The Woman Who Couldn't Scream

by Christina Dodd

  Lilith looked around in surprise; apparently it hadn’t occurred to her that people other than Kateri might harbor a love for Rainbow.

  Frances Salak said, “Kateri, can you tell us what Garik said about these … these slashings around town?”

  Everyone here knew Garik, most had known him all their lives, and Kateri had tried to make sure gossips knew she’d consulted him and his FBI database. She told them, “In the last twelve months, slashings in the U.S. are up, but only slightly. Most of the perpetrators are accounted for—drug cases or spousal abuse. The three fatalities that are still without a suspect are in different parts of the country and the methods and weapons are not similar.”

  “Where were they?” Frances asked. “What were the weapons?”

  Kateri counted down on her fingers. “New York, Chicago and Birmingham, Alabama. A paring knife, an X-Acto knife and a butcher knife. Weapons everyone has access to.”

  Without looking up, Elsa Cipre corrected Kateri. “To whom everyone has access.”

  Kateri wanted to smack her.

  Merida put her fingers to her forehead and massaged.

  Lilith moaned softly.

  And dear, sweet Mrs. Golobovitch stood up and stalked over to Elsa Cipre. “Please stop cutting that material. We don’t need so many strips for this quilt!”

  Elsa Cipre didn’t even look up. “Yes, you do.”

  Mrs. Golobovitch’s Eastern European accent got heavier. “I have been quilting for sixty years. Do you dare tell me I’m wrong?”

  “You are wrong. Do you have a degree in Home Sciences?” Elsa answered. “No, you do not. I have designed this quilt in my mind and with the additional three inches it needs at the top and the bottom—”

  “It doesn’t need anything at the top or the bottom!” Outrage brought Mrs. Golobovitch to attention.

  “Of course not.” The rotary cutter slid past the tips of Elsa’s fingers. “If you want the proportions to be incorrect.”

  At the quilting table, all needles froze in midair. Every eye was fixed on the scene between Elsa Cipre and Mrs. Golobovitch, and no one knew what to say, what to do, how to alleviate the tension.

  Mrs. Golobovitch said, “Mrs. Cipre, I have led this group to four blue ribbons at the county fair—”

  “I guided young women’s lives for years. Do you hear me? Years! Do you know who I am?”

  “No.” Mrs. Golobovitch leaned her hands on the table and tried to catch Elsa’s eyes. “Nor do I want—”

  The rotary cutter swerved within millimeters of Mrs. Golobovitch’s fingertips.

  Kateri half-rose, expecting to have to render aid.

  Mrs. Golobovitch leaped back, saving herself, and her outrage changed to wariness, caution, suspicion.

  Elsa Cipre never noticed. Or if she did, she didn’t deign to show it. “I taught Home Sciences at Northeastern Christian University, and within ten years I had vanquished all other contenders and I was the head of the program. I taught those young women more than sewing and cooking. I taught them how to make a house a home. I taught flower arrangement, interior decorating, gardening. Quilting. I taught them creativity.”

  “You were like Martha Stewart,” Emma Royalty said.

  Elsa whipped around and faced the quilting table, still clutching that rotary cutter. “That faker. If I had accepted a television show, my Home Sciences program would still be in place. I would still be guiding young ladies to seek the pinnacle of their womanhood. Yet I would not lower myself to anything so vulgar.”

  “I like Martha Stewart,” Emma said, but she muttered under her breath as if Elsa Cipre intimidated her.

  Bette Abrahamson, who had her own background of academic honors, asked, “Mrs. Cipre, were there no young men in your classes?”

  “None seriously. Not at first. Some, of course, thought to get an easy A by attending my basic baking classes.” Elsa stacked the strips she had cut, turned them 45 degrees and began to make small triangles for some design she had created in her mind. “But they found out soon enough they were expected to knead dough into a loaf of white bread with a good crumb. They were expected to produce a pie crust so crisp it crumbled in a stiff breeze. Their angel food cakes had better be light and heavenly. Some of them thought to cheat, to get their girlfriends to do the work for them, but I watched closely and they performed those tasks or their easy A dropped to a big fat F. I would not sacrifice the integrity of my courses, not even for those young men who thought themselves privileged sports stars. As the seventies progressed, some brave young men came to realize the value of my instruction and enrolled for their own sakes. I updated the program, adding knowledge about car mechanics, horticulture, technology. I kept up to date!”

  Merida signed, Lilith translated. “What happened to your classes?”

  “I should have had tenure. It was time for me to have tenure. And the college…” Elsa stopped, head down, and breathed heavily. “The college canceled the whole program. They said Home Sciences was a dated concept, that young women—young people—didn’t need to learn good housewifery, that getting a job was more important than making a home.” She threw out her hand in a grand, dramatic gesture. “In this day and age when so many people work so hard to succeed in a daytime job, and in the evening provide succor for their families, it’s obvious that—”

  The library door slammed back.

  Everyone turned, gasped.

  A man’s hulking silhouette loomed against the light.

  Dawkins Cipre stepped inside.

  Everything about Elsa’s demeanor changed; she went from wildly indignant instructor to cowed female. “Dawkins! Dear! I didn’t know you were … close. To here.”

  “You disappeared, Elsa, darling. I didn’t know where you were or what you were doing. You know I need to keep track of you.” He sounded so genial … and he looked so threatening.

  Kateri slid her hand off the quilt and loosened the snap over her 9mm semiautomatic.

  Like a bug caught in amber, Elsa struggled to get free. “I wasn’t trying to escape … you. I simply … I saw the flyer for the quilting group. You know how I love to quilt.”

  “At all times, I need to know where you are.” He was a big man, and as he advanced into the room, fists clenched, every woman there shrank back.

  Especially Elsa.

  His whole attention was fixed … on Elsa.

  She scrambled to put the table between him and her.

  He caught her arm and dragged her.

  Her hip smashed into the corner of the table.

  He brought her close. His fingers squeezed her flesh.

  Kateri said, “Mrs. Cipre, I’m the Virtue Falls sheriff. If I can render aid…”

  “No. No, of course not. There’s nothing wrong, Sheriff.” Elsa never took her frightened gaze from her husband’s face. “Dawkins and I are simply … very close.”

  “Say good-bye to your new friends, my dear.” His light brown eyes glowed a sickly amber.

  “Good-bye. I … I enjoyed myself,” Elsa said.

  He acknowledged the group by not even a glance. All his attention was for his wife. “Sorry, ladies, I don’t like losing control of her.” He dragged at Elsa, making her move too quickly.

  She stumbled.

  The door slammed behind them.

  Silence reigned for a long moment.

  Mrs. Golobovitch looked at her fingers, then looked at the door. “That poor woman.”

  Merida began to tremble. “That’s why she wears those clothes,” she signed. “To cover the bruises.”

  Lilith gave voice to her words.

  Emma turned to Kateri. “Can’t you do something?”

  “Abused women sometimes are afraid of their abusers and refuse to report them, but more often, they’re in love and won’t leave and won’t file a report.” Kateri snapped the cover over her 9mm semiautomatic once more. “I’m sorry. We see this more often than you know.”

  In a low, shamed voice, Tora said, “I was abused. I didn’t leav
e him until … he almost killed me. If it wasn’t for Lillie…” She hugged her sister.

  A murmur of sympathy swept the room.

  The radio at Kateri’s shoulder vibrated. She stood and walked away from the group, listened to Bergen’s low-voiced report and said, “Oh, my God. Her whole face?”

  “It’s … so much worse than last time,” he told her. “You can’t imagine.”

  “I’m trying not to.”

  “I’ve got Moen on his way to pick you up.”

  “See you soon.” Kateri hung up and returned to stand over the quilting frame. “Ladies, we have a situation. I don’t want to cause panic, but I would ask that none of you walk alone tonight.”

  “Another slashing?” Emma Royalty asked.

  Kateri nodded.

  “Killed?” Mrs. Golobovitch asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “We haven’t been able to identify the body.”

  Nine women dove for their cell phones to call the people important to them. A babble broke out. There were exclamations of relief and warnings.

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Golobovitch clasped her hands at her ample bosom. “The Cipre man was out there alone, without his wife. She is so afraid of him. Do you think that he…?”

  “Right now, we don’t have a suspect, not on our radar and not in custody. But yes, until Dawkins Cipre provides an alibi, he’s a suspect.” The room fell silent as everyone listened to Kateri. “So are a lot of men. And women. Please don’t make accusations. I can tell you that the sheriff’s department’s official statement will be that we are investigating and hope to have a suspect in custody soon.”

  The women returned to their phone calls. Word would spread fast.

  Kateri switched her attention to Lilith and Merida. “You’ll walk back together.”

  “I’ll call a cab. We’ll share.” Lilith got out her phone and proceeded to do exactly that.

  Rosa Sage got out her car keys. “We’ll stay with Mrs. Golobovitch and help her clean up, then we’ll take her home.”

  Bette Abrahamson and Gladys McKissick nodded agreement.

  “For the moment, I will keep the darling Lacey and she will protect me.” Mrs. Golobovitch rubbed Lacey’s adoring face. “Won’t you?”

  “So Lacey is an alpha bitch?” Lilith asked.

  Takes one to know one. “She is,” Kateri said.

  Lilith gave her approval. “She will be your best protection, Mrs. Golobovitch.”

  “What about you, dear Kateri?” Mrs. Golobovitch asked. “I worry about your safety. Will Stag Denali be with you tonight?”

  “Who’s Stag Denali?” Lilith asked.

  “Her boyfriend,” Mrs. Golobovitch told her.

  “Really.” Lilith’s eyes narrowed. “Is he Indian?”

  “Native American,” Kateri snapped. “Yes, he’s one of the People. But he’s not my boyfriend. We’re not committed.”

  Everyone stared at Kateri, then looked at each other.

  Mrs. Golobovitch began, “Dear Kateri, Stag is—”

  Kateri spoke over her. “Moen’s coming for me to take me to the murder scene. I’ll be safe since I imagine I’ll spend most of the night at the police department. Someone needs to take the sandwiches to the women’s shelter.” She picked up the rotary cutter. “Mrs. Golobovitch, can I take this with me?”

  Mrs. Golobovitch nodded. “Of course, dear. Just be careful. That is new, and very sharp.”

  Kateri tested it on her fingertip and gasped when she drew blood. “Yes … isn’t that interesting.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Mike Sun had thoughtfully placed the body in a bag and zipped it up—which is why Kateri was able to stand beside it without vomiting. “Do we have an ID yet?”

  Looking pale and sweaty, Bergen, Norm Knowles and Bill Chippen stood huddled together over the body.

  Bergen said, “Nothing positive. Phoebe Glass at the Good Knight Manor Bed and Breakfast reported her maid as missing. She told us the woman, Susie, lived away from town with her philandering husband and four children. Mrs. Glass was worried not only for the maid, but for the children. She was so insistent … and we didn’t have anything to do except ticket jaywalkers … and Weston said why not come out looking?”

  Kateri glanced over; Sean Weston sat on a fallen log, hands in his pockets, watching the scene.

  Bergen wiped at his brow with his sleeve. “She wasn’t at the address Mrs. Glass gave us. The lady who lived there denied knowing this Susie. But the buzzards were circling on the hill, so we hiked up here. And found her in the trees.”

  “Why don’t we have an ID?” Kateri asked.

  Mike Sun sat on the ground filling out a form on a clipboard. “She has a bullet hole in her forehead, no face and her fingertips were removed.”

  Moen paced back and forth on the path they’d taken. Kateri thought he couldn’t hear what was going on, but he paused and looked their way in horror.

  Kid had good ears.

  “Mrs. Glass believed this Susie was originally from Virtue Falls,” Bergen said.

  “But Mrs. Glass isn’t local so how would she know?” Officer Chippen asked.

  “Why did she think Susie was local?” Kateri asked.

  “Susie told her so. All the information we’ve got here—her address, the philandering husband and the four children—comes from Susie herself via Mrs. Glass. Mrs. Glass was really concerned.”

  “Also she can’t find someone else to clean.” Kateri waved that away. “Sorry, not the point.”

  “The body is dressed like a cleaning woman,” Officer Knowles said.

  “She didn’t have the hands for it,” Mike Sun said.

  “How do you know? She didn’t have fingertips!” Knowles said.

  Mike Sun didn’t like Knowles lipping off to him, so he unzipped the bag from the bottom and brought out one of the mutilated hands.

  Norm Knowles turned his back.

  Mike said, “I recognize these calluses. These weren’t caused by cleaning. She’s practiced self-defense for a long time. Karate at the least.”

  “That’s interesting.” Kateri contemplated the news. “So we have a corpse with no ID and no fingerprints who has apparently been lying to her employer about just about everything. She ran into our slasher. He shot her and used her to experiment on, and if his goal was to remove his victims’ faces intact, he apparently managed it this time.”

  Mike Sun said, “You’ve got one thing backward. He took her face first. Then he shot her.”

  That did it for Bill Chippen. He headed for the bushes and they heard him throwing up.

  Kateri rubbed the side of her head. “This is one sick bastard.”

  “We can officially label this ‘escalating violence,’” Bergen said. “Although it almost seems as if he shot her to put her out of her misery.”

  “Suspects?” Kateri had one, but she wanted to hear everyone else’s thoughts.

  “John Terrance,” Knowles said instantly.

  “Maybe.” Kateri believed it less and less. “But according to Bertha, she filled him full of buckshot, and according to Mrs. Blethyn, he was hurting pretty badly when she removed it. She was worried about him, thought he needed antibiotics and he wouldn’t be able to get them.”

  “Poor guy!” Knowles said sarcastically.

  No use popping back at him. Knowles was a good officer and right now she needed every one she had. “I’m saying if this woman knew karate and was capable of defending herself, John Terrance might not be able to handle it.”

  Chippen came back out of the bushes, his complexion tinged with green. “Maybe Terrance has picked up a partner.”

  “I think whoever is doing this has got to be an out-of-towner,” Knowles said. “It doesn’t seem as if someone local could have hidden this perversion for long.”

  “It’s summer, and as Councilman Venegra has kindly pointed out, we’re coming into our busiest tourist time of the year.” Kateri sighed. “So that doesn’t elimin
ate very many people.”

  “If it’s a tourist, it has to be someone who summers over.” Mike consulted his files. “The first slashing was a week ago.”

  “The first slashing that we know of,” Bergen said. “If Mrs. Glass hadn’t called this in and Weston hadn’t wanted to come out and if we hadn’t seen the buzzards…”

  “Right.” Kateri didn’t even want to consider that. “Listen to this. Which probably means nothing. But tonight at quilting, I was watching this woman—tourist, older, Elsa Cipre—use a rotary cutter. She was whipping that thing along a straight edge, cutting material. I was looking at her in a new way. Then her husband showed up. He grabbed her and dragged her out of there. She was afraid of him, and I was thinking—”

  “A rotary cutter?” Mike Sun made a note, then looked delighted when Kateri pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to him.

  “Be careful.” She showed him her bandaged finger. “It really is sharp.”

  He twirled it. “Promising…”

  “Know anything about this Cipre guy?” Bergen asked.

  “He’s a college professor,” Kateri said. “So’s she, or was. She doesn’t teach anymore.”

  “I know, I know, all abusive husbands are scum, blah, blah,” Chippen said, “but that doesn’t mean Cipre is the killer. Not any more than the next guy.”

  Kateri viewed Chippen in a new light. “No. But he’s a big guy, strong if the way he hauled her out is any indication, and his wife could have taught him everything she knows about … cutters.”

  The guys were unconvinced.

  Officer Ed Legbrandt came puffing up the hill, followed by Ernie Fitzwater.

  “At least let’s keep an eye on the Good Knight Manor Bed and Breakfast,” Kateri said.

  “What are you thinking?” Bergen asked.

  “I’m thinking my friend Merida Falcon is staying there and got a threatening phone call. Susie worked there and she’s dead. Phoebe Glass, the proprietress, is new to Virtue Falls. Dawkins Cipre and his wife are staying there.” It sounded worse when Kateri said it out loud.

  Sean Weston stood up. “It is sort of the center of the vortex.”

  “Don’t forget your sister’s there,” Moen said.