by Davis, SJ
“Lena?”
Stan’s voice stopped her at the door. She turned to face him.
“The lab in Bangor’s got what’s left of Annie Janson’s fetus. They’re doing a DNA analysis to determine who the father is.” Stan shook his head. Tap. “That baby sure does give us a good argument for motive. If I were you, I’d pray that Jake Morris doesn’t come back a match…if he turns out to be that baby’s daddy, the odds are that he’s the killer. And if Jake Morris is a murderer, chances are fair to good that you were his accomplice.”
Lena shook her head and turned the knob. With shaking hands, she pushed the door ajar.
“Oh, and Lena, one more thing…” Stan added.
She ignored him. One foot stepped into the precinct room.
“FYI?”
She stopped.
Tap, tap, taptaptaptap.
“Annie Janson’s baby? It was a girl.”
Chapter 34
Lena arrived at Odin’s cabin by way of the trail around the water’s edge with Zephyr at her heels.
“What’s going on over there?” he asked, looking across the pond.
She followed his gaze. The rain had stopped and a dozen men and women, some with dogs, swarmed the meadow.
“After you left, I found Alex’s wallet on the floor,” she explained. “He must have dropped it on his way out. When I went into town to give it back, I got a message to stop by the police station for another little chat.” She shivered and shook her head. “The next thing I knew, the cops were asking me for permission to search my property.”
Odin frowned. “But why, Selene?”
“Because they think Jake Morris murdered Annie, and they think that, somehow, I helped him.” She stood on the dock and watched as the law officers violated her meadow.
“Let me get this straight,” he said, taking her hand. “You gave them permission to search your home?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve got nothing to hide. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Odin reached to steady her. “Sit down, Selene. Take a deep breath and be calm.”
Lena slumped into a chair on the dock, cradling her chin in her hands.
“Now,” he said, “tell me what happened exactly as you remember it. Don’t leave out anything.”
Slowly, she told him of the questioning she’d undergone at the Greenville Police Department.When she finished, he threw his hands into the air.
“That’s ridiculous, Selene!” he exclaimed. “You weren’t even here when she disappeared!”
Lena shook her head. “They wouldn’t listen to me, Odin. They’ve got it in their heads that Jake and I are guilty.”
“To even imply that you could do such a thing is crazy.”
“They’re not implying that I killed her, Odin. They’re saying that I helped Jake get rid of her body. Actually, I did…and they can prove it.”
He squatted before her and took her face between his hands, staring into her eyes. “What are you talking about? How did you help him?”
“You know those bags of garbage that Jake and I removed from my camp?” she said.
He shook his head and shrugged. “I guess.”
“That’s where they found her. Annie. Her body was carved up and left in those bags…the same bags we removed from my camp. Everything but her head.” Lena gagged and covered her mouth with her hand choking back bile.
“That’s ludicrous,” Odin insisted. “Where did they get that idea?”
“Stan told me so today…someone hacked Annie up and hid her in my camp. And I…Jake and I…” Her eyes welled with fresh tears. She wiped them on her sleeve as she retreated from the dock. At the cottage, she opened the door and changed her mind, sinking onto the second step, holding her head in her hands. Her tears flowed faster.
Odin’s voice was tender as he crouched before her. “What, Selene? What is it? What did you do?”
“Well, I guess that we just…” Her voice broke. She bowed her head as the reality of what they’d done hit her. “I guess that we just…threw her away.”
Odin sighed. “I know that you don’t want to consider this, Lena, but are you absolutely sure Jake Morris could not have done this?”
“Positive.”
“Even if he were drunk?”
She considered it briefly then shook her head. “No,” she said. “Even if he was falling down, pie-eyed, forget your name shit-faced. He couldn’t have killed Annie…he loved her too much.”
Odin stood and paced the length of the porch, his tone reassuring and dismissive. “Well then, let them search. Since you are innocent, they will find nothing.”
“But how did her body end up in my camp?” Lena said.
He shrugged. “Her killer must have known the cabin was unoccupied. If the police are smart, they’ll question the residents of Blanchard and Monson. This area is too remote for a total stranger to have picked it out of the blue, don’t you think? It’s far more likely that it was a local who killed and disposed of her, than a stranger.”
“A local,” she repeated. “Like Jake.”
“Perhaps,” he said, facing the water.
Lena sniffed and raised her eyes to study his figure. Dressed in Khaki trousers and a green flannel shirt, his body tan and fit, he looked extraordinarily handsome in the waning light. She felt a surge of longing and dread as she formulated her next question. “Odin?”
“Hmmm.”
“When did you move into your cottage?”
“In mid-April. Why?”
“That’s when Annie disappeared,” she said. “The cops think she died in June. Mid to late June. You never saw anyone over there, did you?”
“No,” he said slowly. “Only you and Jake…after the closing.”
She dropped her eyes. “And you kept the gate locked at the turn-off?”
“No,” he said again. “I had no reason to do that until we saw the thief on my dock.” He tilted his head. His eyes met hers and held them unblinking. “Lena,” he said softly, “do you wish to accuse me of something?”
She frowned. “Of course not. What I’m getting at is anyone could have parked at the road, carried those bags in, and left them there, couldn’t they?”
He smiled and shook his head. “They would’ve needed a key to the cabin, remember? The bags were left inside. Who, besides you, had a key?”
“Jake had one, and Marge Quimby. And Bernie Morris, and Alex. God knows who else.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “We don’t even know for sure that the place was locked when the body was dumped.”
Odin reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come. You’re exhausted. This is all too much for you right now. I’ll put on water for tea and prepare a light supper while you rest. You can’t go home while the police are there.”
She nodded as the full force of her fatigue hit her. “Thank you.”
“Of course you’ll stay with me tonight, as well.”
It wasn’t a question. Again, she nodded. Added to the police presence in her cabin was her worry that Alex’s returned wallet wouldn’t be enough to keep him away. He’d looked less than thrilled when she’d tossed it in front of him onto the bar of The Black Swan.
Odin disappeared inside. She could hear comforting sounds from within: the crackle of a fire in the woodstove and clank of pots and pans, the whistle of the kettle signaling water boiling for tea. She rested her head on her knees and closed her eyes, grateful that he was there and ashamed of herself for doubting him. Her conversation with Maeve seemed like a hundred years ago. The girl had simply confused her with someone else.
She shifted her focus back across the pond. Two of the police cars were gone; she wondered what they’d found. A necklace shaped like a moon? A painting of an ancient goddess? A lock of blonde hair, twisted into a coil and hidden in her diary? A head? The tears began anew, leaving streaks down her cheeks and soaking her collar.
Odin’s hands returned to her shoulders, strong and reassuring. Still, her tears continued.
Dutifully, she sipped. The booze warmed the back of her throat as she swallowed. It tasted good. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
Odin watched her sip. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Finish it up.”
When he returned, he held a bottle and a syringe. “Pull up your sleeve and give me your arm,” he instructed her. “You’re tired and overwrought. This will help.”
“What is it?” she asked cautiously.
“Luminal. It’s a sedative that I take when I have to fly. I have anxiety, you see.” He rubbed a cotton swab of alcohol on the vein inside of her elbow.
“No thanks,” she said, jerking her arm away. “I don’t want it.”
“I understand, but trust me, it’ll help you sleep and make you feel better.”
She stared into his eyes as a slew of emotions assaulted her tired and confused mind: love, suspicion, trust, and distrust. Finally, reluctantly, she pulled up the sleeve of her sweatshirt and extended her arm. Overwhelmed by grief and dizzy with fatigue, she craved oblivion if only for a few short hours.
“Good girl,” Odin said. He inserted the syringe into the bottle, drawing a dose with precision. “It does you no good to worry. It does you no good to go without sleep.”
She nodded and closed her eyes while he injected the drug into her arm. Taking her hand, he helped her to her feet and steered her into the smaller of the two bedrooms. “Here you go. Lie down and try to rest. When you awake, I’ll have dinner waiting.” He held a finger to her lips. “Don’t argue, and don’t worry about Zephyr. I’ll go to your cabin after the police leave and get his food.”
She felt his lips, soft and gentle on her forehead. “Sleep well, my love,” he said.
Lena’s eyes were heavy. The effects of the drug, coupled with alcohol, were strong. Odin smoothed her hair from her forehead. He kissed her tenderly. With a sigh, she gave in and let the sedative do its work.
***
Selene Walker never remembered falling asleep. She never saw Odin Andreassen’s smile fade as he closed the door of the bedroom; never heard the opening aria of Madame Butterfly as he took the key from the hook and walked across the yard to the bunkhouse. She never heard the muffled cries of the caged creature within as the door creaked open and he stepped inside.
If she had, she would have realized that her worst fears were true.
Chapter 35.
When Lena woke up, it was dark. She checked her watch, surprised by the time. It was two-thirty in the morning. She’d not only slept away the evening, she’d slept through dinner and half the night. Her mouth was dry and she had to use the toilet. She groped across the bed for Odin’s familiar form but his place beside her was empty. The only noise came from Zephyr, snoring softly at the foot of the bed. Carefully, she placed her feet on the floor and made her way across the short expanse of floor to the door.
It was lighter in the main room. The remnants of a fire still flickered in the wood stove casting an orange glow on the walls inside the cabin. She found the door to the bathroom and let herself in, groping for the flashlight that he kept next to the composting toilet. It wasn’t there. In the dark, she cranked the lid open and peed into the void, closing it when she was done.
Still groggy from the effects of the sedative, she made her way to the kitchen. Pulling up the pump handle, she placed her hands beneath it, rubbing them back and forth before cupping them to catch the water. It was cold. Lena took a long swallow, caught another handful, and gulped it down, splashing her face with yet a third.
Outside the window, a shadow moved, dark against the darkness. She lowered the handle and squinted, placing her cupped hands on the glass to block the glow from the firelight on the panes. It was someone at the bunkhouse. The door opened slightly, then closed as a flashlight snapped on, illuminating its bearer: a man, tall and thin. Odin. His back was toward the cabin as Lena ducked beneath the windowsill and retraced her steps across the living room. Love, doubt, trust, distrust. She pulled the door closed and climbed into bed, feigning sleep as the outer door of the cabin opened. Slowing her breath and relaxing her muscles, she listened to the faint sound of his footfalls in the living room. The door opened and they stopped beside the bed; Lena willed her heart to slow as the flashlight played across her face. After a few long seconds, the light flicked away and he left the room. She could hear him rummaging through the kitchen. A plate clattered on the countertop and the refrigerator opened with a creak. Water tinkled from the pump into a cup. Minutes later, the outer door opened again and he was gone.
Lena hurried to the window, taking care to keep low. The lock on the bunkhouse clicked open again and she watched as he disappeared inside. She waited, but the minutes ticked by without his return. Finally, shivering, she gave up and returned to bed.
Lying across her mattress in the dark, she attempted to sort through the muddled confusion in her mind. There had to be a good explanation for his late-night escapade. He’d said that there was an animal trapped inside the shed. A raccoon. Maybe he was feeding it. Her thoughts flashed to the portrait of the huntress and Annie’s butchered remains and her mind turned another corner to lead her down a darker path. Or maybe not.
Fighting through her fatigue, she replayed Maeve’s words for the hundredth time. The pretty blonde had called her by the name Rhiannon and she’d called her brother Dylan. Rhiannon, she thought recalling the information she’d read on-line, the Welch Goddess of the moon. Dylan, the Celtic God of the water. Again, her brain made the logical jump between the two: Odin Andreassen and Dylan Anderson were one and the same. But, if it were so, was he also the man who’d been Annie’s lover? Dylan Anderson, the man who’d said he loved her. Dylan Anderson, the man who’d killed her?
“Not Dylan,” she whispered, as her eyes flew open. “Thor.”
***
As dawn broke over Blackwater Pond, Lena slipped from the bed and dressed in her jeans and sweatshirt. It felt like days had passed since she’d closed her eyes, not hours. Her arm itched where Odin had injected her and her stomach growled. Hesitantly, she peeked into the second bedroom. Odin was there, sprawled across the bed, snoring slightly, every breath hitching on the exhale. She’d heard him return to the cabin at four-thirty, but once again, she’d feigned sleep as he’d checked on her before entering the adjoining room.
Silently, she made her way from the cottage to the bunkhouse with Zephyr at her heels. At the locked door, she put an ear to it, listening intently. There was no sound within. She gave the lock a futile tug before returning to the cabin. Once more, she opened the door to Odin’s bedroom. A glance inside reassured her that he was soundly asleep. Closing it softly, she backed away and headed up the stairs to his studio.
As it had been on her first visit, the small room was crowded with canvases in various stages of completion. Most of them were works in progress, but one wall was covered with finished paintings. Lena stood before them, studying his work. Odin’s attention to detail was meticulous, his use of colors, subtle. What she’d thought at first to be good was better than that. To her untrained eye, each and every painting was no less than a masterpiece.
She stared at the portrait of herself as The Lorelei, sketched the first time that she’d posed for him that long-ago day of another first: the first day they’d made love. The siren of the rock stared back at her, eyes glazed with desire. He’d taken the liberty of enhancing her breasts, revealing just enough through the gauze of her gown to feed the viewer’s imagination. The sensuality of the painting was indisputable. She took a step backward as she continued to search the room.
Resting on the floor behind a portrait of a moose and her calf, she recognized Selene atop her bull. The face of the Moon Goddess, her face, was sere
ne, untroubled. Behind her, the shepherd was gone, replaced by a man-goat – Satyr – who lurked along the wood’s edge, his arms extended and penis erect. Lena leaned closer studying his face. It was Odin’s, transfigured by lust and rage.
Heart racing, she moved on to the next painting. Her mirror image, Freya, lay sprawled across Lover’s Rock, legs spread wide and head thrown back in ecstasy. One hand touched her nipple while the other dangled over the water. Odin, the naked God of the Norse, lay beside her, his head resting against her abdomen. Like the others, the painting was undeniably erotic. Lena swallowed hard as she turned her gaze away.
Finally, she opened the closet and found the picture she’d been searching for. She stared at the floor in dismay. Artemis, serene and beautiful, bow in hand, was slashed to pieces. Stooping, Lena pieced the mutilated canvas together, gasping as the pieces fell into place. Annie’s face looked up from the debris, ten pieces of a macabre jigsaw puzzle with one piece missing. She found the last fragment in the corner, rolled up like a scroll and encased in the gold Claddaugh ring that Jake Morris had given her best friend as a promise for a lifetime of happily-ever-afters.
Artemis, Diana, Annie. It was all the proof she needed. Odin was indeed Annie’s lover and her killer. Shaking, Lena pocketed the ring, glanced over her shoulder, and pushed the ruined canvas aside. Stacked on the wall behind it were several other paintings, stretched tight and ready for frames. She pulled the first one forward and studied it carefully. The model was neither Annie nor herself; it was another woman, skin pale, hair, dark red. Naked and pregnant, she was crowned with a wreath of greenery, holding a burning torch aloft. Lena recognized the pose. Eostre. She shook her head and brought the next canvas into the light. The same woman had modeled for it, as well. She lay posed upon a rock in the familiar position of Lena’s Freya. There, in her arms, was Odin.