In the Belly of Jonah (5 page)

“The killer took the time to drag the victim back on shore, dry her off, dress her, and cut the dress to shape only to leave her propped by the water’s edge?” Streeter summarized. “That’s just weird.”

“It gets weirder,” Brandt said. “Remember, he moved the cabinets between her and the water, placed a bottle on one of the cabinets, and then wrapped her face in a piece of cloth.”

“Why? Was her face bruised? Cut?”

“Nope,” Brandt said. “And as far as the why, you tell me? The perp’s insane.”

“Very meticulous, prepared, organized. Mind if I get the BU involved?”

“BU?” Brandt asked.

“Behavioral unit out of D.C. They might be able to help if you’d like,” Streeter suggested.

“Are you trying to pull rank on me, Pierce?” Streeter was about to protest when Brandt added, “Because I’d welcome the intrusion. Just don’t tell the chief I said so.”

THEY FOUND JILL.

The newsboy’s perfect aim at my front door alerted me to the morning paper at precisely 5:50 am, just as I was getting the milk for my cereal.

The Coloradoan
headlines read “CSU Student Found Dead.”

I almost choked on my Rice Chex.

Two small pictures of Jill—one taken as a studio portrait, the other in her CSU basketball uniform—underscored the large picture of the crime scene. The photo was of Horsetooth Reservoir as seen from the road that winds along the south side. Crime tape in the foreground blockaded the south beach. Dozens of criminalists, police, and emergency personnel huddled east of the dock area. Dozens more crowded the cars stacked along the roads to the east and west overlooking the gruesome scene. Everyone in the photo was watching a tall form on a gurney being carried to an ambulance.

A blanket draped the form. No flesh uncovered. No rush.

The story was even more sickening than the initial shock of Jill’s death. She had been butchered on the south beach sometime during the night. A fisherman had found her around nine o’clock yesterday morning when he returned with his early morning catch. That was about the time the detective had been interviewing Joe and me up at the office. No wonder he had left so abruptly.

The fisherman had left before dawn, as did three other boaters. None of them had seen anything unusual or suspicious on the beach until returning. All of them noted it had been too dark to see anything at the hour of their departure. The police gave no indication that any of the fisherman were “persons of interest” at this time, meaning those poor bastards were probably all suspects for the moment, even the unlucky guy who found her. He was quoted as saying, “Oh dear God, it was horrible. That poor girl was just sitting there and she had a window sliced out of her body. I’ve never seen anything like it. A perfect rectangle. You could see right through her.”

I lost it.

Made it to the bathroom in time, but I lost it. Too much information,
Coloradoan
.

I rinsed my face and brushed my teeth, opting not to finish reading the story. Jill was too good for this, too kind. Whatever happened to her, she did not deserve this. What kind of monster would do this to such an innocent young woman? A woman with hopes, dreams, ability; a long life ahead full of promise and purpose.

Poor Joe.

He had worked closely with Jill for the past seven weeks, mentoring her, shepherding her, helping her through the unavoidable obstacles of being a new hire at our company. As if mining and mineral processing were not a hard enough industry to work in as a summer temp, Jill had it doubly tough being an attractive college girl. Joe had made sure the uphill battle of acclimation, indoctrination, and acceptance was as painless as possible for the four athletes, particularly for Jill. And Joe had already decided he would invite Jill to return next summer because she was such a strong, reliable worker.

I dialed the number knowing Joe had likely been at work since at least five and had probably missed the early morning news.

“Joe, it’s Liv. Are you sitting down?”

He didn’t respond right away.

“Sitting?”

“Yeah. What’s up?” he asked.

There was no easy way to say it. “It’s Jill. She’s been murdered.”

“Oh no,” he said, his voice sounding small.

I wished I could have told him in person, face to face. But the plant is almost forty minutes from my house, and I was afraid someone would get to him before me. I knew he’d need time to recover from the news, and he’d be embarrassed if one of his employees witnessed his reaction.

“It’s bad, Joe. It’s all over the news. She was butchered by some monster near Horsetooth.”

He said nothing.

“I know you’re in the middle of a shift change right now. You’ll need to pull it together quickly and tell the employees. Have them take a minute of silence for Jill and her family. The guys are going to need it. Tell them the authorities are working the crime scene and that we’ll know more later. But for the moment, all we can do is pray and cooperate any way we can with the authorities to help them find the bastard who did this to Jill. Tell them we will have a counselor up at the site from four to eight tonight for anyone needing to talk about it in private.”

I waited for his response. Nothing.

“Joe?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he croaked.

“You okay?”

“Hell no.”

That took me aback. It was the first time I had ever heard Joe swear. Ever. “I’m leaving now. I’ll be there by six forty and I’ll cover for you with the quarry and maintenance employees when they come to work at seven. Are you okay to talk with the plant employees right now or do you want me to do it via speaker phone?”

I heard him clear his throat. “I’ve got it. I can handle it.”

“I know you can. See you soon.”

After fielding some questions from the quarry and maintenance employees, which it turned out I had no answers for, I cornered Joe.

“How are you doing?”

“Not so good, Liv,” Joe said, sporting a sickly shade of green.

“I’m so sorry, Joe. I know how close you two were these past few weeks.”Did I see him blush? “Do you need a little time for yourself? I can cover here.”

“No, I’ll be okay. Besides, I want to be here for Detective Brandt.”

“He’ll let us know when he’s coming back,”I added. “He has his hands full with this one and it might be a while. His missing persons case just turned into a homicide.”

I saw him wring his hands, something else I had never known him to do before. It reminded me of the odd expression on his face when he had looked at me yesterday during Brandt’s interview with us. “Joe, what was different about Jill last Saturday night at shift change?”

“What do you mean?” His eyes gave him away.

“When Brandt asked you if you noticed anything last Saturday night at shift change, the last time you saw Jill, you had that look in your eyes,”I explained.

“What look?”

I pointed at him. “That look. The one you have right now. You’re not a good liar. Something’s up. Give.”

He shook his head and wrung his big, callused hands, which sounded more like sandpaper blocks rubbing against each other. I knew he wouldn’t lie to me, so I waited until he was ready to tell me whatever it was he thought I didn’t need to know.

“It’s just that ...”

Still I waited. He stopped wringing his hands and sat up in his chair, looking me straight in the eye. “I got there a little late on Saturday night. Cathy and I had been quarreling and I lost track of time. It was almost six when I got to the plant. The team leaders had already started the walkthrough inspection, and the assistants were grabbing pre-shift and post-shift samples together. The loader operators were doing the equipment inspections, and the material handlers were off looking at truck arrival schedules.”

There was more to this, but I knew Joe well enough to know he would tell me in good time. We were in his office near the quarry shop, away from the constant bustle of the scalehouse activity and out of earshot of any other employees. This would be the only way Joe would tell me the story he was so desperately trying to avoid.

“I was alone with Jill. No fifth man on nights to bag,” he stammered.

I nodded. “And?”

“I was asking her what she had accomplished for the day and for the week. Her numbers were great. Better than any other worker’s bag-perhour ratio in the past year. I was just trying to build her confidence.”

Was that an apology in his voice? Justification? He was taking way too long to spit this out. My patience was spent and I blurted, “What the hell happened, Joe?”

His expression hardened. “She kissed me. On the cheek.”

That I hadn’t expected. Jill had just turned twenty this spring and Joe had grandkids. Knowing Jill, she had been genuinely grateful for the compliment Joe had paid her and probably had shown her appreciation with an innocent kiss. She was probably more like me than I thought. A hugger. Nothing meant by that quick kiss other than showing another human being that he was worth it, worth a hug. An attitude of gratitude.

“I swear I didn’t kiss her back,” Joe protested. “Cathy and I may have been quarreling, but it wasn’t what you think. I told Cathy all about it.”

The beads of sweat popped out on Joe’s brow and his cheeks burned red. He was not a touchy-feely kinda guy, to say the least, and very much appreciated at least two feet of buffer area around his body as his personal space. When someone had invaded that space, it was obvious by the way Joe’s body stiffened and his lips tightened. Much like he looked at this moment. I knew firsthand; on several occasions my celebratory gratitude had catapulted into a hug, making my operations manager uncomfortable. I learned to refrain from what was otherwise natural for me.

“What a relief.”

Joe’s head snapped back and his eyebrow arched with confusion.

“I thought something ominous had happened between you and Jill.”

“Something
did
happen, Liv.”

“Something
innocent
, Joe. It was just a young girl thanking a gallant cowboy for all his kindness over the past month. She had no idea how shy, guarded, and painfully old-fashioned you are, Joe. Jill is—was—just trying to show you her gratitude. Nothing sexual was meant by it.”

Joe was surprised by my response. He grimaced as he struggled with the word. “Sexual?”

“I’m sorry, Joe. This new generation just has a different way of interacting. Lots of hugs, lots of physical contact.”

He shook his head. “That’s what Cathy said. And she laughed at me.”

“Sorry, Joe, really, but it struck me as a bit funny too somehow.”

“Funny,” he scoffed.

“Well, maybe not funny. More like relief. Like I said, I really thought something ominous or horrible had happened that night.”

“That wasn’t horrible enough? She kisses me on the cheek, says ‘Thanks,’ I walk away from her saying nothing, and now she’s dead. I see no humor, no relief. I see nothing but horrible.”

He was right. Jill was dead. There was nothing funny about this situation.

“You did nothing wrong, Joe. Neither did Jill. She was just thanking you and—”

Joe’s speakerphone interrupted us with an alarming beep. “Boss?”