Saltar's Point (12 page)

“What are you?”

Do not concern yourself with trivialities.

Darrow’s throat forced a lump down with a forceful gulp. “Why are you here?”

Because Jack, you summoned me.

Abby opened her eyes slowly. It was here again. She had heard its wings flutter as it landed softly on the windowsill outside her room. She turned her head knowing what she would see, yet not wanting to believe it. The raven perched motionless except for its head which cocked back and forth on its neck, working itself into the seemingly unnatural positions the way in which only birds were capable. It watched her soundlessly causing Abby a combination of fear and annoyance. She screeched at the bird, hoping to scare it from its perch.

“WAH DO OOH WAN FROOM EE?”

She had uttered that phrase before to the horrid thing that haunted her room from time to time. Now her fear was beginning to get the best of her and she couldn’t help but yell it.

“It crosses only when he talks to it.”

The voice came from the corner of her room. It was soft and gentle, feminine and childlike, but that did nothing to calm the terror in Abby’s soul. She pulled herself into a seated position, sweating and shaking beyond the bounds of her control.

“Please don’t be afraid of me Abby.” The voice cooed.

“Paweese, paweese doown urd me.” She was crying now.

“I won’t hurt you Abby, but you have to listen to me. The raven crosses the boundary only when he talks to it.”

“Wah id ooh ay?”

“The boundary, isn’t that what you’re thinking? Why does it cross the boundary?”

“Ow id ooh ow dat?”

“I hear things, Abby. When you dream, when you think, I can hear them, when you’re in my room. It crosses the boundary when the bad man downstairs speaks to it.”

Abby’s voice came out flat. “ack?”

“Yes, when Jack talks to it the raven crosses the boundary.”

Abby was confused. “Waai?”

“To warn you.”

“Ooh ar ooh.”

“Brenda.”

“eye ar ooh ere?”

“I’m here to help you Abby.”

“I ca ee ooh.”

“I’m going to move into the light, but you must promise not to be afraid, kay?”

Abby steadied her nerves. “Oohkay.”

The presence moved slowly from the shadows jerking as it traversed the hardwood floor, stopping just as it entered the small patch of moonlight streaming from the window. Abby swallowed hard and tried to adjust her eyes. Oh my god she thought. It was a little girl.

THIRTEEN

“We got a match on the finger prints.”

“You’re kidding me, that was fast.”

Peterson gave him a wry smile. “Virginia Shore, twenty-four years of age. Has a rap sheet near a mile long, drug possession and soliciting, no violence. Spent some time in the women’s correctional facility right here in Gig Harbor. In and out of rehab centers, last seen working the docks around the naval base, one first class citizen to say the least, but that doesn’t mean she deserved to die.” Peterson said it matter of factly as he took a sip of his coffee and then set the cup back down on Randall’s desk. “We’re dealing with one twisted fuck here.”

“How so.” Randall asked.

“Aside from killing and chopping a girl up into tiny pieces, and then leaving her in a dumpster?”

“Yeah aside from that.” Randall was beginning to detest Peterson’s condescending air.

“Well the victim was a prostitute, which makes for an easy target and leads me to believe she probably didn’t know her killer. There was no sign of sexual assault, so he kills just for the sake of killing. On top of that he drained her blood, or at least most of it. Collected it in a paint can and disposed of it somewhere else. That shows planning, a direct cover up.”

“I thought you said he was crazy. How could his thought patterns be so well organized?”

“I said twisted, not crazy. Which makes me think we’re dealing with a sociopath.” Peterson took another sip of coffee.

“And that means?”

“It means I think he’ll do it again.”

The dismay on Randall’s face was apparent. “A serial killer, here in Saltar’s Point?”

Peterson rose from his chair and paced Randall’s office, steeped in deep thought. The room was small, and contained nothing but a desk, three chairs, and a single filing cabinet. The lime-green carpet was well worn combining with the oak paneling on the walls to give the office a 70’s style feel. Peterson stopped pacing and eyed Randall once more.

“I don’t think he’s from Saltar’s Point.”

“Why?” Randall said.

“The Shell station is just off the main highway, a convenient location to dump a body, plus this guy obviously went to a lot of trouble to cover his tracks. I doubt he would dump the body on his front doorstep.”

“But serial killers usually work areas that are known to them.” Randall made it a flat out statement.

Peterson took another sip of coffee; he had an annoying habit of producing a slurping sound as he sucked down the black liquid. It was beginning to get under Randall’s skin. There was a moment of silence before Peterson spoke again.

“How long you lived in Saltar’s Point Sheriff?”

“Damn near all my life, why?”

“You know of anyone here capable of committing cold blooded murder just for the sake of killing?”

“Not off the top of my head, no. We’ve never had a murder here, as far as I know.”

“Any drifters been in the area recently?”

“No.”

“You know of any strange newcomers to the town?”

Randall scratched his head. “I know one,” he said.

Peterson’s eyebrows rose a little bit. “Well then, why don’t we go pay him a visit?”

They had to knock several times before Darrow finally answered the door. Clad in torn blue jeans and a wife-beater t-shirt he looked as if he just stepped right out of an episode of Cops. He glared at the law officials a few seconds before taking the cigarette out of his mouth, then blew a fresh plume of smoke into their faces in the process.

“Can I help you?” His voice was laced with irritation.

“Detective Peterson, Jefferson County Sheriff’s department.” He flashed his badge. “This here’s Sheriff…”

“Yeah I know Sheriff Jackson.” Darrow cut him off. “What do you want?”

“We’d just like to ask you a few questions.”

Peterson motioned to the door. Darrow paused a few seconds before letting them in.

“Make it quick, I got supper on.”

They entered the foyer, Peterson gazed around impressed by the massive entryway. Randall had seen it before.

“Quite a place you got here.”

Darrow took a drag off his cigarette, choosing not to respond.

“Smells delicious, what’s for dinner?”

“Shit on a shingle. Excuse my inhospitality, but I didn’t make enough to ask you to stay.”

Peterson chuckled. “We won’t be staying.” He strolled casually into the foyer, stopping just short of the grand staircase, taking in the scenery once again. “You mind if I ask you how you can afford a place like this?”

“Why don’t you ask Sheriff Jackson, he sold me the damn place?”

“As I recall you paid in full, with a check.” Randall said.

“Well let’s just say I made a few wise business investments.”

“You mind telling me what this is all about?”

“A girl was killed a couple of nights ago, and her body dumped here in Saltar’s Point. We’re just asking the local residents if they know anything about it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I don’t know nothin’.”

Peterson glanced at the bandage around Darrow’s thumb as he took another drag off his cigarette.

“What happened to your thumb?”

“Broke a nail, doing my hair.”

If Darrow did have anything to do with it, he certainly wasn’t showing it. He was annoyed with their presence, but he didn’t seem flustered or nervous in any way. Peterson was importunate.

“Where were you Tuesday night, Mr. Darrow?”

“At home here, taking care of Abby like always.”

“Who’s Abby?”

“My wife.”

“Is she here?”

Darrow nodded over his shoulder at the grand staircase. “Upstairs.”

“May we talk to her?”

Darrow took another drag on his cigarette. “You could, but you won’t get no response. She’s a god damn invalid, had an accident two years back.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Peterson said. “Mind if we take a look around?”

Darrow’s eyes burned with contempt. “You got a warrant?” There was an awkward pause, Peterson had not expected him to be so combative. Darrow continued. “Well then I suggest you come back when you do, I already told you I don’t know nothin’.” He motioned them to the door signaling that it was time for them to leave.

“We’ll be in touch Mr. Darrow.” Peterson handed him his card. “Call me if something jogs your memory.”

Darrow snatched the card from his hand as the officers exited. He slammed the door behind them, crushing the card in his hand as he did so.

Outside, Peterson turned to Randall as they marched down the steps. “Ornery son of a bitch ain’t he?”

Randall smiled. “Guess he doesn’t like company.”

“Yeah well Jack Darrow is one person you should keep your eye on.”

As they strolled down the gravel path back towards Peterson’s cruiser, something caught Randall’s eye. Sitting underneath the carport was Darrow’s Econoline van looking worn and rusted, except for the tires, which gleamed in the sunlight.

Randall had a date with Ellie tonight. She was making him dinner over at Cletus’ place and he was already a half hour late. He hadn’t planned on interviewing Jack Darrow today, but lately his life had become anything but predictable. Ellie sounded fine on the phone, not seeming distressed by his tardiness, but Randall felt guilty nonetheless. He hated to keep them waiting and only hoped that supper wouldn’t be cold on account of him.

As he drove his mind faded back to the impromptu interview with Darrow. He had made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with them, but that was not out of the ordinary. Men like Darrow seldom had any adoration for law enforcement, but that didn’t mean he was a killer. Besides Darrow didn’t strike him as the kind of man that could have pulled off such a slick crime. If Walter hadn’t discovered the body through sheer luck, then the crime might have gone unnoticed. Randall doubted that Virginia Shore had anyone in her life that would miss her much if she vanished.

But tonight was about dinner and friends. He no longer wanted to think about the grisly events of the past two days, wishing only to enjoy the evening free from worry. Randall turned on the radio, hoping that a little music might help clear his head. Instead the thoughts kept tumbling through his head. Who could have murdered Virginia Shore? Why dump her body in Saltar’s Point? Could Darrow be capable of murder? And why on earth would new tires be on that piece of crap van? After all that was like giving a monkey a credit card, it just didn’t make any God damn sense.

He pulled the Cherokee onto the gravel drive that made its way up to Cletus’ house. The tires flipped the gravel up into the wheel wells in a cacophony of plinks. The front porch light was on, giving the small two-bedroom cottage an inviting look. Suddenly the screen door burst open and Aiden came bounding out the door and down the steps.

“Randall’s here! Randall’s here!”

He opened the door of the Cherokee just in time to sweep Aiden off his feet and hoist him onto his shoulders.

“Hey champ. What have you been up to?”

Aiden looked down at him and covered Randall’s eyes, one of his favorite games. “Nothin’.”

“Nothin’ huh? That’s hard to believe. Where’s your mom?”

“She’s inside.”

“No, I mean where’s your mom at? I can’t see!”

Randall held his arms out in front of him like a blind man without a cane feeling his way around and making a stumbling theatrical performance out of it, pretending to loose his balance several times before righting himself. Aiden enjoyed the ride and giggled the entire time. At last Randall found the handrail and scaled the steps two at a time.

“Looks like you made it.” Ellie met them at the front door.

“Yeah I would have gotten here sooner but I got this monkey on my head that just won’t go away.” He tickled Aiden’s ribs causing a flurry of laughing kicks before he hoisted him off his shoulders and set him on the ground. “Why don’t you go find your grandpa while I say hello to your mother?” He slapped him on the butt for emphasis. Aiden took off into the house.

Ellie gave him that seductive look that she was so good at, staring him in the eyes while seeming to look down to the ground at the same time. She was wearing jeans, and a low cut blouse, exposing just enough cleavage to warrant attention but not enough to cross the delicate threshold of good taste.

“Officer.” Her voice was sultry. “I do believe I’ve been a bad bad girl.” She placed one arm up along the doorjamb, tracing the molding with her fingers.

“Christ Ellie, how much have you had to drink?”

“You sure know how to spoil a girl’s mood.” Ellie flashed him a smile and snapped the dishtowel in her hand with a playful flip. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around the small of her back and interlocking his hands. His head bent down placing his face inches away from her own. Ellie could feel the soft press of his breath against her lips as he whispered to her.

“What did you want me to do Ellie, slap the cuffs on you and haul you off to jail?”

“Well a girl can always dream, can’t she?” Ellie could play this game too. She pressed her lips against his, hard enough to let him know what she was thinking. “That’s a little taste of dessert, but first you have to eat all of your supper.”

“No problem ma’am, I am one hungry hombre.” 

Ellie laughed and pulled away, grabbing his hand and dragging him through the front door.

Dinner was piping hot. Corned beef and cabbage with russet potatoes cooked to perfection in a well used crock-pot. It had been Ellie’s grandmother’s and the sight of the orange clayware brought back powerful memories, flooding Ellie’s mind with images of her nana. She was a kindly woman, but her personality was equipped with a steel will and an iron fist to back it up. She usually wore her long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail, refusing to twist it into a predictable bun like other women her age. She had made countless family dinners in the old crock-pot, Ellie only hoped that her cooking was half as good. They ate in relative silence, a sign that perhaps her cooking wasn’t so bad after all. Cletus stuffed a potato in his mouth gnashing it up with his molars and not doing a good enough job of it before he attempted to speak.

“Word about town is you boys are investigating a murder right here in Saltar’s Point.”

Randall about choked on his cabbage. “Who the hell did you hear that from?”

“Shoot, Dale Wharton told me down at the post office. Everyone in town’s been flapping about it all day long. You got the Shell station all taped up, people are bound to start askin’ questions, and you know Walter ain’t never told a lie in his life but he ain’t  ever kept a secret either.” He stuffed another oversized potato in his mouth and somehow managed to work some words around it. “That’s a bad combination in a small town Randall.”

Ellie set her fork down and tilted her head as she looked Randall’ in the eye. “Is that true Randall?”

“What, you hadn’t heard about it yet?”