Chapter 8
At first Annie thought the phone ringing was her alarm. She hit the clock, and the irritating sound wouldn’t stop. Finally, in her haze she reached for the phone.
“Hello,” she said. Her husband sat up reluctantly in bed, startled.
“I know you have two boys sound asleep,” the voice said.
Pulses of fear shot through her. “Who is this?”
“Detective Bryant. You need to get down to the landfill, if you have someone to stay with those boys.”
“Why would I want to do that?” Why was Bryant always bringing up her sons?
“What the hell?” her husband said.
“There’s been another murder. Thought you’d appreciate knowing. That’s all,” the detective said.
She sighed, mentally going through child-care options. “Um, er, I’ll be right there. Thanks.”
She had just filed her story about the first murder. The identity of the young woman had been revealed as Sarah Carpenter. The scrapbookers were right. She was from Jenkins Hollow. Annie had yet to piece together the story of who she was, and was hoping she could do it via the phone and the Internet. Jenkins Hollow was her least favorite place on the planet.
“I have to go. Another murder.”
“It’s three in the morning. I don’t want you out,” Mike said.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Mike, I am not a child. I’ve been in worse situations—”
“Who was it on the phone? Bryant?”
“Yes,” she said and yawned.
“This time of day? Who the hell does he think he is?” he grumbled.
“He’s a cop. I’m a reporter,” she said, getting a little miffed at his tone. “I used to get calls like this before we moved here. You know.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, sinking back into his pillow. “But I don’t like it.”
Annie decided to ignore that remark—for now.
“Call Beatrice in the morning. She’ll be happy to stay with the boys,” Annie said, lifting herself from the sea of warm blankets. It was early autumn—and a warm one at that—but it was chilly at three in the morning.
She threw on a black pair of jeans, noted that they were a little tight, and went searching for a sweater to throw on over her T-shirt. She found the bathroom and tended to her teeth, brushed her unruly black hair, pulled it back, and smeared lipstick on. That would have to do. Where were her sneakers? Ah yes, she’d left them in the living room. She used to know where all of her shoes were, used to have plenty of designer flats to choose from, all lined up in neat rows in her closet. Now she could barely keep track of her old, worn-out sneakers.
She grabbed her bag and tiptoed out of the house.
Annie had never trusted the safety of landfills. All that trash had to be releasing toxins into the air. She didn’t allow her boys up there to play for that very reason. Even though a lot of parents brought their children there to play because of the huge open spaces, she couldn’t see it.
As she pulled up to the parking lot, a group of red lights flashed on the far edge of the lot, near a huge recycling bin, where most of the flurry was erupting. She parked and grabbed her camera, press credentials, and recorder out of her bag. First, she saw Jesse, wiping his face with a bandanna. Then Detective Bryant’s contorted face, looking at Jesse, placing his arm around him. A gesture of unbelievable gentility from such a brute of a man. Then he saw Annie and placed his hand up, as if to say, “Stop.”
“What’s wrong?” she called.
“Don’t go any closer, ma’am,” she heard a female voice say.
“Bryant called me and got me out of bed. I was invited here.”
The officer looked confused. “Called you? We’ve been here for several hours. I don’t know anybody who gets cell phone service here. The tower over there interferes too much, along with the mountains.”
“I didn’t call her,” the detective yelled, shaking his head. “You need to get her out of here.”
“What?” Annie attempted to move forward.
“Ma’am, there’s a potentially hazardous chemical here. You need to go home.”
“Was there another murder? I need to know for the paper,” she said as the officer nearly pushed her back toward her car.
“Yes, ma’am, but you don’t want to see what’s over there. It’s gruesome.”
Annie noted the officer’s tone. She was serious. Annie wasn’t certain that she wanted to push on this.
“Any details you can give me?”
“Details?”
“Anything about the body? Who is it?”
“I can’t tell you anything right now. They are not letting me get close enough to it. They’ve called in the CDC.”
“The CDC?”
“Centers for Disease Control.”
“I know what it stands for,” Annie said. “But why?”
“Evidently, there’s a potentially dangerous substance surrounding the body. Like I said.”
Annie looked at the group of people standing around the body. No wonder they were still. It was dark, the only illumination coming from flashing red lights and a few flashlights cutting light into the dark. But Annie could still see the worry in Detective Bryant’s face. Wait. Did he say he hadn’t called her?
She tried to remember the voice on the phone. It had sounded enough like him. But at 3:00 a.m., who knew what anybody sounded like? One thing was clear: someone wanted to make sure she was here. And she was going to stay put. She leaned on her car and folded her arms, shivered slightly in the brisk air, watching the clouds of breath in the soft peach light.
Did she want to see what the officers were getting sick over? No. Did she want to breathe in a potentially hazardous chemical? No. She’d stay right where she was and wait.
It wasn’t long until a white van came along the slanted road to the parking lot and people dressed in white suits and masks came tumbling out. That gave her heart a start. Nothing like the CDC to make your heart race. Why would they be so interested in this particular case? It didn’t make sense—unless this situation was already on their radar. She watched as the group approached the crime scene and one person fell back, pulling off his mask just as vomit spewed from him, which made Annie’s stomach wrench.
A few minutes later Detective Bryant and several police left the area and walked toward their car.
“All clear,” he said. “It’s not anthrax.”
“Anthrax? God, is that what you thought it was?” Annie said.
He nodded. “You look like hell,” he said and smiled.
“You’re no Prince Charming, either,” Annie said and smiled back. “I guess I need to check out the crime scene.”
“I don’t think you should,” he said, his blue eyes heavy but still sparkling as the sun began to rise over the mountains. “It’s . . . ghastly.”
“Ghastly?”
“A dismemberment.”
“What?”
“The worst thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, looking away from her, his voice cracking.
Good God, he was human, after all.
She swallowed. “Any similarities with Sarah?”
He nodded. “Red hair. Young woman,” he said, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his sweaty forehead. “Those same symbols carved . . .”
“Serial killer?”
He nodded. “Hard to say, but it could be. But let’s not set off a panic in the community. Okay?”
Annie nodded and turned toward her car door.
“Annie?” he said, getting between her and the door. “I, ah, want you to be careful.”
“Of course,” she said, not knowing whether to be touched or pissed because of his patronizing tone. “I can take care of myself, Bryant.”
“If you’re getting phone calls from someone in the middle of the night who claims to be me, and you believe them, I have to wonder if you can.”