Killer Secrets

by Sherrie Orvik

  “What would we ever do without you, Chip?” James smiled through gritted teeth, and then turned to the rest of the team. “Alright everyone, listen up. A woman was attacked in these woods earlier today. She managed to escape but ran out in front of my squad car.”

  “Yeah,” Chip cut in. “Maybe you need a refresher course in tactical driving.” He narrowed his eyes and smiled at James. “Or maybe your family just isn’t cut out for police work.”

  Terry glared and poked Chip in the chest. “You shut your mouth before I—”

  “Enough.” James stepped between them, even though he would’ve loved watching Terry break Chip’s teeth. “I need all hands on this case, understood?”

  Terry continued glaring at Chip, but answered, “Understood.”

  “I found two sets of footprints leading out of the woods—our victim’s prints continued through the hedge, but the other set doubled back, leading me here. There are tire tracks heading east on the service road. I need to go interview the victim. Reynolds, Bailey—I want you to document the scene. Calvert, you and Dryden gather DNA evidence. Make sure everything gathered here is run against what is found on the victim.”

  Chip turned on his heels and stalked away to get the evidence kit. Hank was right. Chip preferred giving orders much more than taking them. James didn’t have time to worry about politics now, though. He had a job to do.

  “You should’ve let me clean his clock,” Terry said.

  “Ignore him. Any luck, and he’ll be working at the mayor’s office soon anyway.”

  “Can’t be soon enough, as far as I’m concerned,” Terry retorted.

  “I need to get to the hospital. Can I trust you not to leave Chip out here? You know he’d never survive a night in the woods,” James teased.

  “I can’t make any promises. You’re not taking that mutt to the hospital, are you?” Terry asked, mischief in her eyes. As his older cousin, she had always liked teasing him. Now that he was her boss, she enjoyed it even more.

  James smiled. “You’re lucky we’re related, or I’d fire you on the spot for calling my partner a mutt. And, no, I’m not bringing Oden to the hospital. Can you keep him until I’m finished there?”

  “Sure,” she responded. James handed her Oden’s lead. She rubbed the bloodhound’s ears and looked up at James. “Just give me a call when you get home, and I’ll drop him off.”

  She glanced around, her brow pulled together. “Where’d Bailey go?”

  “Bailey?” James called out.

  “Over here.” Bailey’s voice called out from somewhere to James’ left. “I think you’d better come see this, Sheriff.”

  James scanned the thick foliage and spotted the rookie about twenty yards away. “What do you got?”

  “I’m not sure,” Bailey called back. “You’d better take a look.”

  James jogged toward him, pushing through the underbrush to a cleared area surrounded by tall pine trees. A set of footprints marked the ground beside a large rectangular hole near the base of a large Poplar tree. Bailey crouched beside it, camera in his hands. He turned slowly and looked up at his boss. “This looks fresh, but there’s water in it, so I’d say it was dug before last night’s rain.”

  James crouched beside Bailey, careful not to disturb the scene. The hole was around four feet deep. Just about the right size for a shallow grave.

  He pictured the woman lying on the ground in front of his car, her body broken and bloodied. Based on this hole in the ground, it could have been worse. She could have been here, covered by a layer of dirt. Never to be found. One of the missing.

  As horrible as the accident was, it had possibly saved her life. If he hadn’t hit her, her attacker may have followed her and finished what he’d started. He stood and looked at Bailey, who had lost his previous enthusiastic demeanor.

  “Get it processed.”

  “What do you think, sheriff?”

  “I think we have a killer on our hands.”

  Chapter 2

  The old stairs creaked under her feet, each step slower, and each breath heavier as she approached the top. Quiet singing drifted from her mother’s bedroom.

  Jesus loves me this I know…

  She followed the sound up to the landing and stopped there. She didn’t want to go further, but the singing continued, drawing her toward it. A door loomed in front of her, the haunting melody coming from behind it making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

  She continued forward, even though her mind screamed at her to stop. She reached for the knob, her palms sweaty. The door moaned as she slowly pushed it open.

  Blood.

  On the floor. On the walls. A woman rocking a bloody child. A dead man with a knife in his back.

  A dark figure coming toward her from the shadows.

  A scream caught in her throat.

  Get out. Run for your life.

  She tried to run, but her feet felt trapped, and the faster she tried to run, the slower she seemed to go. Heavy footsteps pounded closer and closer, panic choking her breath. She screamed as invisible hands grabbed her shoulders.

  “You’re okay.” A man’s soothing voice seemed to enfold her from everywhere and nowhere. “Wake up.”

  She woke with a start, her breathing almost as fast as her racing heart. She looked around, agitated, trying to see if she had been followed. The fog of sleep began to clear, revealing monitors, stark white walls, and an IV in her arm.

  The hospital?

  A man stood next to her, gently holding her shoulders. His blue eyes were familiar. She knew him. Recognized him, at least.

  “It’s alright. I think you were having a bad dream, but you’re safe now.”

  She stiffened and shifted, and he pulled his hands away. “Who are you?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?”

  Did she? The more she looked at him, the more she thought she recognized him. “I’m not sure.”

  “I’m Sheriff James Warrick. We met at the scene of the accident.”

  “Accident?”

  The man reached up and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “You ran out in front of my car, and I didn’t have time to stop. I’m afraid I hit you.”

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  “Partially. I wanted to be sure you’re okay, but I’m also here because I have reason to believe you were running from someone.”

  The dark figure from the nightmare flashed through her mind. “I think I was…but who?”

  “I hoped you could tell me.”

  The door to her room opened, and the sheriff spun around, putting himself between her and whoever was about to enter. His hand sat taut on his gun, ready to defend, his gaze fixed on the door. He relaxed his stance when he realized it was the doctor.

  “Sheriff.” The tall, thin man nodded in greeting. “I was under the impression that your office wouldn’t interview my patient until she had more time to recover.”

  “That’s never been our policy. What gave you that impression?”

  “An officer called earlier to check on her and asked when he could come in and question her. I told him tomorrow would be better. I don’t think it will be good for her to go through that twice.”

  “Hmm.” The sheriff glanced at her, his eyes filled with unease. She got the feeling he was concerned for more than her health. He turned back to the doctor and continued.

  “It’s imperative that I question her as soon as possible, but don’t worry. No one else will be in to bother her. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Then be brief. She needs rest.” The doctor walked to the bed and glanced at her, then focused his attention on her chart.

  “I’m Dr. West. How are you feeling?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “That’s not surprising. You’ve been through a lot. You’re going to be sore for a while. You have some broken ribs, which punctured your lung. We had to insert a chest tube to drain the blood from your lung. You als
o sustained several cuts and contusions, as well as a concussion in the accident. There’s always the risk of blood clots developing after injuries like yours.” He nodded toward her legs. “You’re wearing compression stockings to lower that risk, and we’ll be keeping a close eye on you for the next few days.”

  She knew she should ask questions, but she was exhausted, her body weak and aching. She couldn’t think of questions, only pain. She laid her head back and closed her eyes.

  “Sheriff,” the doctor said. “Can I speak to you in the hall for a moment?”

  Why did he need to speak to the sheriff alone? Curiosity forced her to open her eyes.

  “Whatever you have to say to the sheriff you can say in here,” she strained.

  Dr. West looked at her and shrugged. “We ran a full CT scan in order to assess your injuries, and the results were somewhat alarming. We found the broken ribs caused by the accident, but there are also several healed fractures in your arms and jaw.”

  “How old do you think the injuries are?” the sheriff asked.

  “I’d say between five and ten years. Injuries like this are often indicative of abuse, although it does appear that the most recent arm fracture was professionally set.”

  The sheriff turned to her, his eyes filled with compassion. Or was it pity? She didn’t want his pity.

  “Who did this to you?”

  She should remember. Something like that would be hard to forget. But she couldn’t remember.

  “I don’t remember.”

  He frowned. “What’s your name?”

  He’d asked before. She remembered that, and she wanted to answer. She couldn’t. Her pulse sped, setting off a monitor. “I don’t know.”

  “Try to relax,” Dr. West said, turning off the beeping alarm.

  “Relax? I was attacked, hit by a car, apparently abused, and I don’t know who I am.” She struggled to sit up.

  “It’s going to be okay.” The sheriff gently put his hand on her shoulder, urging her to lie back down. She flinched and glared at him, and he took a step back.

  “How can you say that?”

  “I’m sure you don’t feel like it is now,” the doctor tried to reassure her. “But memory loss can happen with a concussion as severe as yours. More often than not, it’s temporary. You need rest. I’ll be back in the morning to see how you’re doing. Sheriff, I know you need to question her, but keep it short.”

  The doctor walked out of the room, leaving her alone with the sheriff.

  He pulled a chair next to her bed and sat, then pulled a small notepad from his shirt pocket. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

  Was he serious? Of course she was in pain. Still, she wanted to get this over with so she could be alone to figure things out. “I’m fine.”

  He looked at her like he was waiting for more, but she had nothing more to say. “Okay,” he sighed. “Do you think you can answer some questions for me?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Do you know where you live?”

  She wanted to remember. Wanted it so badly her head pounded as she tried to recall what wasn’t there. “No.”

  “Do you remember what you were doing this morning?”

  She took a breath and squeezed her eyes closed for a second. “No.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you do remember?”

  You, she almost said. Because he was her only clear memory. His gentle blue eyes and soothing voice had been seared into her brain after the accident.

  He raised his eyebrows. “If you’re lying to protect someone—”

  “—why would I do that?”

  “You’d be surprised how often victims of abuse try to protect their abusers.”

  Victim? Abuser? She tried to process the words, but she couldn’t. No matter how hard she tried to grasp some kind of memory, the fog in her head clouded everything. She closed her eyes to block the sheriff out.

  “You know,” he said, his tone gentle and quiet, “why don’t you get some sleep, and we’ll see if you can remember more in the morning.”

  Morning? She didn’t think she would have any more to tell him then. She opened her eyes, planning on giving him a scowl that said “forget it,” but his smile disarmed her.

  It wasn’t a big smile, more like an “it’s going to be alright” smile. His eyes were as blue as the sky, and just as calming. She almost believed that things were going to be okay. She wanted to believe, but every healed break in her bones told her to keep her guard up.

  She sighed. “That’s fine, Sheriff.”

  “Call me James.”

  I don’t think so. She closed her eyes again, hoping she would wake up and realize this was all just a bad dream.

  * * *

  James waited until the woman was asleep, and then walked out into the hallway to call the station.

  “Hi, Edith,” he spoke into his phone.

  “Hi, Sheriff. You still at the hospital?”

  Edith had been at the department for the greater part of her twenty-year career and did everything from dispatch to budgets. Only Oden worked more closely with James.

  “Yeah, I’m still here. I need you to do a missing persons search. The victim from the accident has amnesia, so you’re going to have to go solely from description. Jane Doe is about 5’6” and weighs around 130. She has light red hair, green eyes, and is somewhere between twenty-five and twenty-eight years old. Thanks Edith, you’re a peach.”

  She laughed. “I bet you say that to all the pretty ladies.”

  “Nah. You know you’re my girl. Let me know if you hear anything.” He disconnected and grabbed his notepad.

  He had learned very little about Jane Doe but noted what he did know. She was the victim of previous abuse. Running from someone. Someone who wanted her dead.

  A boyfriend?

  A husband?

  He hadn’t noticed a ring on her finger, but that didn’t mean she was single.

  An alarm sounded in the woman’s room. He rushed in and found her standing near the bed, peeling the tape off of her IV and looking around the room. She glanced at him but kept picking at the tape.

  “What are you doing?” He reached his hand out to stop her. She glared at him, and his hand stopped just short of her arm. According to the doctor, she had been hurt enough already by someone. If he wanted to find out who, he needed to make sure she could learn to trust him.

  “I thought you’d left.”

  “So, you thought you’d leave, too? Do you think that’s smart?”

  She shrugged and smoothed the tape back down on her pale skin. “I think it’s smarter than staying here waiting for whoever tried to kill me to finish what he started.” Her breathing was quick and shallow, and she looked like she was fighting just to stay upright, but she took a step back from him.

  “You just had major surgery. You say you don’t know who you are or where you live—”

  “I don’t!”

  “Okay, then if you don’t know where you live, where, exactly, are you planning to go? How are you going to protect yourself?”

  “I’ll figure it out. I just need my clothes.”

  She turned, let out a yelp, and doubled over, waves of hair falling across her face. Her long, slender legs began to buckle and looked like they weren’t going to hold her much longer. Her breathing was labored, and her body shook.

  “Come on. You need to lie down.” James gently took her arm and helped her back to the bed.

  She struggled to walk with his help. How far did she think she was going to get without it? What was she thinking, trying to leave? Did she have a plan, or was it the same basic instinct that had driven her into the road?

  A nurse walked into the room, her gaze jumping from James to the woman. “What’s going on?”

  He decided it was best not to tell her that the patient had tried to leave. He needed her to trust him, and building trust would take time. Time he wasn’t sure they had.

  “She wanted to take a walk, but I guess
she’s not ready for that yet.” He smiled at the woman. She narrowed her hazel green eyes at him and didn’t smile back.

  “Well, she should walk,” the nurse said, bustling around, turning off alarms. She looked at the woman and raised her eyebrows. “But not yet, and you need to be very careful. You’ll need the sheriff to help—”

  “I don’t need his help. If I need to go anywhere, I’ll take myself there.”

  The nurse pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. “Someone needs to help you. You need to be gentle with that chest tube, or you’ll injure yourself.” The nurse pulled a blanket over the woman’s legs. “Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?”

  She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “No.”

  “Alright, then. I’ll be back later to check on you.” She walked out and closed the door behind her.

  The woman looked at James. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell the nurse I was trying to leave.”

  “Why would I have done that?”

  “So she could keep an extra watchful eye on me and make sure I didn’t try it again.”

  “Are you planning to try it again?”

  She fake-smiled at him. “If I were, chances are I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “You know, miss, I’m not the enemy here. I only want to protect you.”

  “Right. After all, isn’t that what macho hero cops are supposed to do? Protect people from their own stupidity?”

  “I don’t believe I ever said you were stupid.” He didn’t think for one moment she was stupid. In fact, he suspected she was smart enough to keep herself carefully guarded. Whether or not that included pretending she had amnesia was something he was determined to figure out. Especially after her attempt to run away.

  She hadn’t responded to his comment, she just gazed out the window. He sat in the chair beside her. “You know, that is the first time in my illustrious career as sheriff that I have been called a hero cop.”

  “What?”

  “You called me a hero cop. I’ve never been called that before. I think I like it.” He let out a short laugh and smiled.

  “You forgot the macho part.” A small smile raised the corner of her mouth. This was good. It was a start, anyway.