Chapter 12

Canada, Twenty-Eight Years Ago

As Noshi left the cave, snow crunched under his boots. The boy counted his father’s steps until he could no longer hear them. Hours passed. Chepi tended her injured son, now and again cooing or singing to him.

The caw of a lone raven and the harsh breathing of his injured twin brother were the only sounds the boy could discern. Sheshebens issued faster, more ragged breaths. Blood dribbled in a dark line from his ear down the side of his face and clotted against his neck.

“Mommy, is he gonna be okay? Is he?” the boy cried.

“Don’t worry. Come closer.”

Chepi cradled Sheshebens on her lap and threw one comforting arm over the boy who curled tight against her sobbing. “Shhhh. Shhhh. It’ll be all right,” she said to him. “Daddy will be back soon with a fat rabbit, and men will come in a helicopter to save us. It’ll be fine, little one…”

Northern California, Near Future

Jake’s voice was sleepy. “Do you know what time it is? This better be good.”

“I know where the Sorenson kids are. I know what the killer does with their hearts. I don’t have time to explain, and I’m pretty sure it’s too late, but just in case, we need to get there right away.”

“Give me a second to throw on some clothes and I’ll pick you up.”

“No. You’re on the way. I’ll pick you up. It’ll be faster. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Bring an evidence kit.”

While Maggie was on her cell with Jake, she’d grabbed a pair of jeans and a heavy sweatshirt. She clicked off her phone, dressed, and pulled back her hair. She called for Chester, and ran for the truck. Ravens flew in a thick mass around her, so close she could feel breeze from their flapping wings. She swatted at them. “Leave me alone, dammit.”

Jake was outside waiting for her with two travel mugs of coffee and a flashlight, his service revolver strapped to his belt. He squeezed into the old truck next to Chester, and handed Maggie a cup.

“Thanks.” She took a sip of the hot brew and exhaled. “Ahhhh. Exactly what I needed.”

“Mag, you’re going to have to tell me what this is about.”

“I’ll make you a deal. If the kids are where I think they’ll be, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, we’ll chalk it up to a bad dream.”

Jake stared at her in disbelief, and raked his fingers over his scalp. “Ah, don’t tell me. Are you saying that you dreamed where the kids are? You’re goddamn kidding me.”

“Humor me, okay?”

“You call me at three a.m., wake me out of sound sleep on a work night, and drag me along to pursue a lead based on a nightmare, and you want me to humor you? If this doesn’t pan out, no more free lunches.”

“I know it sounds insane. I can hardly believe it myself.”

“I’m getting too old for this puke. After this case, I’m going to step down and let someone younger take over.”

“You, retire? Can’t imagine that. Besides, who could do the job? Happy?”

“Naw. He’s beginning to come around, and he’s certainly got more going for him than a typical Barney Fife, but he doesn’t have the chops.”

“Really? He seems like he’d be up to the job.”

“To be a good sheriff requires a heap of political acumen and that boy doesn’t have it. Election year coming up. It’ll be interesting to see who throws their hat in the ring, but no matter who wins, I’m through.”

They pulled onto a service road headed off into the forest. The unpaved road was rutted and the truck bumped and rattled, jostling the three occupants.

“Where the hell are we headed?” Jake said.

“Sunset Mountain. The white cliffs.”

“We can’t make it all the way to the cliffs in this thing.”

“We’ll go as far as the Chevy will take us, and then we’ll walk in the rest of the way.”

“What are you thinking, Mag? That’s almost a one-mile one-way hike over a rocky path in the middle of the night. Besides, it’s bloody freezing. You are nuts.” He pulled his jacket around him. “Doesn’t the heater work in this thing?”

“Sometimes.” She looked over at Jake. “Sorry.”

Maggie stopped the truck at the end of the service road. The two climbed out. The dog hopped out behind Jake and lifted his leg on the truck tire.

“Goddamn. Can’t you pee on a tree?” said Maggie.

Jake and Maggie, Chester close behind, picked their way on the rocky path through the dense forest. By the time they reached the white cliffs, the first rays of the morning sun crested the peaks.

“Let’s stop here,” Maggie said.

She scanned the trees in front of the cliff. There it was, the Doug Fir, split nearly in half, scorched by lightning. “This way,” she said.

About half way to the tree, making their way over rocks and through bushes, Jake halted. “Wait.”

He bent over and probed the ground with a stick. A cigarette butt…American Spirit, menthol. He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket, pulled them on, picked up the stub and stowed it in an evidence bag.

“Crap,” said Maggie. “He’s been here.”

As they approached the fir, ravens flew down and settled in its branches.

“Over here,” Maggie said leading man and dog around the tree to the side facing the cliffs. There it was. The mound, exactly as she’d seen it in her dream. “Jesus Christ.”

Jake dropped to his knees, and using his flashlight as a digging implement, he gouged at the soft dirt. He dug down about two feet until he uncovered something. Small fingers protruded from the sandy, red clay.

“Oh, God,” said Maggie.

She squatted and frantically dug with both hands to help Jake unearth the bodies. The figures of two little boys facing one another in an embrace emerged from the red dirt. “I knew we were too late. I knew it,” Maggie said. A wave of acidic vomit ascended from her gut into her esophagus. She swallowed hard to keep from retching. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve.

“We gotta call this in right away,” Jake said as he reached into his coat pocket.

“No reception out here. You go back to the truck and make the call. Chester and I will have a look around.”

Jake took off in a trot toward the truck. Maggie inspected the area for any footprints not belonging to her, Chester or Jake. The morning light was pale, so she moved the flashlight beam over the dirt and bushes looking for scraps of fabric, additional cigarette butts, anything. She circled the grave and the tree. “Let’s make sure we don’t obliterate any other evidence, Chester. Nothing like trying to catch a murderer by contaminating the crime scene, eh?”

Something caught her eye…a long strand of blonde hair high on the tree trunk stuck in the bark. She didn’t have an evidence bag with her, so she left the hair until Jake could return to collect it. She popped open her Swiss Army knife and gouged out the spot above where she discovered the evidence.

She turned back to the grave and kneeled. “I’m so sorry, little guys. We’ll find whoever did this to you, I promise.” She walked into the forest a few steps, put her hands on her hips, looked into the sky and inhaled the icy night air.

By now, the Douglas fir and other trees were lousy with ravens, none of them making a sound. More ravens descended and landed on branches, rocks, and the ground. Silent ravens were everywhere Maggie looked. “Why the hell are you here?”

*

A team of deputies from the sheriff’s department and the medical examiner showed up. The team cordoned off the perimeter, swarmed the grave site and surrounding areas searching for evidence, placing yellow markers, and snapping photos. Jake stood outside the perimeter and observed.

The M.E. approached Jake.

“What’s the story?” Jake said.

“These boys died about three hours ago. Necks broken. Hearts missing. Whoever did this knows how to handle a knife. The cuts are perfect, clean. I’d say a very sharp hunting knife, maybe a mule skinner.”

“Fits the killer’s M.O.” said Jake. “When you get ‘em back to the morgue, you’ll find the remains of a meal and a Hershey bar in their stomachs,” Jake said. Then he turned to Maggie. “You say you know what the sicko does with their hearts?”

“He eats them.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s revolting. How do you know that?” Jake looked like he could vomit.

“I just know it.”

Happy recoiled. “Jeez.”

“He might not have eaten their hearts here,” the examiner said. “Too little blood. These kids were killed elsewhere and brought here. Their hearts were removed post-mortem.”

“So, our guy is a tall blonde cannibal who smokes American Spirit menthols,” Jake said. He turned to the deputy. “Fits the description of our nut-case transient, doesn’t it? Take a man with you and go to Douglas Bridge. Haul Bobby into the station.”

“He’s not our killer,” Maggie said.

“How do you know? Have another dream?”

“I have a feeling.”

“That’s out of character for you. You don’t operate on dreams, hunches and feelings. What’s up with you, Mag?”

“I don’t know. I can’t say why, but I honestly don’t think Bobby is our guy.”

“I’m bringing him in anyway. We’ve got evidence. If the DNA on the cigarettes and the hair sample match Bobby’s, then we have our killer.”

“You know, John Winters is tall with blonde hair, too,” Maggie said.

“And the pervert smokes,” Jake said.

Happy intervened. “Yeah. During questioning he told us he sometimes likes menthols. Could care less about the brand. He could very well be our guy.”

“Got any feelings or hunches about John?” Jake asked Maggie.

“Not really, but I think we ought to check him out one more time.”

“Okay, bring him in for a second round of questioning, too, Happy,” Jake said.

The deputy nodded. “My pleasure.”

“You think Winters did it?” he asked Happy.

“He’s the only guy I know around here except Bobby who is as tall as I am with blonde hair. He smokes, and he’s got a record with kids. Plus, he’s got the means to make the drive out here. Bobby doesn’t have a car. I’d put money on Winters.”

Jake nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”

A few ravens cawed. Then the others joined in a raspy cacophony so loud the investigators had to yell over them to be heard.

“Why the hell are all these crows around?” Jake said.

Maggie turned her gaze to the tree branches. “They’re ravens.”