Chapter Three

 

 

Leaving Andy to check out the reported scream, Matt made the short drive to the docks where a chill breeze white-capped the lake’s gray surface. Hopping aboard the Jezebel, the unofficial name given to the old eighteen-foot patrol boat, he fired up the three-liter MerCruiser engines and let them idle before casting off the lines. Of course, government boats weren’t named, years ago someone had sharpied ‘Jezebel’ on the back of the cantankerous boat’s white leather seats. Since then, the inked moniker had been cleaned off but now and then the name would mysteriously reappear, scrawled somewhere on the old girl’s surface. Hell, Matt had done it a time or two himself. It was an ongoing joke that aggravated the hell out of every supervisor since the boat had been purchased in 2002.

The motor purred in its deep gurgling monotone as he zipped up his jacket, doubting there would be a single boat on the lake, cast off the lines and pulled away from the dock. Overhead, gray-white clouds skittered across the sky and a fine mist wisped across the deck.

The radio hissed with static as Andy’s voice broke over the air waves. “Matt! Matt, you there?” 

Andy’s voice sounded unusually tight and high pitched edged with panic. Matt yanked the throttle back and the Jezebel rocked to a halt. 

“Yeah, Andy, I’m here,” he answered. “And remember, use call signs or Rachael’s gonna be ticked.”

“Matt, I mean William twelve,” Andy spoke so fast his words ran in a string. “Youbetter getoverherequick. There’s abody…a girl…I thinkit’smurder.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.” Matt noticed that the gas gauge only read a quarter. He tapped at the dial and it bounced to full. “What’s your twenty?”

“My twenty?”

“Yeah, where are you?”

“Oh yeah, my twenty. I’m over at Calypso Cove. I was checking the trails and found her. Matt, you gotta get over here.”

Matt’s eyes scanned the lake before he picked out the jutting shoreline of Calypso Cove two miles away. It would save twenty minutes to boat over instead of returning to the dock and taking the truck.

“William fourteen, I copy. I’ll be there in five minutes. I’m boating over, Andy. Can I get to you from the lake?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just come ashore where the cranes hang out. Close to the cattail beds. You can see me from there.”

“Okay, buddy. I’m on my way.” Matt reached to put the mic back in the stand and then remembered one more item. “And William fourteen. Don’t touch anything.”

“Roger that. Don’t touch anything.”

The wind picked up as Matt raced across the center of the lake, the whitecaps smacking against the boat’s hull. A heavier craft would have cushioned the ride, but the Jezebel wasn’t a large boat. Matt felt the blow of every wave right to his core.

As he closed on the cove, he spotted Andy standing next to the tree line. He had both hands over his head waving furiously. Matt slowed, easing the Jezebel into the shallows until the light rasp beneath him indicated the fiberglass keel was running across the sandy bottom of the lake. He was still three feet from shore but grabbed the anchor line and jumped in.

His boots filled with ice cold water as he slogged ashore. He dropped the anchor into the grass and stomped the spikes into the earth before jogging up to where Andy waited.

“Where’s the body?”

Andy turned and pointed to a brown patch of grass. “She’s over there,” he croaked.

Matt met Andy’s eyes and the younger man simply nodded and dropped his gaze. “It’s pretty bad.”

“Have you called Rachael?”

“Yeah, she’s calling the Highway Patrol. She said I needed to wait for them to get here.”

“Good advice,” Matt said.

Overhead, the clouds had begun to darken, the wind whistling morosely through the leafless branches of the oaks. 

“Do you have a tarp in the truck?” Matt asked.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Better go get it,” Matt said. “I know I told you not to touch anything, but we’re gonna need to cover the body if it starts raining.”

“Yeah, yeah, good idea.” Andy glanced expectantly at the trail head. “You gonna be all right by yourself?”

Matt snorted and shook his head. “Yeah, I think I’ll be all right. We’re not talkin’ about the boogie man here.”

Andy nodded and marched off. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he called over his shoulder.

Matt watched his friend disappear among the trees and turned his attention to the waving grasses. In five steps he was standing over the body. The woman was thin, maybe five-five or five-six. She wore blue jeans and a light gray jacket. The coat was unzipped revealing a yellow cotton sweater and the pale white skin of her stomach.
Her hands and arms were mottled with swollen red circles, her face covered in blood. It was difficult to tell her age.

And her eyes.

Matt’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his ears. Her eyes…they’re just like…just like. His eyesight darkened, a collapsing tunnel centered on the dead woman’s face. As consciousness faded, Matt felt himself falling and darkness overtook him.