CHAPTER 13
Six hours later, I blew out a frustrated sigh as I pulled out of the station parking lot onto Laurel and into a light rain. Flicking on my windshield wipers, I reflected on the day. Medora’s search for similar crimes in the eastern United States had turned up virtually nothing. There were plenty of grave robberies, grave desecrations, tombstones cracked or defaced, even one instance where an angry widow had poured hydrochloric acid over her dead husband’s grave every week for almost over six months, to keep anything from growing on it. The closest Medora found to a similar case was a little over a year ago in Richmond, Virginia. A man was arrested for digging up his dead wife and having sex with her corpse, ostensibly because he missed her so much. With a quick phone call, it was determined that the man had suffered a mental breakdown after she died from an allergic reaction to bee stings when she accidentally stepping on an underground beehive in their backyard. He was currently a patient at the Southern Virginia Mental Health Institute in Danville, Virginia, and due to be up for release in three months.
I had spent the rest of the morning reading through Alison’s case file, refreshing my memory of that awful day. Her background dossier showed her growing up as an only child in Peoria, Illinois. Her father was a chemist and her mother a day-care teacher. Tragically, just after Alison turned twenty-four, they had both died in a car crash on their way home from a night out. Her father had swerved off the road and slammed through the storefront of a bakery. It was determined that he was legally intoxicated, and as a result, all of their assets had to be sold off to compensate for the damages. Alison, not wanting to stay in Peoria, had packed up her few belongings in her car and headed east, eventually landing in Wolf’s Hollow. When she arrived here about four years ago, she had started working at Dugan’s Storage, a family-owned storage facility run by the owner’s son, Jimmy Dugan. When I questioned Jimmy about Alison’s murder, it was discovered that he had had a thing for Alison, but claimed nothing ever came of it, and he had the rock solid alibi of being in overnight lockup for a drunk and disorderly charge. Then about a year ago, Alison began also working part-time as a delivery driver for the bar around the corner, the Wolf’s Den. I had interviewed the owner, a man named Franco Manetti, or “Little Frankie” to his friends. Franco was the nephew of one of the capos of the Bruno mob family of south Philly. He had moved to Wolf’s Den ten years ago, supposedly to disassociate himself from his family’s questionable professional activities. Franco had been on our radar for some time, but outside of selling weed occasionally out of his bar, he had been keeping his nose clean. According to Franco, Alison had been working two to three days a week delivering food for him. He had tried to interest her in working in his bar, but she had declined. I had managed to get the names of a few of his regular deliveries, on the off chance that one of them was involved, but nothing had panned out. And finally, I hadn’t been able to find any living relatives to speak with and notify of Alison’s passing, so her car and personal effects had been sold off to pay for her funeral. After I had finished reading through her background again, I was reminded of how average Alison’s life had seemed to be.
In the afternoon, Medora and I had driven to the apartment complex where Alison had lived to talk to her neighbors again and see if we could dig up any new information. Sometimes over time, a person’s memory will change, or a fact that had not seemed important back then might take on new importance with a fresh perspective.
The apartments were called Forest Glen, and consisted of six banks of single-story buildings, each housing four units. The buildings were in good repair, and the lawn and landscaping was well-manicured. The buildings were surrounded on three sides by tastefully painted concrete walls, with the fourth side being the wooden fencing that backed up to the alley where Alison was killed. The front entrance had a security gate in the wall with a code panel to get in. Security cameras monitored the front entrance and were also placed one the roofs at the corners of the buildings. Of the fourteen neighbors that were interviewed six months ago, six had moved out, and would have to be followed up with a phone call. Three were not home, and the five that we were able to speak with were not able to offer up anything different. Alison had been polite but reserved, rarely initiating conversation. She kept normal hours, and no one could ever remember her having any outside friends over. The one person that seemed to know her better than anyone else was a short blonde named Lisa Meadows, who lived with her boyfriend Jared Pardo next door to Alison. Lisa had said that she and Alison would hang out on her back porch occasionally and drink a glass of wine. They would talk easily about neighbors, current events, and work, but if Lisa ever asked about her past, Alison would deflect and either change the subject or shut down.
Once we had finished at Forest Glen, we returned to the station, and ran through the video tapes from the security cameras for the week surrounding the murder again, in the hopes of seeing something that I might have missed the first time around. After a few hours and a few more aspirin, we called it for the day. Medora went back to air b-n-b where she was temporarily staying, and I had headed for the door to go home. We planned on meeting at the station in the morning, and then heading out to talk with Jimmy Dugan and Franco, then seeing if we could hit on the three neighbors that had been out earlier today.
Turning my attention to the road, I realized that I was about to pass the Wolf’s Den. I slowed down as I neared the plaza, and briefly considered turning in and having a beer. Glancing at the parking lot in front of the bar, I saw that it was almost filled with pickup trucks, beat up Chevys, and a row of about a dozen motorcycles. Suddenly, I felt a surge of exhaustion, and decided that tonight was not the night I wanted to tangle with bikers and rednecks. Returning my attention driving, I accelerated and resumed my journey home, determined to get a good night’s sleep and tackle Alison’s tragedy tomorrow. Little did I know that tomorrow’s agenda would put today’s fun to shame.
CHAPTER 14
As I drove by, three hundred feet away across the wet parking lot filled with rusting hulks, inside the Wolf’s Den, the man sat at the end of the bar, nursing a Coors draft with a whiskey back. The bar itself was nearly full. The lighting was dim and hazy, and the bar was filled with the loud sounds of raucous laughter and shouting, the occasional clack of balls colliding on the pool table, and the southern twang of Hank Williams cranking through the jukebox. The walls were a dark burnished mahogany, with wall sconces spaced out, giving the dim light for the seating area, which consisted of heavy wooden tables and chairs, undoubtedly, to discourage being thrown in the inevitable bar fight. The floor was covered in sawdust, dented copper spittoons were placed in each of the four corners of the bar, with sticky black liquid dripping off their mouths from misplaced shots. Along the wall to the right of the entrance were two dartboards, two pool tables, and the requisite jukebox, which gave off a ghostly yellow glow as it pumped out country tunes. Straight back was a small, raised platform for when bands performed. Currently, someone had set up a cornhole game, which had drawn the attention of the bikers. In the back left was a small hallway that led to the rest rooms and the kitchen. The entire left wall was taken up by a long lacquered wooden bar, with liquor bottles marching along lighted display shelves behind the bartender, who was different than the person the man had seen earlier in the day. Two tvs were mounted above either end of the bar, and the one closest to the man was what held his attention.
Due to the noise, the volume was muted, and captions were scrolling across the bottom of the screen as the evening news was about to begin. The advertisements cut to the news anchor, who began with a story about a newly discovered shipwreck off the shore to the north of Wolf’s Hollow. The man sipped his beer while casually following the story, occasionally flicking a glance at the mirror behind the liquor display, checking out the action behind him. As an ad came on, he turned his interest to the busy bartender, a pretty young woman with dark blond hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore tight daisy duke shorts and a black spaghetti strap halter top, which served the dual purpose of encouraging tips as well as keeping her cool. As he watched, she grabbed a bottle of rum, did a quick pirouette in her cowboy boots for the benefit of the two construction workers watching her at the bar, and poured a heavy rum and coke. As she turned again to ring up the drink, the man’s gaze traveled up her bare arm to her shoulder, where he recognized an Air Force tattoo logo. Sensing she was being studied, the bartender pivoted with her change, locking eyes with the man briefly. Looking into her hard brown eyes, the man saw steel behind them. This woman would be no pushover, he thought, as she broke contact and turned away to give the change. It would truly be a pity, but fortunately she’s not my type.
The man returned his attention to the television, where the anchor was just introducing the story of the incident at the graveyard this morning. Abruptly, he cut away to a pre-recorded scene from this morning, with the caption introducing Angela Renfro as the reporter on scene. Interested now, the man gave his full attention to the screen, as the woman began to give an accounting of the morning’s story. Now that, the man thought to himself, is much more my type, as the reporter began walking towards the yellow tape around the grave, and a face shot of Alison Newton’s driver’s license photo appeared in the upper right-hand corner of the screen.
A loud bang startled the man as the door behind the bar to the kitchen slammed open from a foot kicking it, and for the second time that day, the skinny kid from the alley caught the man off guard.
The kid pushed through the door, balancing plates of food on his arms. As he went around the end of the bar towards the tables, his eyes passed over the man, and a glimmer of recognition passed between them. The man eyes narrowed as he smiled briefly, and the kid’s eyes betrayed a spark of fear as he turned and stumbled slightly as he went to deliver the food.
The man returned his attention the reporter, who was now beginning to give the back story of Alison’s murder with clips from the crime scene six months ago. He was distracted suddenly by a plate being pushed in front him. He turned as the kid placed his plate of a burger and fries in front him.
“Burger rare and fries.” The kid said nervously, eyes downcast as he wiped his hands on his dirty apron and turned to go.
“Just a minute,” The man said, as he picked up his burger “make sure it’s the way I like it.”
As the man took a bite into his burger, the bartender approached, looking at the television, and said to the kid “Hey Kenny, you see this?” she nodded up. “Some woman's corpse was dug up over in Oak Hill Cemetery. They think she was maybe raped or something.”
Kenny looked up at the screen, then back at the bartender. “Yeah,” he replied in a low voice, “I did hear hear about it.”
“What kind of sicko would dig her up and fuck her?” she asked rhetorically, turning to include the man in the conversation. “How’s the burger cooked?”
Chewing noisily, with a trail of blood dribbling out the corner of his mouth, the man replied, “Perfect, thank you.” Then he turned to Kenny and answered her first question, “I don’t know, what kind do you think Kenny?”
Kenny blanched slightly, muttered “Dunno, hope you like your burger”, and turned, heading quickly back towards the kitchen.
The bartender turned from Kenny, looked at the man curiously, glanced at his half-full beer, and said “shout if you need anything, my name’s Karla” as she moved down the bar to help a customer.
The man’s eyes followed her swinging hips briefly, then moved to the closed kitchen door, gazing at it thoughtfully as he wiped greasy blood from his chin with a paper napkin.
Looking back up at the television, the reporter was wrapping up her story as her tape was reduced to an inset picture, with the anchor once again dominating the screen.
“Time to teach a lesson, to become a hunter again”, he thought, tearing another bite from his pink burger. “And now, I know just how to do it”. In the background, the Violent Femmes “Country Death Song” began to play on the jukebox, a murderous ballad heard by all, but all were oblivious to the killer in their midst.
-----------------------
Hours later, just past midnight, the back door to the Wolf’s Den opened, and Kenny’s head poked out, looking around. Satisfied that the alley was clear, he stepped out, turned, and locked the kitchen door behind him. Glancing up into the light rain, he could faintly see the moon’s glimmer behind the leaden silhouettes of rain clouds scudding across the sky.
Turning, he began walking towards the alley’s mouth, hunching his shoulders in his windbreaker against the cold wet drops pelting him. Fifty feet later, as Kenny was hurrying past the dumpster where Alison had been killed, a dark hulking figure suddenly rose up, blocking his path. Kenny stopped suddenly, nearly colliding with the figure in front of him. Looking up into the hooded visage, he could see the dark eyes that he had instantly feared earlier in the bar. In this moment, as he looked down and saw the gloved hand gripping a knife, he knew exactly how Alison had felt in this same spot six months ago.
CHAPTER 15
Shaking my head suddenly, I was startled awake by the quietly insistent buzz of my cell phone charging next to me. Rolling over, I squinted at my digital clock, and took note of the fact that it was, once again, earlier than it needed to be.
Swinging my legs off my bed as I rose to a sitting position, I grabbed my phone, while looking out my bay window at early morning sunlight struggling to reach me through gray clouds.
Glancing at my caller ID, I shook my head to clear the cobwebs and pressed a button.
“Chief, didn’t we just do this yesterday?” I asked in a raspy voice, my throat raw from sleep.
Chief Barnes replied, his voice all business. “Johns, you need to get down to the Wolf’s Den. Now.”
I instantly became alert. “The Wolf’s Den? Why, what happened?”
“A murder. And from what I’m told, it has obvious ties to Alison Newton.”
A chill went through me as I rose and began to dress, holding my phone in the crook of my neck. “Jesus, I’m on my way.” I said. “I’ll pick up Detective Dunning on the way.”
“Get there as soon as you can. The press really doesn’t need to get a hold of this if we can avoid it.” Barnes said. “Keep them in the dark as much as possible if they do show up. We don’t need to start a panic.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” I answered, thinking of my ex-wife and her reporter’s doggedness. “I’ll keep you updated.”
“See that you do.” And dead silence returned to my phone as Barnes hung up.
Shrugging into a dark blue flannel shirt, I thumbed Medora’s cell number into my phone.
After a single ring, the connection was made. “Hello?” Medora answered, without a trace of sleep in her voice.
“Hey, it’s Harper.” I replied.” We have a situation that involves the Newton case. How soon can you be ready?”
“Right now!” She replied. “I’m actually getting a coffee at the Dunkin’ down the street from where I’m staying.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up in fifteen. Can you get me a coffee, large, black?” I asked.
“Sure, see you then.” Medora said.
I paused, as my stomach rumbled quietly. “And a donut. With sprinkles.” I said, well aware of the cliché I was filling.
“Donut. Sprinkles. Got it.” She said with a light laugh. “True blue.”
“Don’t judge. It could be as long day.” I returned, as I grabbed my keys off the kitchen counter and headed towards the door. The thing was, if I had known how long a day it was going to be, I would have ordered a dozen donuts. With sprinkles.
CHAPTER 16
Medora’s air bnb was two blocks from the boardwalk that ran along Wolf Hollow’s beachfront. The beach side roads and houses were mostly empty now, as the tourist season had ended some weeks ago. All that were left were some die-hards who didn’t want to give up the summer just yet. I cruised slowly passed her lodgings, a white brick single story crammed between two three story multi units, one of which had a family congregating in the driveway, making plans for the boardwalk, despite the slight chill and overcast weather.
Three blocks down, I saw the sign for Dunkins, and swung into the lot, my eyes scanning for Medora.
I picked her out, sitting by herself at and outdoor picnic table, with two cups of coffee and a small paper bag. I tapped my horn lightly, and she looked up from her phone and rose, grabbing the coffees and bag.
Reaching over, I opened the door for her as she got in, settling her long legs into the passenger seat. This morning, she was wearing beige capris and a long sleeve olive green blazer over a cream blouse. Today, she had left her hair loose, and the deep red curls spilled carelessly over her shoulders as she handed a cup to me.
“Coffee. Large. Black.” She said. Then she handed me my paper bag. “They were out of sprinkled donuts, so I got the next closest thing, Boston cream.”
I paused, then rather than ask what mathematical formula she used to arrive at Boston cream being similar to sprinkles, I smiled and accepted the proffer.
“That’s ok, thank you. Boston cream is actually my second favorite.” I lied, flinching inwardly.
“Really? Great! Lucky guess!” She replied, smiling back.
I grunted in reply, turning out of the lot and back into the empty road.
“So, what’s this all about this morning?” She asked, taking a sip from her coffee, leaving a pink smudge on the cup from her lipstick.
Steering with one hand, I blew on my still-hot coffee and replied “Barnes called. Said there’s been a murder down by the Wolf’s Den. Said it was related to the Newton case.”
Medora’s head whipped around towards me. “Really? Did he say how it was related?”
I shook my head. “No, he didn’t. Just to get down there before the press does.” And I glanced at her curiously, “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Medora said, looking back forward and taking another sip. “Just a little surprised. I thought I was moving to a quiet oceanside town, and in my first two days, I’m investigating a necrophilia case and now a murder case.”
I glanced over as I slowed for a stop sign. “Don’t worry, it’s not usually like this. It’s usually just drunk and disorderlies, the occasional b and e or assault, drugs, or on rare occasions, an armed robbery. Outside of the murders six months ago, we haven’t had another one in maybe two years. That’s why we only need two teams of detectives.”
Medora gave a short laugh. “Guess I just got lucky then.” She said.
“Yeah” I replied, accelerating through the stop sign. “I guess you did.”
Ten minutes later, we pulled into the strip mall’s nearly empty parking lot. The Wolf’s Den didn’t open until later, and the salon, laundry, and insurance company had a total five three cars in front, were just getting started. Back on the left corner was where the excitement was. Two police cars and the ME van blocked the alley, and I could just make out the yellow crime scene tape that stretched across the alley entrance.
Finishing the last of my donut, I swung my car in next to the Medical Examiner’s van and cut the engine. Looking around, I didn’t see any news vans. Yet.
Wiping my mouth with a napkin, I looked at Medora. “Well let’s introduce you to your first crime scene in Wolf Hollow.”
Medora nodded and smiled faintly, reaching for the door handle. I grabbed the rest of my coffee and got out of the car. Medora was waiting patiently for me by the hood, letting me take the lead.
We approached the tape, and the female officer guarding the alley raised it to let us under. Ducking under, I looked up at her. “How bad is it?” I asked.
“Well detective.” She said grimly. “He’s dead, so I guess it’s pretty bad.”
I nodded. “Fair enough.” I said, as I turned to look down the alley.
What I saw instantly sent me back to the scene from six months ago. A short distance ahead, Maya was crouched beside a bloody body propped up against the side of a dumpster. The same dumpster where Alison had been found. And like last time, I could see the back of an officer in the dumpster, rooting around for any discarded evidence.
Moving forward, I came up behind Maya. “Morning Maya.” I blew out a sigh. “What do we got?”
Maya turned from her squat, a thermometer in her hand. “Morning Harper. Figured it’d be you who’d show up. Who’s this?” She asked, looking over my shoulder.
Turning, I saw Medora approaching behind me, and instantly, my brain rewound again to Alison’s crime scene. And Anders’ crime scene. Frantically, I spun around and pushed a startled Medora down. “Get down!” I shouted, dropping my coffee and pulling my gun while looking wildly at Maya. “Maya, get behind the dumpster!”
Maya snapped around at once, then relaxed. “Harper, calm down. It’s okay.” She said, instantly recognizing where my reaction had come from. “We have officers up searching the woods.” She motioned above the fence, to the forested hill where Anders’ assassin had made his sniper’s nest. “First thing I thought of when I got here.”
I swung my gun up to the trees, as I processed Maya’s words. Slowly, I lowered the gun as my adrenaline spike lowered. Turning, I saw Medora on the ground, a confused look on her face.
Taking a breath, I holstered my gun, and held a hand out to help her up. “Sorry about that, “I muttered. “I just saw this…” I indicated the dumpster and the body, “and I thought…”
“I know.” Medora interrupted, accepting my hand and getting to her feet. “I read the file. It’s okay.”
Shaking my head, clearing the memories, I turned back to Maya, and began to speak.
“Don’t.” She shook her head. “It’s ok. When I got here and saw the scene, I immediately sent two officers up there. I can’t believe that the sicko who attacked Anders could be doing a repeat with your new partner.” She shook her head, then indicated Medora. “Which is who I assume this is?”
Nodding, I said “Detective Dunning, Chief Medical Officer Maya Segura. Maya, Detective Dunning.” I glanced up at the trees again, then turned my attention to the body. “So who’s this?”
Medora looked at Maya, “Nice to meet you. I wish it were under different circumstances.”
Maya grimaced. “Unfortunately, I meet most new detectives either at a crime scene or in my exam room, so this is pretty usual for me. But welcome aboard.”
Maya looked back at the body and began. “The deceased is Kenneth Brainwell, eighteen years old. Cause of death at first glance is exsanguination by what appears to be a knife wound.” She handed me his wallet, sealed in an evidence bag. Indicating his pants, she continued, “By the smears of food on his pants and non-slip shoes and the fact that his time of death is placed around eleven pm to one am last night, I’m guessing he was coming from work at the Wolf’s Den. But that’s your job.”
I processed this as I squatted and looked down at Kenneth. Medora was peering over my shoulder while pulling out her pad and pen. Kenneth did indeed appear to be in his teens, with light acne and skinny and bony frame, his body not having had the chance to fill out yet. His short dark hair was wet and matted against his scalp, while his clouded blue eyes gazed vacantly out, which with his mouth open in the shape of an “O”, gave him a faintly surprised look. He was wearing a black sports windbreaker, which was splayed open, revealing a white t-shirt on underneath, with a logo of some sort, unidentifiable because of the gaping knife wound in his chest and the surrounding blood that had soaked in.
“Any sign of drugs or drug use?” I asked, since this was one theory we had explored with Alison.
Maya shook her head. “Nothing visible, no track marks. I’ll obviously know more when I get him back to the lab and run the tox screen.”
“This where he was murdered then, I assume?” I asked, nodding at the blood that had stained the wet ground around him.
Maya nodded, answering “Most likely, based on his lividity, but I’ll know for sure later.”
“Any idea where around here?” I asked, looking around at the ground.
Maya indicated a spot about five feet past the dumpster, where a yellow evidence marker was sitting. “I think over there. There’s a faint trace of blood in that area that hasn’t been washed away by the rain.”
I noted the spot. “Who found him?” I asked.
“Don’t know. Police desk got an anonymous phone tip about a dead body this morning. Dana, “she nodded towards the officer by the crime scene tape, “and Cal”, she motioned towards the dumpster, “were manning a speed trap over on route 51. Came over to check it out, and here we are.”
“Okay thanks Maya.” I rose grabbing my spilled coffee cup as I did so. Miraculously, the top had not come off when I dropped it, and just a little had come out of the sip hole. Gently brushing off the dirt, I took a cautious sip as I surveyed the scene. Medora, finishing writing her notes, looked up at me as I swallowed.
“So, assuming he worked at the Wolf’s Den, “I began, “he was probably leaving work after the kitchen closed. If it was as busy as I saw it when I was driving home last night, and given the typical clientele, this kid probably wanted to avoid the bar area, which is probably why he went out the back way.”
Medora nodded, picking up the thread. “So he comes walking this way, and he was surprised, probably by someone hiding behind the dumpster.”
I looked at her. “Why do you think he was surprised?” I asked.
“No defensive wounds on his hands.” She motioned towards the body. “If he saw the person coming, he would have brought his hands up to defend himself.” She brought her hands up in a defensive position. “He’d have cuts.”
I nodded pensively. “Good.”
Or, “she offered an alternative, “maybe he was meeting someone he knew back here, so he was relaxed, and that someone took him by surprise.”
“Could be.” I conceded. “But I really don’t think it was that, and I don’t think he was just surprised randomly.”
Medora, and Maya who had been following our conversation, looked at me. “Why?” Medora asked.
“Because if it was a random encounter or even a planned meeting with a sudden attack, the perp would have made the kill and left the body where it fell.” I shook my head. “No. The killer moved the body to the dumpster. He or she staged this to look like Alison’s murder.” I paused. “The use of a knife, the staging.” I took a deep breath. “Someone is sending a message.”
Maya and Medora just looked at me. “But to who?” Maya asked.
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