Her Shallow Grave (Detectives Kane and Alton)

“They won’t be traveling here unless the weather breaks.” Kane waved a hand toward the window. “I doubt Carter will risk taking the chopper out unless there is a break in the weather. I’m thinking maybe a conference call?”

“Sure, and I’ll put out a carefully worded press release. Someone might recognize the tattoos?” Jenna moved the sugar bowl around on the table, thinking. “This crime is so unusual, I’d say if this guy has been working all over, they would’ve heard something although I don’t recall anything in the news.” A shudder of revulsion went through her. “Unless the bodies were never found. If the killer displayed them in remote areas, by the melt the wildlife could’ve cleaned up the evidence.”

Ten

Restless, Preacher prowled his house. He moved from room to room hoping his heavy footsteps would be frightening Delores, or Ava as she wanted him to call her. She’d tried to hide behind a false name but he’d recognized her. She always played the same card by arriving in town homeless and hungry but the moment he’d gotten close, he’d seen through her disguises—seen the tattoos peeking out from the sleeve at her wrist. Although, no matter how many times he killed her, she came back and multiplied. Lately, Delores seemed to be everywhere. He had to collect them all—kill them all.

He’d locked her in the cellar, and hoped to make her compliant in the pitch black, but to his surprise she hadn’t reacted as usual, screaming and hammering on the door. No, she’d remained on her bed as if waiting for him to make the next move. He liked that about her, it was as if she was learning to behave. He could use her new attitude to his advantage and if he found others, he’d add them to his cellar. She would explain how he expected them to behave.

There was everything she needed in the cellar: a bathroom, four beds, and a table and chairs. The latter he’d attached to the floor. In fact, he’d secured anything Delores could use as a weapon against him. She’d acted violently toward him last time and he’d broken her, spoiling the finish on his artwork. He wouldn’t go into the cellar again if she was awake. Instead, he had fitted speakers inside, to allow her to communicate with him when he chose. He supplied Delores with food and clean clothing daily via a dumbwaiter he ran from his kitchen.

He sat down before a bank of screens and watched her. His infrared cameras made sure he had her in full view, day or night. He liked to watch. He’d created his own private reality show and what he decided to do with Delores each day changed the outcome. Sometimes he’d feed her, sometimes not, sometimes he’d deprive her of light. He decided everything right down to her last breath. He would wait until her emotions changed from anger to despair, lift the dumbwaiter, and wait. She’d always try to escape and after climbing through the walls would find his special room. All he had to do was, watch and wait. By the time she came to him—and she always came to him, she’d beg for forgiveness and he’d ignore her pleas and kill her slowly.

He checked the time and excitement clenched his gut. He flicked on the TV to catch the news. Anger rolled over him in waves when the lead story didn’t mention the cops had discovered his artwork in the forest. They’d found it, he’d seen them recoil in horror, but instead of sho

wing the world, they’d kept the find to themselves. After the station break, he stared at the screen, waiting with growing anger. The newsreader looked at the camera and spoke, as if to him alone.

“The Black Rock Fall’s Sheriff’s Department is looking for anyone familiar with these tattoos.” Two images, side by side, showed the colorful ink on the collage he’d used in his last creation. “If you recognize any of these images, please contact Sheriff Alton at the office or call the hotline number displayed on your screen.” The newsreader frowned and looked at her notes. “Now here is a strange request. Sheriff Alton has also asked you to call the hotline if any of your neighbors has been using a chainsaw in the last week or so. So, call in folks, and help out the Black Rock Falls Sheriff’s Department.”

Preacher slammed his fist on the coffee table. “Is that it? No mention of my art? Nothing? How is the world going to remember me without media coverage?”

People didn’t appreciate how much time he put into his creations. He’d worked long hours on each design. The precise way he displayed each part held a meaning—a secret meaning. He stood and paced again. If he wanted to gain recognition, he’d need a more striking display. He chuckled as his imagination took flight. It would be dark soon. He moved to the mirror and grinned at his reflection. His other self smiled back, confident and strong. No one could bully him now. His plan was set in his mind and the idea thrilled him. He met his own eyes in the mirror. “We’ll just have to give Sheriff Alton something she’ll never forget.”

Eleven

Wednesday

Kane woke surprisingly early on Wednesday morning. He filled the coffee machine, waited impatiently for it to squeeze out a cup, and with no horses to tend to, sat at the kitchen table. He scanned the messages from Kim, the nurse he’d rescued from a group of men at the ski resort and shook his head. They were always the same: Meet me for a drink or Come by and I’ll cook dinner. It had been amusing at first, in fact an ego booster that a beautiful young woman was interested in him but now she’d become a pest. His usual stone-faced expression to a woman hitting on him hadn’t worked and she was behaving as if they were close. Ignoring her had been his best option but he’d caught Susie Hartwig’s surprised expression when Kim launched herself at him at Aunt Betty’s. She’d acted as if they were lovers. He’d left his takeout, disentangled himself, and dashed out the store. As luck would have it, Rowley was with him and had collected the food. Apart from giving him an amused look, Rowley hadn’t mentioned the incident at the office—not that he had anything to explain.

Pushing Kim to the back of his mind, he perused his files on the case, sipping his coffee. There was no rush, sunup wasn’t until around seven-forty-five and as Rowley lived close by, he opened the office at eight-thirty in winter. After the overnight blizzard they’d have to wait to follow the snowplow into town and he doubted they’d arrive before nine. As the first rays of the sun crept over the horizon, bathing the brilliant white landscape in gold, he peered through the window to view the conditions. Deep snowdrifts had evened out the view, softening the more dominant features as if covering the lowlands in a white comforter. Clouds hung heavy in the distance, promising more falls to come.

In the dawn light, Jenna’s ranch house with the roof covered in snow and rows of icicles hanging from the gutters resembled the inside of a snow globe. Her cruiser, which she’d left outside her front porch had a covering of six to eight inches of snow. After feeding Duke, he’d pulled on his thick woolen hat and shrugged into his coat. Usually the heavy snowfalls gave a small rise in temperature but not this time. Under his boots the coating of ice on top of the snow crunched as he walked to the garage. His idea of buying his own snowplow, the type that attached to the front of his truck, would pay out in silver dollars this morning. Inside his garage, he attached the contraption and leaving the garage doors open, left his truck to idle.

He stared out the window at the stables. His body clock had woken him in time to tend the horses and he missed them. It was a time he enjoyed and never found tedious. He loved animals and the horses he counted as friends, same as Duke. Of late, Pumpkin, the black cat that had arrived at Jenna’s house last Halloween, would join him and Duke in the barn each morning and night. She arrived in all weather, jumping through the snow like a rabbit or dashing through rain, ears flattened against her head. She also enjoyed watching him exercise with Jenna, although the first time he’d aimed a kick at Jenna, Pumpkin had let out a snarl like a mountain lion. It seemed that Jenna had found herself a useful companion.

He checked his phone, scanning the files Wolfe had sent late last night. More images and blood work from the victims, both female and not related. There would be a lot to discuss with Jenna over breakfast. He headed out into the cold again. At least it had stopped snowing and by his estimation, if he could clear the driveway, the snowplow man should be through by the time they left for the office. As he worked, he pondered over the results. Someone had murdered two young women and yet not a soul had gone missing from Black Rock Falls or either of the two neighboring towns, Louan and Blackwater. He’d read about killers who’d frozen their victims and one who came to mind was the notorious Richard Kuklinski, who allegedly froze his victims to confuse the time of death. But a killer who made a point of displaying body parts had another reason in his twisted mind—they just had to find out that reason and use it to catch him.

He’d parked his truck in the garage and was storing the snowplow when he heard Jenna calling his name. He brushed the snow from his hands and strolled out the garage. “Over here.”

“Have you any Tylenol? I’m out and I have the headache from hell.” Jenna’s sheet-white face poked out from under her hoodie, a stark contrast to her cherry-red nose.

He hurried toward his cottage and used the keypad to gain entrance. “Yeah. You don’t look so good.”

“I’m dizzy and feel like my legs are made of lead.” Jenna followed him into the kitchen and dropped into a chair. “Maybe I’m coming down with something?”

Kane took a bottle of Gatorade from the refrigerator and handed it to her. “More like dehydrated. We worked long hours in terrible conditions, we didn’t drink water at all that I can remember. Try this but I’ll get you something for the headache.”

The one thing Kane understood was pain. He suffered agonizing headaches from the plate in his head and although he’d never admit it, the knee injury he’d suffered the year before had left him with significant discomfort, but he was working on it. He tossed her a box of Tylenol from the drawer in the kitchen and turned to the counter. “I’m making breakfast, it will make you feel better.”

“I’ll be fine.” Jenna washed down the pills with the drink and stared at him. “Have you read over the files Wolfe sent overnight?”

Kane took eggs and bacon from the refrigerator. “Yeah, two women with ink, the killer dismembered the bodies post-mortem, and probably kept them frozen. They’re not related to each other, so likely random thrill kills maybe?”

“With no missing persons in the neighboring counties that fit the description of the tattoos, we’re looking for someone who has kidnapped these women from God knows where, killed them, and likely stored them in his freezer.” Jenna gave a slight shudder. “He could be living anywhere and, in this weather, transporting the frozen body parts wouldn’t be a problem. No smell, that’s for sure.”

Kane set about making breakfast. “Most use freezing to confuse the time of death but I don’t think this killer believes time is an issue.”

“How so?” Jenna stood and went to the counter. She checked the coffee maker and then added the fixings to the table. She turned back and pushed bread into the toaster. “Making it difficult to obtain a time of death throws our timeline into chaos. What other reason could he have?”