“Do you suppose he ditched the car?” Bo questioned. “Or maybe whoever was in there floated out.”
Sam realized immediately upon seeing the open windows that no one drives down the road with their windows down on a night when the low is in the single digits. This told him the car was intentionally sunk. And, being a veteran lawman, Sam knew there was one place they hadn’t checked yet. It was a place in which he had found some interesting things over the years – the trunk.
Sam leaned into the driver’s window and triggered the trunk as Bo walked around to open the hood. Sam didn’t have to move from where he was standing to tell something was in the trunk. All he had to do is watch the expression of his detective's face.
“I suppose the trunk isn’t empty, huh?” Sam asked with a sense of dread.
“Good news or bad news?” Bo asked, shooting the sheriff a helpless look.
“Good news. I can sure use some good news,” Sam replied.
“Well, the good news is we’ve found Stevie Grissom’s body,” Bo responded. “And, better yet, it appears all his parts are with him.”
“And the bad news?” Sam winced.
“Rhody Turner isn’t going to be making any statements,” Bo revealed.
Sam walked with a defeated gait to where Bo was standing over the trunk. He stood viewing the bodies of Rhody Turner and Stevie Grissom for a few moments. It was all too much to digest.
“How?” Sam asked as he slammed his fist down on the car. “How did he get him out? It doesn’t make sense. How could our killer convince Rhody to break out?”
“Maybe it wasn’t our killer, sheriff,” Bo said. “Maybe our killer has a sidekick. After all, Rhody did say he was going to talk to his old lady.”
“Or maybe our killer is a woman,” Sam shot back. “How do we know this isn’t the work of a female? I mean a woman can be as dangerous as a man. Just look at my wife. If we just knew who his old lady was.”
Bo gave the sheriff a grin. He had just remembered a minor detail he forgot to share with his boss given the shock of their discovery.
“Oh, we know,” Bo revealed. “While you were snoring on the couch this morning, and yes you do snore, Kendal ran down some leads and found out the identity of Rhody’s girlfriend. By the way, have you noticed Kendal never sleeps plus he has that pasty-looking skin? I think he may be a vampire.”
Shrugging off Bo’s comment about his associate investigator, Sam was anxious to find out more about the identity of the mysterious woman. He hated being the last to know something.
“Do we know if he’s paid her a visit?” Sam asked.
“He was supposed to be heading over as I was bringing your wife out here,” Bo responded. "I got so busy that I forgot to tell you about it."
“Eight-ten, what’d you find out?” Bo asked over his portable.
The pair waited in the cold for several seconds with only static answering Bo's radio call.
“She’s gone,” Kendal revealed after the slight delay. “Her landlord let me into her apartment and all of her personal stuff is gone. He said she skipped out yesterday sometime without paying this month’s rent too. The girl’s name is Tia Wray.”
Sam knew immediately the woman was not their killer. The young woman had only recently showed up on the radar screen of law enforcement. Her problems with the law were rooted to her addiction to meth. The illicit drug explained her association with Rhody. The career criminal was long known to prefer younger women since they were easier to corrupt. He also used younger girls to buy the ingredients he needed to make his meth.
“She’s a Smurf,” Sam noted.
The disappearance of the young woman was disturbing to the sheriff, and not just because she may have helped facilitate Rhody’s escape. He realized she was a small-time criminal and was way in over her head. If she had fallen in with the killer unawares, then she might suffer the same fate as her boyfriend.
“Put out an all-points bulletin,” Sam ordered. “If anyone comes across her tell them we want her stopped and held.”
“Will do, sheriff,” Kendal signed out.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Sam said as he and Bo climbed the hill. “I don’t have a good feeling at all.”
The thing about small towns is it doesn’t take much time for news to spread. The grisly discovery of the bodies of Stevie Grissom and Rhody Turner was the talk of the town before lunchtime. Accounts of the pair of corpses found in the submerged car were already common knowledge long before the newspaper hit the street. The mayor didn’t wait on the newspaper to arrive to demand answers from his old friend.
“What did you do?” Glenn shouted as he stalked into Bart’s office at the dealership, still strung out from a sleepless night.
Sleep eluded Glenn after he returned to his home that morning. The vision of the dark man materialized in his mind every time he was about to nod off. He probably evaded the blade of the mysterious intruder a thousand times that morning as he played the events at city hall over in his mind. He wondered if he would ever be able to sleep again. He feared that if he did close his eyes, the dark man would be there to collect his head when he opened them again.
“It’s all over the street,” Glenn continued.
His loud tone prompted Bart to scurry over and close his door so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard by a passerby.
“This wasn’t what we agreed on,” Glenn scowled.
Bart gave his friend a questioning look. He was put off by the mayor's lack of appreciation for his efforts.
“Really Glenn? Really?” Bart responded. “You’re going to go there? I did what I had to do for all of us.”
“You didn’t have to kill him,” Glenn incredulously replied.
“What’d you expect me to do? Take him out to dinner and sweet talk him?” Bart responded in a mocking tone. “You wanted me to take care of the Rhody Turner problem and I did – permanently.”
“I thought you would pay him off or come to some kind of understanding,” Glenn countered. “I never expected you to kill him and stuff him in the trunk of a car.”
Bart walked back over and took his seat. His calm demeanor after killing their old friend was disturbing to Glenn. He saw no signs of remorse. Bart spoke of killing Rhody as if he were describing taking out the trash to the curb.
“It was the only way,” Bart declared. “He was a loose cannon. Now that he knew he could deal his way out of his problems by giving us up, it was just a matter of time until he put our heads on the chopping block in exchange for a get out of jail free card.”
Glenn wasn’t buying Bart’s explanation. He was still stunned his old chum would resort to murder. But then why should he be surprised since it wasn’t the first time. Glenn knew Bart’s reputation. He had heard the rumors.
“I still can’t believe you killed him,” Glenn responded. “You murdered him in cold blood for crying out loud.”
Bart wasn’t going to put up with Glenn’s insolence. The mayor wanted his problems solved but was complaining when they weren’t solved to his liking.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t be such a big hypocrite,” Bart shot back. “You wanted the issue to go away but you don’t have the stomach for how I took care of it. Face it my old friend, you’re just as guilty as I am. We are in this together to the bitter end.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Bart,” Glenn disagreed. “I’m not a killer. I have a conscience. I have a soul.”
Glenn’s comment made Bart chuckle. The mayor’s holier-than-thou attitude was almost comical given their history.
“Well I have a soul myself old friend,” Bart laughed. “I mean come on, something has to go to Hell when I die. As for that whole conscience thing, I guess they forgot to give me one of those. It makes life a lot easier.”
Bart’s words chilled Glenn. He realized for the first time that his old friend was a psychopath - a homicidal psychopath.
“I don’t want any part of this,” Glenn declared. “
His blood is on your hands, not mine.”
“What about Earl Cutts?” Bart asked. “Whose hands is his blood on? You know blood doesn’t wear off a person’s hands after only twenty years. Like it or not, your Honor, you’re just as much a killer as me. I’m just man enough to admit it.”
Bart’s statement, while ringing somewhat true, made Glenn’s face turn bright red as his anger built.
“I’m not the one who hit him,” Glenn hissed.
He looked around to see if anyone were nearby listening to him despite the fact the men were standing alone together in the closed room. Even more than twenty years later, they talked about the Red Dog events in hushed tones.
“It wasn’t my idea to torch the place either," Glenn accused. "That was all on you.”
Again laughing a maniacal laugh, Bart corrected his guest.
“Even back then you wanted your problems solved but wasn’t man enough to do what needed to be done,” Bart began. “You tell me. What would have happened if that little girl we partied with that night went to the D.A. and then Mr. Cutts decided to grow himself a conscience? First off, you wouldn’t be the mayor of Easton, that’s for sure. No, you’d just now be getting out of prison, branded a rapist for the rest of your life. I’d say that’d hurt your election chances.”
Glenn remained quiet for a moment. He was sickened by the knowledge that Bart was right, at least partially.
“You know, sometimes I wish we had just come clean back then,” Glenn said soberly. “What we did with that girl was wrong and we made it worse with what we did to Mr. Cutts. Now we’re all going to pay for it. All it did was bought us twenty years of regret.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Bart countered. “We all had a hand in what happened back then. You’re as much to blame for the demise of old man Cutts as I am. It sounds like you’re trying to rewrite history at the first sign of trouble.”
“The first sign of trouble?” Glenn exclaimed. “There are four people dead, one who you personally killed, and some creature running around trying to collect the rest of us.”
“Would you shut up with this talk of creatures and grim reapers?” Bart countered. “Do you have any idea how crazy you sound with that talk?”
“You weren’t there last night, Bart. You didn’t see what I saw,” Glenn responded. “If you’d been there you wouldn’t think I was crazy. You’d be wondering what we could do to stop it before it finishes its mission.”
“Mission? Really? And what would that mission be?” Bart scoffed.
“Revenge,” Glenn responded. “He told us he would get us. He told us he would take us to Hell with him. Can’t you see? He’s making good on his word.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Bart said. “He’s nothing but a pile of ashes.”
“Well I guess we’ll know pretty soon,” Glenn retorted. “There’s four down and three to go.”
“Three?” Bart shot back.
“Don’t play games, Bart,” Glenn replied. “He was as much a part of it as any of us.”
“You need to watch what you say, old friend,” Bart said, narrowing his eyes at his guest.
“Just stating fact,” Glenn said. “Without him we would have never gotten away with it and you know it.”
Bart stood up from his desk. The direction of Glenn’s conversation was going somewhere he did not like.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” Bart declared as he pointed to the door.
“I’ve said what I came to say,” Glenn huffed. “You won’t be seeing me, for a while anyway. I’m getting out of town until this all blows over. I'm taking me a long-overdue vacation.”
“Maybe the grim reaper won’t follow you to the beach,” Bart sneered as he still stood behind his desk.
“You’ll see, you’ll see,” Glenn assured him as he turned and walked for the door. “He’s coming for all of us.”
“Oh, one last thing,” Bart called out as Glenn reached for the door. “The next time you find a body in your closet at city hall, don’t call me.”
With that Glenn stepped out the door, slamming it behind him hard enough to rattle the glass. After more than twenty years, their friendship was over.
FROM THE ASHES
Sam sighed as he settled in behind his desk. The veteran lawmen was feeling overwhelmed. Things had changed dramatically over the past week in what had been a relatively peaceful Castle County. At least four deaths were on the unsolved list under his watch and he suspected the number would climb if recent history was any indication.
Adding to the frustration was the lack of leads as to the identity of the killer. His potential witnesses were dropping like flies. He realized the morning’s discovery would bring another round of questions from the press. The growing body count would likely catch the collective eye of statewide media. Castle County’s problem would soon be on newsprint and television screens across the state if not the nation. What could he tell them? That all this was the work of a killer seeking revenge for a long-past injustice that happened in a place that ceased to exist over two decades ago? There was no precedence for something like was happening. Generally, vengeance is something sought while passions are high, not many years later when cooler heads prevail. Who waits twenty years for payback?
Sam rubbed his eyes as he pushed the message button on his office answering machine, expecting more media inquiries and calls from concerned citizens who feared for the security of their county. Frankly, Sam couldn’t blame folks for losing confidence. Their illusion of security was being dashed by the recent unsolved homicides. They elected Sam Delaney to provide that sense of security. It was a job he succeeded in for twelve years. Now, if things didn’t change soon, all those years of work making Castle County a safe place to raise the kids would be forgotten, replaced by a sense of uncertainty.
The messages droned on as Sam wrote down a few numbers to call back while fast-forwarding through others. Most of the messages came from busybodies wondering what was going on. They could read the paper like everyone else. Cliff had used his “dark man” suggestion in his last headline. He could only hazard to guess what would be next.
Sam would soon know the cause of death for both Stevie Grissom and Rhody Turner. Investigator Parks accompanied the bodies to the medical examiner and was under orders to report the preliminary results immediately. The sheriff was pretty certain on the mode of death for Stevie. His throat was cut from ear to ear. However, the reason for Rhody’s demise was more subtle as his body, still dressed in his black and white jail top, appeared basically unscathed. The slashes to his arms and legs, he figured, were likely inflicted by the jail’s razor wire at the time of his escape. The sheriff hoped the medical examiner would find something, anything, that could jumpstart the investigation. Aside from the long shot that remained in the records of Shelby Mental Health Institute, the sheriff had nothing left unless Bart suddenly had a change of heart. However, Sam had his doubts Bart even had a heart. Regardless, if things continued at their current pace, Bart wouldn’t be around much longer anyway. The sheriff just wondered how many other citizens of Castle County would also cease to exist at the hands of the killer.
Sam resisted the temptation to simply press the “delete all” button on his answering machine as he cycled through the tenth message, none of them amounting to a hill of beans. His perseverance was rewarded with message eleven. That message changed everything.
“I have information that you may find of interest,” came the barely audible voice of a man, gasping his words onto the sheriff’s answering machine. “I know things that may shed some light on the case you’re working on.”
It was nothing new for Sam to receive “hot tips” about everything ranging from dogs running at large to the location of Jimmy Hoffa’s body. From time to time tips did pan out but often they were the figment of overactive imaginations and manifestations of conspiracy theories. The next words the mysterious voice uttered, however, convinced the sh
eriff the caller was legitimate. The man, speaking in a feeble voice, was obviously laboring to breathe while leaving the short message.
“I know about the Red Dog,” the man continued. “I also know about your four killings there. There will be more.”
The caller’s dire prediction, while not surprising, still chilled the lawman. There was a sound of certainty in the weak voice.
“You can find me at two-thirty-two Robertson Lane in Harvest Lake,” the man noted in his faint voice. “You need to come today. Time is running out for everyone, even me. Ask for Bob Smith.”
The cryptic invitation marked the end of the phone call as the man hung up without revealing any more clues as to his identity.
The sheriff, who was ready to grab at straws minutes before, jotted down the address. He wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. There was something about the man’s voice that convinced him the caller might be able to tie the recent deaths to events twenty years ago. He was going to take another two-hour trip, this time to the retirement community of Harvest Lake. He trusted he wouldn’t drive up to a mental institution this time. At any rate, he knew the person he was looking for was still alive, at least for the time being.
“I’m heading to Harvest Lake,” Sam declared as he ducked into the detectives' office.
“If you don’t mind me saying, this is an odd time for fishing given the murders and all,” Bo pointed out.
“I’m going fishing alright, fishing for information,” Sam quipped as he pulled on his coat. “I need you to see the judge up in Shelby and get me a search warrant for Gina Porter’s records at SMHI. If we let the judge get away for the weekend, we’ll have to wait until Monday and we don’t have that kind of time.”
Sam headed back out into the cold after issuing his orders, wasting no time pointing his SUV into the wind in the direction of Harvest Lake. Snow was falling once again. The continued cold was allowing the white powder to stick not only to the ground but the roads, even during daylight. The sheriff figured by tomorrow evening the long anticipated winter storm would have Castle County in its icy grip. Forecasters were calling for as much as a half-foot of snow. While that amount might sound like nothing up north, it was cause for panic in Castle County. In a town like Easton, six inches of snow was six inches too much as residents were already scurrying to the stores on their bread and milk runs. It seemed that when snow was in the forecast, most of Castle County became a bunch of doomsday preppers, getting ready for an apocalypse rather than a dusting of powder.
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