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Acresville, May 16
7:55 p.m.
The ranch house, nestled amidst a lushly treed hillside, was clad in cedar bevel siding. Police Chief David Brantford sank into a wicker settee on the back deck. He struck a match and touched the flame to the end of a cigar clamped between his teeth.
It was a pleasant evening. Behind the thin stand of trees in the backyard, the westering sun backlit the spindly branches and needle leaves. A gentle breeze carried the scent of pine and spruce. The only sound was the undulation of crickets chirping.
Crossing his legs, David inhaled on the cigar and blew smoke at the sky. This was part ritual. Depending on the weather, he came out here after supper to unwind, to enjoy the peacefulness of nature. He’d never been the type to sit in front of a television set until bedtime.
In his late fifties, he was a paunchy man with liquid brown eyes, balding gray hair, and a pepper-and-salt beard.
From inside the house came the muffled sound of the telephone. It rang twice and then stopped. Moments later, the screen door opened and his wife, Margaret, appeared. She was a short woman, bordering on plump, with sea-gray eyes and light coifed hair. There was a kind, motherly look to her. A cup towel hung from one hand.
“You’re wanted on the phone,” she said.
“Who is it?”
“Sam, from the station.”
David looked at his watch. 7:59 p.m.
“Did he say what it’s about?”
“Only that it’s an emergency.”
David’s eyebrows bunched together. The cigar smoldered in his hand. Trails of white smoke wisped from the tip. He took one last puff and then ground out the nub in an ashtray on the arm of the settee. Because of her asthma, Margaret forbade smoking in the house.
David walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone off the counter.
“What is it, Sam?” he asked without preface.
The voice he heard on the other end of the line was taut. “Sorry to bother you at home, Chief. But a body’s been found.”
David felt himself tense. “Where?”
“Timbre Road. I’m here now.”
“Who found it?”
“Two locals. Roland Grant and Thomas Cussons.”
David considered the names but couldn’t recognize either one.
“And how’d they come upon the body?”
“Grant owns a camp up in the woods nearby. He and Cussons went up there yesterday for a weekend of fishing. His dog wandered off earlier this evening and wouldn’t return after repeated calls out to it. When they went out to look for it, they found it by the body. Must’ve picked up the odor.”
David paused at this. “So the body’s in bad shape?”
There came an intake of breath.
“It’s not in good shape. We didn’t go that close so as not to jeopardize the scene. The body’s not skeletonized. I have no idea how long it’s been there. Few days. A week. Maybe longer. There’s insect activity...and one more thing, Chief.” Sam hesitated, finishing weakly, “There’s dismemberment.”
David became quite still.
“What?”
“Yup.”
“Perhaps animals did it,” David said. “It happens.”
Sam said, “I don’t know. Everything’s equivocal right now, Chief.”
At the corner of his vision, David saw Margaret watching from the doorway. Instinctively, he turned away.
“Male or female?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“Caucasian male. Looks to be in his sixties. We haven’t touched the body. We’re waiting for Dr. Fitzgerald to get here. Willy says the victim looks like the park hermit.”
David felt his heart lurch. He hoped to God it wasn’t his old friend.
He asked, “Are Grant and Cussons still at the scene?”
“Yes. Willy’s going to have them come down to the station.”
“Keep them separated. And have their statements taken one at a time.”
“Okay...” Sam’s words fell off. “I can see Dr. Fitzgerald’s van coming now.”
“I’ll be there soon,” David said promptly.
He put down the phone. Palms on the countertop, he stared absently at the sudsy water in the sink. His thoughts were a mix of foreboding and duty. He didn’t hear Margaret move up behind him.
“What is it?” she asked.
The closeness of her voice startled him. “They found a man’s body.”
“Do they know who it is?”
He turned to her. “Not sure yet.”
“I suppose they don’t know the cause of death either?”
David exhaled. “The coroner will give that ruling. I’m going out there.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t wait up for me.”
He prepared to leave, grabbing his keys from the counter and his jacket from the closet in the living room. Margaret followed him outside to the front porch. She leaned a shoulder against the post and crossed her arms, watching him.
Head down, eyes crinkled in thought, David climbed into his car. As he drove off, he saw Margaret in the rearview mirror, still on the porch, her hand lifted in a wave.
Twilight was settling over the countryside. Soon, David realized, it would be too dark to launch a beneficial search of the scene.
The road ahead wound through farmland and foothills. Much of the scenery passed without registering on his consciousness.
He shot across a wooden bridge. Seven kilometers farther, a sign directed him to Timbre Road. As he turned onto it, his mouth became dry.
Trees ran along both sides of the road. In the rearview mirror he could see only a cloud of dust, curling in upon itself.
The time was 8:29.
For the next minute he ascended a steep hill. At its top, red-and-blue strobe glanced off the sky. David parked behind a black van. For a moment he stared at the white lettering across the rear doors: Coroner.
Yellow barrier tape cordoned off the area; Police Line Do Not Cross repeated in black. The Ident van was parked on the other side of the road.
Constable Sam Patterson stood a few feet from the van, looking down over the embankment. He appeared younger than his age of twenty-eight. He was dark haired and slim, with an athletic build.
When David shut off the car, he became aware of the drone of a running motor. As he slipped out and walked over to Sam, the noise grew louder.
“Do we know anything yet?” he asked.
Sam turned to him. “It’s murder, Chief. Fitzgerald said the victim looks like he was stabbed.”
David inhaled. With a knot tightening in his stomach, he stepped to the edge of the embankment and peered down. A grassy slope descended one hundred feet to a creek that measured perhaps four feet across. Two arc lights, powered by a portable generator, bathed the area. Bugs had already begun flashing within their beams.
The dead man lay sprawled on the bank of the creek with his feet in the water and his pant legs ballooned up. Paul Fitzgerald, the young, dark-haired coroner, was crouched next to the body, blocking much of the view.
On the other side of the creek stood James Bentley, snapping pictures from multiple angles. He was a twenty-six-year veteran who held the rank of staff sergeant and worked as the department’s sole Ident tech when needed.
Sam walked over to David.
“It’s going to be pitch black soon,” he said.
“I know.” David cast a concerned glance at the dimming sky; a ridge of fluffy clouds ran along the horizon just below a gibbous moon. “We’ll have to postpone a search until morning. At least it’s not supposed to rain.”
“Do you want me to stay here overnight?”
David nodded. “Yes. I’ll have Terrance come in early for his shift in the morning to relieve you. Did Willy take Cussons and Grant into town?”
“Yeah, he took Cussons in his car. Grant took his own truck in.”
“Good.”
Fitzgerald broke away from his work to look inside his medical bag for something, and it was at that moment David had a full view of the body. Even though the dead man’s face was twisted away, the trench coat was recognizable anywhere.
David grimaced.
Johnny, he thought sadly. Who did this to you?
Up the road a bit, a heavy rope marked the entrance into the crime scene, stretching down the embankment north of the victim. David went to it, sliding down the hillside, grabbing at clumps of grass, nearly tumbling to the bottom. He moved slowly along the bank of the creek, mindful of burrows and fallen branches. The woodland on the other side was dark and gloomy.
As David got closer, he saw Fitzgerald directing the beam of a flashlight around the ground by the body.
David called out to him, “How long do you think he’s been out here?”
“A week, maybe,” Fitzgerald shouted back over the sound of the nearby generator. “There’s decomp and bloating present. I’ll be able to establish a better time frame when I get him back to the morgue. We’re lucky the local wildlife didn’t find him.”
David frowned. “Didn’t find him? What do you mean? Sam told me there’s dismemberment.”
“There is,” Fitzgerald said. “But the only animal that did this was the two-legged kind.”
The words stopped David. “What was cut off?”
“Both arms. Cut off at the elbows.”
“No way.”
Fitzgerald looked over, his blue eyes serious. “Oh, yes. The forearms and hands are gone. Never saw anything like this before.”
“Animals couldn’t have done that?”
“Chief, there’s no damage to the sleeves of the coat. Whoever did this rolled them out of the way.”
As David reached the body, he stared down at it, unable to move. It was Johnny Baker, all right. David’s old friend from school and well known to town residents as the park hermit.
David remembered a boy in high school who was short and chubby, like him. Outgoing. Bright. Someone the teachers thought would go somewhere in life. All David saw now was the emaciated shell of a man who had let his demons knock him down one too many times.
For a moment, David lowered his head in silent grief. He touched his forehead, his heart, and each shoulder in the sign of the cross.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.
May God be with you, Johnny.
James Bentley walked over to him, camera dangling from a strap around his neck.
“What do you say we remove the body tonight and come back in the morning to finish searching the scene?”
David nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”
James pointed to the embankment. “There’s a path of matted grass and fall-like indentations in the soil leading from the edge of the road straight down to the body.”
David’s gaze moved up the slope to where Patterson stood looking down. It definitely had the earmarks of a dump job.
He said, “I wonder if he was murdered here?”
“Someone brought him out here. That’s for sure.”
David paused, staring at the creek cascading past.
“Fitzgerald hasn’t checked the body for ID,” James said. “But I think the victim’s the park hermit.”
“He is.” David turned to him. “His name was John Baker.”
“You knew him?”
“Many years ago.”
“What made him become such a social oddity?”
“The bottle. That became his demon.”
“Did he have any family?” James asked.
“Don’t think so. Parents died years ago. Johnny never married.”
“Shame.”
David nodded. He watched Fitzgerald slide a probe thermometer into a mass of maggots writhing on the abdomen. Suddenly exposed to the powerful arc lights, they began dropping off the body in a steady line. David brought up a fist to his mouth, knuckles touching his lips, as he tried to fight the rise of a late supper.
Fitzgerald recorded the temperature in his notebook. When he finished, he took out a plastic spoon from his medical bag and began using it to collect specimens of maggots in two jars.
“We’re going to have the body removed tonight,” David called to him. “Return at daybreak to continue the search.”
Fitzgerald tightened the lid on a jar. “Sure, Chief. I’m going to come back then as well and check the soil for pupae.”
“Will you do the autopsy tonight?”
Fitzgerald checked his watch. “I can. I want to get these little critters”—he held up the jar—“off to Halifax for analysis.”
“Did they do much damage?”
“Only a little. We’re lucky there aren’t too many flies around yet. If this was the middle of July...well, there wouldn’t be much of a body left.”
David turned to James. “Did you locate the arms?”
“Not yet. I looked on the hillside, along the bank of the creek, even downstream, but they’re not here.”
David shook his head. He felt a strange sense of foreboding.
“Why the hell would someone do that? Why the hell would someone even harm Johnny? He never bothered anybody.”
James spread his hands. “Beats the hell out of me, Chief. Looks like we have a sick fuck on our hands.”
