Red Tide

by Peg Brantley

  “Tell me again about Aspen Falls. Are there a lot of kids there? Do you think they’ll like me?”

  Nick wanted to take her on his lap and hug her until she knew she would always be safe, but he knew she wasn’t that comfortable with him yet. Instead, he told her once again about the little mountain town, the main park where all of the kids played, and the elementary school where he’d already enrolled her. She’d begin classes next week.

  “Do you have a dog?” The question was hopeful.

  “No, I don’t,” he said. “Do you want a pet?”

  Kylie nodded. “I’ve always wanted a dog.”

  “Maybe we should start out with something smaller, like a goldfish.” Nick watched as his daughter’s face corkscrewed.

  “I had a goldfish once. I’d rather have a dog.”

  Before Nick was forced to answer, the co-pilot approached them. “We’ll be landing in about ten minutes. Please put everything away and buckle up until we’re stopped.”

  Nick watched as Kylie pressed her face to the window, clearly wondering about her new home. She was scared and nervous, knowing her life would never be the same again.

  When the plane came to a stop, the co-pilot came back out and put the stairs in place for them to deplane. “We’ll have your luggage delivered directly to your home, Agent Grant.”

  “Thank you, and thanks for the smooth flight.” Nick remembered a recent homecoming flight and felt a small twinge in his back. A moment later it was gone. He waited for Kylie and led her down the steep steps to the tarmac. He was worried she might fall, and he wanted to make sure he could catch her if she did. When they got to the ground, he finally looked around. What he saw took his breath away.

  Jamie was standing there, all three of her dogs around her like a puddle, watching him with a smile tugging at her face. His world was suddenly more right than it had ever been.

  Socrates and Gretchen began pulling on their leashes and McKenzie followed suit. Kylie let out a little squeal and ran to the dogs before Nick could stop her.

  He watched as Jamie dropped the leashes, a delighted little girl spinning in their midst. Then the tall, trim, dog-loving woman stepped toward him, her lips ready for his.

  Author Notes and Acknowledgements

  The town of Aspen Falls is completely fictional. The same is true for Rocky Point and Kegger Point. I once lived in Limon and believe their law enforcement would never overlook the kind of thing hinted at in this work of fiction.

  I learned early on that learning to write, getting better at it and moving toward a level of competency would require more than just my nose to the grindstone. There are a lot of people who helped me in one way or another create a story worth reading. You’ve heard the saying, “It takes a village”? For me, it took a small country.

  It really began with The Writing Girls: Susan Lohrer, Kelly Irvin and Angela Mills. We’ve been together through thick and thin, literally. Their friendship and encouragement means a lot. Groups such as Sisters in Crime, Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers, American Christian Fiction Writers, Mystery Writers of America, Dorothy L, For Mystery Addicts, Crime Scene Writers and Murder Must Advertise have all had an impact on me at one time or another. Through these groups I’ve made some lifelong friends who love the written word.

  L.J. Sellers has been an inspiration, a mentor and a friend. L.J. and Andrew E. Kaufman’s complete and utter dedication to their readers rather than publishers helped me make the decision to step out in faith. To “trust the process” as Andrew taught me. My sister, Lala Corriere, also helped me decide to go in an independent direction. We have reached a new and wonderful place in our relationship because of writing.

  Harvey Stanbrough is a teacher at heart. He not only edited this manuscript, and made it better, he helped me learn enough today to be a better writer tomorrow. He is ridiculously talented. His spare use of “atta-girls” made me believe them (I got two), and I learned real fast that when he puts his foot down, I’ve crossed the line a little too far and too often. Thank you, Harvey. You took a Murphy Brown writer and showed her how to begin to sing on key. And Harvey, thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping me make this happen for what would have been my mom’s seventy-ninth birthday. You’re kind of a romantic, but don’t worry—your secret’s safe with me.

  My cover designer, Patricia G. Henderson at Boulevard Photografica is so creative and intuitive it’s scary. She worked with me and tweaked with me to get a cover that made me smile every time I looked at it. In addition to the cover, she did the interior design for the paperback version. Patricia, you are a treasure.

  Lee Lofland and his Writer’s Police Academy provided vast amounts of information and resources. A presentation by Dr. Jonathan Hayes at the WPA gave me autopsy detail, and the real life Jerry Coble is actually an Assistant Fire Marshall with the Guilford County Fire Marshal’s office in North Carolina. Dr. Denene Lofland provided invaluable detail for the laboratory scene. Thank you.

  Dr. Janice Larkin helped me formulate the psychology of the madman. My early search and rescue advice came from Rayanne Chamberlain, a first responder who is actively involved in using dogs to help find victims. Robin Burcell gave me direction and detail relating to the FBI, and I would be remiss if I didn’t also thank Steven Brown, formerly with the FBI and now a private investigator for help in smoothing out the facts. Paramedic and firefighter, Joe Collins also provided input.

  Security expert, gun-guy and car-guy, Denny Moses, gave me perfect input for my plot. Cameron Bruns confirmed some ideas about Boston wildlife as well as local slang, and Fred X, involved with certain unmentionable military and civilian operations, solved my delivery problem in about three seconds.

  For more information involving Human Remains Detection and Search and Rescue dogs: The Josephine County Search and Rescue Blog is top-notch (JoCoSAR Blog), as is Deb’s Search and Rescue Stories. No Stone Unturned by Steve Jackson and Buzzards and Butterflies by J.C. Judah are full of stories and information.

  If there are inaccuracies in this book, they are entirely my fault. My excuse is that this is fiction. I make things up.

  To my tiny team of beta readers, who read before Harvey had a chance to begin grooming me, my profound thanks: L.J. Sellers, Lala Corriere and Andrew E. Kaufman. I subjected you to the manuscript pre-editing and you were wonderful and kind.

  My encouragers are many. They include Kaye Barley, Kathleen Hickey, Leslie Pfeil, Sheila Moses, Jodie Renner, Joni Inman, Jason Corriere, Kim Sawyer, Sheila Lowe, Sheryl Reichenbach, Tim Hallinan, Beth Terrell-Hicks, Carol Myers, Amy Ortiz and Kel Darnell. If I’ve left someone out (and I’m sure I have) my apologies.

  Mom, I wish I could tie this book up with a bow for you. Your love of reading made my desire to write a no-brainer. It just took me a while to grow in to the idea.

  Frances, you are the next best thing in my world for a mom today. You’re a reader and a writer in your own right. You raised up a son who knows how to live a good life and love a good woman. For that I am eternally grateful. Thank you.

  George, you are my hero every day. You are an exceptional man of integrity and intelligence. I love you. Thank you for wanting this for me.

  I’m blessed.

  About the Author

  A Colorado native, Peg Brantley is a member of Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers and Sisters In Crime. She and her husband make their home southeast of Denver, and have shared it with the occasional pair of mallard ducks and their babies, snapping turtles, peacocks, assorted other birds, foxes, a deer named Cedric and a bichon named McKenzie. Red Tide is Peg’s first novel.

  You can find Peg online at Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pegbrantleyauthorpage or on Twitter with a handle of PegBrantley. Her website is http://www.pegbrantley.com, her one-person blog is http://www.suspensenovelist.blogspot.com, and she hangs out with her crime fiction buddies at http://www.crimefictioncollective.blogspot.com

  THE MISSINGS

  Copyright © 2012 by Peg Brantley
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br />   All rights reserved. Except for text references by reviewers, the reproduction of this work in any form is forbidden without permission from the author.

  ISBN: Electronic Book Text: 978-0-9853638-2-6

  Paperback: 978-0-9853638-3-3

  Published in the United States of America by Bark Publishing, LLC

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, locations, or events is coincidental or fictionalized.

  Edited by Jodie Renner at http://www.jodierennerediting.com

  Cover Design by Patty G. Henderson at Boulevard Photografica, www.boulevardphotografica.yolasite.com

  To George, Love of My Life, you patiently ate dinner

  alone while I worked,

  or stood ready to help me find the right word…

  you are deeply and truly my most important reader.

  I hope you like this new story.

  And yes, it’s done-done.

  THE MISSINGS

  by

  PEG BRANTLEY

  “Recognize yourself

  in he and she

  who are not like

  you and me.”

  –Carlos Fuentes

  Chapter One

  Main Street, 400 block

  Wednesday, September 19

  Senior Detective Chase Waters pulled his car up to the alley. Crime-scene tape stretched like flexible neon ribbon across the entrance, popping in and out of the light from his headlights. The shadow of the tape bounced against the snow in a sort of bizarre striptease, with falling snowflakes adding a glittering special effect to the surreal scene. Chase hoped the uniforms who confirmed a body in the dumpster hadn’t messed up the scene.

  He’d know in a minute.

  Chase pulled on latex gloves and cloth booties and climbed out of his car. His evidence bag over a shoulder, camera in hand, he dipped his long frame under the tape. About two inches of fresh snow made him slip, and he wondered if the old rubber-band-over-the-soles trick would have been a wiser move. Only September, and the snowfall held promise of another record Colorado ski season. It didn’t, however, do much for his footing at this hour of the morning, when he could have been lying in his warm bed next to the woman he loved.

  The Crime Scene Unit van puffed exhaust at the other end of the alley. A door opened at the end of the CSU vehicle, and he saw Akila move with cautious deliberation down the steps, carefully holding a pan in front of her. The pan billowed steam from its heated contents. Chase thanked the heavens that his case had drawn Akila Copeland from the crime unit. Known by other detectives, district attorneys, and more importantly, judges, as one of the most meticulous Crime Scene Investigators in the area, Akila made him feel a little better about being out here in the early morning hours processing a scene.

  “Hey, Chase. We got lucky. The uniforms were careful and approached the dumpster from the sheltered side next to the building. We have a couple of really great footprints in the snow from the alley. Plus some tire tracks.”

  “You need any help?”

  “I could use your assistance for this last cast. It’s in an awkward place and looks like it’ll be the best one for this set of prints.”

  “How many prints?”

  “Two distinct sets. If you get their footwear we’ll have some cool evidence.”

  “Too bad there isn’t contact information on the sole of every shoe.”

  “You mean like an owner’s code? One day, my detective friend, one day. I sort of hope I’m not around to see it, though—too much Big Brother for my taste.” Akila laughed and led him to the far end of the dumpster where a clear footprint was formed in the snow halfway under the metal container.

  As the two bent to pour the hot sulfur into the print, Chase worried about the fragile nature of sulfur casts. He knew that, surprisingly, the snow wouldn’t melt when the liquefied sulfur hit it, but the resulting beautifully detailed impressions were like sandstone—one false move and all of the beautiful evidence could crumble into a thousand pieces.

  “Don’t worry.” Akila read his mind. “I’ve got plenty of photos from all angles. We’re good to go. There’s just this print in this impossible place I’d really like to capture. And as long as we can keep the casts together, we’ve got perfect 3-D evidence.”

  “You must’ve gotten here fast.” Usually Chase had to wait for the CSU van—if it was available at all.

  “I just got back into town from Snowmass when the call came in.”

  “Snowmass? Did someone lose their platinum ring again?” Last summer a woman vacationing in Snowmass had called demanding every department in the area provide a full effort to find her half-million-dollar platinum ring. That included the CSU van.

  “Actually, something completely different demanded our attention tonight—a dog and pony show for the brass and politicos. Some Hollywood production team is in the area to film some mountain scenes and wanted to get an authentic feel for a crime-scene vehicle. Some asshole volunteered me. I figure they needed to show another ‘face’ of our fine mountain community.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope. This fine African-American skin of mine is more than just something to hold my brain in. Not only did I get overtime, but I got two offers to test for a walk-on role.”

  “All right! Why so late?”

  “My shift didn’t end until eleven. And they didn’t want us out there until eleven-thirty. Something about a late dinner and entertainment. Hey, I wasn’t complaining. I can use the money.”

  Ten minutes after pouring the sulfur into the impression, the CSI carefully pulled up the cast. She flashed a smile at Chase. “Perfect. I knew this was the best one, but because of its position under the dumpster I couldn’t get all the photo angles I wanted.”

  Time for the body. Chase worked to move his mind toward a professional and pragmatic place. It was important to work toward justice for each victim, and while observing a body whose life had been taken by force made him angry and depressed, he needed to trump those emotions. He needed to let the dead body begin to tell its story.

  He cranked his neck. “Did you get photos of the DB?”

  “Yeah, but you’ll want to get your own. Jax is on her way.”

  “Great.” They were lucky to have a medical examiner as good as Jacqueline Taylor based right here in Aspen Falls.

  “Anything interesting?” Chase asked, as he moved toward the dumpster with his camera.

  Akila stopped and looked directly at him, her expression somber. “You have no idea.”

  Chapter Two

  Main Street, 400 block

  Wednesday, September 19

  Chase shook off the creepy-crawlies Akila’s words carved into the night. They’d worked a lot of cases together, and for her to tell him he had no idea what to expect didn’t bode well.

  He directed his flashlight into the dumpster. At first he wasn’t able to spot the body. The Pearls of the Ocean Chinese Restaurant had enjoyed a busy Tuesday night. They were supposed to bag their garbage but it looked like the kitchen help must have been in a hurry and just dumped everything. Then he saw it. The carved-up and mutilated corpse lay in bizarre repose among the detritus of bok choy and egg foo young. Chase fought a wave of nausea and wondered if he’d ever be able to enjoy Chinese food again.

  At first glance, the body looked like a badly carved-up side of beef. Huge, vacuous, gaping holes were where he might have expected critical wounds, if not solid pieces of intact flesh. The body cavity was laid open from the groin to the neck. Skin hung loosely around broken and missing ribs. Chase stepped away from the dumpster and fought to keep his professional composure.

  Akila was watching him. “Don’t feel bad. If you think you’re going to hurl, you can add yours to mine—around the corner. Just get there in time. I don’t need your reaction to mix with whatever evidence might still be here for me to uncover.”

  Chase swa
llowed, took a breath and looked around. The clear places in the snow. Only those few prints—tire prints in the alley, shoe prints around the dumping place. The obvious lack of blood evidence. There hadn’t been a struggle—not here. “This isn’t the crime scene.”

  Akila shook her head. “Nope.”

  Chase leaned deeper into the trash container while speaking into his cell phone recorder app. Later, he’d be able to make sure he didn’t miss any details in his notes. “Male. Nude. No clothing in evidence. No visible identifying scars or tattoos. Most of his upper torso has been cut out. Looks surgical, not like some animal. A knife did this. Someone who knew what they were doing.” He made the comments more for himself. The CSI would have already seen everything.

  “His face is intact. Young. Looks Hispanic, or some kind of Latino origin.” Chase thought about the relatively large undocumented population of illegal Mexicans living in Aspen Falls. He also thought about his other new case. A Hispanic male—no ID—found on a hiking trail. The kid hadn’t been carved up like this one, so other than sex, age and race, there didn’t appear to be a connection. No information, regardless of the queries he’d put out there, had come in. They were still waiting on autopsy results.

  A hand shoved him gently away. He turned to see Jax Taylor. “Hey, Chase. Let me get to my body, will ya? I’m dead on my feet and I don’t need you taking up one more second of the sleep I’m gonna get back to when this night—strike that, early morning—is over.” She held a pen and a notepad in one hand and carried a flashlight in the other. A camera hung around her neck.

  The medical examiner looked into the dumpster and uttered something Chase couldn’t quite make out. But he understood exactly what Jacqueline Taylor had said.