Saltar's Point (11 page)

“You touch the bag or anything else?”

Denny shook his head. “No way, Christ Randall I never thought I’d see anything like this in Saltar’s Point.”

“Neither did I. You radio Jefferson County?”

Denny nodded. “Called them just after I got off the box with you, figured they’d know how to handle this.”

Randall gave a complacent look. His pride wanted him to handle every criminal act that occurred in Saltar’s Point but his brain told him that letting the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department handle this was the right decision. The homicide unit there was equipped and prepared to handle a situation like this, and he and Denny wouldn’t even know where to begin. He glanced at Walter again. The man’s steel blue eyes were glazed over, giving him a morbid appearance.

“Walter, did you talk to anyone about this?”

“No sir.”

“You sure? No one else knows anything about what you found today?”

Walter shook his head. “I’m the only one tending the station today. Found the bag just over an hour ago, and called Denny first thing.”

Randall figured that Walter was telling the truth, he’d know him for years and had never known the man to tell a lie. As soon as Randall had completed his thought an unmarked police unit pulled into the station and drove around back stopping well short of the dumpster and the crime scene. The doors on the Chevrolet Caprice opened near simultaneously and two detectives stepped out. The driver was heavy set with a shock of salt and pepper hair and a mustache to boot. The passenger was tall and skinny and appeared to be twenty years the driver’s junior. They approached Denny and flashed their badges. The driver spoke.

“Detective Peterson, Jefferson County homicide. This is detective Wooding.” The younger man nodded. Peterson glared at Denny. “Sheriff Jackson?”

“Deputy Denny Haskins, this here’s Sheriff Jackson.” Denny motioned to Randall.

The two detectives eyed him openly.

“Sheriff, pleased to meet you.” Randall shook Peterson’s hand.

“Wish we had met under better circumstances.”

“Yeah, well unfortunately I don’t meet many people that way. That the body?” Peterson nodded at the garbage bag.

“What there is of it. We didn’t go searching through.”

“Well then let’s see what we got here.”

The two Jefferson County detectives walked over to the bag slipping on rubber gloves as they went. Wooding began snapping pictures, the camera clicking and buzzing as it recorded the images. Peterson knelt beside the bag and using what appeared to Randall to be a long tongue depressor, he parted the opening and inside. Click. Whir. Click Whir. Wooding’s camera continued to snap.

“Well it appears as if you boys were right. Looks like we got ourselves a homicide.” Peterson’s tone had a condescending air about it.

No shit Einstein, Randall thought. These guys were going to be trouble. After a few more pictures they worked their way over to the dumpster. More pictures followed. Peterson surveyed the scene a few minutes more and then turned back to Denny, tossing him his keys as he talked. Denny snatched them out of the air.

“You know how to rope off a crime scene?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Grab some tape out of the back of my unit and get to work. Start at the front of the station and block off the whole parking lot. I don’t want anyone fucking with my crime scene. That includes you two.” He gestured at Denny and Randall.

Randall had a good mind to pop Peterson in his teeth but he knew his hands were tied. Christ almighty he thought to himself. I just lost control of Saltar’s Point.

TWELVE

Virginia Shore was the school whore, and it was no coincidence that her life played out like a dirty limerick. Her stepfather was a loving man, a little too loving. His hands had a knack for finding their way underneath her shirt and inside her panties, always groping, touching, and fondling her. He never penetrated her –at least not physically- but the sexual assaults she suffered at his hands pierced her soul, leaving her empty and devoid of emotion. Her mother had named her Virginia after the virgin queen of England, and the striking irony was quite apparent by the time she entered middle school. She started giving hand jobs and blowjobs behind the bleachers on the football field at age eleven. By the time she was thirteen she had lost her virginity to a senior at the local high school. When she entered high school herself she had traversed the point of no return, utilizing her body to exert control of the boys. She loved the power she had over them, the sense of control. The girls had names for her of course, slut and skank to name a couple, but they were just jealous of the clout she had over their boyfriends and the persuasion she held on the cute guys they whispered about at slumber parties. Once she got past the shame and the degradation she became unstoppable, the queen of sexual experimentation, teaching the boys that they were yet to become men and reminding the girls that they were not yet women. The drugs followed soon after, offering her an escape from the searing pain of her existence. Pot, cocaine, acid, mushrooms, anything that would blur her perception of reality was on the table and Virginia was a hungry patron. At sixteen she ran away from home, preferring the harsh solidarity of the streets to the rampant discord at home.

She began to work the streets around Seattle, turning tricks for cash to score her next fix, but the competition was intense and the police pressure was relentless. As soon as she started using heroine her problems escalated. The tracks on her legs and arms had become unsightly to say the least and she was forced to wear more concealing clothing, a fashion statement unbecoming to her line of work. Business began to dry up and she was forced to move west across Puget Sound to Bremerton. The naval base there provided ample business and Virginia was fervent about making her rounds, soliciting the horny sailors who had just stepped off the boat after months at sea.

The last round she made did not involve a sailor however. It involved a driver of a brown Econoline van. It had been two days since her last trick and Virginia was getting desperate. She had smoked her last crack rock just an hour before and she hadn’t shot up in almost a week. The withdrawals were beginning to get bad and if she didn’t make some cash soon she was going to have to take another trip to the methadone clinic where they would try to put her back in a program. If there was one thing Virginia couldn’t stand it was being in a program.

It was a Tuesday night and the next carrier wasn’t due in until Friday. She had been arrested for soliciting on base premises twice before and was reluctant to press her luck. MP’s were far less tolerant than the cops and she didn’t want to deal with that hassle again. Instead she walked the main drag downtown, hoping to catch a drunken straggler making his way out of one of the tittie bars before going home to his wife and kids. What she caught instead was much more than she bargained for.

Darrow spotted her immediately. The kind of filthy whore his momma had warned him about, strolling down the boulevard and flashing her tits and ass at the passing motorists. He slowed the van down to a crawl and pulled up beside her, reaching awkwardly across the passenger seat to roll down the manual window. Virginia’s mood brightened as she anticipated an easy trick.

“Looking for a little company tonight sweetheart?” She drawled out the last word and fiddled with her top letting her breasts jiggle just a bit as she had learned to do.

“Well I am a lonely man. Come on get in.”

Darrow opened the door and Virginia climbed inside. She eyed the potential john up and down. He was a middle-aged man with a potbelly and scraggly unkept hair but he would have to do. She put on her best smile. After their negotiations Darrow drove them to the secluded spot behind the ferry terminals where Virginia turned most of her tricks.

“Why don’t we get in the back where it’s more comfortable?”

Had she not been so desperate to turn a trick Virginia might have been reluctant to accommodate his request, and had she not been under the influence of crack and alcohol she might have noticed that the back of the van was lined from floor to ceiling in plastic, warning her that the man with the pot belly and scraggly hair had less than noble intentions. Instead she climbed in back. Virginia Shore the school whore was four days past her twenty-fourth birthday. She would not see twenty-five.

The whiskey splashed into the bottom of the glass, spraying droplets over the rim and forming a small circle around its base. Darrow gulped it down, relishing the slow burn. It had been twenty-nine years since the last time he had killed someone, and the adrenaline coursing through his body and he was both invigorated and terrified.

Fuckin’ whore deserved what she got, spreading disease and peddling her ass for money.

He scrubbed his hands together violently under the water in the laundry room sink. He nearly screamed aloud when the hot sudsy water poured over his still bleeding thumb. The jack had slipped in the loose gravel, pinching his thumb between the lug nut and the wheel, ripping the nail clean off and leaving a soft pulpy mound of flesh complete with an army of searing nerve endings that screamed bloody murder with their first taste of fresh air. The grease had imbedded itself in the folds of his skin and worked its way deep underneath his remaining finger nails. It had taken him well over a half hour to change all four tires, but Darrow knew that it was time well spent. Saltar’s Point had too many unpaved roads and the tracks left behind in the soft clay would be incriminating evidence, pointing right at the Econoline and Jack himself. Until now that was. He had purchased four new tires from an auto body shop in Tacoma, about an hour and a half southeast of Saltar’s Point, making sure to pay cash.

The trip had taken him over half the day and the evening sun was beginning to set in the west. Abby would be cranky he knew. He hadn’t had a chance to take her out today and she would likely pout. She would have to deal with it. He could take her for a walk in the morning, tonight he needed to get some rest. Last night had been an arduous ordeal, and he was ready for bed.

Darrow examined his hands in the soft light, inspecting them for any grease that had escaped his eye. When he was satisfied he pulled a small gauze bandage from the first aid kit beneath the sink and affixed it with a long strand of medical tape, the kind that tears easily and doesn’t seem to stick to anything except dust and lint. He made his way into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. It was mostly bare, he hadn’t had a chance to make it to the store for a few days and there wasn’t much left for them to eat. When Abby was healthy she had done the shopping and cooking, now he had to do it all. He sighed, taking care of an invalid was hard work, but it was his plight in life now. He removed a loaf of bread and some jelly, then he extracted the peanut butter from the pantry, they were going to have some gourmet sandwiches again tonight. After he had spread the condiments on the bread he made his way upstairs to Abby’s room. She would likely have to go to the bathroom again.

When he entered Abby’s room he did a double take, she was nowhere to be found.

“ABBY!”

Darrow listened to his voice work its way through the sparsely furnished mansion. A few tense seconds passed.

“Een heor!”

Abby’s voice floated from down the hall. He set the plate of sandwiches on her bedside nightstand and stormed his way out of her room. He found her in the bathroom sitting on the toilet, her wheelchair positioned precariously close by. She was covered in sweat, her forehead gleaming in the overhead lights, coated in a sheen of perspiration.

“I cooden waay.”

The effort to move her body down the hall and into the bathroom was strenuous enough, but the exertion she had put forth to pull herself onto the toilet had left her completely exhausted. She had managed to pull her underwear and pants back up but she was unable to get back into the chair, and so she had spent the last two hours waiting for Darrow to return, hoping that he would be proud of her for managing to relieve herself without his help. Instead he looked furious.

“Couldn’t wait? What the fuck are you doing? You trying to kill yourself?” Abby glared at her husband, not having an answer that would satisfy him. “Come on let’s get you back in bed.”

Darrow hoisted her from the toilet and plopped her down into the chair, which voiced its protest with a loud creak. He grabbed the handles and prepared to wheel her from the room when he stopped abruptly. Glancing down at the floor he noticed three small yellow drops, sitting idly on the tile. The drops of urine had escaped her when she tried to pull herself onto the toilet. Abby had tried desperately to reach them from her seated position but was unable to do so, afraid that she would topple over and spend the rest of the day on the floor. She had hoped that Darrow wouldn’t notice them. He had. Abby held her breath, expecting him to strike her, instead he took a steady breath.

“Looks like you had a bit of an accident.” Darrow said between clenched teeth.

“I’m sowie.”

“Yeah, well accidents happen I guess.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead causing Abby to wince. “Come on now, I made you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I bet you’re hungry.”

He wheeled Abby from the bathroom and back down the hall.

After he had put Abby to bed Darrow returned to the basement, the images of last night’s activities running through his head and making his blood pulse with excitement. He walked through the halls as if he were floating, barely sensing the floor beneath his boots. Oh how he relished the power, the control he had over his victim. She was helpless before him, a mortal in the presence of a God. He held her life like a candle in his hands, snuffing her out with a single breath. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the souvenir he kept to remember the occasion. The ring was small, barely fitting over the first knuckle of his pinky finger. A simple band made of copper and iron, it was monetarily worthless. Indeed if it had been worth something the whore would have pawned it long ago, but to Darrow it was a priceless artifact. He entered the autopsy room and flipped on the light.

In the midst of the light more images came cascading before his mind’s eye. He had dissected her here, like a surgeon steady and true he took her apart methodically, piece by piece. The cold steel of the embalming table was the perfect canvas on which to paint his masterpiece, and as an artist he made sure to take his time. The scalpels had cut cleanly, slicing through tissues and tendons with ease. He had modified the tabletop, bending the sides upward and then welding the corners together with a butane torch, creating a basin in which the blood would collect, being careful not to spill a drop. When it got too full he carefully drained it through the hole he had drilled at the foot of the table, collecting it in a five gallon plastic paint bucket before he sealed it again with the rubber stopper. Her individual parts would continue to bleed inside the hefty bags of course, but he double bagged them and took extreme caution not to tear them in the slightest. When he was finished he tied the bags at the top, and sealed the top on the bucket. He then made his way out to Myer’s creek behind the mansion and poured the blood into the flowing water, washing away the evidence in the swift current. He had disposed of the body and the bucket in a dumpster at the Shell station, where they would be collected and taken to a massive landfill and buried with the rest of the trash. When he returned home he had scrubbed the table down with Borax and ammonia, making sure to destroy any remaining evidence of his perfect crime. The steel was perfect, its non-porous surface allowing the blood to be cleaned thoroughly. He clicked off the lights and withdrew a small black light, moving over the table an inch at a time making sure that no remnants of blood remained. When he was satisfied he had burned the rags, her clothes, and his old tires in the small fire pit he had dug out back just two days before. Yes it was a well-executed crime, a testament to his genius.

You have done well Jack.

The voice was soothing this time, flowing through his head and calming his nerves. Darrow smiled to himself, it was pleased. He basked in the glow of a job well done for a few moments more, and then he flipped off the light and headed for the boiler room. It had been an exhausting two days and he was ready to get some sleep. Once inside he stripped down to his boxer shorts and climbed into bed. He pulled the sheets over himself and closed his eyes, enjoying the tranquil feeling of sleep as it gradually overtook his body. A soft light filled the room glowing pink beneath his eyelids, rousting him from his slumber.

At the foot of the bed it began to take form, materializing before his eyes and growing bigger and more concrete with each passing second. Darrow sat upright, fear overtaking his body and heightening his senses.

You have proven yourself worthy Jack Darrow.

The image moved forward, stopping at the foot of the bed before sitting down and focusing its glowing red eyes directly on Darrow. His blood ran cold and his heart stopped abruptly in his chest sending shooting pains throughout his extremities. A few moments passed and he willed his heart to resume beating. His words came out wobbly and unsure, like a child summoned to the principal’s office and forced to explain his actions for which he was about to be punished.