The River Runs Dry (3 page)

“I studied criminology for a while,” she replied curtly. “So how old was this girl anyway?”

Tony took a long swig of his beer as he shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno, they don't know yet. The body's too mashed up or something. Apparently her flesh was hanging off the bone like a boiled turkey when they dragged her out of the mud because she'd been soaked in water for so long....”

“Ewww,” said Darcia, screwing up her eyes. Can we change the subject please. So who's going up for a song. Liam? Jess?” She opened her eyes wide, hoping they'd drop the conversation.

“But she's not a little girl, right? She's an adult?” continued Jessie.

Tony seemed to have lost some enthusiasm for the conversation. Seemingly he was using the news to incite some sort of ghost story. He certainly wasn't expecting the third degree.

“Um, an adult I think, yeah. Who cares anyway, it's probably some junkie from LA who got on the wrong side of the wrong people.”

Jessie shook her head. “Nice Tony, real nice.”

“What,” he said, swilling his beer again. “I'm just saying, who ever gets killed round here, unless it's like an old woman falling down the stairs or some shit? Murders happen in LA and they come out here to get rid of the bodies all the time. Vegas too, with all them Mafia links. Seriously, ask the old timers, they'll tell you.”

“Yeah, thanks for the offer but I'd prefer to look at the facts, not hear some old urban legends from them, nice as they are.”

“Suit yourself. So, come on babe, let's sing.”

With that Tony, perhaps realizing Darcia was getting sick of the conversation, stood and hurried with her towards the stage to perform an appalling version of Boom Boom Pow by the Black Eyes Peas. Jessie could tell, just by looking around, that they were the only ones enjoying themselves up on the stage.

“You know I'd protect you, don't you?” It was Liam, sitting quietly to Jessie's side as the cats were being strangled on the stage. “If there was a killer on the loose, I mean. I'd walk you home and stuff.”

Jessie smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “That's sweet Liam, but there's no killer on the loose.”

She looked him in the eye, caught in the middle of that lingering stare. He looked slightly downtrodden by her put-down. “But I could walk you home anyway.” There was a hint of desperation and hope in his voice.

“I guess so, sure,” said Jessie, knowing Liam's intentions.

His face turned to a smile at that, lighting up. “Good....I like to know you're safe.”

Jessie smiled back and took a swig of her beer, hoping for a change of conversation. Liam was really sweet, but there was no spark. If Burgess was the last place on earth, sure, he'd be the best match for her in town, but it wasn't. There was a whole wide world out there just waiting to be explored, and Jessie's ambitions lay beyond the dust and the desert sands.

It was midnight when the bar closed, kicking everyone out into the cooling night. Jessie couldn't quite tell whether it was actually cool, or whether it was simply a contrast with the baking daytime temperatures, but the night air was so refreshing on her skin.

Darcia stepped in towards Jessie as the small crowd dispersed outside the bar.

“Soooo, Liam's taking you home is he?” she whispered, her voice slightly wobbly from one too many drinks.

Jessie frowned at her like a parent would at a naughty child. “Yes, but nothing's going to happen. He insisted, and I couldn't exactly tell him no. He's just being nice.”

“Yeah, well let's hope he's not so 'nice' in the bedroom,” she said in drunken laughter. “Nice men are soooo boring.”

Jessie's frown stayed stuck to her face. “I'm not going to take him into my bedroom, OK. Look, I'll see you tomorrow at work. Be safe babe.”

Jessie leaned in and gave her a kiss on the forehead, brushing her dark brown fringe to one side, before she turned away and stumbled down the street with Tony.

A moment later Liam turned up at her side, smiling. “You're this way, right Jess?”

Like he didn't already know. Everyone knew where everyone lived round here.

Jessie nodded and they started walking down the street. It was quiet, as always, a light breeze running across them from the plains beyond. In the distance you could see silhouettes of rocky hills, craggy against the light of the moon. One, a long way away, was Lancer's Point, where this body had apparently been found.

The town was a fairly small place, a grid set-up with only a few dozen streets criss-crossing each other on the flat plains. There were a dozen or so thousand people living there, and scant opportunities to make much of yourself if you had any ambition whatsoever.

In fact, the town only had two major industries: contracting, and tourism. It's position out near Death Valley made it a regular stop off for travelers looking for a slightly alternative look at this quieter and less visited part of the national park. So, in town, you'd find a host of hotels, cheap restaurants and diners, and tour guides looking to cash in.

Farming was once popular in the area too, but its importance had been diminished over the years as the soils changed and the land dried up. Now, it was little more than a hub in the middle of nowhere, a place to live and die without anyone from the wider world beyond knowing, or caring.

Burgess was certainly not somewhere people would be able to quickly point to on the map.

They walked in silence through the streets and towards the outskirts of the town, where Jessie's house was found. She lived there alone now, since the death of her mother only a couple of years ago. The death had hit her hard. As an only child who'd grown up without a father, her mother had been her rock and support. Now she was gone, and Jessie was alone.

When they got to the front porch Liam shuffled nervously, not quite knowing whether to try to kiss Jessie goodnight or not. It was clear that's all he wanted, that he was just praying for Jessie to invite him in for a drink, and maybe more.

But she didn't. All she did was thank him, give him a friendly hug, and step up in through her front door, leaving Liam outside, alone. He stood for a moment, his eyes forlorn, staring at the front door as if it might open once more, her mind suddenly changed.

But it didn't. The door stayed shut and, after a few moments, Liam shuffled off down the street, kicking the dirt and shoving his hands into his pockets.

Jessie watched closely from inside, peeking out through a gap in her living room window. Liam had always been a close friend, ever since they were kids, but now things had changed. He'd taken to watching her more closely, a different look in his eye. His feelings had grown over the years, while Jessie's had remained as they always were. And that, she knew, wouldn't change. She'd never be able to give him what he wanted.

She shut the curtains and double locked the doors, front and back, before retiring to her bedroom. She always kept the same room, even though it was small and contained only a single bed. No, she'd never sleep in her mother's room. She couldn't do that.

That night she dreamed of freedom. She dreamed of leaving the town and taking her life in a new direction. She was a bird, caged by her past, locked to the house that held so many memories of her mother. She'd find it hard to let go, to say goodbye and move on, but she had to. It's what her mother would have wanted.

Chapter 3

The smell of disinfectant and antiseptic had never been particularly pleasant to Jack Slade's sensibilities. They only served to bring back memories of too many times spent in hospital, recovering from cuts and broken bones. Thankfully, they'd never been anything more serious than that, not yet anyway.

He walked down a white corridor and opened the door at the end, walking straight into the coroner's office. It was the first time he'd been into one, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last.

“Dr Grey,” he said as he paced quickly into the room. “I'm Detective Jack Slade, from Burgess. I'm investigating the death of the young woman found out near Lancer's Point.”

Dr Grey looked up from behind his computer and quickly stopped tapping away at the keyboard. He stood and walked forward, reaching out his hand and taking Jack's.

“Detective Slade, yes I was told you were coming. Please, follow me.”

Dr Grey moved off away from the desk towards the other side of the room, where a large curtain divided it in half. He pulled it back, revealing a series of plastic covered trolley beds spaced out against the wall. They were all empty, save one.

“Here's your girl Detective Slade,” he said, walking over towards the occupied bed. On it lay the girl dug up from the riverbed, cleaned of mud and dirt and with just her remains on display.

Dr Grey stepped to the side and pulled two sets of plastic gloves from a dispenser, passing one to Jack.

“So have you determined the cause of death?” Jack asked, struggling to stretch the gloves over his hands.

“Yes,” said Dr Grey, leaning closer into the body and carefully turning the head towards Jack. “It appears that the girl was stabbed through the eye socket, causing fatal trauma to the brain.”

Jack exhaled slightly. “Delightful.”

“Yes but that's not all. I assume you noticed that the hair has been cut off?”

Jack nodded. “Yes, that was clear at the scene. I found a clump of hair nearby and sent it to you as well to be examined.”

“Yes, it's from the girl. Her blood, unfortunately, not his....”

“
Their
,” cut in Jack.

“Pardon me?”

“Not
their
blood. We can't assume it's a man.”

“Of course, that's for you to determine. Whatever the case, it's the victim's blood. The killer must have cut into the scalp when sawing off her hair.”

“Any idea why they may have done that?” asked Jack. “Sawing off the hair like that. Is that something you've encountered before?”

“I can't say I have, no. It could be some sort of ritual, perhaps a perverse fetish of some kind.”

“Fetish? Was there any sexual abuse? Rape?”

“It's hard to tell at this stage I'm afraid. The body is too decomposed. But, that's not the most interesting part. Take a look at this.”

He ushered Jack to look closer at the face, pointing with his finger at scraping marks against the skull, inside the eye sockets.

“You see these white lines and indentations,” Dr Grey said, slowly running his finger over the marks. “They were made by a knife, and a sharp one at that.”

“Yes, when she was stabbed through the eye?”

“No, more than that. Look, they go all around the sockets of
both
eyes. Her eyes were cut out, Detective Slade.”

Jack Slade stood back and turned his head up to the Doctor. “Cut out?”

“Yes, as with the hair, perhaps a ritual of some sort. This was no regular murder, detective.”

“Well, no one said it was going to be easy.”

“You know it's quite possible that the killer isn't from around here. The body was dumped roughly 10 weeks ago, so they might have moved on.”

“Yes Dr Grey, but I don't have any room to speculate like that. How old was she?”

“Early 20's. The DNA test should be back with us later this afternoon, so we may have a match for you then. We have a whole list of missing persons with their DNA on file, so hopefully one will match up.”

“And dental records?”

“Yes, those too.”

Jack was nodding his head, still staring down at the empty eye sockets. “Jesus, eyes cut out, hair sawed off. And here's me thinking my first homicide case would be a simple bullet to the head from a domestic argument gone wrong.”

“So this is your first?” said Dr Grey, raising his eyebrows. “How old are you, if you don't mind me asking.”

“Not at all. I'm just turned 28, creeping towards the big 3-0.”

“Very young for a homicide detective. You must have impressed someone.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “I'd prefer to think that I was just born to hunt down killers, so God's put me on the fast track.”

Dr Grey laughed lightly. “That's a poetic way of looking at it. Let's hope you seek justice for him.”

“I'll certainly try,” said Jack, tearing off the plastic gloves and shaking Dr Grey's hand once more. “Please let me know as soon as the DNA results come in. I'll be at my office in Burgess, awaiting your call.”

…

It was mid afternoon when Jack sat, sweating bullets, behind his desk in the police department in Burgess. He had his small fan on full power and had moved it over to his desk to give him a full blast in the face every few seconds. Unfortunately, all it seemed to be doing was recycling the warm air around the room like a hot wind.

There was a knock and Carla poked her head around the door.

“Hey Jack, you've got someone to see you.”

Jack looked up from the desk. “Who is it?”

“It's the Sheriff.” She looked a bit worried. “He's come from his office, says he wants to have a word. Shall I send him through?”

Jack quickly stood up and straightened his tie. “Of course, send him in.”

A moment after Carla left the room the local county Sheriff walked in. He wore a dark rancher's hat, with a white mustache nestled beneath a large nose. His cheeks were red, perhaps from the heat, perhaps from a borderline alcohol problem, and he carried a little too much weight around with him.

“Sheriff, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Jack said, stepping forward and shaking his hand.

The Sheriff took off his hat and wiped his brow, before setting it back down on his forehead.

“Please, Jack, you can call me Graham in here. We have no need for formal titles when we're in private.”

“Of course Graham, as you wish. Can I offer you anything? Tea, coffee?”

Graham Tavish, the Sheriff, grunted and slumped heavily down into a seat in front of Jack's desk. “It's a little warm for such drinks. Now sit down Jack, I'd like to have a word.”

Jack rounded the desk and sat back down as the Sheriff sat back in his chair.

“How long have you known me Jack?” he asked.

“Um, ever since I was a boy sir.... um, Graham.”

“And what a fine boy you always were. And a fine man now.”