alverez insisted on identifying Danny. She wouldn’t believe me until she saw him herself.” His eyes were watery blue from the wind and the memory. He wiped a sleeve across his face.

  “It’s not a cop-out. It certainly makes sense. In the morning she may have more people there to lean on. And you’re right. By the time they get finished here, it will be morning.”

  “I’ll let these guys know we’re leaving.”

  He started for the forensic team when Maggie saw something and grabbed his arm. Not more than fifteen feet behind Nick was a set of footprints—bare footprints, freshly stamped in the snow.

  “Nick, wait,” she whispered. “He’s here.” Her heart started pounding in her ears. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Of course, it made perfect sense.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The killer. He’s here.” She held his arm, digging her nails into the denim jacket to immobilize him and to steady her nerves. Her eyes surveyed the area while she tried to keep her body from twisting and turning, from tipping off the killer who she knew was watching them.

  “Do you see him?”

  “No, but he’s here,” she said, carefully glancing around now, making sure he wasn’t within earshot. “Try to stay calm and keep your voice down. He could be watching us.”

  “O’Dell, I think the cold has frozen your brain.” Nick looked at her as though he thought she was nuts, but he obeyed her instructions and spoke softly. “There’s over two dozen deputies and police officers surrounding this area.”

  “Directly behind you, next to that tree with the huge knot. There’s a set of footprints, bare footprints made in the snow.”

  She loosened her grip, allowing him to look.

  “Jesus.” His eyes darted around before they made their way back to hers. “With the snow falling as heavy as it is, those were made recently, very recently. Like, say, minutes ago. The son of a bitch may have been right behind us. What the hell do we do?”

  “You stay here. Wait for Hal. I’ll head up the path like I’m going back to the cars. He must still be inside the perimeter of your people. He shouldn’t be able to get out without going past one of them. From up above I might be able to see him.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, he’ll notice if he’s watching. Wait for Hal. I’ll need the two of you as backup. Stay calm and try not to look around.”

  “How will we know where you are?”

  “I’ll let you know somehow.” She kept her voice calm and even, while the adrenaline began to surge. “I’ll fire my gun into the air. Just don’t let any of your men shoot me.”

  “Like I can control that.”

  “I’m not joking, Morrelli.”

  “Neither am I.”

  She glanced up at him. He wasn’t joking, and for a moment she realized how stupid it might be to sneak around in a woods filled with armed police. But if the killer was still here, she couldn’t hesitate. And he was here. He was watching. She could feel it. This was part of his ritual.

  She started up the path. Her leather flats were caked with snow, making the climb even more slippery. She grabbed at branches, tree roots and vines. Within minutes she was out of breath. The adrenaline pumped through her veins, propelling her numb body.

  A branch snapped off in her hands, sending her skidding. She slammed to a stop, ramming her hip into a tree. Her hands were raw with cold, but she crawled back to her feet, digging her fingers into the bark. She was almost to the perimeter. She could hear the crime-scene tape flapping in the wind. Just above her, she heard voices.

  The ground finally leveled enough for her to stand without assistance. She veered off the path and headed into the thick brush. From above she could see Nick at the bottom of the tree line. Hal was just joining him. Between the trees and the river, the forensic team worked quickly, hunching over the small body and filling little plastic bags of evidence. They were bringing out special equipment from their backpacks to deal with the accumulating snow. Behind them, beyond the cattails and tall grass, she could see the black waters of the river churning with motion.

  Down below something moved in the trees. Maggie froze. She listened, trying to hear over the pounding in her ears and her rapid breathing. It was hard to breathe in the cold air. Had she imagined seeing movement?

  A twig snapped not more than a hundred feet below her. Then she saw him. He was pressed against a tree. In the shadows of the spotlights he looked like an extension of the bark. He blended in, tall, thin and black from head to bare feet. She had been right. He was watching, twisting and leaning to see the forensic team below. He started moving from tree to tree, a low crouched-over motion, smooth and sleek like an animal sneaking up on its prey. He slithered his way down the ridge and around the murder site. He was leaving.

  Maggie crept through the thicket. In her urgency, snow and leaves crunched beneath her. Branches snapped and creaked in what seemed like explosions of sounds. But no one heard, including the shadow who was quickly and silently moving toward the riverbank.

  Her heart pounded against her rib cage, and her hand shook when she pulled out her gun. It was only the cold, she convinced herself. She was in control. She could do this.

  She followed, never letting him out of her sight. Twigs scratched her face and grabbed her hair. Branches stabbed at her legs. She fell and smashed her thigh against a rock. Each time he stopped, she skidded to a halt and slammed her body against a tree, hoping to be hidden in the shadows.

  They were on level ground, just on the edge of the woods. The forensic team was behind them. She heard them call to each other. Their equipment whined in the wind. He was making his way to the perimeter, using the trees to camouflage himself. Suddenly, he stopped again and looked back in her direction. She scrambled behind a tree, pressing herself into the cold, rough bark. She held her breath. Had he seen her? She hoped the pounding of her heart didn’t betray her. The wind whirled around her, a ghostly moan. The river was close enough for her to hear its rolling water and smell the musty decay it carried with it.

  She peered out from behind the tree. She couldn’t see him. He was gone. She listened but only heard voices behind her. There was only silence ahead. Silence and darkness, well beyond the spotlight’s reach now.

  It had only been seconds. He couldn’t be gone. She slid around the tree and strained to see into the darkness. There was movement in the dark, and she aimed her gun, arms stretched out in front of her. It was only a branch, swaying in the wind. But was something, or someone, hiding behind it? Despite the cold, her palms were sweaty. She walked slowly and carefully, keeping close to the trees. The river ran close to the tree line. As she walked into the darkness, she noticed that even the cattails and grass disappeared. There was nothing separating the woods from the steep riverbank, a ridge of three to four feet that the water had carved. Below, the water was black and fast-moving, dotted with eerie shapes and shadows that rode the waves.

  Suddenly, she heard a twig snap. She heard him running—legs swishing through grass—before she could see him. She spun to her right where branches cracked. An explosion of sound came at her. She turned and fired a warning shot into the air just as he emerged from the thicket, a huge, black shadow, charging straight for her. She aimed, but before she had time to squeeze the trigger, he knocked into her, sending her backward, flying through the air and plunging the two of them into the river.

  The cold water stung her body like thousands of snakebites. She clung to her gun and raised her arm to fire at the floating black mass only feet away from her. Pain shot through her shoulder. She twisted and tried again. This time she felt metal stabbing into her flesh. It was only then she realized she had crashed into a pile of debris. It held her from being washed away by the current. And something was ripping into her shoulder. She tried to break free, but it only stabbed deeper and tore into her flesh. Then she noticed blood dripping out the bottom of her sleeve, covering her hand and gun.

  She heard the voices above
yelling to each other. The stampede of footsteps ground to a halt, and a half-dozen flashlights came over the edge, blinding her. In the new light she twisted again, despite the pain, just enough to find the floating shadow. But there was nothing on the river’s surface for as far as she could see.

  He was gone.

  CHAPTER 34

  The frigid water paralyzed his body. His skin burned. His muscles screamed with pain. His lungs threatened to burst. He held his breath and kept his body submerged just under the surface. The river carried him in a violent rocking motion. He didn’t fight its power, its rapid force. Instead, he allowed it to cradle him, to accept him as its own. To rescue him once again.

  They were close. So close he could see the flitters of flashlights dance across the surface. To his right. To his left. Just above his head. Voices yelled to each other. Voices filled with panic and confusion.

  No one dived in after him. No one attempted the black water. No one except for Special Agent O’Dell, who wasn’t going anywhere. She had entangled herself neatly into the little present he had found for her. It served her right for thinking she could outsmart him, sneak up on him and trap him. The bitch had gotten what she deserved.

  The flashlights found her. And soon the people on the riverbank would no longer search for him. He sneaked to the surface for air. The wet ski mask clung to his face like a spiderweb. But he didn’t dare remove it.

  The river carried him downstream. He watched men scramble down the riverbank, silly, slip-sliding shadows dancing in the light. He smiled, pleased with himself. Special Agent O’Dell would hate being rescued. First being incapacitated and helpless and now being rescued. Would it shock her to discover how much he knew about her? This she-devil who claimed to be his nemesis. Did she really expect to dig inside his mind and not have him return the gesture? Finally, a worthy adversary to keep him on his toes, unlike these other small-town hicks.