The Burial Place

by Larry Enmon

  “Frank has become a bad influence on you.” Sarge eyed Frank. “And you’re still a sneaky little bastard.” Sarge wheeled around and headed to the bar.

  Frank tested his new wine. “Wonder if this means the drinks are still on the house?”

  16

  Katrina had spent the afternoon in a near panic. Annabelle’s warning still rang in her ears. He’ll come for you tonight. They’ll drug your supper—don’t eat it. Who was he? During their conversation, Sister Judy spoke of only one male, Brother John. Could that be who Annabelle meant? And what did “come for you” mean? They had been talking about her period when Annabelle signaled her. That had to be it. Whoever he was would rape her tonight. What else could she mean? But if Sisters Judy and Ruth were in on it, then they condoned and lived with a sexual predator. That didn’t make any sense. Not if they referred to the Bible as “the best book you’ll ever read” and sang or hummed religious songs while working.

  She put her face in her hands as she ran through the possibilities, concluding that this madhouse would fit perfectly into a Stephen King novel.

  As evening approached, Katrina got hold of her senses and began making a plan. There were too many of them to resist. She’d have to use her brain and wit to beat them. Annabelle’s words, he’s a clean freak, came back to her. That gave her an idea.

  But what if Annabelle was wrong? What if nothing she did could prevent the attack? If he didn’t kill her, she might still escape. She examined the leather straps on the bed. Touching them made her skin crawl. Whose blood streaked the sides? The amount of courage needed to carry out the plan might be too much for her. Could she fool them into thinking she was drugged? Would they fall for it?

  She let the leather strap slip from her fingers and took a deep breath. When you didn’t have any other choice, the only choice left suddenly made perfect sense.

  Sister Ruth brought down Katrina’s supper a few hours later. A radiant smile encased her face. “And how do we feel this evening?”

  Katrina had enjoyed acting in high school. She’d been in several plays her junior and senior year, and drama had always been her favorite. Tonight she would give her best performance.

  Katrina stood, raking her hair over her shoulder. “I feel wonderful. I’m moving upstairs tomorrow.” She watched for any sign from Sister Ruth that might give away what they had planned for her.

  Sister Ruth sat the tray on the table. “Yes, I heard.” Her relaxed expression confirmed her satisfaction. “It’s very nice upstairs. We have a lovely bedroom all ready for you. Are you hungry?”

  Katrina paused before answering. If Sister Ruth was in on it, she gave no sign. Everything seemed normal.

  Katrina strolled to the table. “Starving.”

  “Good, then I’ll let you get started.”

  Sister Ruth turned to leave but looked back. Her brow had pulled in. Katrina’s heart fluttered. Had she accidentally given something away? Did Sister Ruth suspect—

  “By the way, dear, do you say grace before eating?” Sister Ruth asked.

  Katrina nodded but found it hard to speak. The old hag had just scared her half to death. Katrina finally found her voice. “Grace, oh, yes—every meal.” Why did she ask that question? And why now?

  Sister Ruth beamed. “That’s good.” She hiked up the stairs, and the sound of the basement door closing signaled Katrina to act.

  She eyed the plate. What was safe? She picked up her fork and pushed the stewed squash around and lifted the mashed potatoes. She sniffed. Couldn’t smell anything. The baked chicken looked delicious, but she didn’t want to tempt fate. Katrina sniffed the bread. It smelled the same as always. Thinking logically, what would be the easiest or hardest things to spike? A drug could easily be dropped into a single serving of squash or potatoes. Not so easily baked into bread. She’d eat only the bread. But they knew the bread was her favorite. It could be a trick. She could outsmart herself if she wasn’t careful. Katrina pushed the tray aside and carried the glass of water to the sink. She dumped it down the drain and washed it. Refilling it from the faucet, she drank several large glasses. She’d stay with the original idea.

  After about fifteen or twenty minutes, Katrina raked the food in the toilet and flushed. Then she lay on the bed and waited. If she was right, they’d creep in to check on her in the next half hour.

  Katrina didn’t know how much time had passed when the sound of footsteps eased down the stairs. The creak of the second stair from the bottom told her to shut her eyes. Soft whispers from Sisters Ruth and Judy.

  “She ate it all,” Judy whispered.

  “Good. Help me,” Ruth replied.

  Katrina kept her eyes closed but moaned when they removed her dress and shoes. Her stomach had butterflies the size of buzzards when they slipped off her panties. Keep cool. If they figure out you are conscious—the game’s up. The bite of the leather straps fastening around her arms almost caused her to bolt, but she willed herself to remain still. When they spread her legs and attached the straps, Katrina shook with fear. She covered it by mumbling, “Cold. I’m so cold.”

  “Hand me that quilt,” Sister Judy ordered.

  Katrina cracked open one eye. The women spread the quilt over her nude body. Sister Judy smoothed it on the side.

  “Leave that be. He’s just going to pull it off anyway,” Sister Ruth said.

  Katrina’s mouth went dry. That confirmed it. Everybody was in on the plan. They were all guilty. Sister Judy turned on the lamp in the corner, and the sounds of them easing up the stairs brought as much relief as anxiety. The overhead bulb switched off and Katrina waited. For what … she wasn’t sure.

  Several minutes passed without a sound. Katrina’s mind filled with dread, but she forced the thoughts away. “They won’t kill me … they won’t kill me,” she whispered over and over as a mantra. The sound of the basement door opening put an end to the chant. She froze, straining to hear the next sound. The footfalls were so soft she wondered if a small, barefoot child was walking down the stairs.

  Whoever it was approached her bed. She kept her eyes closed, but her heart almost pounded out of her chest. She felt his presence without actually seeing him. He pulled off the quilt, and a soft hand caressed her breast. His touch made her skin crawl. The wet warmth of a mouth sucked her nipple and she held her breath, gritting her teeth. Fear overwhelmed her. She couldn’t finish this—it’s too much. She almost screamed. Just before she broke, the sucking stopped, and there was a noise in the corner by the lamp. She cracked her right eyelid enough to watch him. He faced the wall, removing a pair of jeans while balancing himself.

  He wore no underwear. He had a swimmer’s build, small muscles and good definition, and across his whole back was one large tattoo. A weird one, like a full moon rising. There were words inked below the mural, but she couldn’t read them. Other than the tattoo, the brown shoulder-length hair defined him. He spun toward the bed. She shut her eye, but she’d seen enough. He had the long beard of a sixties rock star, but he looked to be in his midthirties. The small, almost delicate face had a strange expression. The eyes weren’t right. They were crazy eyes. Oh, my God.

  She prayed. If this didn’t work, if she’d miscalculated, he might kill her. Someone with those eyes was capable of anything. The bed shifted as he crawled between her legs. She got ready. Come on, cleanness freak. I have a surprise for you. His soft hands ran up each leg and he kissed her stomach. His tongue drifted to her navel and lower. The soft brush of his hair tickled her inner thighs as his head rested between her legs. Show time.

  Katrina released her overfilled bladder in a gush. A wild animal–like scream broke the silence, and the bed rocked as he fell to the floor gagging, spitting, and swearing. She wanted to laugh but continued playing possum. If she moved, or presented him with any reason to believe she’d done it on purpose, he might harm her. He must be able to hear her heart pounding. It was so loud even she could hear it. Water ran, and she cracked an eyelid. He had his face in t
he sink and was splashing and rinsing his mouth.

  Hope you enjoyed your golden shower, asshole.

  When the water turned off, she closed her eye. The next couple of minutes were the scariest of her life. What would he do? Did he even know, or was he still deciding? The initial warmth of the urine soon turned to a cold chill. She shook but tried to remain absolutely motionless. Could he tell?

  The sound of the squeaky bottom stair served notice. He’d had all he wanted from her tonight. She tried relaxing, but the shaking continued. When would he return?

  17

  Frank didn’t sleep well. Rob’s words kept interrupting his rest.

  You think this is still the right career for you?

  Frank rolled over and stared at the Saturday sunrise. If this wasn’t the right career, what was? He knew guys who’d quit or retired and went to work for insurance companies or banks. Some became private detectives, but that held little interest for Frank. The higher the stakes, the more interesting the investigation. He couldn’t handle mundane financial crimes cases.

  Frank got up and did his morning yoga poses in the living room and then sipped coffee on the balcony. The sounds of early Saturday morning in the city drifted up to greet him. The breeze whipped an ivy that hung from the ceiling on the patio. Frank pulled his robe tighter.

  He hated drama. Last night Rob could have been killed. He could have gotten both of them killed. But he loved the work too much to quit.

  Frank turned his attention from the patio view to the photo of Trina that lay on the end table. He stared at it a long time, finishing the coffee and thinking about the case. The visit with Eddie had left him wanting more, but without any additional leads, what could he do? Restlessness enveloped him. He got bored too easily. If he didn’t have a big case to keep his active mind occupied, he fell into a funk. If the case stalled, like now, he fell into a funk. When he thought too much about the past and all he’d lost, he fell into a funk. Sometimes having a hot beauty over for an evening of expensive wine, a gourmet meal, and wild sex did the trick. Sometimes it didn’t. He needed to get out and do something—anything.

  There was shopping for dinner tonight, but he wanted a question answered first. He made an omelet and ate breakfast. After a shower, he got in his city car and headed for south Dallas County. When he got to the intersection of Camp Wisdom and Houston School Road, he pulled into a bus stop parking area and studied the intersection. He opened the car door and strolled toward the light, hoping for a sign. He wasn’t sure what. Traffic buzzed through the light, the yellow signal only encouraging them to speed up.

  He ambled back to his car. An older man walking a terrier wandered to the bus stop sign, and the dog sniffed the metal post. Gray stubble outlined the guy’s cheeks and chin.

  “Live around here?” Frank asked.

  “Over twenty years,” the man said.

  Frank leaned on the car. “Was there an old house around here that burned a few years ago?”

  The fellow said, “Sure was.” He pointed to Frank’s left. “Just across the street.”

  Frank scanned the empty lot. Weeds and road trash littered the area. “Nothing left, huh?” Frank asked.

  The dog hiked his leg on the post.

  The man nodded. “Burnt up pretty good—old, pier-and-beam, two-story.”

  “Know the folks who lived there?” Frank asked.

  “Are you with an insurance company?”

  Frank dug out his identification. “Nope, police.”

  The man jerked his dog away from the post. “That’s enough, Cedrick, the cops are watching.” The guy looked at Frank and frowned. “The folks that lived there were weird.”

  “Like how? What did they do?”

  “They just looked strange. Had strange ways. Long hair, long beards—redneck looking.”

  “Anybody around here know them—know how I could get in touch with them?” Frank asked.

  The old man shook his head. “Kept to themselves. Like I said, weird ducks.”

  Frank wasn’t going to get any specifics from this guy. He either didn’t know or wasn’t saying. “Okay, thanks.” Frank got in his car and made a U-turn across the road. He craned his neck as he drove past the weed-covered lot, checked his GPS, and copied the address and location into his notebook. He’d contact the tax office Monday morning and get information on the owner. Whoever this Brother John character was, he wasn’t going to be easily found.

  Frank swung by Central Market on Lovers Lane for lunch and shopped for dinner. He drove home, poured a glass of red, and again dropped into his favorite chair on the balcony. He dug out the photo of Trina and eyed it. Frank knew something nobody else knew, and he couldn’t tell a soul, except maybe Rob and Terry. She was still alive. He’d felt it from the moment he’d set foot in her apartment—alive. He mentally retraced every step in the investigation, refilling his glass several times, and made notes on the pad he kept by the chair.

  The mandatory administrative leave after the shooting kept Rob off the investigation for the next week, so Frank would be on his own. He made a list of questions, and beside them, another list of where he might find the answers. As usual, the questions list was longer. At about four o’clock, he called it a day and tossed the empty bottle in the recycle bin. He showered, dressed, and donned his chef’s apron. Jen would expect dinner on time. And, with a body like hers, she wasn’t someone he wanted to keep waiting.

  * * *

  Rob lounged in his patio chair and admired the excellent job he’d done. He brushed loose grass from his shoes and dabbed the bead of sweat tracing a line down his neck. Mowing his yard in the cool April afternoon wasn’t bad. August was another thing altogether.

  He missed Carmen. They were seldom apart, and even after calling her this morning, he still longed for her. He downed half his beer. The sun dropped a little more each minute. He didn’t want to spend the night with the TV. Frank had a date; besides, they never saw each other socially. If only Frank would get married. Then they could get together as couples. But that guy would never get married. After he’d brought that girl to dinner, Carmen had put foot her foot down. No more evenings with Frank and his bimbos. A rather harsh commentary on Frank’s taste in women, but probably a fair one.

  Rob put it all out of his mind, dragged himself from the chair, and swept the sidewalk and patio before showering. He’d eaten a late lunch and wasn’t especially hungry, but he could stand another beer. He hated drinking alone, so he decided to go to a fun, familiar place—his own personal bar. He’d go to Sarge’s.

  * * *

  Frank uncorked another bottle of red and decanted it before Jen arrived. He opened the balcony door. A cool, sweet breeze filtered in, and he stood there a while looking at the lights in the distance. God, he loved this loft. It was high enough that most street noise didn’t disturb him, but he could catch a breeze most nights.

  His navel-gazing was interrupted by a delicate knock at the door. When he answered it, Jen held up two more bottles of red. Her mischievous grin told him what she had in mind.

  Jen was one of those girls who always liked things her way. Last time she’d visited, they had dined, drunk several bottles of wine on his balcony, and made love in the patio hammock with the lights out. Frank didn’t like making love in the hammock. Trying a few of his favorite positions in that thing could get a guy killed. But Jen enjoyed adventure and had some special positions of her own. Doing anything that could result in a broken neck somehow appealed to her.

  She leaned in and planted a deep, wet kiss on his lips. As she wrapped both arms around his neck, the bottles clanged. “I’ve waited all week for that,” she said.

  No doubt about it. Her motor was revved up and ready to go. She always beat him off the line.

  “Don’t torque me up too fast, girl. I still have dinner to finish.”

  She beamed. “Great. I’ll help.” She slid around him, heading for the kitchen.

  This wasn’t going to work. Frank had no illu
sions about her cooking abilities. She had a knockout body, the face of an angel, and the cooking talent of a cavewoman. Her attempt at making breakfast last time had resulted in all the smoke detectors going off. He decided a distraction was the best course of action.

  “Hey,” he said, “how about I finish dinner. You find some music for us. I didn’t have time. Classic rock or jazz would be great.”

  She set the bottles on the island. “Good idea,” she said, and whirled toward the entertainment center.

  Less than an hour later, the night had closed in, and they dined on his bar. He liked Jen because she wasn’t interested in long-lasting relationships. She was a party girl out for a little fun. Their conversation never got bogged down on heavy subjects. She knew he was police and enjoyed the fact that she had, at last, laid one.

  As he poured them a little more vino from the decanter, Jen smiled at him, giving him that glassy-eyed look a bottle of wine produces. Frank also had a good buzz going and looked forward to her positions. She licked some sauce off her lips and ran her bare foot up his leg. Just then, his home phone rang. That thing never rings. People always used his cell to contact him—except his mom.

  “Hello,” Frank said.

  “Mr. Pierce, this is Bob at the desk.”

  Frank peeked at Jen. She sipped wine and unbuttoned the top button on her silk blouse. “Yeah, what can I do for you?” Frank asked.

  Bob cleared his throat and whispered, “The police are here. They want to come up.”

  Frank shifted the phone to his other ear and faced the opposite direction. “The police?”

  “Yes, sir. The Dallas Police.”

  About a dozen thoughts rushed through Frank’s head—everything from one of his parents suddenly dying to Jen being wanted for some reason. He paused too long before answering.

  “Mr. Pierce, what do I do?” Bob asked.

  Frank swallowed. “Send them up.”

  He disconnected and sprinted to Jen’s purse. Dumping the contents on the sofa, he quickly sorted through the items. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he didn’t want any misunderstandings when the officers came in.