The Burial Place

by Larry Enmon

  Rob didn’t answer.

  “This reminds me of the guy driving down a country road and seeing a turtle sitting on a fencepost, his legs moving in all directions, trying to get a little traction. It begs a question.”

  “Who put it there?” Rob asked.

  Frank winked. “Bingo.”

  Rob dropped Frank off at Sarge’s to retrieve his car, and they met at the station a few minutes later. Frank spent the afternoon reading the Bible, as if maybe the scriptures held some secret they’d give up with closer examination. Every so often he’d glance at the girl’s photo and then slip it back into his pocket. Rob caught up on paperwork and didn’t pay him much attention. Around late afternoon, Frank’s phone rang. He answered it and sat up straight in the chair.

  “Yes, thanks for returning my call,” Frank said. “Can you hold one second while I put this on intercom? I want my partner in on it.”

  “Hey, ready to interview the last guy?” Frank asked.

  Rob was deep into calculating his overtime hours for the month when Frank’s question made him lose count. “What?”

  Frank held up the receiver. “Got the boyfriend, Ruiz, on the line.”

  Rob leaned over the top of the cubical. “Oh, yeah?”

  Frank tapped the phone’s intercom button and hung up the receiver. “Yes, hello. Mr. Ruiz, thanks for getting back to me. This is Detective Frank Pierce, Dallas Police. I’m investigating the disappearance of Katrina Wallace. We were told you were the last to see her.”

  A hesitant voice answered. “Sorry I took so long to call back. Voice mail’s been on the fritz again.”

  “We wanted to ask you a couple of questions about the last time you saw Katrina,” Frank said.

  There was a long pause before Ruiz said, “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “I don’t know,” Frank said. “Do you think you need one?”

  Another long pause and a deep breath. “No, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Well, I won’t attempt to give you legal advice, but typically witnesses don’t require an attorney to be present during questioning,” Frank said.

  “So … I’m not a suspect?”

  “Not at this time,” Frank said. “Feel like talking to us about this? Might help us find her.”

  “Sure, no problem. Is there any news?” His voice had a young, timid quality.

  Frank glanced at Rob. “No, not yet. We’re still looking into it.”

  “Oh.”

  “Tell us about the Sunday evening you spent together,” Frank said.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Nothing personal. That’s your business. Just where you went, what you did.”

  “We left my place and drove to a restaurant for dinner. Stopped for gas on the way. After eating, she dropped me at home and headed for Dallas a little after eight o’clock.”

  “You rode in her car to dinner?” Frank asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why not yours?”

  “My roommate borrowed it.”

  “Who drove?” Frank asked.

  “Trina did. Why?”

  “Just a couple more questions,” Frank said, crossing his arms and staring down at the speaker. “So you rode in the passenger seat of her car?”

  “Right.”

  “Where did you put her Bible before you sat in the seat?” Frank asked, exchanging a quick glance with Rob.

  “What Bible?”

  “The white one she has.”

  “Trina has a Bible?” the voice stammered.

  Frank paused and then smiled. “You sound surprised.”

  “I am. Never knew she owned one. She wasn’t religious or anything like that.”

  “You sure?” Frank cut his eyes to Rob, who frowned at the phone.

  “Yeah. She was the least religious person I know.”

  “Okay, Mr. Ruiz, that’s all for now.” Frank uncrossed his arms. “Oh, by the way. Did she say anything about making a stop on the way to Dallas?”

  “Like where?”

  “Like maybe a Walmart to pick up some things in Balch Springs.”

  Ruiz chuckled. “No, that’s not possible.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Trina wouldn’t be caught dead in a Walmart.” Right after he said the word dead, he paused. A deep shuddering breath followed. “And she doesn’t know anyone in Balch Springs, to my knowledge. She’s an SMU, uptown girl. Balch Springs isn’t her style.”

  Frank pointed to the phone and lifted his eyebrows, his way of asking if Rob had any questions. Rob shook his head.

  “Okay, thanks,” Frank said. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.” Frank clicked off the speaker.

  Rob motioned at the phone. “Ruiz thinks she’s still alive. Did you catch what he said at the end?”

  Frank closed his notebook and nodded. “Yup, he’s talking about her in the present tense. If he had anything to do with it and knew she was already dead, he wouldn’t have phrased it that way. I don’t believe he has a clue what happened after she left Austin.”

  Frank lounged in his chair the rest of the afternoon, reading the Bible, using the photo of the girl as a bookmark. As four o’clock approached, he tucked the Bible under his arm and headed for the door.

  “I have some more reading to do.” He didn’t say good-bye, see you later, or anything else. From the look, he needed a quieter place away from the hustle and bustle of the squad area.

  Rob finished his work and stuck his head into Terry’s office an hour later to give him a rundown of what they’d found in the car, including the appearance of the mysterious Bible. The fact that no one could explain how it got there didn’t seem to bother Terry.

  “Probably belongs to the girl—no other explanation. Ruiz must have missed it when he rode with her to dinner. Kidnappers don’t leave Bibles at the scene of the crime.”

  Rob shrugged. “Yeah, probably.” He wasn’t in the habit of contradicting supervisors, but he didn’t believe it had happened that way. He was pretty sure Frank didn’t either. Sometimes little things mattered, especially when they were inexplicable.

  Rob eyed Frank’s empty chair. His partner liked things wrapped up nice and tidy. Loose strings bothered him. And that Bible was a loose string.

  11

  Friday morning when Rob entered the CIU area, Frank had resumed lounging in his chair, Bible in hand.

  “So, what do we do today?” Rob asked.

  Frank snapped out of his trance. “Can you check all the social media sites for any activity or news about the girl?”

  Rob draped his jacket over the chair and took his seat. “Sure. What are you going to do?”

  “Read.” Frank turned back to the Bible.

  “You’re reading the whole thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, can’t say it’ll do you any harm,” Rob remarked.

  When Frank didn’t answer, he ignored him and logged onto his computer. The Criminal Intelligence Unit maintained covert accounts on all social media sites. They often used them in tracking the movements and activities of suspects who were foolish enough to post their whereabouts. Rob took his time checking each in detail. He hated computer work. Frank was better at that kind of stuff, but today he was mesmerized by the Bible. The case had hit another dead end, and they both knew it.

  After two hours, it became evident that the girl had posted nothing on any social media site since the previous Sunday afternoon. Rob ran Katrina’s name through several state and federal missing-persons indices but came up blank. She had dropped off the grid.

  Rob stood and stretched. Frank hadn’t moved. He looked painted in the chair. The only sign of life was the occasional turning of a page. Is he even breathing?

  “You hungry yet?”

  Frank lowered the good book and peered at him. “Yeah, I could eat a bite.”

  “Sarge’s?”

  Frank made a face. “We ate there yesterday.”

  “I know, but after a couple
of hours of dealing with the morons on Instagram and Twitter, I need a cherry Coke.”

  Frank stood. “Okay, Sarge’s it is.” He picked up the Bible.

  Rob snatched his jacket from the chair and followed Frank to the garage. As they got in the car, he pointed at the Bible. “So how far are you?”

  “Just got into Revelation.”

  “Wow, you’ve just about finished the New Testament.”

  Frank eased low in the seat, his usual riding position. “No, I just about finished the Old Testament and New Testament.”

  “You’ve read the whole thing? Impossible,” Rob said.

  “I read most of the night at home.”

  “I didn’t know you could speed-read.”

  Frank slid his sunglasses in place. “It’s a gift.”

  Rob parked a half block away. Sarge’s had become so popular you needed to get there by eleven to get a good parking place. Jan, Sarge’s wife, poured drinks at one end of the bar while Sarge made sandwiches at the other.

  “Hey, boys, grab a seat,” she called.

  They worked their way to Sarge’s end and found two stools.

  He looked up. “What’ll it be?”

  “Two cherry Cokes and two sandwiches,” Rob said, leaning on his forearms. Exhaustion hit him, although he wasn’t sure if it was from too much Twitter or too little movement on the case. Probably both.

  Sarge wasn’t subtle. “Was your last sandwich to your liking, Detective Pierce?”

  A grin swept across Frank’s lips. “Perfect, thanks.”

  Sarge’s gaze stayed on Frank. “That a Bible?”

  “Yup.”

  “I know you, Frank. No matter how much you read that thing, it won’t matter when you hit the pearly gates.”

  Frank glanced up. “You’re probably going to hell for that remark.”

  Jan slid two Cokes to Sarge, and he sat them in front of the pair. “Maybe, but I’m not the one reading a Bible in a bar.”

  Rob took a long swallow and smacked his lips. “Can’t argue with that logic.” He needed this Coke. Especially today. They’d covered all the bases and turned up zero. Frank must have also felt the frustration if all he could think to do was read scripture. When you run out of leads in an investigation, you hit up your informants or offer rewards for information. Neither was an option in this case.

  Sarge finished their sandwiches and slid them across the bar. Rob quickly crossed himself and dug in. Frank was in no hurry. He took a bite between pages. Jan strolled over and dropped off another loaf of bread and began wiping the counter.

  After twenty minutes without saying a word, Frank mumbled, “Wormwood.” He flipped several pages and then fanned farther back. He went to the original page and studied it, his lips moving as his finger traced the scripture.

  “Wormwood,” he whispered again.

  Jan turned and dropped the bar towel over her shoulder. “What about it?”

  Frank’s head shot up. “You know Wormwood?”

  She leaned on the counter. “Sure, it’s an herb. We have a neighbor from the Middle East who uses it in her cooking.”

  Frank’s eyes pinched. “Oh, yeah, cooking.”

  Jan rested a hand on her hip. “Yeah, bitter as hell. I hate the stuff. Why you asking?”

  Frank spun the Bible around and pointed to the verse.

  She lifted the glasses held by a gold chain around her neck and slipped them on. “And the name of the star is called Wormwood: and the third part of the waters became wormwood; and many men died of the waters, because they were made bitter.’” She removed the glasses and let them fall on her chest. “So what does it mean?”

  Frank pursed his lips. “End-times prophecy, I guess.”

  He reclaimed the Bible and kept reading.

  Rob finished his lunch and slipped into the toilet to wash up. He splashed some water on his face, wondering when Frank would come out of his Bible-induced coma. Drying his hands and face on a paper towel, he reminded himself that when Frank had a hunch, it usually paid off.

  When he came out, he touched Frank’s arm. “Ready to go?”

  His partner marked his page, and Rob threw a twenty on the bar. On the way to the station Frank was silent, and Rob let him be. When they returned to CIU, Frank took his chair in the cubicle next to Rob’s and continued reading, and Rob forced himself to check the last two social network sites until his back was stiff. Rolling his neck, he looked up from his screen. Frank had stopped reading and was now just gazing into space. Rob knew that look. No use talking to him when he was in the zone.

  Frank’s phone rang and he answered it. “Hi, Kelly.” He listened a few seconds and said, “That’s it?” After another pause, he said, “Thanks,” and hung up.

  Frank returned to his space-gaze expression. After a minute or two he spoke. “Do any good on the social sites?”

  “Nope, nothing since last Sunday afternoon.”

  “That was Kelly on the phone,” Frank mumbled. “Lab finished processing the car and property. Got prints belonging to the girl, Ruiz, and Tyro. That’s all.”

  Rob continued rubbing his neck, trying to brainstorm a way out of the blind alley they were trapped in. The sound of his partner tapping on a keyboard drew his attention. Rob leaned over to see Frank Googling something. His printer whirred and hummed a minute later, shooting out a sheet of paper. Frank grabbed it and studied the page for a moment.

  “I knew I’d seen it before,” he said.

  “Seen what?”

  “Wormwood.” He held up the paper. “It’s mentioned seven times in the Old Testament, but only once in the New Testament—the verse Jan read.”

  “So what?”

  “Look.” Frank handed the Bible across the low cubicle wall that separated their desks. “Read it.”

  Rob read the verse and returned it. “So?”

  “See anything that caught your eye?”

  “Same verse Jan read at Sarge’s, with Wormwood highlighted in yellow,” Rob said.

  Frank shook his head. “I didn’t highlight it.”

  Rob leaned forward and grabbed the Bible. He read the verse once more. “Well, if you didn’t—who did?”

  “Turtle on a fencepost,” Frank whispered.

  Rob asked, “How many other words were highlighted?”

  Frank held up the Bible. “Zero. Out of three hundred and fifty-two pages, only one word. And only highlighted once in eight references.”

  Rob reclined in his chair. A knowing grin crept across his lips. “In our business, we call that a clue.” He jumped up and watched over Frank’s shoulder while Frank typed the word “Wormwood” into RMS, an in-house search index for Dallas Police to track addresses, suspect and victim names, and anything unusual officers found during an investigation. Its problem was the same that plagued all search indices: if the name had never been indexed, it never showed up.

  Terry wandered up and Rob explained what Frank had found. Terry leaned over his shoulder as the computer did its work. One hit on “Wormwood” popped up on the screen. Frank clicked the link and waited for the offense report to load.

  “How in the hell did you find that needle in the haystack?” Terry asked.

  “Just caught a break,” Frank said.

  Rob snorted. “Break, my ass. He read the whole Bible in one day and night before he found it.”

  The computer screen flashed a copy of a DPD offense report from 2014. Offense: Criminal Trespass. Suspect: Eddie Lee Jones. An attached photo showed a disheveled white male in his midtwenties. The short report outlined how Jones had been spotted inside the fence of a trucking company in South Dallas in December 2014. He had been arrested and charged with trespassing and had served a short stint in the county jail. The report showed a couple of prior arrests for public intoxication and some minor drug offenses. The only reason this obscure crime had been indexed stemmed from the unusual tattoo Eddie Jones carried.

  According to the report, his whole back was tattooed with one large mural,
and the word “Wormwood” inked just above his waist.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Rob whispered.

  “Do we have an address or phone on this guy?” Terry asked.

  Frank scrolled down. “He gave an address off Elam Road in Dallas.” Frank hit the print button and stood. He grabbed his jacket with one hand and the pages off the printer with the other. Rob swung around to his cubicle for his jacket just as Edna entered.

  “Where you guys going?”

  “Got a new lead and they’re going to check it out,” Terry replied, the relief evident on his face. Rob didn’t have to ask. His boss wore the look of a man who had had one too many conversations with the mayor’s office that morning.

  “Great, but hold up a second,” Edna said. “I was just informed that the Texas Rangers have been brought in on this. Their lieutenant will be over in an hour expecting a briefing. Once the state gets involved, you know how things are. We have the lead at this point. Don’t want the Rangers snatching the rug out from under us.” She pointed at Frank and Rob. “Beat feet on that lead. If you get anything, call me.”

  Rob glanced at Frank. Having the Rangers in the mix might complicate matters. Frank hated sharing investigations. The only sure way of minimizing the Rangers was to stay so far ahead of them that they could only follow. The clock was ticking.

  By the time Rob pulled out on Lamar, Frank had looked up the address on his phone. They took 175 south, and the homes and buildings on either side of the highway took on a less well kept appearance. The Elam Road address turned out to be a rundown trailer park. Rob slowed and coasted down the line of mobile homes, looking for the right number. Old cars on blocks, with the tires removed, sat in every other drive. Trash blew across the deeply gashed blacktop road. Stray mongrel dogs roamed the place. A few pit bulls and shepherds lay in the heat near the doors of several trailers, chained to railings or whatever else was heavy enough to hold them. None of the animals paid them any attention.

  Number twelve was a blue, forty-foot double-wide that had seen better days. Faded, with pieces of duct tape stuck on the sides and on cracks across several windows, it listed to starboard. A satellite dish mounted on the front had a bird’s nest in one corner.

  Rob parked and Frank opened his door to a chorus of barking. Apparently this was the event the dogs waited for all day: someone new pulling up and opening the car door. A small black mutt ran from under the trailer and nipped at Frank’s heels. He kicked at it, and the creature retreated back into the darkness of its lair.