The River Is Dark

by Joe Hart

  The road wound around two corners and fell away once more, and Liam stretched his jaw, surprised at the feeling of his ears popping from the descent. A few homes dotted the sides of the road, their fronts obscured by thick growths of trees and hedges. Soon the highway became Main Street, a long, curving swath that cut the town into halves, which were divided in cross sections by multiple side roads shooting off left and right in between the businesses that studded the blocks.

  Liam slowed the truck to a crawl as he entered the street—“the drag,” his brother had called it once. Tallston knew its place as a tourist locale, and kept its buildings in check, not allowing much room for trend. Instead, the colors and architecture reminded Liam of a golden era long since passed, when tail-finned Studebakers might have cruised on a warm Saturday night, numerous elbows cocked from the windows, with the occasional catcall issuing from within whenever a pretty girl in a poodle skirt passed by. On the left side, the glass windows of a bakery displayed cakes and brightly colored cookies. Beside it was a nail salon, a hardware store named Brenton’s, and what looked to be a conglomeration of businesses boxed together into one storefront with a sign proclaiming The Square. On the right was a drugstore, a long textile mill, a dentist’s office, and a small café nestled next to an overbearing two-story stone building with no lettering on its front.

  Liam pulled into a parking space in front of the café and shut the truck off. Despite the roiling in his stomach, he knew he should eat and his coffee was long gone. He let his hands fall to his lap and rest there while he studied the people making their way along the sidewalk beside the storefronts. Their garish clothing screamed tourist, just as the town around them echoed the same.

  Liam climbed out of the Chevy and pocketed the keys after locking the truck. When he pulled open the door to the café, the smells of cooking food and aged wood surrounded him. The eatery was narrow and long, with several booths lining its right side. A row of tables sat to the left, and at the far end a bar ran parallel to the back wall, the red upholstered stools before it showing their age with wisps of cushion poking through in various places. One booth held a couple drinking coffee, and a lone man in a long threadbare coat sat at the bar. Liam made his way between the tables and booths until he reached the counter, and took a seat several spots down from the man in the coat. A waitress in black dress pants and a black polo looked up from reading a newspaper and smiled.

  “Good morning . . . or afternoon?”

  Liam nodded and tried to return the smile. “Afternoon now, I think.”

  She grabbed a menu from beneath the counter and slid it before him. “Well, we serve breakfast all day if you haven’t had any yet, and our special is roast beef covered in gravy with mashed potatoes and a fresh garden salad. Would you like anything to drink?”

  “Coffee, please,” Liam said, and looked down at the menu. The descriptions and pictures of the food designed to entice only made his stomach seesaw. When the waitress placed the cup of dark, steaming liquid before him, he slid the menu back to her. “I’ll just have the club sandwich.” With a nod, she retreated to the kitchen doors and disappeared from view.

  “The club’s shit, just so you know.”

  Liam turned to the man at the counter, who gazed at him from under a tangle of dark hair streaked with gray. His face was long and narrow, with sallow cheeks that fell in like slack sails. He was unshaven, and when Liam looked at the man’s hands wrapped around a similar mug of coffee, he saw long yellow fingernails with dirt caked beneath them.

  “That so?” Liam said, not wanting to talk and saying as much with the dead tone in his voice.

  The unkempt man nodded. “I don’t know where the hell they get their bacon, but it doesn’t taste like any pig that I’ve had before.” The man waved a hand in disgust, and Liam caught a waft of body odor from his direction.

  Liam sipped from his cup and was surprised at how good the coffee was. He could almost feel the caffeine bolstering him, straightening his insides, which felt folded and broken.

  “Good coffee, though,” the man said, as if reading his mind. Liam adopted silence to get his new friend to stop addressing him, and merely nodded. “You’re from out of town,” the man continued. It wasn’t a question.

  Liam glanced in his direction. “Yeah.”

  “Lots around these days. You don’t look like a reporter, though.”

  Liam stiffened. He hadn’t been in town for more than fifteen minutes and already the confrontation he’d been dreading was upon him. “I’m not.”

  The man sipped his coffee and looked past Liam to study something on the wall. “Yeah, killing always brings the vultures. I knew they’d come after the first ones, but now it’s bound to be twice as bad.”

  Liam paused, his cup hanging a few inches below his mouth. “What do you mean, ‘the first ones’?”

  The man’s bloodshot eyes flicked back to Liam’s face, and he squinted. “Wasn’t two weeks ago Jerry and Karen Shevlin were found the same way as the ones last night. Their boy was luckier, but not by much. Lost an arm from the elbow down and hasn’t woke up yet. Poor little bugger, he can’t be more’n ten or eleven.”

  Liam set his cup down and turned to fully face the man. “You’re telling me there was a double murder here last week?”

  The man nodded, his clumpy hair bobbing with the motion. “Yeah, local authorities tried to keep it quiet right away, but it got out after only a day or so. Now this new one last night.” The man shook his head. “And the doctor along with his wife at that. Sad, sad business.”

  The door to the kitchen banged open, and the waitress came out holding a plate with a soggy-looking sandwich and a pile of wilting French fries. Her eyes flitted to the man down the bar, and her mouth dipped at the corners.

  “Nut, I told you not to bother people, or Dale will boot you out again.”

  Before the man could respond, Liam spoke. “He’s fine, not bothering me at all.”

  The waitress gave Nut another stabbing look, and then smiled at Liam. “Anything else I can get you, hon?”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” Liam said.

  The waitress moved off to check on the couple in the booth, and the man at the bar leaned forward conspiratorially. “My real name’s not Nut, but everyone calls me that. Nice to make your acquaintance,” he said, holding out a dirty hand.

  “Liam Dempsey,” Liam said, and shook hands with the man, taking in the surprise and calculation in Nut’s eyes.

  “You wouldn’t be—” Nut began, but Liam stood, already reaching for his wallet. With a flick of his hand he laid a twenty on the counter, and moved past the waitress and out the door without looking back.

  CHAPTER 2

  He tried to call the number Agent Phelps had told him earlier that morning but each time he dialed, the digits slipped away from his memory like sand through fingers.

  Liam punched the end button and stared through the truck’s windshield, his heart thudding faster with a feeling he hadn’t experienced in almost a year. He willed his pulse to slow before bringing up the browser on his phone. In less than a minute, he found directions to the sheriff’s office and threw the truck into reverse.

  The Tallston sheriff’s department sat four streets south of the café, built beside an imposing three-story brownstone that served as the town hall. Liam strode up the concrete entrance ramp and pulled open the glass door emblazoned with a gold shield, the words Tallston Sheriff’s Department curved around its upper half. A cool wave of air-conditioning washed over him as he stepped through the door, effectively cutting off the day’s burgeoning heat. The lobby of the office was simple, with a reinforced steel door set in the left wall and a Plexiglas partition directly ahead. A round hole the size of a grapefruit was cut in the center of the glass, and a plump woman in a brown uniform rested behind the desk, a black headset tipped up so that it touched the taut strands of her ponytailed blon
d hair.

  “Is the sheriff in?” Liam asked as he stepped up to the window, leaning forward so his voice would carry through the porthole.

  The woman raised her eyebrows and seemed to take him in for a moment before shaking her head. “No, he’s not at the moment. Can I help you with something?”

  “Is he at the Dempsey house?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you, sir?”

  “I’m Allen Dempsey’s brother. I need to speak with the sheriff or the BCA agents assigned to the case.”

  The deputy’s face softened. “I’m very sorry for your loss. They should be back from the crime scene sometime later this afternoon, if you’d like to leave them a message.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll try to catch up with them there,” Liam said, turning away.

  “Sir, you won’t be allowed at the—”

  Her words were lost to him as he pushed through the door, into the heat of the afternoon.

  His brother’s house sat atop one of the highest bluffs overlooking the town. Liam almost didn’t remember how to get there; over ten years had passed since his last visit, and the hurried drive away from the house was a blur that he couldn’t fully recall. He followed the faint memory up a fork in the main street at the very end of town, the smooth pavement turning to even smoother concrete as his pickup climbed up and away from the city below. He made a left turn at a T at the top of the hill and followed a wooded road until he spotted the ornate mailbox adorned with his brother’s name. He shook his head, out of habit, at the Dr. before Dempsey emblazoned in silver on the mailbox’s side, and turned down the private drive. After two curves, he saw the rear end of a sheriff’s cruiser and a flapping strand of yellow Do Not Cross tape, its message vanishing and reappearing with the touch of a light breeze. Liam parked behind the cruiser and got out, his stomach feeling lighter than the rest of his body, the sunshine too bright even through his sunglasses. A young deputy leaned on the hood of the cruiser, and when Liam shut the truck’s door, the man turned toward him and stood, the twin reflective lenses of his shades following Liam’s approach.

  “What can I do for you?” the deputy said when Liam was still five steps away.

  “I need to speak with the sheriff and agents in charge of the investigation.”

  The deputy put up a hand in a halting motion, even though Liam had already stopped. “This is a crime scene, sir. I need you to get back in your vehicle and make an appointment at the department in town.”

  “I’m the doctor’s brother,” Liam said.

  The deputy dropped his hand, but his posture didn’t change as he continued to study Liam. “I’m very sorry, but this is a secured scene and I can’t let—”

  “Could you please let the sheriff know that I’m here and I’d like to speak with him?”

  “Sir, I understand you’re upset, but you need to get back—”

  “Listen, I’m not going anywhere until you go get your superior officer or the BCA agent I spoke with this morning.” Liam pulled off his sunglasses so that he could stare at the deputy without obstruction. Something in his gaze must have spoken to the younger man, because without another word, the deputy spun, ducked under the string of tape, and walked to the house looming over the other cars in the driveway.

  Liam crossed his arms and stared at the sprawling one-level home. Two hand-carved pillars propped up a wide overhang that shaded the front entry from the sun. Several sets of floor-to-ceiling windows glared back at him like corpse eyes, darkly accusing in the bright day. A stall of the attached garage gaped open, revealing what must’ve been his brother’s latest vehicle: a shining black Cadillac Escalade. Or maybe it was Suzie’s. Liam felt his teeth grit together, and he turned to face the dense woods on the left side of the driveway, until he heard the sound of footsteps.

  Two men walked toward him, trailed by the deputy. The first was tall and clean-cut, wearing a dark suit with a maroon tie. His face was smooth, with dark hair parted in a precise line on the left side of his head. The other man was shorter and powerfully built; a round belly that carried an extra thirty pounds Liam was sure hadn’t been there in his younger days hung over a duty belt laden with all the tools of law enforcement. The sheriff had nearly white hair and a neatly trimmed mustache of the same color.

  The taller man reached Liam first, holding his hand out. “Mr. Dempsey, I’m Senior Special Agent Todd Phelps, this is Sheriff Barnes.” Liam shook hands with both men, the agent’s grip overly strong while the sheriff’s was firm but polite. “I apologize for not answering earlier. We are in the middle of the investigation and I couldn’t—”

  “I’d like to know why you didn’t tell me my brother and his wife were the second of two double murders in the same town within the last week,” Liam said.

  The agent’s eyes narrowed somewhat, but his voice remained even. “At this point in the investigation I wasn’t at liberty to reveal all the details surrounding your brother’s murder. We’re not even sure the events last week are related in any way.”

  Liam shifted his eyes from Phelps to the sheriff’s round face. “You’re telling me that a double murder in the same small town a week before isn’t connected?”

  “At this time we’re not sure, but believe me, we’re doing everything possible to follow up on the leads we have.”

  “Was there anything stolen from either scene?” Liam asked, glancing over the agent’s shoulder at the house.

  He felt Phelps’s eyes running over his face like the touch of crawling insects. “Mr. Dempsey, where are you a detective out of?”

  There was only a beat before Liam responded and met the agent’s gaze. “Minneapolis Homicide, and I’m not a detective anymore.”

  Phelps pushed his tongue against the back of his lower teeth. “Well, we can’t release any information at this point. Now, if you’d like to meet with either the sheriff or myself later this evening, we’d be happy to do so.”

  A tremble of anger flowed through his body at the brush-off, but he mentally restrained himself. “Yes, please call me at the earliest convenience. I’ll leave my number at the sheriff’s office.”

  Without another word or look, Liam spun on his heel and walked to his truck. He threw the Chevy into reverse and backed out of the drive until he was able to turn around on the wider road at its mouth. He cursed under his breath as he urged the truck away from the crime scene and back into the waiting town below.

  He found a quaint hotel at the south end of Tallston and checked in, telling the woman at the front desk that he’d be staying through at least the weekend. His room was on the third floor, one of a dozen. The accommodations were both comfortable and cramped, with a bed tucked so close to the bathroom that he was sure if he needed to piss in the middle of the night he would only have to roll over and let fly. A bank of windows graced the far side of the room, and when he walked to them to look out, he saw that the hotel was closer to the Mississippi than he originally estimated. The dark-brown river ran in a wide arc only a stone’s throw from the rear parking lot, and he could see the untouched canopy of leaves in the wilderness across the water. It looked like the forest ran on forever in unbroken wilds that rolled in waves of emerald as the wind made itself known again. After calling the sheriff’s office to leave his name and number, he headed back downstairs.

  The hotel had a small bar tucked in the back of the building, almost as an afterthought, and Liam noted the sensation of claustrophobia as he entered the space, the low ceiling only a foot above his head. The bar itself was a mahogany log, halved and angled into three pieces that created a half circle. A scattering of tables sat against the opposite wall, and two doors, one at each end of the room, were marked accordingly for men and women. A petite, blond woman with close-cropped hair sat at the far end of the bar nursing a water; her eyes registered him as he entered, and then moved away. A balding bartender, the hair growing off the back of his shining
pate so long he could have sat on it, leaned on the polished wood as Liam took a seat on a barstool that let out a squeak of protest.

  “Getcha?” the bartender said, tossing a napkin Liam’s direction.

  “Bud Light and a shot of Crown.” While the bartender busied himself with the drinks, Liam glanced around the room once more and noticed the woman staring at him again. He met her eyes and held them until she looked away, his expression as uncaring as he felt.

  The bartender set the beer and shot glass before him. “Seven fifty.”

  “I got it,” the blond woman said, rounding the bar as Liam dug for his wallet. He looked up at her as she nodded to the bartender, who shrugged and wrote something on a notepad before busying himself with a glass that was already clean. The woman set her water down a few inches from Liam’s beer and motioned at a barstool to his right. “Mind?”

  Liam sighed and looked down at the bar. “Go ahead.”

  He heard her laugh lightly as she took the seat beside him. “You’re not very appreciative of a girl who just bought you a drink.”

  He glanced at her before taking a sip of the flat beer. “Sorry.”

  She tossed her head to the side. “It’s okay. You just look like someone who could use a little kindness.”

  “Thanks, I’m just preoccupied,” Liam said, picking up the smudged shot glass.

  “Troubles for each and every one, my dad used to say.”

  Liam threw the shot back and let the whiskey burn all the way to the base of his stomach and back before looking at his beer and wondering how fast he could finish it.

  “You just passing through?” the woman asked.