Dunston Falls (13 page)

He moved the hand up her calf to her thigh and she fought with all of her strength against the ropes, and his eyes showed the pleasure he took in her helplessness. Fear overtook her and tears rolled down her cheeks. He paused to look at her face, and then reached out to touch a tear with a gloved hand and inspect it as if seeing a tear for the first time in his life. He wiped the tear on his shirt and stared into her eyes.

Determined not to give him any additional pleasure, Linda forced herself to remain calm. Maybe it would help defuse the situation if she showed him he hadn’t gotten the better of her. Except that, he had.

Long seconds passed before he spun around and returned to the chair where he reached down and picked up a large bread knife that she recognized as one of her own from a set in the kitchen. He turned, holding the knife in his left hand. With his right hand, he opened the belt to his pants and exposed his erection.

Inside the duct tape, unable to control her fear any longer, Linda screamed.

The clock in the dashboard of his truck read twelve thirty when Harvey arrived at Linda’s trailer home. On the front seat rested a bag of groceries and a bottle of Chevis Regal scotch, twenty-five years old. He knew that Linda would be pleased at the gift and hoped she would show her gratitude with a little extra care in the sack.

He parked the truck next to Linda’s beat up old car and hopped out with the bag of groceries in his arms. He went directly to the unlocked front door, opened it and stepped inside.

“I’m here,” Harvey shouted.

Linda wasn’t sure what frightened her most, the sight of his fully erect penis or the bread knife in his left hand. Just then, with his pants down around his ankles she heard Harvey arrive in his truck. The man in the ski mask froze in his tracks as Harvey’s truck engine went silent. She heard the front door open and Harvey called out to her. The man in the ski mask turned his head toward the bedroom door and his erection began to wilt as his sexual excitement turned to anger.

He yanked his pants up and looked at Linda with livid, hate filled eyes as if the disruption were somehow her fault.

Holding the paper bag of groceries, Harvey went to the tiny kitchen and set the bag on the table. The room was dark and he took the time to light a candle, and then removed the bottle of scotch from the bag. “Linda, are you in the tub again? I got your scotch.”

Harvey peeled off the wrapper from the cap and opened the bottle. “Linda?” he shouted. “Can you hear me? Where are you?”

Harvey grabbed two glasses from the counter top and carried them and the bottle to the bedroom. The door was open and the bedroom was so dark it was impossible to see anything.

“Linda?” Harvey said. “Are you in there?”

Harvey entered the bedroom, scanning the dark interior with his eyes. As his night vision improved, the faint outline of Linda became visible on the bed. “What the hell is….what are you doing?”

The man in the ski mask appeared from behind the door and shoved the bread knife into his stomach with such speed and force, Harvey was not aware that he had been stabbed until the Chevis bottle slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor.

The man in the ski mask brought his face nose to nose with Harvey and shoved the knife deeper into Harvey’s flesh, grunting loudly at the effort. Then he released the knife handle, backed away and looked at Harvey with hate-filled eyes. And just like that, he was gone.

“What?” Harvey said, feeling his warm blood run down his stomach. He looked at the knife that protruded from a bloody wound just above his naval. Only the handle was visible. Faint light from the kitchen filtered in behind him and he looked at Linda on the bed. She twisted and fought with the ropes as she watched him slump to his knees.

“Oh God,” Harvey gasped when the pain and realization kicked in.

Linda watched helplessly as Harvey took hold of the knife with both hands and slowly withdrew it from his stomach, crying and jerking as the blade inched its way from his flesh. He nearly passed out, the pain was so intense, but he forced himself to stay cognizant. Finally, the knife was free and as it fell to the floor, he looked at her. “Help me, please,” he said. “Linda.”

She struggled with all of her strength, but it was no use, the ropes held tight and she was helpless to do anything. Harvey bent to pick up the knife and fell to all fours and lay still for several seconds. Having no choice he slowly crawled toward the bed. It took him more than a minute to cover the distance of ten feet to the bed. To Linda, watching him inch along, crying out in pain and leaving a trail of blood behind him, it seemed like an hour. Finally, he reached her right arm and somehow found the strength and used the bloody knife to cut her free of the ropes. The knife fell from his grasp as she jumped off the bed and knelt to Harvey.

Jesus Christ, his blood was everywhere.

“My truck,” Harvey said, weakly “There’s a radio. Use it to call for help.”

Without warning, the pain in his head was gone. No lessening of pressure or slow reduction of pain, the way a headache fades away to nothing when properly medicated. It was suddenly and completely gone as if it never struck him to begin with.

Peck stood up on weak legs and steadied himself against the water cooler. His tee shirt and underwear were soaking wet with ice-cold water and a chill ran through his body. He stripped off shirt and shorts and stood before the woodstove. The heat from the fire quickly warmed him and returned some of the strength to his legs. He rubbed the muscles and stomped his feet to get circulation moving again.

Behind him, the short wave radio on Bender’s desk suddenly crackled to life. A female voice said, “Please help me. Is anybody out there? A man has been stabbed. Can anybody hear me? Please.”

Naked, Peck ran to Bender’s desk, nearly slipping in a puddle of water and grabbed the microphone. “This is Sheriff David Peck. I can hear you.”

“Help. Help me, please,” the voice of Linda Boyce cried.

Bender kept the cruiser overnight at his house so Peck took one of the snowmobiles, which enabled him to cut through the woods and make much better time along the unplowed, back roads to the residence of Linda Boyce. He had to check the map on the wall before he left and mark the fire road she lived on. Traveling at maximum speed, he made the trip in just under thirty minutes.

Peck arrived at the Boyce trailer where he parked the snowmobile next to a new pickup truck. Linda Boyce, completely naked, huddled with her arms wrapped tightly across her chest for warmth sat in the front seat. Wide eyed with fear and shivering, she looked at him.

“I’m Sheriff David Peck,” Peck said, shining his flashlight into the truck. Blood was on her face and arms.

She shivered from cold and fear as she looked at Peck. “Don’t make me go in there. Please. I don’t want to go in there.”

“What’s in there?” Peck said.

She looked at him. “He’s dead.”

“Who is dead?”

“Harvey. He’s dead. He killed him with a knife. Please don’t make me go in there.”

Peck removed his jacket and gave it to Linda and she wrapped it around her shoulders. Blood was on her face and arms. He spotted the keys in the ignition and said, “Start the truck and run the heat.”

Linda turned the key, the truck fired to life, and she clicked the button on the dashboard for heat.

Peck drew his .357 magnum revolver. “Stay here, stay calm and don’t move until I return.”

Peck turned away from the truck and slowly entered the small, mobile home. He scanned the immediate area with his flashlight, and then moved to the bedroom. Although expecting the worst, he was still shocked at the horrific sight of the dead man on the floor by the nightstand.

Whoever he was, he left this world hard. A long trail of blood traced his path from the bedroom door to the nightstand where he died face down on the floor. The pool of blood under the body appeared black and thick, a sign that the knife had pierced his liver or a lung. Peck removed rubber gloves from a pocket, slipped them on and looked at the man’s face. He was young, maybe all of thirty. He was also large and powerful, with enormous hands and thick shoulders. Peck figured he was taken by surprise so his strength was not a factor in the outcome.

Peck returned to the truck and opened the door. “You called me on a radio.”

Linda pointed to the portable, short wave radio mounted under the dashboard. “He said I should call for help.”

“Move over,” Peck said and entered the truck.

By the time Reese and his army of men arrived, it was after two thirty in the morning. The lack of sleep showed on Reese’s face and in his tired, bloodshot eyes.

Earlier, Peck found a pair of jeans and a sweater for Linda Boyce and moved her inside to the kitchen. He built a fire in the small woodstove and ran the generator for heat, and still her teeth chattered, and she shook uncontrollably. They were sipping hot coffee when the small band of vehicles pulled up outside of Linda’s mobile home.

The first thing Reese said when he walked into the tiny trailer was, “I recognize the truck. It belongs to my man Harvey Peterson.”

Peck stood up from the tiny table and led Reese into the bedroom. “He’s a cop, a state trooper?”

“A corporal with great potential. A good man if somewhat undisciplined.” Reese nodded as he knelt down to the body and turned it over. “Oh Harvey, you dumb bastard.” Reese sighed loudly.

“What was he doing here?” Peck said.

Reese stood up. “Good question. Maybe we should ask her?”

Linda was trying to sip coffee from a mug when Peck and Reese reentered the kitchen. Her hand shook so violently, she spilled coffee onto the table.

Reese sat down opposite her at the small, round table. “Miss Boyce, did you know Harvey was a state trooper?”

Linda shook her head no. “He said he worked for the paper company.” She attempted to light a cigarette but could not steady the match. Peck leaned in and held her hand so she could light it. She looked at Peck. “Thank you.”

Reese said, “Can you tell me anything else?”

“He liked sex and had the money to pay for it.”

Reese and Peck exchanged glances. “He paid you?” Peck said.

Linda looked past Reese at Peck. “This is 1959; don’t tell me you never met a hooker before?”

“I didn’t expect one in the middle of nowhere, Dunston Falls,” Peck said.

“Wherever there are men,” Linda said.

“Let’s talk about the intruder,” Reese suggested.

“What do you want to know?” The cigarette was doing its job and Linda appeared to be regaining some of her nerve.

“Whatever it is you know and can tell us,” Reese said.

Linda puffed on the cigarette and looked Reese in the eyes. She appeared almost annoyed. “I was talking a bath, he showed up. He hit me on the head. Harvey showed up. He killed Harvey. I called you people. Did I leave anything out?”

Doctor McCoy came in from outside and stood behind Peck. “I got here as soon as I could,” McCoy said. He looked at Linda. “Is this her?”

Just after sunrise, Peck and Reese met in the lounge at the hospital. They were drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes when McCoy opened the door and joined them.

McCoy poured coffee into a mug and sat down at the table. “She will sleep most of the day, I’m afraid. In the meantime, do you want an autopsy report on Officer Peterson?”

“For God’s sake, doctor. We know what killed him. We need to talk to the girl,” Reese said.

“When she’s rested,” McCoy said. “Otherwise she will be unable to answer your questions to your satisfaction. Why don’t you come back later, say around four this afternoon.”

“Doctor, we need information,” Reese insisted.

“Well, you won’t get it from her until around four this afternoon,” McCoy said. “Unless gibberish is helpful?”

Reese and Peck found a table at the diner and ordered breakfast. Reese requested his men bring as many dozen eggs, slabs of bacon and potatoes as they could fit into their vans and half the amount went to the diner.

Reese ate his scrambled eggs, bacon and home fires as if it were his last meal. Peck simply picked at his eggs. The appetite wasn’t there.

“The natives are growing restless,” Peck said.

Reese nodded his agreement as he spooned eggs into his mouth. “They will want answers soon.”

“So do I.”

“Meaning?”

“You brought all this shit for fingerprints, blood sampling, hair and fiber and I doubt we will extract anything other than Harvey and the woman’s prints. Even the bloody footprints belong to the victim.”

“Sheriff, you want answers and I don’t even know the questions yet,” Reese said. “We both know working a homicide takes time, effort and a great deal of luck. Restless or not.”

Peck took a sip of coffee and thought a moment. “Answer me this, lieutenant.”

Reese looked over his spoon, giving Peck his full attention.

“I’ve been here eighteen months and never heard of Linda Boyce until this morning. Harvey was here one day and knew she was a prostitute. Don’t you find that a little odd?”

Reese, with a mouthful of eggs stared at Peck. Then Reese slowly chewed and swallowed.

“How did he know that, huh?” Peck said.

Reese set his spoon aside and took a sip of coffee. “My, my, the small town sheriff with the big city question.”

“That had to occur to you,” Peck said.

“It did,” Reese said, nodding his head. “I put it to my men and all they knew was Harvey had a woman stashed away somewhere. He gave no details. To be honest, I am partially responsible for not asking questions when I knew he was sneaking out to meet a woman. The both of us should have known better to let him get away with it.”

“Well, we need more from the girl than the he showed up, Harvey died thing if we’re going to catch him before he kills again,” Peck said.

“And you’re sure that he will?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He has the taste for it now.”

“Not that I don’t agree,” Reese said, picking up his spoon. “But last night may have scared him halfway to New Hampshire by now.”