Sand City Murders

by MK Alexander

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Wish I was.” The detective gave us both a grim look.

  I glanced over at Joey. He wasn’t smiling. A look of anguish crossed his face. He realized immediately who Durbin meant.

  “You’re talking about Alyson and Emma?” I asked.

  Durbin nodded. “Did you know them?”

  “Of course I do… I mean, I dated Alyson for a while.” I looked over at Joey. “You’re kind of sweet on Emma, right?”

  “That’s pretty tasteless, Patrick.”

  “Sorry Joey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Where were you guys before? Like two hours ago?”

  “What, are we suspects?”

  “Just answer.”

  “Well, I was at Partners…”

  “I was at my Mom’s.”

  “Was she there too?”

  “Of course.” Joey grinned but this was a nervous one.

  “Okay, I have to ask… that’s my job.”

  “Can you tell us what happened?”

  “I’m still trying to make sense of it.”

  “Can I see for myself?”

  “You know what? You don’t want to see,” Durbin said. It was hard to read him. His tone of voice gave away a mix of frustration and disgust.

  “What went down?”

  “Looks like the two girls might have been protecting the dogs.”

  “From what?”

  “Might be from who… You sure you got the stomach for this?”

  “No...”

  “Alright, follow me if you really want to.”

  Joey declined to come and simply sat on the curb all hunched up, and very quiet.

  ***

  “Samuels’ office was broken into first… ransacked, I’d say,” Durbin explained as we walked towards the shelter.

  “What were they looking for?”

  “Who says they were looking for anything? They just trashed the place… out of spite maybe,” he theorized, but I wasn’t buying it. He led me into the shelter and we passed a few crime scene techs who seemed to be packing up. “Someone was systematically killing the dogs.”

  We walked back to a long corridor lined with kennels on either side. I could see harsh fluorescent lights up ahead. I turned the corner completely unready for what I saw: blood. It was everywhere, spattered against the white-tile walls, smeared across the wire-meshed pens, and still dripping in some places. On the floor there was a confusion of red paw prints, large and small, scuffled red smears, and a clear set of shoe prints. I stopped to look at a curious red imprint, about the size of a quarter, a pattern stamped in red. I guessed it was the tip of a cane. I was positive. It meant nothing to Durbin but I pointed it out anyway.

  “Yeah, we saw that. Not sure what it is yet.”

  All this told a story. I could see where several dogs had fallen, perhaps on their sides; not a corpse remained though, thanks to the techs. I was overcome by the sight. My knees buckled. Durbin steadied me. The first set of pens were still closed but covered with blood from top to bottom. It had sprayed out against the walls and floor. Some of the other cage doors were still open, each at a slightly different angle. Inside, I could just make out dark shapes, a tangle of fur and gouged flesh, motionless in the shadows. I tried to look away. I could feel my face screw up into an expression of revulsion.

  “Started here in the front. Went cage by cage,” Durbin explained. “I think some of the dogs tried to bite this guy.”

  “Him?”

  Durbin looked at me. I knew he was right. This wasn’t something a woman would do.

  “Were the cages locked?” I managed to stammer.

  “Of course. I’m thinking he used a long knife, or a spear even… Then up there… that’s where we found Emma. Best I can figure, it looks like she started opening the cages, letting the dogs loose to save them.”

  At the far end of the corridor, I could see where Emma had been. There was an outline drawn by the crime scene techs, and above that there was a silhouette against the wall, the only part of the tiles free from red splatter. If I had to guess, it looked like she was struck down while opening a cage. Her arm had been up and her hand was near the latch.

  “Alyson was there…” Durbin pointed. “On the other side. She was probably opening the cages too.”

  “Oh my fucking god…” I was muttering to myself. “Alyson, Emma… why? The poor girls… it doesn’t make sense…”

  “They were brave girls, compadre,” Durbin said quietly.

  “Who could do this?”

  “A real fucking psycho.”

  “How did they… how did they die?”

  “Blunt force, multiple injuries.”

  “Just can’t believe…” I felt woozy again. Durbin grabbed me and led me from the scene. Outside, he lit a cigarette and offered me one. I don’t smoke but did then.

  “How many dead dogs?”

  “Seven… twenty or so are still on the loose.” Durbin took a deep drag. I had to call in the county on this.”

  “For the murders?”

  “That too, but I’m thinking about all the wild dogs.”

  “Why would someone do this? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Someone out to get Samuels?” Durbin said rather than asked.

  “Still? What’s the point? He’s dead already.”

  “Exactly. Somebody’s anger has not been satisfied.” Durbin rubbed his brow from weariness. “I guess I’ll track down pissed-off clients… you know, a beloved pet dies and you gotta blame somebody...”

  “The shoe prints... Italian shoes? Can you match them to Sunset Park, to Samuels’ basement?”

  “What the fuck, Jardel?”

  “Well, it can’t be Hector then.”

  “Hector? Diaz?”

  “He’s in county lock up, right?”

  Durbin gave me a face. “Yeah…”

  There was some commotion up the road at the entrance of the Samuels compound. A car had pulled up and there was a man, yelling, complaining, making a general nuisance of himself. A bunch of uniforms started jogging in that direction.

  “Trouble,” Durbin said and snubbed out his cigarette.

  “What?”

  “It’s goddamn Leaning. The Times. How the hell did he get here so fast?”

  Durbin turned to me with a look.

  “I know, I know… not a word…” I forced a smile.

  “Thanks, Jardel.”

  I tried to turn my mind back to the gruesome scene. I didn’t want to but I had to. I looked inside the cages again… the fur, the blood, the lifeless shapes… Still, no sign of Roxy, none of the dogs seemed to be him. I found Joey at the side of Bedrock Road sitting on the curb. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about him. I held out my hand and hoisted him upright. “C’mon Joey, let me take you home.”

  It’s hard to say exactly how this affected me. Far worse than anything, ever. I felt numb. Tears welled up and filled my eyes. I could feel them streaming down my face. At that moment I believed I would never speak, never utter another word, though I knew I had to. Nor could I ever laugh again, or smile, or make a joke, or a light remark. A darkness came over me. Life would never be the same. A profound sense of loss filled me. Not like Alyson was the love of my life, but she was a person I knew well, a person I cared about. Now she was dead. It was unreal. We had laughed together, made love, smiled and kissed. She was gone now, nonexistent. It hardly seemed possible. Speaking of which, my mind also went back to Partners. Tractus Fynn had leapt into thin air and vanished. That hardly seemed possible either.

  chapter 25

  marsh mission

  I was still reeling from Friday night and I’m sure I wasn’t alone. Sand City had never seen anything as brutal as this. Two sweet girls who had never been anything but kind, struck down for no apparent reason. It was a tragedy, totally senseless and incomprehensible. Joey took it especially hard, texting me weird questions that I couldn’t possibly answer, and desperately searching
for some reason behind the killings. I had nothing for him. All I could guess was that Roxy seemed to be at the center of it, and this mysterious Mortimer guy. But I had no actual evidence, just the few things Fynn had alluded to. And where the hell was he? Not a good time to disappear, I thought. I also blamed him in some respects. I could have taken this little dog anywhere but I chose to bring him here… These words echoed in my mind. I could feel some anger building. It might not have been his fault directly, but he must’ve known something bad might happen. Time traveler or not, he certainly failed to predict this future.

  I guess it was just the shock of it all. I felt dazed, completely off kilter. I couldn’t sleep, not the next day at least. I just lay there on my futon half awake, half dreaming, thinking about Alyson and Emma… thinking about Fynn… Nothing seemed real to me now. For a while I mindlessly surfed the net, trying to stay occupied, trying to keep my mind off everything. Zachary wasn’t much comfort either. He bolted outside when I came in, and was gone for the whole day. He came crawling back that evening; I fed him and he curled up on the floor to sleep, oblivious to all other events. I wasn’t so lucky. The price of awareness and memory. Saturday night was much the same. I dozed, I browsed, I thought in circles. I got nowhere. I found no meaning in anything at all. Even anything Chamblis could have ever done paled in comparison. In the end, the only thing I could do was update the Chronicle’s website. I tread very carefully but reported the facts the best I could. It seemed important to tell this story. I headlined it: Shelter Girls, Profiles In Courage.

  ***

  Durbin called me very early Sunday morning, like the crack of dawn, and told me to meet him up by the Marina.

  “Bring your camera.”

  “My camera? Why?”

  “You’ll see… oh yeah, and wear a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt.”

  That was an odd thing to say. It was already hot, maybe eighty degrees, and a rare windless day in Sand City. “Why?”

  “Trust me…”

  When I asked whereabouts on Long Neck Road, he said I’d know. I didn’t. It wasn’t obvious at all. Along the way I got stuck behind an SUV towing a huge boat, maybe a cabin cruiser, about twenty-feet long and under blue shrink wrap. They were driving very slowly and that ended up being a good thing. Otherwise I might have sailed right past the two police cruisers parked in between Ralph’s Rafts and the Sand City Surf Shop. No flashing lights.

  Neither place was open yet. Ralph’s was usually filled with giant inflatable things, colorful things, animals, tubes, rubber boats, air mattresses and alike. If you could blow it up, you’d find it at Ralph’s. Every time you drove by it was a sure reminder that summer was in full swing. Not today. I pulled up next to Durbin’s dark gray Charger, in the place normally reserved for the bikers. That was a summer thing too. Bikers loved to hang at Ralph’s for some unknown reason, and I mean the kind who ride Harleys. I found Durbin across the road, sitting on an ATV, the two-seater. He beckoned to me, then tossed over a can of bug spray.

  “You’re gonna need it. The green heads are bad today.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Another one… another girl, a lot like Sunset Park.”

  “Why did you call me?”

  “Where the hell is Fynn?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Me neither.” Durbin started the engine and we set off into the marshlands along a disused fire-road. Dozens of little blue boxes passed by like signposts. These little cubes are what kept our town habitable in the summer— bug traps and effective ones at that. Sand City was no longer famous for its mosquitos. I glanced over at Durbin. He didn’t exactly seem talkative but it was too loud for conversation anyway. I half expected that we’d run across a crop circle up ahead. It seemed like the perfect place for one. But I doubted Durbin would wake me up and call me out just for that.

  Swamp, wetlands, marsh, bog, whatever word you use, most of it had been filled in over the decades with trash and debris. Most of it was an old land fill by now, I remember historical guy Kevin telling me. When it got too full they just covered it over with sand, tamped it down, and started dumping someplace else. Every year there was less and less swamp.

  “Best thing that ever happened to Sand City,” Eleanor had said. “When I was a young woman, they used to drive around every week and spray DDT everywhere. I’d say it’s an improvement.” From Long Neck Road, if you looked east, you could still see endless miles of marshland. There was still lots of room to dump the trash, I guess. And it was all in proximity to Baxter Estates.

  After about a mile or so, Durbin pulled off the track and headed south. I saw another police ATV up ahead and it looked like Officer Allen was standing beside it. Well not exactly standing, more like dancing. I could see his arms and legs thrashing about, he seemed to be hopping up and down. The detective stopped along side him and as soon as he cut the engine I understood why Allen was in motion. He was being eaten alive by stinging horseflies. I threw the can of bug spray over.

  “Thank god, and thank you, Jardel.” Allen shot himself thoroughly, head to toe, and threw the can back over. I gave myself a good dose too. Out here, existence was futile without it. Durbin grabbed the can and did the same.

  “What’cha doing, Allen?” the detective asked.

  “Playing scarecrow.”

  I looked at him funny.

  “Keeping the goddamn birds away.”

  I looked up. An inordinate amount of crows were hovering nearby, and above them riding the thermals, I could see turkey vultures circling slowly.

  “No tracks, no footprints,” Durbin said and led me towards the body. “No cell phone, no bag, no ID,” he continued. “No tire marks either, like from a four by four— that would leave a mark. No, she just dropped out of the sky… How the fuck did they dump her here? There’s nothing for a mile in any direction, at least.”

  “How did you find her?”

  “SkyTours… out of Oldham. They flew over this morning and spotted her. Called it in.”

  “It’s the same,” I said.

  “Same as what?”

  “Sunset Park.”

  “I dunno,” he countered. “She’s not blond, maybe not quite as pretty.” Durbin paused. “And there’s this…” He led me over to a pair of shoes. A pair of red high heels had been conspicuously placed near the body. I got my camera and moved in a little closer. The earth was soggy beneath my feet. Flip flops were probably not the best choice in footwear today. Next to the high heels was the body of a young girl laying face up, no tarp; she was barefoot, wearing only a polyester nightdress, shiny and printed with tiny owls on it. The flies were relentless along with their soft angry buzz. I hated to think it, but she was better off dead at this point. And I recognized her. I put my camera down and looked again. It was Lucinda.

  “You know her?” Durbin was quick to ask.

  I did, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Did she still work at the Chronicle? Would anyone else remember? I shook my head as noncommittally as I could. I’d have to check the masthead to be sure.

  “That’s not much of an answer.”

  “She’s sort of familiar,” I finally said.

  “Where were you last night, Patrick?”

  “Home.”

  “Alone?”

  “Well, my cat…”

  “Not much of an alibi.”

  “Alibi— what the fuck, Durbin?”

  “I think you know this girl.”

  “It could be Lucinda,” I said almost in a whisper.

  “Who is Lucinda?”

  “She works at the Chronicle, selling ads…”

  “Where does she live?”

  “I don’t know, in the Village somewhere.”

  “Okay, maybe I’ll have to talk to Eleanor.” Durbin made a face.

  I hoped and prayed she would remember this timeline.

  “Who can ID this girl…? I mean, if you can’t be sure.”

  “Eleanor.”

  “Shit, I don’t w
ant to call her in for that.”

  “Melissa then, Miriam… or Donald Pagor?”

  “Better…”

  A more selfish thought struck me. “Wait… I might have an alibi,” I blurted.

  “What?” Durbin swiveled to face me.

  “You could check my computer.”

  “Huh?”

  “Check my laptop, look at the browser history. You can see where I was, at least when I was online.”

  Durbin eyed me up and down. “You’ll let me do that?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay…” Durbin failed to smile. “Let’s get the fuck outta here. I’m not waiting on Hackney or the rest of the county techs. “Take your pictures, Jardel, and make it quick…there’s no more bug spray left.” Durbin started brushing away the swarms of horseflies with a waving hand and my shutter clicked as rapidly as it could go.

  ***

  By Sunday evening, Lucinda was at Willard and Sons, Sand City’s only funeral parlor. The coroner had yet to examine her, but Durbin thought it was important to confirm her identity before anything else. With a little help from Melissa, namely employment records, the detective was able to start a preliminary background check. He must have spent the whole day on it.

  “I’ll tell ya, I didn’t find a whole lot. Lucinda Roberts, residing at 22 Scudders Lane. No DMV records, no license, no registration. No convictions, no prints… no credit cards… Just a savings account with some regular deposits. She’s a goddamn mystery woman,” Durbin explained, frustration all over his face.

  “You do know it’s Mothers’ Day, right?” I asked him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Just saying…”

  Melissa and Eleanor arrived together shortly afterwards. Neither said a word but they did confirm her identity. Eleanor seemed to take it hard. She’s not known for her open displays of emotion, but began to weep, and Melissa had to steady her on more than one occasion. Durbin talked to them both; he was especially kind to Eleanor:

  “How did she get to work if she had no driver’s license?”

  “Walked?” Eleanor gave him her look.

  “How did she get to her advertisers?”