The River Runs Dry (12 page)

When he rolled up in his car, he'd walked in to see his daughter and her friend tied up, opposite each other, with their hair cut off and their eyes cut out. He'd run to her side and screamed a blood curdling roar as he checked his daughter's pulse and then phoned an ambulance, and the police, simultaneously.

Did he hear anything out back? He said he thought he heard the back door go, which Jack confirmed when he found the footprints and tire marks in the alleyway further down the street. But that was the only help he could give. All he cared about now was helping his daughter recover. For him there was nothing else.

For a couple of days Leanne had been under the watchful eyes of the best doctors in the county. She'd been taken to Kanton, nearby, where she could get the sort of care she needed. After two days in the woods, she woke up, her condition turning stable.

Jack hadn't gone to see her right away. She needed time, time with her father, time with the doctors and psychiatrists who would explain her medical situation and help her overcome the mental trauma she'd faced.

It was only when her father called Jack and told him she was ready to speak that he drove to Kanton and sat down by her bedside. He was there now, looking at this poor girl's mutilated face, her future plans and dreams dashed. He had to take a moment before asking his first question, composing himself as her father held her hand and told her it would be OK.

When he did his tone was as soft and gentle as it needed to be. “I'm here to talk about what happened Leanne. Your father tells me that you're ready to tell me what you know.”

The girl sniffed lightly in her bed, her words creaking out of her mouth.

“I remember everything,” she said quietly, her hand shaking in her father's.

“What happened that night Leanne? We know that you were at Kelly's bar. We know that you and your friend Sarah went home together. Your father tells us that the door was locked when he got there. Did you lock the door when you went inside the house? Did you see anyone following you home?” Jack kept his tone gentle and slow, leaning in and speaking quietly.

“I don't remember anyone following. There were some people around when we left, it felt safe. No one stood out. When we got in, I locked the door.”

“OK,” Jack said quietly, “what happened when you got in? Was he in the house already?”

Jack knew that there was no sign of a break-in at either door. It was possible that he'd managed to get in somehow earlier in the day and waited inside. If he hadn't followed them home, he may have already been there. Now he was about to find out the truth.

Leanne sniffed again, her head beginning to shake and her voice breaking. Her father leaned in closer and squeezed at her hand. “It's OK darling, I'm here. I'm right here.”

She took a moment to calm herself before speaking again, her voice still weak.

“It was...my fault. We were drinking and...I heard a knock at the door. I shouldn't have answered it, it was so stupid, but I thought it might be a friend. I unlocked it and he came straight at me. His hand covered my mouth and stopped me screaming.....then...Sarah came round...the corner...and he hit her...” she started sobbing again, her hand reaching to her bandage, as if trying to rub away phantom tears from phantom eyes.

Jack knew that Sarah had been hit, he just didn't know when, or how. There had been bruising to the side of her face, as well as on her opposite shoulder, suggesting she was hit on one side and fell to the floor on the other.

“Then he hit my head against the wall and knocked me out. The next thing I know....he's cutting her....hair....and eyes....” she shook her head again, her body shaking in fear and with terrifying memory.

“It's OK baby, it's OK,” said her father, stroking her hand again. Jack could tell he wanted to lean in and hug her, kiss her forehead and comfort her properly, but he couldn't.

“Please, Leanne, I just have one more question. It could be important, it could help other girls.”

Leanne slowly began to calm herself again, her shaking body steadying. Then she nodded and Jack spoke.

“Did you see what he looked like? Did you see his face? Anything, anything that can help us?”

She kept nodding as her words slowly formed and spilled from her mouth. “I saw him. I remember.”

Jack's pulse rose suddenly.

“He was tall, slim, but strong. He had muscled arms and....his face was dark.”

“Dark?”

“Like it was in the shadow. He wore a hat, I couldn't make out his face properly. But....he had dark hair, black almost. It was curled under his cap, but I could see it. And a square chin, clean shaven.”

“Anything else? Any unusual features or clothing?”

Leanne nodded. “He had scars on his forearms, like old cuts and burns. His clothes...were normal. Darks pants, a dark t-shirt....that's all I remember.”

“And how old did he look? Any idea? Anything?” Jack asked quickly, desperate to know.

“Young. In his 20's I think.”

Jack was scribbling in his pad. It was an excellent starting description.

“Thank you Leanne, you've been so helpful. I won't ask you anything else, I'll leave you alone now.”

Jack looked at her father, whose eyes were wet and hooded, and nodded his thanks, before standing and walking towards the exit.

“There's one more thing.” The words stopped Jack in his tracks, Leanne's voice now stronger, more sure.

Jack turned back around to face her, her head tilted in his direction. “I heard his voice. He spoke to me.”

“What did he say?” Jack asked, staring at her.

“He asked me if I wanted it to end. He said it was never going to. His voice, it was cold, it had no heart, but more than that...”

“Yes?” Jack asked.

“It was his accent. I know accents, and his was weird.”

“How so?”

“It was like a hybrid. Like a mixture, between here and somewhere more south. It wasn't normal.” Her voice was calm now. “Please, catch him detective. Do it for Sarah.”

Jack's expression turned to steel as he watched this girl, her life ruined, thinking of her murdered friend.

“I will Leanne, and I'll do it for you, too.”

…

It wasn't long after leaving the hospital that Jack pulled up outside the police lab in the center of Kanton. He'd been here a few times before now, visiting Dr Grey and hearing his expert analysis of the murdered girls who'd been brought in.

For Jack it was more of a formality than anything else. Dr Grey could tell him little about the deaths of Tara Bradford and Sarah O'Reilly that he didn't know already. Shaved hair, cut out eyes, stabbed through the brain – it was all staring him in the face at the scene.

But earlier in the day Jack had received a call from Dr Grey asking him to come to the lab. There was another body, he said, and he was convinced it was yet another victim of the Butcher.

When Jack opened the door to Dr Grey's office he was greeted with the sight of a body, straight ahead of him, lying flat on the trolley bed against the wall. Dr Grey stood over it, his hands covered in plastic gloves, his eyes quickly lifting to meet Jack's.

“Come in, come in detective. You'll excuse me for not shaking your hand,” he said, gesturing to his gloves.

Jack walked forward and his eyes set down on the body. Well, what was left of it anyway. It was more of a skeleton by now, rags of clothing still hanging off it.

“So doctor, what am I looking at today?” asked Jack, putting on his own gloves.

“You are looking at a young girl, 19, called Abi Hayles. Dental records have confirmed her identity with FBI databases.”

“OK, and why am I here doctor?”

“Because I believe the death is related to your killer Detective Slade. If I'm not mistaken, this girl died just around the same time as Taylor Lane.”

“Around the same time?”

“Yes. It's hard to be sure of the exact timing, but roughly 3 months ago now.”

“And why do you think it's related? I'm sure a lot of people died on that day.”

“Because of this,” he said, lifting the skull and showing the empty eye sockets. As before, Jack, we've got indentations where this girls eyes were cut out.”

“Jesus. That might explain my theory.”

“What theory?”

“That this killer only attacks girls in pairs. Sarah and Leanne last week, Tara and Claire before. I had a suspicion that Taylor Lane wasn't alone when she was killed. This might confirm it.”

“I suppose it adds up. But Claire Marshall, she was left alone, am I correct?”

Jack nodded. “She didn't fit the description doctor. This 'butcher', as the press are calling him, only attacks brunettes with blue eyes. I assume this girl had such features?”

“Dr Grey's eyes narrowed and he turned to pick up a file over on his desk. She's listed as a blonde here. But blue eyes, yes.”

A frown drifted down Jack's face. “That's odd. Perhaps he's not quite as specific as I thought,” he said, thinking. “But...it makes no sense. These killers have their own MO. It doesn't make sense for him to break it.”

“So it's
him
now is it?” asked the doctor, remembering back to their first encounter.

“Jack nodded. That's confirmed now, yes.”

“Well, there are explanations detective. Perhaps it's unrelated, although I find that highly unlikely. More probable is that the killer never meant to kill her. Perhaps she got in the way somehow.”

“Yes, but if that was the case he'd be likely to just kill her, not go through his ritual and cut out her eyes....”

“Ah, but her eyes were blue, like the other victims,” cut in Dr Grey. “It was the hair that was different.”

“And did he cut that, like the others?” Jack asked quickly.

“We can't tell, the body is too decomposed. He may have done, may have not. It's also possible she died her hair at some point. She's listed as a natural blonde, but that doesn't mean she was when she was killed.”

Jack nodded, the doctor offering an interesting insight.

“And where was it found?”

“That's the interesting part Jack. It was found out in the plains beyond Burgess, in a small trench a dozen or so miles from Lancer's point.”

“Like Taylor Lane?”

Dr Grey nodded. “The body was completely exposed, so that explains the quick decomposition. I'd imagine your killer put one in the river and one further away out in the empty plains. As I know it no one goes out there, so it's no wonder it took so long to find her, exposed or not.”

“So who is this girl? Was she reported missing?”

“Strangely, no. She was traveling alone as it happens. I'd suggest she met Taylor Lane somewhere, in a bar perhaps, and the killer managed to get them into his car. That would explain your theory of killing in pairs.”

“But you can't place an exact date, of either of their deaths?”

“I'm afraid not. It's very hard to say, they might have died at the same time, on the same night, or a week apart from each other.”

“Well I'd imagine we're looking at another double murder here. Where is the girl from originally?”

“New York, I believe.”

“Fuck it,” said Jack quickly, “and here's me thinking the killer has a specific thing for girls from Burgess. He doesn't seem as rigid in his rituals as I thought. It's quite possible he's killed before, perhaps in multiple states, particularly in the south.”

“Why the south?”

“Well, it's something Leanne Graves told me.”

“Leanne Graves? The poor girl, you've spoken to her?”

“Just now actually, yes. She told me the killer spoke to her when he was cutting her face. His voice, she said, sounded like a hybrid accent, a mixture between the local Burgess accent and more of a southern accent.”

“Perhaps he was putting it on?”

Jack shook his head. “I don't think so. He intended to kill that girl, but was spooked when her father returned. There would be no reason for him to hide his true voice.”

“So a hybrid, as if he's spent time in both places?”

“Exactly. I think we're looking at a young man who lived in Burgess when he was young, and then moved south. Now he's back, and he's back here for a reason.”

“So you're getting somewhere Detective Slade?”

Jack looked down at his pad, filled with a description of the killer's looks, with information about his voice, about his MO, about his shoe size and type, the type of car he drove, and everything else he'd gathered.

“I think so Dr Grey. At least, I hope so.”

Chapter 15

Jessie sat at a roadside cafe in LA, gazing out onto the wide ocean beyond. She used to take trips to the coast regularly when she was younger, but that had dried up as quickly as the weather had in recent years.

The city was a world away from what she was used to. Cars rushed by at breakneck speed, hundreds of people swarmed all over Venice Beach, excitedly hurrying up and down the boardwalk. It was filled with young people in their shorts and sandals cruising up and down and stopping at the little shops, skaters and bikers doing tricks over in the skatepark, families and tourists gazing out in wonder at the busy scene around them.

For Jessie it was like being on vacation, and she had a smile on her face that hadn't been present in a little while; a natural smile, not put one, not created by a joke or something amusing happening to her. It was just a smile that told her she was happy. For today at least, she was happy.

She was in town to visit schools, and to conduct interviews for the coming year. She'd come across well, and the different colleges had been impressed by her passion, by her high school grades, and by her previous work when she'd been at college before.

Her absence for the last couple of years was easily explainable, and they were all happy and willing to accept Jessie on the course of her choice – criminal psychology – for the coming year. Now all Jessie had to do was come up with the money, which wasn't proving as simple as it might have sounded.

She had some of her own savings, but not enough for the yearly fees, and certainly not enough to cover her living costs and all the other expenses she'd have to contend with. She talked at length with the colleges about the option of sorting out some sort of payment plan, or perhaps getting some short time financial aid from them until the sale of the house went through. They were generally receptive to the idea, but it would need to be discussed further with the financial department.