Her Shallow Grave (Detectives Kane and Alton)

Eighteen

Elated, Preacher couldn’t help smiling at his good fortune. Ignoring the biting wind and snowflakes brushing his cheeks, he pulled a woolen cap down over his ears and strolled down Main taking his time to peer into shop windows. He marveled at how clean and fresh Black Rock Falls appeared. Usually after the snowplow and salt spreader had been through, a mound of gray slush banked each road but as the snow fell it laid down a clean white surface. When the moon peeked through the clouds tonight the bright colors and snow-covered parked vehicles would exist in a world of gray and blue—his world.

He wanted so much to go by the park and see the crime scene tape flapping in the wind. It was as if the sheriff had hung the tape to advertise his artwork. A “Come and see” or “Look here,” notice for any passersby but it wasn’t the snowman he’d left in the park that amused him. As if staging his artwork hadn’t been enough excitement for one day, last evening, a young woman had walked into his life—a perfect example of what he craved. Dark hair and small with an attitude he would love to tame. Her black fingernails and tattoos had drawn him to her like a magnet. Everything was perfect, Zoe was new in town, homeless—she needed him and now she was fast asleep in his cellar. He’d found two perfect examples of Delores—which one would come to him first?

He rubbed his hands together and peered at a display of chainsaws. He loved chainsaws and had a mind to buy another. They gave him a surge of creativity with such intensity, he could almost compare it to lust. He moved along the visually tantalizing display. New and glossy, the machines lined up with price tags and cards explaining their many virtues. He read each one, savoring the features. There were so many different types to choose from with different blade widths, engine size, or run by electric or gas. Preacher inhaled. He could almost smell the oily slickness of the chain and hear the noise they made. His hands trembled with excitement as he visualized the blade cutting through a frozen body like butter.

Nineteen

Black Rock Falls had three homeless shelters and a soup kitchen. The soup kitchen received funding from a local charity and the local Catholic church ran one of the shelters. Overseen by Father Derry, the volunteers came mainly from his congregation, and he rarely turned anyone away from Our Lady’s Sanctuary. The homeless didn’t get the same automatic pass into the council-run shelters. The town council had converted the abandoned sawmill into two. New Start for men and New Hope for women. They offered a different solution to homelessness and people who wanted to turn their lives around, received assistance to find work but in return did chores and gave a portion of their salary to keep their bed. The latter received funding from a charity overseen by the town council. Apart from the live-in managers, all other assistance to run New Start and New Hope came in the form of volunteers.

Jenna had helped on many occasions and found giving a couple of hours serving food in the shelters or soup kitchen, fit into her busy schedule. She made her way to Our Lady’s Sanctuary, heartened to see many of the Black Rock Falls community giving their time to assist the less fortunate. She edged through the line crowding the front door and waved at the woman sitting at the check-in counter. The front of the building held an area for serving meals. The stark room with its tile floors and plain white walls buzzed with low conversation and the clatter of plates and cutlery. A long line of bedraggled exhausted looking people waited with trays to collect a hot meal and beverage. Volunteers worked in a production line wearing brightly colored aprons and hair nets. They seemed to avoid eye contact as they dished out the food, a stark contrast to Father Derry’s calm voice welcoming everyone and the cheery old man chatting as he wiped down tables and collected dishes.

Jenna tried to ignore the pungent smell wafting from inside and making her slightly nauseous. The food cooking in huge steaming pots in the kitchen, mingled with body odor, cigarette smoke and bleach. She made her way around the trestle tables and headed for the main hall. In the walkway hidden beside a vending machine, she found the bulletin board and moved a few notices to make room for one of Kane’s flyers. She plucked one from his hand and attached it with a pin. Across the top of the images of the tattoos he’d printed in bold:

Do you recognize these tattoos? Call the sheriff’s department hotline on the number below or drop by.

“These are great.” Jenna made her way into the main hall and stopped at the door. “Oh, this isn’t good.”

Her heart ached for the sea of miserable faces packed inside the room. People spilled out of the sleeping areas and crowded around the main hall. Many had squashed onto old sofas and beanbags. Others sat on mattresses pushed hard against the wall. Most looked bewildered and clutched plastic bags or duffels to their chests as if terrified someone would take them. Some sat on the cold floor, backs propped against the wall, staring with empty vacant eyes as if not believing their situation. Although a TV tuned to a local channel chatted away in one corner and the room was brighter wit

h pictures on the wall, this part of the shelter had the feeling of hopelessness. “I wonder if those people have eaten today? They look too scared to move.”

“Unless they have a buddy, I doubt it.” Kane’s mouth turned down at the corners. “They’d figure a bed was better than a meal.” He scanned the room. “I had no idea we had so many homeless.”

Jenna wrinkled her nose at the smell of boiled cabbage wafting from the kitchen and shifted her gaze to him. “I blame Mayor Petersham. He had to crow about this being a town where we cared about people’s wellbeing and the fact he’d built two shelters. Since the news hit the media, the down and out have been coming here in droves.”

“Is it okay if I go grab them some food?” Kane gave her a pleading look. “There are children here and everyone is so busy in the kitchen. I can’t just stand by and see them go without.”

Jenna nodded. “Sure, go talk to Father Derry. He’ll have a ton of sandwiches in the kitchen.” She glanced at the two women with young ones huddled together. “I’ll call New Hope and insist they take them.”

She made the call and after a heated discussion made some headway. The manager agreed to find room and would be sending a bus along shortly to collect them. Jenna had no idea why the women had fallen on hard times but New Hope had five rooms set aside for emergency accommodation for battered women and their kids. As they were empty at present, she insisted he spare two of them. Next year would be different with ten rooms available when Her Broken Wings Foundation opened its doors out of a refurbished plant on the other side of town.

Jenna moved from person to person, showing the images and asking if they’d seen a woman with tattoos like them. Most just shook their heads but a volunteer with the name Claude printed on a nametag, looked at them with interest. She took in the lean muscular man. Acne scars spoiled a once handsome face and when he moved closer, she pushed the photograph under his nose. “Do you recognize these?”

“Maybe.” Claude took the photograph and peered at it closely. He ran the tip of his finger over the design in almost a caress. “Could be I’ve seen it on a missing persons flyer in the office.” He looked back at Jenna and his expression hardened. “We get quite a few young women with ink come by here.” He crinkled his nose as if he’d smelled something bad. “They think they’re all that until they have no food in their bellies or a place to sleep and then they become passive real fast.”

Astonished Father Derry would have someone so callous working with these unfortunate people, she bit back a stinging retort and lifted her chin. He had information and she needed it. “Show me the flyer.”

“It could still be at the front counter.” Claude handed her back the flyer. “Follow me and we’ll go see.”

On her way to the office, she passed Kane carrying a tray piled high with sandwiches. Three people followed behind, with food and drinks. She smiled at him. It was so like him to care for the wellbeing of people. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She followed Claude in the back door to the office at the front counter. The room smelled of coffee and she could see a fresh pot brewing on a counter. She looked at the forlorn faces waiting in the line to register. The smell must be driving them crazy. She shook her head to stay in the game and went to the noticeboard.

“It was here somewhere.” Claude lifted the notices and peered underneath and then tugged at one. “Here you go. Evelyn Ross, nineteen, out of Colorado Springs and reported missing last winter.” He pointed to the rose on the young woman’s arm. “Looks the same.”

Recognizing more than the rose, Jenna scanned the image and composed her expression. The butterfly on the hand was identical in color and design. She looked at Claude. “Do you have many missing persons flyers here?”

“Some.” Claude looked interested and opened a drawer. He pulled out a bunch of papers. “Father Derry asks us to pick them up if we see them on our travels. Most folks here aren’t too forthcoming on where they came from or where they’ve been.”

Peering at the ten or so faces staring out from the flyers, Jenna pulled out her phone, laid them out on the table, and copied them. She glanced at Claude, who looked excited as he gazed at the images. “Have any of these people dropped by here?” She collected up the flyers tapped them into a neat pile and handed them to him.

“Not that I know about.” Claude sifted through the flyers and then pointed to a young woman with dark hair and tattoos. “I did see this one in a paper when I was traveling through Colorado. They found her under the ice in a lake. She must have fallen in and drowned.” He gave Jenna a slow smile and chuckled deep in his chest. “Although, I can’t imagine why anyone would go skinny dipping with snow on the ground.”

Jenna pulled out her notebook to record the woman’s name. “Can you remember where they found her?”

“Nope.” He shuffled his feet. “But it was around March after the melt.”