The River Runs Dry (5 page)

It was a couple of weeks before any of the residents realized she was missing. The ones that knew her, that had become her friends, assumed she'd gone home to spend time with her parents. By the time her parents came to check on her, she was already long dead, her body rotting at the muddied bottom of a rapidly drying river.

There were few signs in her apartment of anything but a normal girl living a normal life; nothing to suggest she was caught up in anything. Her co-workers at the bar where she worked were shocked and saddened at her loss, none of them displaying any signs of being involved in any way, or having knowledge of her murder.

And all the while, Jack could feel the grip of the Los Angeles police closing in around him. There were many capable homicide detectives working in the city, many who'd solved crimes and brought people to justice like this before. It was only Sheriff Tavish's sway with the local LA county Sheriff and Police Chief that kept Jack on the job.

“Do a good job boy,” he'd told him. “I'll try to keep the media off your back, but this is your big shot right here. You've got a lot of people breathing down your neck and wanting to have a crack at this case. Don't let me down.”

“But sir, she was found near Burgess, and she grew up in Burgess. That puts her under my jurisdiction.”

“But she lived in LA when she died Jack. She was probably killed in LA. Look, you've got it for now, but I can't promise that forever. Find something, soon.”

The last thing Jack wanted was for this case to be pulled from under him on a technicality. The girl was a Burgess girl, not an LA girl, and as the local homicide detective it was down to him to find the culprit.

And he would. If it killed him he would.

…

“Detective Slade, anything new on the Lane murder?” The question came from several mouths, all speaking at once, as Jack stepped out from his LA hotel. He'd been staying in the area, sticking close to avoid the long commute to and from Burgess, and acting to prove that he was worthy of doing the job.

He put his hands up. “Nothing new at this time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a job to do.”

“Shouldn't someone else be taking the case Detective Slade?” The question came from behind as Jack stepped into his car. He stopped halfway, and turned.

“The girl was killed in LA was she not? Shouldn't an LA detective be on the case?”

The question brought Jack's eyes bearing down on him.

“First of all, we don't know where she was killed. Secondly, the girl has only just moved to LA after living her entire life in Burgess, where I am the acting homicide detective. Thirdly, she was found within the territory of the town, on it's outskirts. That puts this case entirely within my jurisdiction.”

“But don't you think you're a little young for this? Wouldn't a detective with more experience do a better job?”

Jack's eyes narrowed as he stared at the man. He held a microphone out in front of him, a look of pleasure in his bespectacled eyes as he goaded Jack, looking for a scoop.

“We all have to start somewhere,” Jack said, keeping his composure and smiling. “I assure you that I am fully capable of doing the job, and will not rest until it is done. The longer you keep asking me such inane questions, the longer it's going to take me to find the killer. So, if you don't mind.”

With the chatter of more questions being thrown at him Jack then stepped into his car, shutting the door with a heavily thud.

“Fucking press,” he said to himself. “They'd hinder this entire fucking investigation just to get a story.”

He gunned the engine and shot off down the road towards his old police department . He was basing himself there for the time being, under the watchful eyes of his old chief, who was also offering him support as part of the case.

He parked in the lot and stepped into the building, moving straight up to the third floor where he held his temporary desk. When he got there, one of the local officers came straight towards him.

“Detective Slade, Chief Johnson wants to see you. He says it's urgent.”

“Right now?”

“Yes sir.”

The officer walked away as Jack lifted his eyes to the corner office at the end of the floor. He could see Johnson inside, speaking on a headset and pacing from side to side.

Jack walked forward, straight towards the office, getting a few looks from the other detectives and officers as he went. He'd been getting used to that over the last few days.

He reached the door and knocked, seeing Johnson's eyes dart towards him through the glass. Johnson held up his palm before speaking for a few moments, ripping the headset off, and waving Jack into the room.

Jack opened the door and walked in as Chief Johnson sat down into his chair, breathing slightly heavily.

“What was that out there just now Jack. Don't bother talking to the press, there's no point.” He was shaking his head and leaning forward on his desk, his eyes deep and weary.

Jack walked in and stood at the end of the desk. “Sorry sir, I didn't think I said anything wrong.”

Johnson's eyes fell to Jack's, who stood firm. “Well you wouldn't think that, because you don't know what the press are like. You're new to the game, and it's all just a game to them. We're in here trying to fix lives and get justice and they're just out there, looking for an angle.”

Jack was nodding lightly. “Sorry sir, I'll try to keep my mouth shut in future.”

“Just treat them like mushrooms, OK. Feed them shit and keep them in the dark. The less they know, the better.”

Jack laughed lightly, despite the seriousness of Johnson's voice.

“Look, you were always like your father Jack. Impetuous at times, but unyielding. I've got no doubt you'll make a great detective as he did, but you've got to know how to handle all aspects of the job. It's not all hunting for clues and interviewing people. Just keep that in mind.”

“I will sir. I suppose it was calling their questions 'inane' that sold it?”

Chief Johnson cracked a smile. “And the rest,” he said lightly. “It'll be easier when you're back in Burgess. Here it's all fucking Hollywood. The press love this sort of stuff, they pounce on it every damn time.”

Jack's eyes narrowed slightly. “Back in Burgess sir? Are you kicking me off the job?”

Chief Johnson sat back in his chair. “No Jack, the job's yours.”

Jack exhaled, puffing air.

“But you are going back to Burgess.”

Jack's eyes shot back to Chief Johnson, whose voice had suddenly grown more grave.

“There's been another murder.”

Chapter 6

A man stood in the darkness of an alleyway, his eyes brooding and half covered by a thatch of long, black hair, hanging down over his forehead. He was staring forward in silence, waiting for his prey; waiting, always waiting.

There was movement and his eyes widened slightly as several people stumbled out into the darkness. They were laughing and bumping into each other as their voices disturbed the night silence, fueled by alcohol. He scanned them with his watchful eyes. Two men and a woman. No, they weren't right.

His breathing slowed again as he continued to stare forward, his expression blank. More movement. The door opened again and the noise of the bar inside could once more be heard. This time the music had stopped and all that remained was loud chatter as the few remaining people began to finish their drinks and leave.

A large crowd piled out and his eyes scanned them all again, like a lion waiting in the grass. Yes, he was a lion, and these were his prey.

But not these. No, these wouldn't do.

He still waited, patiently, silently. Two more men came out. He watched on.

The door opened again, and his eyes pricked up. Two girls, arms round each other, unsure on their legs. He looked them over from the shadows and a smile cracked in the corner of his mouth, a smile that quickly contorted into anger.

The girls came towards him, walking across the road and past his alley down the street. Their voices grew louder, wild chatter spewing from their mouths. He could almost smell the alcohol on their breath as they passed him by, missing him in the darkness.

They continued down the street and he slowly stepped out from the shadows and arched his head around the corner. They were still stumbling ahead, still talking loudly, disturbing the tranquil night air with their drunken, fatuous, ramblings.

The streets around them were silent and empty now, this small town devoid of any life. It was a cesspit, a pointless hole in the middle of nowhere.

But it would get a name. I'd give it a name.

The man walked out from the shadows and followed behind the girls, his head ducked low as he slowly pursued them from a distance. They didn't notice. They knew nothing of the world around them. Stupid girls. Pointless lives.

They kept walking and he kept following, his footsteps mirroring their own, staying back, slinking along in the shadows. Soon they reached a house and they stepped towards the door, fumbling with a set of keys as they struggled to fit them to the lock.

The man's fists clenched tighter at the sight. It was a sound he was used to. The sound of keys scratching against a lock, of a drunken hand struggling to perform such a simple task.

Eventually the girls stepped inside, falling over each other into the house and laughing. He listened closely as the door swung shut, before stepping round the corner and towards the house.

He looked around the street so see no lights on, no sign of life. Then he turned to see a downstairs light come alive in the house ahead, the sound of the girls' chattering still audible through the walls.

He moved in and crept up to look through the window, his eyes slowly rising up to see the girls pulling the cork from a bottle of wine and filling two glasses. He was close enough now to see them clearly, close enough to make out the shapes of their faces, the color of their eyes.

His eyes settled on one and they burned with fury.

Then he waited, listening to their words begin to slow and die. It didn't take long. He knew it wouldn't.

He peered through the glass again and saw the two girls, both of them lying down now, their eyes closed, their mouths hanging open as they lay slumped across two sofas.

The man stood up and stared for a moment, watching their chests going up and down, watching the drool begin to fall from their open mouths.

Then he looked behind once more, quickly hovering his eyes over the surrounding houses, searching for light, searching for movement. Nothing.

He stepped up towards the front door and twisted the handle. It opened.

Stupid girls.

His movements were silent now, creeping like a cat as he slipped his head around the corner and into the living room. He could hear one of them snoring, a loud, unpleasant sound. He pulled a rag from his pocket and moved in, hovering it over the girl's mouth.

Then, suddenly, he thrust it over her nose and mouth. Her eyes opened wide, fast. They were blurred and confused, trying to take things in. Then, a fear filled them as they saw the man ahead, those dark, cold eyes, burning with rage.

It only took a moment before the girl's body slumped and gave way. As soon as it did he quickly picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. He glanced at the other girl, still in deep sleep on the other sofa. He had no use for her.

The girl was light on his back, heaved up by his long, strong, arms as he walked into the kitchen. He set her down quietly on the floor and stood, scanning the room. He opened a drawer: nothing. He opened another, and stopped, his eyes running over the contents.

He reached in with his gloved hand and lifted out a knife, running his finger over the edge. It was long enough, and sharp, its edge serrated.

He felt the usual tingle run through his fingers and up his spine as he looked down on the unconscious body. He stood for several moments, just staring at her face, as his own expression contorted in disgust.

Then he knelt and aimed the knife at the right eye, pointing it straight down on the edge of the socket. He held his weight over it and then plunged it deep, pushing it straight through and down into the girl's brain. Her body convulsed suddenly, twitching wildly for a few moments as he pushed the knife deeper, deeper into her skull. It was a quick death. There was no time for anything more right now.

Blood spurted out of the eye, oozing from the socket and quickly filling the floor. The sight made him feel powerful, in control. He was the predator, and she was his prey. But it wasn't over. He was just getting started.

Chapter 7

Jack had heard scant details of the new murder before he actually saw the body, lying there on the kitchen floor. Chief Johnson had only told him it had happened the previous night, that a girl discovered her friend that morning. It was, he said, the same as before – hair cut savagely, gouged eyes, stabbed through the brain.

Jack knew, right then, that he had a serial killer on his hands.

He pulled up outside the quiet street on the south eastern edge of Burgess and immediately saw officer Carla Rodriguez coming out of the door and down to the car.

He stepped out as Carla came rushing down.

“Where's the girl?” Jack asked quickly. “The friend.”

“She's in shock Jack, we've got her back at the department.”

“Right, and it's her house?”

Carla nodded. “The victim was just staying over after a night out. Looks like the killer tracked them home and followed them into the house.”

They were walking as they spoke, up the stairs and past the police barriers into the house. A CSI team was there, scouring the area and searching for evidence.

“Any prints? Anything?” Jack asked?

“Nothing so far, we're just getting started.”

Carla led Jack through into the kitchen, where the body lay. His stomach threatened to turn at the sight, but he'd be no good at his job if it did. Still, you'd never get used to seeing a body like that.

The previous victim, Taylor Lane, had been so badly decomposed that it was difficult to determine the true nature of the killer's gruesome act. Now, though, it was clear as daylight.