Oh God, he realized, Matti’s awake!
He took the stairs two at a time, this time knocking over a box of knick knacks, and rushed into the bedroom. Matti was sitting up, rubbing her eyes, feeling the empty spot in the bed next to her. She was all right, her complexion back to normal.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “It’s almost four in the damn morning. I told you we’ll finish packing tomorrow. The truck isn’t coming till noon. Stop freaking out about it.”
“Yeah, baby,” he said, kissing her head and rubbing her hair, feeling how much she was a necessary part of his life. “It’s just...um…you were talking in your sleep.”
“Oh please, not that again. What’d I say this time?”
“Um…well…nothing. I’ll tell you in the morning.”
“Good. I’m exhausted.” Matti rolled over and curled up in a fetal position, finding one of the small bears that kept residence around her pillow and pulling it toward her. “Come cuddle me,” she said.
“Hey, baby?” Dane put his arm around her and drew her into him, spooning.
Matti grunted.
“We never did get the history of this house before we moved in, did we?”
Another grunt.
“I love this house, you know. I always felt comfortable here for some reason. I mean, nothing ever went wrong here. Everything always worked, I always felt safe, I never really felt…alone here. You ever feel that?”
“Mmmm.”
A minute passed, Dane lightly rubbing his hand down is wife’s warm back, rethinking his attitude toward the unknown. As her breathing shifted to the even rhythm of sleep, he asked quietly, as much for himself as for Matti or anyone else listening, “You ever think there are people in this world who are just happy to be around other people? Content to watch silently as things go on around them? Just staying out of the way. You think they get sad when people leave them?”
Matti managed a final comment before she began to snore. “I dunno, Dane. I’m tired. Does it matter?”
He let her drift into her dreams before answering: “Kinda. I think I just met one.”
Downstairs, the kitchen phone began to buzz as the line came back to life.
Looking at the clock, he thought, two hours until I have to get up.
SQUEAKY WHEELS
Everyone who lived on Hill Drive was standing outside the entrance to Cottonwood Park, chattering like squirrels. Police cruisers were parked at random, up on the curbs, blocking the street, attempting a semblance of barriers. Even in the daylight, their lights played on the nearby treetops. Dogs in the back yards of adjacent houses ran in circles and barked.
George huffed and maneuvered his unmarked sedan through the crowd of lookieloos, muttering curses under his breath. “Outta the way, idiot. Don’t you see the frigging car about to run you over.” Cruiser Jockeys were doing their best to control the small neighborhood crowd but were spread too thin to cover all the entrances to the park, i.e. the two miles of unfenced tree line that ran the perimeter. He parked near Ted Newcomb’s car, took his gun and holster from the seat next to him and got out. A group of kids on bikes were discussing how to sneak into the woods from a back street. George stabbed a finger at them. “I find you in there near that scene I’m arresting you.” He strapped his shoulder holster in place, punctuating the threat. They didn’t look too frightened. Brats. “Go on, get out of here.”
They pedaled off, no doubt still intent on their plan.
There was no clear path into the woods (these things never happened in the open areas near swings and slides) but a steady stream of officers coming and going through the trees pointed out the way to the crime scene. He walked into the woods, brushing away limbs as he went. Radios were hissing and popping, bouncing off tree trunks, growing louder as he pushed deeper. He stepped into a small dirt clearing, found Ted Newcomb instructing a uniformed officer to cordon off the area with yellow police tape.
“Hey, Ted.”
“George. You hear the call?”
“When I was getting my donut like a good cop. So what do we got? I heard something about rats?”
“Oh, we got rats. Lots of ’em. Take a look over there in that big pit.”
George stepped inside the perimeter of the police tape, heard the squeaking noises coming from the pit before he saw the source. The pit was easily ten by ten feet wide, and some eight or nine feet deep. Manmade. He didn’t know what was more disturbing, that someone had dug the equivalent of a grave in a neighborhood park, or the way the floor was moving. A writhing sea of rats filled the pit, hundreds of them, scurrying in a panic over one another, squealing and desperately trying to climb up the sides. The ones that weren’t trying to escape were occupied with something else: a female corpse, half eaten, bloated and gray, slick with decomposition. George watched one of the frenzied rodents gnawed a chunk of skin off the top of the corpse’s head and felt his stomach turn. He picked up a rock and hurled it at the rat but missed completely. Baseball was not his thing. No doubt Mandy would take up softball just to annoy him. He turned back to Ted. “Jesus. I won’t be able to eat donuts for a week.”
“Good, you could stand to lose the weight.”
“I’m serious, this is fucking-A disgusting. Where’s the M.E.?”
“That one over there,” Ted pointed to a young officer who looked fresh from the academy, “said he was on the way. Animal control is on their way too.”
“He get here first?” George indicated the same young cop.
“No, another unit. They’re out on the street now.”
“They talk to you?”
“Yeah. Said some kids—”
“Kids?”
“Yeah, kids, twelve and thirteen…that still count as kids these days?”
“Shit, I hope so. Mandy’s only ten. I ain’t ready for a grandkid just yet. Can those rats get out of there?”
“Well, they haven’t yet. Not that they aren’t giving it the old college try.”
“Someone made this. Put the rats in there. You think?”
“It’s a likely theory.” Ted nodded, picked something out of his teeth. “Filled it with rats and dropped this woman in it. Let them eat her to death.”
“Homicide. Trying to cover something up?”
“Hell of a lot of trouble to go to to get rid of a corpse.”
George hated his next thought, but voiced it anyway. “Did it while she was alive? Torture?”
“The world is insane.”
“The world is insane. Wait, what about the kids?”
Ted was done picking his teeth, wiped his hands on his blazer. “Kids were out here lighting off firecrackers. Found this pit covered with some tree trunks. Those right there.” A series of felled logs ringed the makeshift grave. Orange cones were ringed around them, denoting they were somehow evidence. “Heard some squeaking noises coming from under them. Figured it was an animal and slid it over to look. Saw the rats. Saw the—”
“Saw the corpse and ran. Okay, I can figure it out. Where are they now, the kids?”
“Sitting in on one of the squad cars waiting for their parents to come down so they can make a statement.”
“Great. I love when parents get involved. Just end up confusing their own kids.”
“I dunno, my brother’s kid eats cat food. Wouldn’t want him as a character witness at my trial. Picks his nose all the time too—”
“Did they see anyone else hanging around? People not from the neighborhood?”
“Not that I know of. Perp could have come from anywhere. The park technically stops about a mile that way, but the woods continue down to the river where the lye factory is. So the guy could have parked at the factory and hoofed it through the woods all the way up here. We’re checking the employee list but I’m not holding out for a hero.”
“They say anything off the record?”
Ted shook his head no. “Just what I told you. The trees, the squeaks, the leftovers as you see them.”
“They r
ecognize her?”
“Can anybody recognize that?”
“Okay, I’ll go talk to them. I can’t look at this thing anymore.”
Ted threw up a palm. “Hang on.”
“What?”
“Check this out first.” Ted motioned to a patch of dirt at the edge of the clearing. A set of tracks wound out of the foliage and lead to the pit. “Kids said they didn’t do it.”
George had seen this type of track before. Most homicide detectives had at one point in their career. “Looks like a drag pattern. Couple of footprints here. Guy must have whacked her somewhere else, dragged the body out here.”
“Knocked her out anyway. There’s no bullet hole on her I can see. And I’m not getting down in that pit to look further.”
“So we know he came from that direction,” George said, pointing into the belly of the woods. “That near the lye factory?”
“Near the river anyway. But that’s not what I’m looking at. See there’s this drag mark here, and then there’s this skinnier one that runs between the foot prints. Could be another—”
“Some fucking prints. What’re those marks there?”
“I’m thinking telephone pole guy. ’s’why I don’t think he’s a factory worker. You know the guys got those spikes on their boots?”
“Yeah. Climb the poles with ’em. Gotcha. So a cable or telephone guy. Maybe parked at the factory after closing. Kept the boot climbers on for traction. Let’s check and see if any service was done in the area recently.”
“I already put the word out on that, too. But this thin drag line here, this is what concerns me. See how it skids about? Separate from the other drag mark.”
“Like something was moving,” George replied, suddenly more stressed, “maybe trying to get free. You think it’s another body?”
“I hope not. If we’re looking for a second victim…”
George stood up and looked around the woods. They seemed to stretch on forever. “And if this guy has more of these pits…”
The young cop leaned over the police tape and yelled, “Hey, detectives? Animal Control is here!”
***
Sleep was not something Ted Newcomb got during these kinds of cases. It was one thing to find a DOA with a gunshot or stab wound, but torture victims burned afterimages in his mind that took years to scrub away. And so he stirred all night and tried to rationalize it all. Which was a futile exercise in the end. The world was sick, and there was no solution. Even if he did catch this guy, legal council would just convince the jury he was abused as a kid and deserved to spend his days in a padded room with a soft cot and three square meals. It was bullshit.
The M.E.’s report was on his desk the next morning. No other leads had come in since the body’s discovery yesterday afternoon. The employee list for the factory had been secured and officers had questioned everyone on it throughout the night. Turned out they were all married, and all had alibis. All of them. They were told not to leave town anyway. But Ted knew, people lie. He would follow up on them all tomorrow.
He filed it in his briefcase, started going through his other notes. There were so many that he still needed to weed through. He’d gotten home late and had talked to so many people yesterday his head was still dizzy. Maybe the telephone/cable worker angle would pan out. He made another call to the cable companies, asked for a list of employees. The cable company said it was contacting their lawyer and would get back to him asap. Swore their employees were screened and bonded.
It was ten before George showed up, a cup of coffee in his hands. He didn’t look like he’d slept any better. Said something about needing to spend the morning with his little girl after yesterday’s find. Wasn’t the best work acumen to have, but Ted understood. You see enough dead bodies you begin to wonder when you’re number’s coming up. George was eligible for early retirement and had been talking about moving his family someplace warmer, buying a boat, finding Mandy a good school and a safe place to grow up. If such a place existed anymore.
Ted maneuvered through the desks and plopped down in a chair next to George. He took out his notes and started leafing through them. “I got the report from the M.E. Our Jane Doe is Shelly Dumas, lived two streets over from the park. Single, no kids, traveled a lot for work so no one in the neighborhood would really know if she was missing or not. She did real estate, worked for herself. So no boss or friends calling to find out why she wasn’t in work. Blunt force trauma to the head. But the rats definitely killed her. At least, that’s the definitive cause of death. No way to look for hemorrhaging. Chewed her up, sent her into shock, she bled out and died. Ate half her flesh and most of her internal organs. Has more germs in her now than they have text books for. CDC is flying someone in to take a closer look, just to be safe. M.E. puts her decomp at about two days.”
George sipped coffee from his I LOVE DADDY mug. “Jesus. And forensics?”
“Place was clean of trace save for about a gazillion rat hairs. They took a mold of the prints, seconded the idea the guy has boots with spikes on them. Someone speculated the skinnier drag marks could be a small body, maybe a kid, judging by the way it slides. ‘Could be’ is the thing. Could also be a suitcase or his laundry for all we know. Neighborhood kids are all accounted for anyway.”
“Well thank God for that.”
“No forced entry at Dumas’ home. Lots of prints on her property, but she’s single so who knows how many guys she’s had over. We’re running them all through the system. So far nothing. Guy who fills a pit with rats, though? No way he left his prints.”
“No shit.”
Ted flipped through more of his notes. “Otherwise, nothing out of place, no signs of struggle.”
“Guy cased her house, waited for her to come out?”
“Neighbors have seen her jogging in the past. Makes sense. She goes out for a jog, the guy grabs her, hits her over the head, drags her into the trees—”
“Feeds her to the rats. The sick fuck. Rape?” George asked.
“Nope.”
“Anything on the telephone pole lead?”
“Nope.”
“Missing persons reports from surrounding areas?”
“Nope.”
“They find anything else in the woods? Another pit?”
“Nope.”
“Say nope again.”
“Nope.”
***
A press conference was scheduled for two o’clock in one of the meeting rooms at the station. A select group of media was invited to come hear what information was being released to the public. Mostly this would consist of a profile and a warning for people in the neighborhood.
The rat angle had already made it out; the kids had seen to that.
Ted was meeting with someone from animal control to get specifics about the rats, so George headed to the conference where the chief was already answering questions for the news cameras. He stood to the side and listened, played with his tie out of anxious habit.
“What about police presence?” A young blonde female reporter from one of the local stations.
“We have units patrolling twenty-four-seven,” the chief responded. “But people are asked to not go near the woods alone, and to report any suspicious activity they see. We can’t be everywhere at once.”
“Why not go near the woods?” Another reporter, a young guy prematurely balding. “The killer still lurking around?”
“Not likely, but you know about the rats. We don’t know if any got out. We don’t need a rabies epidemic on our hands.”
“What efforts are underway to find out who this guy is?” A newspaper reporter with a tape recorder raised up. She’s cute, George thought. Maybe I should have waited to get married.
“We’ve got some leads. We’re checking them out. We’ll let you know what we find.”
“And what if the guy left town? How do you find him then? And what if he’s planning on coming back? Can’t you tell us anything?”
“We’re looking. Tru
st us.”
“You can’t just tell the people you’ll find him when you’ve got nothing tangible to show them right now.”
Cuteness aside, George didn’t like this girl’s attitude, the way she was out to make the chief stumble so people would grumble about the ineptitude of the force. It was always the same song and dance. The media wanted to look like they were more concerned than the men who put their lives on the line every day, even though what they really wanted was a juicy story to lure advertisers with. “Look,” George said from the side of the room. Everyone turned to him. The chief was clearly annoyed at the interruption, but George and he went way back; he’d get over it. “Look,” he continued. “You want some kind of pledge? I’m telling you. I’m gonna find this guy if he goes to the moon. So quit displacing anger. We’re gonna get him. And if I find him first…God help him.” Just for good measure, he turned to the television cameras. “Yeah, if you’re watching, I’m gonna get you.”
He walked out of the room. Someone behind him made a statement about cops watching too many movies. The Chief apologized and tried to field more questions.
There’d be hell to pay for that little stunt, but George didn’t care. All he wanted was a goddamn boat anyway.
***
“Hi, detective.” Julia Green, Director of Animal Management, met Ted at her office downtown. She was much more attractive than her phone voice led on, especially for someone who specialized in rodent control. Long red hair, fair skin, small nose, and a body that came from time spent in a gym. Ted’s eyes fell to her hands and scanned for rings, but they were bare. Maybe he’d call her later, ask her for a drink. He was getting jealous of George’s stories about happy matrimony. He wanted someone to watch TV with, someone to grill hamburgers for. Even someone to bicker with. Admit it, Ted, you’re lonely. He took a seat near her desk, read the diplomas on the wall as she sat down and fired up her computer.
“So, detective—”
“Call me Ted.”
“Okay, Ted, your office faxed over a copy of the medical examiner’s report about this Dumas woman. Grotesque. And terribly disturbing. You have no idea who did it?”
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