Bad Land (3 page)

Chapter 4

George’s hackles were raised as he stared out the sliding glass door. Outside was dark. The moon was partially hidden by clouds. Marshall squinted to get a better look at the shadow like thing that crouched on his patio. Marshall forced himself closer.
It’s just your imagination—there’s nothing there. It’s the shadows. Calm down, don’t panic.

Marshall stood next to George now. Blinking, he looked at the area in the corner of the patio where he had first seen the shadow, but there was nothing there. Marshall wasn’t much of a decorator, and all that stood on the small patio were George’s food, a water bowl, and a few dog toys.

Still, Marshall could feel a presence, like he was being watched. Like someone or something was measuring him. He fought back the fear and instead squatted down and stroked George’s soft fur. “Hey, buddy, it’s okay. There’s nothing out there. It’s just you and me.”

Marshall took a deep breath and switched on the patio light. The bulb sliced through the darkness, revealing an empty backyard. George stopped barking and Marshall unlocked the sliding door and both of them stepped into the cool night.

George had stopped making noise, but ran around the patio like an animal possessed, nose pointed to the ground. Animal instinct had taken over and years of genetic perfection were put to good use as the beagle searched for a scent. He made sniffling sounds Marshall would have thought funny had the circumstances been different.

Marshall released a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding as he turned. Nothing seemed out of place. There were no signs of disturbance and the feeling he had that someone was watching him was gone.

You’re freaking yourself out. There was never anything here. George probably saw a mouse or maybe a possum.

As he was about to go inside, Marshall stopped and looked closer at the corner of the patio where he thought he had seen the shadow. The ground in the corner had once been grass, but after multiple run ins with George, it had been dug and churned into soft, dark brown dirt. In the dirt was a shoe print that didn’t belong to Marshall.

It was probably some kid that threw his ball over the fence. Even if it was a burglar, he wouldn’t get past George. He knows better now. 

Marshall walked over to the slider and the small built in doggy door he had put in for George. There were no signs of break-in and the doggy door was built for a beagle’s small body. There was no chance anyone could have gotten through. The idea of a killer midget entering through the small opening crossed Marshall’s mind for a split second before he dismissed the thought and looked over to make sure George was okay.

Sure enough, the beagle was fine. He still patrolled the patio, wet nose to the ground. Marshall closed the sliding glass door, leaving the doggy door open for George. It was getting late and he wanted to make an early appearance at the
Hermes
tomorrow. He worked better in the morning and he didn’t mind getting there early to keep his mind clear of distractions.

Marshall thought about calling the police, but besides a footprint and a shadow, he didn’t really have a lot to go on. Deciding against the idea, he opened his refrigerator. He knew he needed something to eat, even though he didn’t actually feel hungry. The inside of his refrigerator was almost completely bare. There was half a box of pizza from a few nights ago, random condiments like jelly, mustard, and hot sauce, and some milk that was quickly approaching its expiration date.

Marshall grabbed a few slices of cold pizza and the hot sauce as panting and padding paws reached his ears. George was apparently over his excitement and was now sitting staring at Marshall and his pizza.

Marshall glanced outside to make sure George still had food in his bowl. Sure enough, his black and red bowl with the words “Kujo” was still half full. “You’re not really hungry, are you? You just want my pizza.”

George panted and his head moved like he was nodding in agreement. Marshall quickly polished off the two pieces but saved the crust for George. George grabbed the two pieces like they were gold and immediately took them over to his blanket in the family room, settled down, and began devouring his treats.

Marshall walked past his roommate to his room. He undressed and jumped in the shower, thinking about what he now knew.

There was no reason to doubt Joseph, and if he accepted what his friend had said as fact, it was clear someone was trying to cover up the real reason for the young girl’s death. Joseph had said she had been drained of her blood from slits across her wrists and ankles.

It was like she had been bled dry, but why? Who would want to do that to her? Why did they want her blood? Marshall shut off the water and dried himself with a thick towel.

It was clear the police weren’t going to do any more than announce the “official” cause of death. If anyone was going to find the truth, it had to be him. He decided that the next morning he would hit the pavement and visit the scene where Barbara had died. Maybe there would be something there that would provide another piece to the puzzle. Maybe someone had seen something.

Marshall put on his pajamas and got in bed. It was a restless night. As soon as Marshall did fall asleep, however,
he wished he hadn’t.

Chapter 5

He woke before his alarm clock. Sitting bolt upright in his bed, he tried to remember the nightmare that had plagued him all night long. It remained just out of reach. Marshall glanced at his alarm clock: it read six o’clock. The sun was just lighting the dark sky and Marshall decided to get up rather than try and fall back to sleep. From waking to sitting in his car took no more than thirty minutes.

George sat beside him as the two pulled out into the chilly morning. Marshall had decided to first go to the police station to ensure that the case was, in fact, closed, and see if he could talk to the detective in charge of the case. The two roommates pulled up to the precinct. Marshall strapped on George’s black leather leash and they climbed the steps of the building. The precinct was a large gray building located in the center of downtown. You could tell efforts had been taken to make the place look inviting; there were flagpoles, statues, and a fountain in the front. But they had all failed—the building was still as intimidating as ever.

Marshall opened the door and made his way through the halls to Lieutenant Tom Lloyd’s desk. He nodded and smiled at numerous officers he had come to know and respect during his time at the
Hermes
. Soon enough he caught sight of the burly middle-aged officer sitting at his desk, drinking coffee and glancing through the morning paper.

Tom put down the paper and didn’t even bother to rise from his chair. “Marshall.”

“Tom, you don’t look too happy to see me. Look, I even brought George today.” George wagged his tail and took a few steps over to the man, inviting a few pets.

Tom managed a smile but didn’t reach out to play with George. “You’re here about the girl, aren’t you?”

Marshall nodded.

“I told you, Marshall. It’s been solved. Stay out of this one. She was hit by a car and dragged down the road. I have the official coroner’s report here on my desk. It was a hit and run, case closed. Look for yourself if you don’t believe me.” Tom handed a manila folder to Marshall.

Marshall took the folder and thumbed through the report. Everything was just like both Joseph and the Lieutenant had said. The case was closed and the official coroner’s report said that Barbara Summers was killed by the impact of a vehicle.

“You’re right, it’s all there.” Marshall handed the folder back to the Lieutenant. “Who was the detective in charge of the investigation? I mean, that has to be some kind of record, right? A case opened and closed in one day?”

Tom gave him a disapproving look but finally admitted defeat. “Okay, I can tell you’re going to keep this up until you do your own personal examination, so I’ll tell you. Detective Lanner was given the assignment and closed the case.”

Marshall’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Detective John Lanner had been suspended from work for alcohol abuse and was widely known for his temper and unconventional means of upholding the law. “He’s back? I mean, from his leave?”

Tom nodded.

“Well, okay then, Tom. Thanks for the help.”

“Marshall, are you sure you’re not doing this because this young girl was close in age to—”

“No, Tom. I’m not. This has nothing to do with her.”

The uncharacteristic edge in his voice made Tom close his mouth.

Marshall turned from the Lieutenant’s desk, George at his heels. It was the second time in just as many days that people were bringing up her memory. He was reminded of the saying, “You can never escape your past.” Well, that might be true, but he could ignore it until he stopped remembering.

Marshall stormed past desks and offices as he made his way to Detective Lanner’s office. The door was open and the big man sat behind his desk, hunched over a pile of paperwork. Marshall knocked on the door. Lanner looked up, gray piercing eyes locking onto Marshall. “What do you want?”

“Can I come in? I have a few questions.”

“What about?”

Marshall took this as an invitation to walk into the office, although he still hadn’t officially been welcomed. “You were the lead detective on Barbara Summers’ death yesterday. You opened and closed the case in one day. Don’t you think that was a bit rash? I mean, how much investigative work could you have done in one day?”

The large man eyed Marshall like he was an alien. Lanner was built like a linebacker, with blond hair he combed to the side and a nose that looked like it had been broken more than its fair share of times. “Not that I need to explain anything to you, but it was an easy case. The precinct tends to hand you those when you first get back to work from a forced leave of absence.”

Marshall was shocked by the man’s blunt honesty. Lanner caught the look on Marshall’s face and grinned. “I have nothing to hide. I’m not trying to impress you or anyone else. The girl got hit by a car. Hit and runs are almost impossible to track if there are no witnesses. Case closed.”

“And you’re sure she died of a hit and run?”

“Yeah, that’s what the report said. I asked around and there were no witnesses to say different.”

“You interviewed her friends and family?”

Irritation became more apparent in the Detective’s voice. “Yes. You may be surprised to know that I do understand how to do my job. She had no family, and no one that wanted to cause her harm.”

The men were both interrupted by George’s loud sniffing around the office as he made the best out of the length of leash he was given. Lanner was the first to snap back. “Is that all? I have a lot to do. You can imagine being away for alcohol abuse has put my career behind a few years.”

Marshall knew he wasn’t going to get anymore out of the Detective. It seemed like Lanner was content with the job he’d done and there was no pushing the man into reopening the case. “Yes, thank you.”

Lanner went back to work without a good-bye as Marshall and George left the room. “Well, that was absolutely no help,” he whispered to George.

The two made their way back through the precinct and to the car. Marshall knew the exact location of the canyon Barbara’s body had been found in from the pictures he had seen on the news. He turned his car away from the
Hermes
and headed toward Wakan Canyon.

Chapter 6

Marshall rolled down the window for George and his beagle ears flapped in the wind. Morning traffic was at its peak, and once again Marshall found himself forced to sit in traffic and endure California’s renowned bad drivers. The cream of the crop was an elderly man who could barely see above the steering wheel and a diva applying generous amounts of makeup as she changed lanes and chatted on the phone with one hand. When they finally did reach the canyon, Marshall drove his car along the curvy one lane road and searched for the area where Barbara’s body had been found.

The road was uneven and Marshall had to wonder what Barbara was doing walking a road like this at any hour, let alone at night. Every house they passed was run down, and most of them were fenced or gated off with
Beware of Dog
signs and trespassing warnings.

Marshall had grown up in the area, so he was no stranger to the canyon, but he had never given it a second glance while passing through. He had never really noticed the unkempt lawns, the bar-like gates in front of almost every house, or the general foreboding feeling that pervaded the area. Marshall passed a few cars as the morning traffic died down and came to a stop near the curve in the road where Barbara’s body had first been discovered.

The canyon was located on the outskirts of the county. The road was beaten, and besides the few houses that were found on either side of the street, dispersed seemingly at will, there was nothing to see. The road served to connect two cities, but was more of a local short cut than a well traveled highway. It spanned three miles, with side roads leading off deeper into the canyon every so often. At night it was poorly lit by a few wooden, outdated streetlights.

He put the car in park, and with a second thought, decided to bring George along. The beagle happily leaped at the opportunity and his short paws padded beside Marshall as the two made their way along the shoulder of the road.

The pavement was dark gray and cracked, the shoulders of the road made out of hard packed dirt. The exact area where the body had been found was almost located dead center in the canyon. Marshall was certain he had found the right spot when dark black spatterings on the gravel road met his eyes. The spots were undoubtedly patches of dried blood.

George tugged at his leash as he sniffed the ground, pulling Marshall nearer to the death scene. Marshall kept him back, well clear of the road and dried patches of blood. Marshall shielded his eyes with his free hand as he looked up and down the lonely street. There were no houses nearby, just dirt and rough looking shrubbery. Marshall walked up and down his side of the road, then crossed it and walked up and down the opposite end.

What would have caused a young girl to be out here by herself in the middle of the night? Had her car broken down? No, there was no mention of that in the report.

Besides the dry patches of blood, there was nothing to go on. No paths in the underbrush, no footprints or clues that Marshall could see. Nothing. The only option he had left was to see if anyone in the area had noticed anything peculiar that night. Maybe someone had seen something out of the ordinary. Even if Detective Lanner had questioned the residents like he said, maybe someone would tell Marshall something they were too afraid to tell the police.

There were only four houses that stood remotely close to the area… three further up the road and one near where he had parked his car. Marshall decided to try the three that stood together first.

The closest house was anything but inviting, with tall weeds and an almost non-existent paint job. Marshall gently knocked on the door. There was no response. He rang the doorbell and waited. Nothing. Just as he was about to turn and walk away, the door handle turned and clicked. An old woman looked at him from behind a mess of dark gray and black hair. The hair fell down almost like a curtain, hiding most of the woman’s face.

Marshall fought to regain his composure as George let out a low growl deep in his chest. “Oh, hello. My name is Marshall. I’m with the local town newspaper, the
Hermes
.” Marshall extended a hand but the woman just looked at it as though she had never shaken hands before.

Marshall drew back his extended palm as the old women opened her toothless mouth. “What is it that you want? You know I have
No Trespassing
signs on my fence.”

“Oh, right. I just had a few questions about the young girl that was found dead yesterday mor—”

The old woman shut the door in his face before he could even finish the word. Marshall frowned. Apparently he had struck some kind of chord. The woman had to know something to react in such a rude manner. He knocked on the door again and again but the woman wouldn’t answer. After what felt like an eternity, he looked at George. “Well, that’s 0 for 1, buddy. Let’s hit the next house.”

But the next dilapidated building was no better than the first. If it was possible, this house looked in even worse condition than the one before. The house was leaning to one side like it would buckle in on itself at any moment. No one came to the door despite the numerous knocks and doorbell rings. George was backing away from the door and pulling on his leash in the direction away from the house.

“What’s wrong with you, dude?” Marshall asked. “It’s just a house.”

But after a few more minutes of knocking, Marshall consented to his roommate’s plea to leave with a, “0 for 2.” And they approached the third house.

The third house was a bit different. It was two stories, but in similar shape as the first two. Dirty drapes prevented any chance of being able to see in and a large rusted iron fence guarded the perimeter of the house.

Marshall spotted an ancient looking intercom on the front of the wrought iron fence and pushed the button. “Hello?”

There was nothing but silence on the other end. George let out another growl as he stared at the house. Marshall was already on edge just from the overall weird feeling he was getting from visiting these houses and George wasn’t helping. The intercom sprang to life as an elderly man’s voice shattered the silence. “Go away—you and your dog both.”

Marshall was puzzled for a split second as he wondered how the man on the opposite end of the intercom knew about George. Marshall jerked his head up and caught the faintest glimpse of an old man before the curtains on the second floor swung closed.

“Please, I’m not here to harass you,” Marshall said, holding down the button. “I just need to ask a few questions.”

But like the other two houses, there was no going back once the resident had decided not to talk. Marshall ground his teeth in frustration.

Why were these people so shut off? What were they so scared of?

On the way back to his car, Marshall headed to the final house. He only had one chance left. Whatever it took, he had to get information from this last residence. He couldn’t take no for an answer. If he did, he might never find out what really happened to Barbara.

Marshall and George walked past the other two houses toward the single house that stood alone. As they got closer, Marshall was surprised to see that this house was in nowhere near the poor condition of the other three. It would be a far stretch of the imagination to call this house nice, but the paint was still clinging on the walls and the grass was trimmed.

Marshall opened the short chain-link fence for himself and George and started up the paved walkway.

“Can I help you?”

Marshall practically jumped out of his skin and George’s head snapped up, making his floppy ears bounce. The one story house had a deep-set porch, and in one corner sat the figure of an elderly man rocking gently in his chair.

“Ummm… yes, actually. I was just wondering if I might be able to ask you a few questions.”

“These questions wouldn’t be about the young girl that was found dead in the road yesterday morning, would it?”

Marshall felt a surge of hope in his chest. Maybe he would get some answers after all. “Yes, do you know anything about what happened to her?”

The old man was silent, still rocking gently back and forth.

Marshall took this silence as an opportunity to travel a few more steps with George until he stood opposite the stranger. The stranger’s face looked as tough as leather. He was a hard man—there was no doubt about that. His short dark gray and white hair held testament to his knowledge and despite his age, there was still a look of strength in his eyes. “You’re better off leaving the subject alone, young man.”

“Why is that?”

“Because some questions you don’t want to know the answer to. Because some answers provoke a response. And some responses provoke action.”

George pulled against the leash, panting heavily. He struggled to reach the old man. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“George.”

The old man let go of a small smile as he looked at the dog. “May I pet him? It’s been a long time since I owned my own dog.”

“Sure.” Marshall let go of George’s leash and the beagle immediately trotted over to the man and put two front paws on his knees.

The man scratched George behind his ears and the two looked like old friends reunited, George with his tongue lolling out and the old man taken back to a happier time with his own dogs.

“What if I wanted to respond? I mean, if I needed the answer to take action.”

The old man continued to pet George and didn’t even look at Marshall. “Oh? And what type of action would you take if you got your answers?”

Marshall’s brain was starting to hurt with all the vague references. “Listen, I’m a reporter, and I just want to know if you know anything about the young girl’s death.”

“You’re a good kid. I can tell that by how well mannered you are and how well you take care of this little guy. Trust me. Stop asking questions. This is beyond any of us.”

There was no doubt in Marshall’s mind that the man knew something. He fought back frustration as he phrased his next question carefully. “What is it that everyone is so afraid of around here? The other residents wouldn’t even talk to me. And you’re afraid to answer my questions.”

The old man snorted and gave George one final pet before he crossed his arms and looked deep into Marshall’s eyes. “Don’t mistake self-preservation for fear. Now get off my property.”

All three of them jumped as the door to the house opened and a female voice interrupted the conversation. “Grandpa. That’s not very nice.”

Marshall was shocked to see a woman about his own age step onto the porch. Her long black hair was pulled back from her strong face and she wore fitted jeans and a button-up red and white-checkered shirt.

She smiled at Marshall and extended her hand. “I’m sorry about my grandfather, he doesn’t like strangers much. I’m Samantha.”

Marshall accepted the offered hand and smiled. “I’m Marshall.”

The two stood there smiling and shaking hands until there was a loud snort from the old man that made them break their grip. “Actually, Sam, Marshall here was lost and I had just given him directions. He was leaving now.”

Marshall looked at the old man, who was giving him a threatening stare. “Actually,” Marshall began, “that’s not true at all I had some questions I wanted to ask before I left. And I never got your name,” Marshall said this last part as he strode over and extended his hand.

The old man squinted at Marshall but accepted his hand and squeezed a little too hard. “I’m the old man that lives here and is asking you kindly to leave.”

Marshall was shocked at the man’s strength as he broke the grip and had to make a conscious effort not to show any sign of discomfort.

“Were you here asking about that young girl?” Samantha asked. She bent down and ruffled George’s ears.

“Yes, I was. Have you noticed anything strange around here the last few days? Maybe saw something around the time she died?”

The old man sat quiet as Samantha frowned and shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I only come out to visit my grandpa once a week to make sure he’s okay.”

“I’m sitting right here, you know. Talking about me like I’m some kind of cripple.”

Samantha smiled at her grandfather as she stood up and walked over to him. She put a slender hand on his shoulder. “Oh, I know you’re okay. I’m not coming around checking on your safety. I’m making sure you’re not running off people from your house with a pitchfork.”

A small smile played across his lips as he gave his granddaughter an approving nod. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help, Marshall. I hope they catch whoever is responsible for that poor girl’s death.”

Marshall had to let out a sigh as he was forced to face another dead end. “Me too. Thank you for your help.”

“Of course,” Samantha said. “I’ll walk you to the gate.”

Marshall nodded a goodbye in the old man’s direction.

“Marshall. George.” The old man nodded back.