The trip had taken him over half the day and the evening sun was beginning to set in the west. Abby would be cranky he knew. He hadn’t had a chance to take her out today and she would likely pout. She would have to deal with it. He could take her for a walk in the morning, tonight he needed to get some rest. Last night had been an arduous ordeal, and he was ready for bed.
Darrow examined his hands in the soft light, inspecting them for any grease that had escaped his eye. When he was satisfied he pulled a small gauze bandage from the first aid kit beneath the sink and affixed it with a long strand of medical tape, the kind that tears easily and doesn’t seem to stick to anything except dust and lint. He made his way into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. It was mostly bare, he hadn’t had a chance to make it to the store for a few days and there wasn’t much left for them to eat. When Abby was healthy she had done the shopping and cooking, now he had to do it all. He sighed, taking care of an invalid was hard work, but it was his plight in life now. He removed a loaf of bread and some jelly, then he extracted the peanut butter from the pantry, they were going to have some gourmet sandwiches again tonight. After he had spread the condiments on the bread he made his way upstairs to Abby’s room. She would likely have to go to the bathroom again.
When he entered Abby’s room he did a double take, she was nowhere to be found.
“ABBY!”
Darrow listened to his voice work its way through the sparsely furnished mansion. A few tense seconds passed.
“Een heor!”
Abby’s voice floated from down the hall. He set the plate of sandwiches on her bedside nightstand and stormed his way out of her room. He found her in the bathroom sitting on the toilet, her wheelchair positioned precariously close by. She was covered in sweat, her forehead gleaming in the overhead lights, coated in a sheen of perspiration.
“I cooden waay.”
The effort to move her body down the hall and into the bathroom was strenuous enough, but the exertion she had put forth to pull herself onto the toilet had left her completely exhausted. She had managed to pull her underwear and pants back up but she was unable to get back into the chair, and so she had spent the last two hours waiting for Darrow to return, hoping that he would be proud of her for managing to relieve herself without his help. Instead he looked furious.
“Couldn’t wait? What the fuck are you doing? You trying to kill yourself?” Abby glared at her husband, not having an answer that would satisfy him. “Come on let’s get you back in bed.”
Darrow hoisted her from the toilet and plopped her down into the chair, which voiced its protest with a loud creak. He grabbed the handles and prepared to wheel her from the room when he stopped abruptly. Glancing down at the floor he noticed three small yellow drops, sitting idly on the tile. The drops of urine had escaped her when she tried to pull herself onto the toilet. Abby had tried desperately to reach them from her seated position but was unable to do so, afraid that she would topple over and spend the rest of the day on the floor. She had hoped that Darrow wouldn’t notice them. He had. Abby held her breath, expecting him to strike her, instead he took a steady breath.
“Looks like you had a bit of an accident.” Darrow said between clenched teeth.
“I’m sowie.”
“Yeah, well accidents happen I guess.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead causing Abby to wince. “Come on now, I made you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I bet you’re hungry.”
He wheeled Abby from the bathroom and back down the hall.
After he had put Abby to bed Darrow returned to the basement, the images of last night’s activities running through his head and making his blood pulse with excitement. He walked through the halls as if he were floating, barely sensing the floor beneath his boots. Oh how he relished the power, the control he had over his victim. She was helpless before him, a mortal in the presence of a God. He held her life like a candle in his hands, snuffing her out with a single breath. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the souvenir he kept to remember the occasion. The ring was small, barely fitting over the first knuckle of his pinky finger. A simple band made of copper and iron, it was monetarily worthless. Indeed if it had been worth something the whore would have pawned it long ago, but to Darrow it was a priceless artifact. He entered the autopsy room and flipped on the light.
In the midst of the light more images came cascading before his mind’s eye. He had dissected her here, like a surgeon steady and true he took her apart methodically, piece by piece. The cold steel of the embalming table was the perfect canvas on which to paint his masterpiece, and as an artist he made sure to take his time. The scalpels had cut cleanly, slicing through tissues and tendons with ease. He had modified the tabletop, bending the sides upward and then welding the corners together with a butane torch, creating a basin in which the blood would collect, being careful not to spill a drop. When it got too full he carefully drained it through the hole he had drilled at the foot of the table, collecting it in a five gallon plastic paint bucket before he sealed it again with the rubber stopper. Her individual parts would continue to bleed inside the hefty bags of course, but he double bagged them and took extreme caution not to tear them in the slightest. When he was finished he tied the bags at the top, and sealed the top on the bucket. He then made his way out to Myer’s creek behind the mansion and poured the blood into the flowing water, washing away the evidence in the swift current. He had disposed of the body and the bucket in a dumpster at the Shell station, where they would be collected and taken to a massive landfill and buried with the rest of the trash. When he returned home he had scrubbed the table down with Borax and ammonia, making sure to destroy any remaining evidence of his perfect crime. The steel was perfect, its non-porous surface allowing the blood to be cleaned thoroughly. He clicked off the lights and withdrew a small black light, moving over the table an inch at a time making sure that no remnants of blood remained. When he was satisfied he had burned the rags, her clothes, and his old tires in the small fire pit he had dug out back just two days before. Yes it was a well-executed crime, a testament to his genius.
You have done well Jack.
The voice was soothing this time, flowing through his head and calming his nerves. Darrow smiled to himself, it was pleased. He basked in the glow of a job well done for a few moments more, and then he flipped off the light and headed for the boiler room. It had been an exhausting two days and he was ready to get some sleep. Once inside he stripped down to his boxer shorts and climbed into bed. He pulled the sheets over himself and closed his eyes, enjoying the tranquil feeling of sleep as it gradually overtook his body. A soft light filled the room glowing pink beneath his eyelids, rousting him from his slumber.
At the foot of the bed it began to take form, materializing before his eyes and growing bigger and more concrete with each passing second. Darrow sat upright, fear overtaking his body and heightening his senses.
You have proven yourself worthy Jack Darrow.
The image moved forward, stopping at the foot of the bed before sitting down and focusing its glowing red eyes directly on Darrow. His blood ran cold and his heart stopped abruptly in his chest sending shooting pains throughout his extremities. A few moments passed and he willed his heart to resume beating. His words came out wobbly and unsure, like a child summoned to the principal’s office and forced to explain his actions for which he was about to be punished.
“What are you?”
Do not concern yourself with trivialities.
Darrow’s throat forced a lump down with a forceful gulp. “Why are you here?”
Because Jack, you summoned me.
Abby opened her eyes slowly. It was here again. She had heard its wings flutter as it landed softly on the windowsill outside her room. She turned her head knowing what she would see, yet not wanting to believe it. The raven perched motionless except for its head which cocked back and forth on its neck, working itself into the seemingly unnatural positions the way in which only birds
were capable. It watched her soundlessly causing Abby a combination of fear and annoyance. She screeched at the bird, hoping to scare it from its perch.
“WAH DO OOH WAN FROOM EE?”
She had uttered that phrase before to the horrid thing that haunted her room from time to time. Now her fear was beginning to get the best of her and she couldn’t help but yell it.
“It crosses only when he talks to it.”
The voice came from the corner of her room. It was soft and gentle, feminine and childlike, but that did nothing to calm the terror in Abby’s soul. She pulled herself into a seated position, sweating and shaking beyond the bounds of her control.
“Please don’t be afraid of me Abby.” The voice cooed.
“Paweese, paweese doown urd me.” She was crying now.
“I won’t hurt you Abby, but you have to listen to me. The raven crosses the boundary only when he talks to it.”
“Wah id ooh ay?”
“The boundary, isn’t that what you’re thinking? Why does it cross the boundary?”
“Ow id ooh ow dat?”
“I hear things, Abby. When you dream, when you think, I can hear them, when you’re in my room. It crosses the boundary when the bad man downstairs speaks to it.”
Abby’s voice came out flat. “ack?”
“Yes, when Jack talks to it the raven crosses the boundary.”
Abby was confused. “Waai?”
“To warn you.”
“Ooh ar ooh.”
“Brenda.”
“eye ar ooh ere?”
“I’m here to help you Abby.”
“I ca ee ooh.”
“I’m going to move into the light, but you must promise not to be afraid, kay?”
Abby steadied her nerves. “Oohkay.”
The presence moved slowly from the shadows jerking as it traversed the hardwood floor, stopping just as it entered the small patch of moonlight streaming from the window. Abby swallowed hard and tried to adjust her eyes. Oh my god she thought. It was a little girl.
THIRTEEN
“We got a match on the finger prints.”
“You’re kidding me, that was fast.”
Peterson gave him a wry smile. “Virginia Shore, twenty-four years of age. Has a rap sheet near a mile long, drug possession and soliciting, no violence. Spent some time in the women’s correctional facility right here in Gig Harbor. In and out of rehab centers, last seen working the docks around the naval base, one first class citizen to say the least, but that doesn’t mean she deserved to die.” Peterson said it matter of factly as he took a sip of his coffee and then set the cup back down on Randall’s desk. “We’re dealing with one twisted fuck here.”
“How so.” Randall asked.
“Aside from killing and chopping a girl up into tiny pieces, and then leaving her in a dumpster?”
“Yeah aside from that.” Randall was beginning to detest Peterson’s condescending air.
“Well the victim was a prostitute, which makes for an easy target and leads me to believe she probably didn’t know her killer. There was no sign of sexual assault, so he kills just for the sake of killing. On top of that he drained her blood, or at least most of it. Collected it in a paint can and disposed of it somewhere else. That shows planning, a direct cover up.”
“I thought you said he was crazy. How could his thought patterns be so well organized?”
“I said twisted, not crazy. Which makes me think we’re dealing with a sociopath.” Peterson took another sip of coffee.
“And that means?”
“It means I think he’ll do it again.”
The dismay on Randall’s face was apparent. “A serial killer, here in Saltar’s Point?”
Peterson rose from his chair and paced Randall’s office, steeped in deep thought. The room was small, and contained nothing but a desk, three chairs, and a single filing cabinet. The lime-green carpet was well worn combining with the oak paneling on the walls to give the office a 70’s style feel. Peterson stopped pacing and eyed Randall once more.
“I don’t think he’s from Saltar’s Point.”
“Why?” Randall said.
“The Shell station is just off the main highway, a convenient location to dump a body, plus this guy obviously went to a lot of trouble to cover his tracks. I doubt he would dump the body on his front doorstep.”
“But serial killers usually work areas that are known to them.” Randall made it a flat out statement.
Peterson took another sip of coffee; he had an annoying habit of producing a slurping sound as he sucked down the black liquid. It was beginning to get under Randall’s skin. There was a moment of silence before Peterson spoke again.
“How long you lived in Saltar’s Point Sheriff?”
“Damn near all my life, why?”
“You know of anyone here capable of committing cold blooded murder just for the sake of killing?”
“Not off the top of my head, no. We’ve never had a murder here, as far as I know.”
“Any drifters been in the area recently?”
“No.”
“You know of any strange newcomers to the town?”
Randall scratched his head. “I know one,” he said.
Peterson’s eyebrows rose a little bit. “Well then, why don’t we go pay him a visit?”
They had to knock several times before Darrow finally answered the door. Clad in torn blue jeans and a wife-beater t-shirt he looked as if he just stepped right out of an episode of Cops. He glared at the law officials a few seconds before taking the cigarette out of his mouth, then blew a fresh plume of smoke into their faces in the process.
“Can I help you?” His voice was laced with irritation.
“Detective Peterson, Jefferson County Sheriff’s department.” He flashed his badge. “This here’s Sheriff…”
“Yeah I know Sheriff Jackson.” Darrow cut him off. “What do you want?”
“We’d just like to ask you a few questions.”
Peterson motioned to the door. Darrow paused a few seconds before letting them in.
“Make it quick, I got supper on.”
They entered the foyer, Peterson gazed around impressed by the massive entryway. Randall had seen it before.
“Quite a place you got here.”
Darrow took a drag off his cigarette, choosing not to respond.
“Smells delicious, what’s for dinner?”
“Shit on a shingle. Excuse my inhospitality, but I didn’t make enough to ask you to stay.”
Peterson chuckled. “We won’t be staying.” He strolled casually into the foyer, stopping just short of the grand staircase, taking in the scenery once again. “You mind if I ask you how you can afford a place like this?”
“Why don’t you ask Sheriff Jackson, he sold me the damn place?”
“As I recall you paid in full, with a check.” Randall said.
“Well let’s just say I made a few wise business investments.”
“You mind telling me what this is all about?”
“A girl was killed a couple of nights ago, and her body dumped here in Saltar’s Point. We’re just asking the local residents if they know anything about it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I don’t know nothin’.”
Peterson glanced at the bandage around Darrow’s thumb as he took another drag off his cigarette.
“What happened to your thumb?”
“Broke a nail, doing my hair.”
If Darrow did have anything to do with it, he certainly wasn’t showing it. He was annoyed with their presence, but he didn’t seem flustered or nervous in any way. Peterson was importunate.
“Where were you Tuesday night, Mr. Darrow?”
“At home here, taking care of Abby like always.”
“Who’s Abby?”
“My wife.”
“Is she here?”
Darrow nodded over his shoulder at the grand staircase. “Upstairs.”
“May we talk to her
?”
Darrow took another drag on his cigarette. “You could, but you won’t get no response. She’s a god damn invalid, had an accident two years back.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Peterson said. “Mind if we take a look around?”
Darrow’s eyes burned with contempt. “You got a warrant?” There was an awkward pause, Peterson had not expected him to be so combative. Darrow continued. “Well then I suggest you come back when you do, I already told you I don’t know nothin’.” He motioned them to the door signaling that it was time for them to leave.
“We’ll be in touch Mr. Darrow.” Peterson handed him his card. “Call me if something jogs your memory.”
Darrow snatched the card from his hand as the officers exited. He slammed the door behind them, crushing the card in his hand as he did so.
Outside, Peterson turned to Randall as they marched down the steps. “Ornery son of a bitch ain’t he?”
Randall smiled. “Guess he doesn’t like company.”
“Yeah well Jack Darrow is one person you should keep your eye on.”
As they strolled down the gravel path back towards Peterson’s cruiser, something caught Randall’s eye. Sitting underneath the carport was Darrow’s Econoline van looking worn and rusted, except for the tires, which gleamed in the sunlight.
Randall had a date with Ellie tonight. She was making him dinner over at Cletus’ place and he was already a half hour late. He hadn’t planned on interviewing Jack Darrow today, but lately his life had become anything but predictable. Ellie sounded fine on the phone, not seeming distressed by his tardiness, but Randall felt guilty nonetheless. He hated to keep them waiting and only hoped that supper wouldn’t be cold on account of him.
As he drove his mind faded back to the impromptu interview with Darrow. He had made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with them, but that was not out of the ordinary. Men like Darrow seldom had any adoration for law enforcement, but that didn’t mean he was a killer. Besides Darrow didn’t strike him as the kind of man that could have pulled off such a slick crime. If Walter hadn’t discovered the body through sheer luck, then the crime might have gone unnoticed. Randall doubted that Virginia Shore had anyone in her life that would miss her much if she vanished.
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