Authors: Tim Waggoner
Ray felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the night air, a chill that seemed to come from the inside rather than out. The chirping of the crickets took on a sinister edge, almost as if they were mocking him, and the rustle of the tall grass in the breeze sounded too much like someone moving out there in the darkness — someone trying hard not to make any noise. Ray took a quick glance around, but he didn’t see anyone … or any
thing
. Of course, that didn’t mean there wasn’t something out there, just that he couldn’t see it, whatever it might be.
Stop it, you asshole!
Despite himself, Ray was starting to get majorly creeped out, but he was determined not to show it. He had the sense that the girl might be testing him, and he feared that if he displayed any signs of being a wuss, she wouldn’t give it up to him tonight — or ever, for that matter.
So he responded as casually as he could. “My dad told me the same thing once, so it’s probably true. Either way, those folks are still just as dead, right?” He couldn’t believe he’d said that! That was some hardcore shit! She was bound to be impressed now.
“Tough guy, huh?” She sounded amused, and Ray wasn’t sure how to take it. Maybe she was pleased, but maybe she was making fun of him, too. Maybe both. Women were complicated like that, and Cross women even more so.
He decided to go with it. “That’s me. Tough as nails.” Telling himself that it was now or never, he reached out, cupped her right breast in his hand and squeezed.
The girl yelped and practically leaped to the far side of the seat, as if her tit had been zapped with a taser gun. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Exactly what we came here for
, was what he wanted to say. But he couldn’t maintain his bravado in the face of her shocked, angry glare. “I’m sorry! I-I thought that was what you — ”
“Well, you thought wrong! I came out here with you tonight because you seemed like a cool guy, and I wanted to get to know you better.
Not
because I’m a whore who screws every guy she talks to for a few minutes at a fast-food joint!”
Ray was beginning to feel like a real shit-heel, but he was also starting to get angry. Why should he feel bad? This bitch had led him on, hadn’t she? He hadn’t imagined all those signals she was giving off. She was playing with him, that’s all — getting her kicks slumming around with a town boy and being a cock-tease.
“Screw this.” He started the car, and the Camaro’s ancient engine rumbled and belched to some semblance of automotive life.
“Well, you’re not going to screw
me
, that’s for sure!” she said. “But you
are
going to let me drive back to town.”
He looked at her as if she were insane. “After all this shit, you want me to let you drive my
car?”
“I don’t care about driving this piece of shit. But I’ve been in situations like this before, and halfway home the guy who’s pissed as hell he didn’t get what he wanted stops the car and orders you to get out and walk the rest of the way. I don’t intend to be humiliated like that again.”
Ray, who’d just been contemplating doing that very thing, said, “Despite what you may think, I’m not a complete asshole. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Prove it. Let me drive.”
Ray hesitated. He’d worked three jobs over the summer to make enough money to pay for both the Camaro and his welding classes, and he’d never let anyone else drive his car since he’d gotten it. On the other hand, maybe he could salvage something from this mess by being a good guy and allowing her to drive back to town. Maybe by then she’d cool off a little, realize that she was at least partially to blame for what had happened, and he might be able to convince her to go out with him again. She was crazy, but she was also gorgeous, and he definitely still wanted to nail her if he could. He decided it was worth a shot.
“All right.” He opened the car door and climbed out from behind the steering wheel. The girl scooted over to take his place, and she pulled the door shut with a heavy, metallic
chunk!
As Ray started to walk around the rear of the car, brake lights flared red, gears ground, the engine roared, and the Camaro leaped backwards.
“Shit!” Ray jumped back to avoid getting run down by his own car. Through the driver’s side window, the girl grinned at him and wiggled her fingers as she waved goodbye.
“You bitch!” Ray ran toward the car, but the girl put it in drive, hit the gas, and the Camaro surged across the grassy field, throwing up chunks of sod as it went. The girl flipped on the headlights, and Ray kept running after her and swearing, even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Moments later, the Camaro exited the field, whipped onto the road, and took off with a squeal of tires. By the time Ray reached the road, his car was nothing more than a pair of crimson lights dwindling in the distance.
He stood there for a long moment, then at the top of his lungs he shouted, “Shit, shit,
shit!”
Then, with nothing else left to do, he took a deep breath and started walking.
• • •
Goddamned bitch!
Ray walked with his arms crossed, wishing he’d worn a jacket tonight. It might only have been September but it was
cold
out here! He’d only been walking for a few minutes, though. Maybe he’d start to warm up before long. He briefly considered running — more for the heat he’d build up through the exertion than because he’d reach town faster — but he decided to hell with it. As pissed off and depressed as he felt right now, walking and shivering suited his mood much better. Besides, he was only a couple miles outside Rhine. He could tough it out.
Out here, there was nothing but farm land, and Ray walked past rows of dried corn stalks rustling in the wind and whispering fields of hay and alfalfa. The stars spread out above him like sharp-edged diamonds scattered on black satin, their cold illumination almost dazzling without the lights of town to dilute it. All in all, if you had to get ditched by a Cross girl and walk home, it wasn’t a bad night for it.
He was starting to feel a little better and had just begun to whistle the hip-hop song that had been on the radio earlier, when he heard something moving through in the field to his left. His mouth went dry and his whistle choked off. He stopped and listened.
The field was full of waist-high grass, separated from the road by a simple barbed-wire fence. Either the farmer who owned this land was letting the field go fallow or he couldn’t afford to plant anything here this year. Economic times were rough in Cross County — unless your last name was Cross, of course — and they were even worse for the area’s farmers. Ray’s Uncle Jimmy grew soy beans, and he’d been talking about giving up and selling his land ever since Ray could remember. Fields like this were full of animals, especially at night. Deer, possum, raccoon, rabbit … just about anything could’ve made that sound, really. Even coyote. They’d been slowly but surely making their way into Ohio over the last ten years or so, and Ray had heard stories that bear were starting to come back as well. Intellectually, he knew that whatever animal it was, however big or small, it would be way more scared of him than he was of it. But he couldn’t keep from imagining a giant black bear rising out of the grassy field, rearing up on its hind legs, mouth opened wide to reveal its sharp teeth, roaring like some sort of ancient prehistoric beast just before it came for him.
Ray kept listening, but he heard nothing more except for the sound of his pulse thrumming in his ears. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he felt hot, almost feverish. Then he let out a small bark of a laugh as he realized he wasn’t cold anymore. Fear was good for something, at least!
He felt someone tap him gently on the shoulder. Startled, he spun around and saw starlight glint off the metal of a blade as it swept toward his throat.
Joanne Talon stood at the edge of the ditch, shining a flashlight on the body so the coroner could see as he worked. An EMS vehicle was parked a dozen yards away, lights flashing, the two EMTs standing around, smoking cigarettes and talking in low tones. It was too late for them to be of any help to the victim, and they knew it. Tonight, their job would be to bag the corpse once Doctor Birch was finished and transport it to the hospital morgue. A meat delivery, they called it. An easy, if boring, run.
One of Joanne’s deputies who worked night shift — a pot-bellied middle-aged man named Alec Bernstein — stood over by a blue SUV, interviewing the man who’d discovered the body and called 911 on his cell phone to report it. The man, dressed in blue turtleneck and jeans, had an irritated expression on his face, as if he had important places to go and resented being kept from them.
That’ll teach him to do his civic duty
, Joanne thought.
The coroner’s car was parked behind her cruiser, the flashing lights painting the doc’s Lexus alternating shades of red and blue.
On a sheriff’s salary, she couldn’t even afford to spell Lexus, let alone own one
. I am definitely in the wrong business
, she thought.
She saw a pair of headlights approaching from the west, and she knew who it was long before she could make out the Jeep’s details. The driver pulled in behind her cruiser, cut the engine, and stepped out of his Jeep. Dale Ramsey was a tall, lean man in his early sixties, with thinning white hair and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper mustache and beard. He wore thin-framed glasses and, despite the lateness of the hour, a gray suit, maroon tie, and black Rockports. Dale always wore a suit when he was working, no exceptions. In fact, Joanne could count on the fingers of one hand how many times she’d seen him wear anything else. Sometimes she wondered if he slept in a suit.
Dale stopped when he reached Joanne’s side, put his hands in his pockets, and gazed down into the ditch.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he said. His voice was husky, like a long-time smoker, though Joanne had never known him to touch a cigarette.
“Is that going to be the headline your story?”
Dale smiled. “Hardly. I don’t think the good citizens of Cross County share your skewed sense of humor.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Dale was the editor and chief reporter for the area’s weekly newspaper,
The Cross County Echo
, a position he’d held since before Joanne had been born. He never took notes or tape-recorded anything, but he never forgot a detail or misquoted a source. And while he had a computer in his office, he only used it for typing final drafts of stories. Dale was a throwback to an earlier age, a “newsprint Neanderthal,” as he put it. He always managed to show up whenever something important happened in the county — sometimes even before she got there.
“Why don’t
you
tell
me?
I
am
the reporter, you know.”
Joanne smiled. “True. I did the initial walkthrough and took pictures while Alec marked off the scene. I spoke with the guy who discovered the body, and Alec’s taking a statement from him now. Terry got here a few minutes ago, and he’s giving the body a preliminary once-over. I’m no doctor, but I think it’s safe to say the victim didn’t die a natural death.”
“You think?” Dale said.
The boy — he couldn’t have been more than nineteen, twenty at the most — lay on his back in the shallow ditch, eyes open wide, staring sightlessly up at the night sky. The front of his t-shirt was soaked with what appeared to be blood, and his throat had suffered some manner of injury. Joanne was willing to bet it had been cut, but she’d wait for Terry’s verdict. She’d been in law enforcement too long to jump to conclusions about anything.
Terry — more formally, Dr. Terrance Birch — crouched next to the body, probing it gently with rubber-gloved hands. Joanne wasn’t worried about his disturbing any evidence. Though the office of coroner was an elected position in Cross County, Terry was a skilled doctor with a great deal of experience at crime scenes. In short, he was a pro.
And
he was Joanne’s on-again, off-again lover. Unfortunately, more off than on these days.
“Was he killed in the ditch or dumped there?”
The coldly casual tone Dale always affected in the presence of death bothered her. There was such a thing as taking professional detachment too far.
“From what I’ve seen, I’d say neither.” She nodded in the direction of a wide circle of small orange cones she’d set up on the road less than ten feet away to mark a pool of what appeared to be blood. “Looks like he was cut over there, staggered a few steps, fell into the ditch, and then rolled onto his back.” She’d placed a series of plastic orange flags mounted on wires into the ground to mark the blood trail from the road to where the body lay.
“Any sign of a weapon?” Dale asked.
“Not yet, but we’ve only searched the immediate scene so far. We’ll search a wider area once Terry finishes and the EMTs take the body away.” She hated talking like that, referring to dead people as
bodies
. She also hated the fact that it bothered her a little less each time she did it.
“Anyone recognize him?” Dale asked.
“No, and there’s no wallet on him.”
“Any tire tracks?”
“Not that we’ve found so far. If there was a car here, it doesn’t look like it pulled onto the shoulder or left behind any skid marks.”
“So … what? The poor boy was just out for a late-night stroll in the country and someone walked up to him and slit his throat?”
“Too early to tell.” But that’s exactly what it looked like to Joanne. She hoped Terry might be able to shed more light once he finished his examination.
Dale nodded toward the man Alec was interviewing. “I take it that’s the guy who discovered the body?”
Joanne nodded. “He was driving home from a poker game — or so he says. From the way he stinks of cheap perfume, my guess is he was out cheating on his wife and doesn’t want to admit it. At any rate, he was driving down the road when his headlights washed over the ditch and he caught sight of the body. He stopped, walked over to the edge of the ditch, and called out to see if the boy was all right. It didn’t take him long to realize the boy was hurt bad, and he ran back to his SUV, got in, locked the doors, and called 911. He was waiting for us here when we arrived.”