Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
“Should we have taken it down?” I ask, looking up from the description of the camera I pulled up online.
“What if it belongs to the sheriff’s department?”
I nod as Keith drives us closer to Blue Gil. “You think that maybe Sheriff Manes listened to you but didn’t want to admit it?”
“I’m hoping because it sure as shit is the best option.”
“I don’t want to think that it was placed there by the killer.”
Keith reaches across the console and squeezes my leg. “Jill, if that’s the case, I’m sorry I took you out there. Keep your doors locked.” When I look over at him—because up until that second, I hadn’t been concerned about my safety—he adds, “Maybe you should stay with your folks.”
“No.” It’s a quick gut reaction. I’d go back to California before I moved into their place.
Keith pulls his hand back.
“I’m not going to run home to my family if they don’t want me. The cottage has locks, and besides, you’re just two doors away.”
“Keep my number on speed dial. I’ll be there.”
“Thanks,” I say sincerely.
I turn away to peer out the side window, now opened a few inches, allowing fresh country air to enter.
The faster we drive, the more the breeze blows the free strands of my hair away from my face.
I close my eyes to the refreshing light wind.
When I open them, there is a large tractor tilling a field.
The round disks on the contraption pulled behind the tractor are overturning the remnants of last year’s crop.
From what’s still uncultivated, last year’s crop was corn.
Copious amounts of feed corn are grown in this geographical region.
While the name would suggest feed for livestock, it’s also used in ethanol production and in manufactured goods, such as corn cereal, corn starch, corn oil, and corn syrup, all for human consumption.
Versatility alone makes it a worthwhile and usually profitable crop, no matter the state of the economy.
The large tractor reminds me of an episode of one of the programs we aired last season.
It was set in a small rural town. I don’t think we identified the state; however, by the way we made it look, it could have been here.
The episode opened as a farmer began to prepare his field for crops, only to find human remains.
The soft tissues were basically decayed and eaten away.
Our team of actors playing investigators of a special federal unit solved the case by analyzing the skeleton—the bones and teeth—and matching the gender, height, weight, and dental records to missing persons reports.
Of course, on television, cases are solved in an hour.
Real life isn’t as neat and tidy.
“Remember our theory about the plastic bag?” I ask.
“That the killer wants others to know he removed the eyes, not that they were bird food.”
A sickening answer, but on point. “We mentioned that the killer was probably in the gymnasium yesterday morning.”
“If he’s still in town,” Keith responds.
“Do you think it’s an outsider?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “To me, everyone is suspect. I just can’t figure out why now. What is prompting this criminal activity? Does it have something to do with Craig?”
I nod. “I wonder the same thing. I remember thinking that if Craig’s death wasn’t accidental, the killer was at his funeral. It’s stereotypical for a reason.”
“Data shows that thrill killers are more likely to attend their victim’s funeral.” Keith looks my way. “They also revisit the scene of the crime or dump site.”
“Or watch it from a hidden camera,” I add.
“That’s why I suggested your folks’ place. If the killer is watching, he saw you there.”
I think about what we saw. “Do you think that swale is where they both died?”
We’re now in Blue Gil village limits. People are walking along the sidewalk, coming and going from the local hardware store, library, and Dollar Store. There’s a line of cars waiting their turn at the bank’s ATM. “It’s like nothing happened,” I say.
“Everyone deals with this stuff differently.”
“Shouldn’t they be afraid, afraid it will happen to one of them?”
Keith turns and grins. “I just suggested, twice, that you stay with your folks, and the first time, you nearly bit my head off. Obviously, not everyone is concerned.”
“That’s different. I’m not the demographic.”
“Do we know what the demographic is?”
“If we’re just talking about Julie and Marty, it’s teenage girls.”
As Keith pulls into the Walleye Tavern parking lot, he stops two spaces from my rental car.
He turns, his brow furrowed and his brown eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.
“I have a partial answer for your question about place of death. For Marty, I’d say no.
I believe she was purposely dumped near where Craig was found.
As for Craig, I’m undecided. As we said, he could have died upstream.
We know for sure that the swale is where they were both found. ”
“Where was Marty killed?” I ask. “And how did the killer get her to County Road 62?”
“I’d like to talk to your sister.”
I exhale, leaning against the passenger seat of his truck. Beyond the windshield more cars are passing by, coming and going, additional evidence that life doesn’t stop for all when it stops for some. “I haven’t even spoken to her,” I said. “I doubt my parents would be open to you speaking to her.”
“Sheriff Manes or maybe one of the state troopers will interview her if they haven’t already.”
I shrug. “I got a text from my other sister, Liv. Julie is getting released from the hospital today. My parents are bringing her home.” I stare beyond the window at a woman and two children walking toward the library. “Or she’s already home. I don’t know.”
“Jill, I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to be pissed at your family.”
“It sucks. I suppose I deserve it.”
“Why? Because you have a life across the country.”
I inhale and exhale. “I walked away from here six years ago and stayed away.”
Keith’s neck straightens. “You haven’t been back? What about holidays?”
I shake my head.
He lays his head back, removes his sunglasses, and massages the bridge of his nose. “When I figured out who you are, I—”
“Who I am?” I question, interrupting him.
“Yes, Craig—”
I lift my hand, not wanting to continue this conversation. “Stop. I moved away to get away from my past. I came back to...”
“To learn truths.”
A smile comes to my lips. “Right.”
“Back to your sister,” Keith says. “There’s the possibility that Marty may have been killed in front of Julie. She could be an eyewitness.”
“When she first woke, first came out of the drugs they’d been giving her, she looked like she saw a ghost—no, like she was seeing a ghost.”
“There were a lot of drugs in her system,” Keith says. “I saw the report. I also suggested a hair analysis. There could be other drugs that didn’t show up in blood and saliva.”
My eyes open wide. “Shit. I didn’t think of that.
Did you know that GHB metabolizes differently for different people, but urine, saliva, and even blood tests usually come up clean in eight to twelve hours?
Most toxicology panels don’t include GHB unless you request it.
Julie wasn’t found until Sunday afternoon.
By the time they had her in the hospital, they would most likely have done blood tests.
That has an eight-hour maximum. If they did the test for GHB at all, she would’ve tested negative. ”
“Right, but the hair can test positive for up to a month.” He narrows his brown gaze as a grin forms. “You know that information from what you do for the studio?”
“And school but mostly for the show. GHB also intensifies the effects of other drugs including alcohol, pot, and cocaine.”
“Of all the drug-facilitated sexual-assault drugs, GHB takes effect the quickest. It also increases sexual libido.”
“And affects memory. Say someone gave that to them,” I say, “and encouraged them to leave the group, they would most likely have willingly gone.”
“And may have no memory,” Keith adds. “If that’s the case, the chance of Julie remembering anything is slim.”
I sigh as I sit back. “I still don’t understand the differences. Why kill one and not the other? Why sexually assault one and not the other?”
“Maybe instead, we should look at the similarities.”
“I haven’t seen anything official regarding Marty’s condition.
” My eyes open wide as I recall some of my notes.
“If they were together, Marty would’ve also been in the shed.
From the injuries Julie suffered, Marty would have trace evidence, mouse shit in her hair or bites.
I’ll contact the county examiner to see if I can get any information. ”
“Good idea. I’m headed over to the sheriff’s department. I’ll let you know what I find once I’m back at the cottages. Are you headed to your folks to see if Julie is home?” Keith asks.
I reach for the door with a sigh. “No. After what my dad said yesterday, I can’t.
Right now, I’m going to go back to the cottage and try to make some rhyme or reason out of this.
” I lift my phone. “I have an email with attachments from the Mill’s County Examiner.
I messaged them about your brother when I arrived.
With any luck, there’ll be pictures.” I also had more than one email from my production company.
“They sent you information from Craig’s autopsy?” Keith asks.
“I use the production company’s email. You’d be surprised what we can access.” As I get out of the truck, I turn toward the front of the Walleye Tavern and then back to Keith. “You know, you fit a profile.”
“I do?”
“Someone acting out over the death of Craig, using violence as a coping mechanism.”
“Do you think it’s me?”
I shake my head. “No, like you said, the two of you weren’t close. There’s no reason for you to act out.” I grin. “Last night, Theo” —I tilt my head toward the bar— “made a comment about you not belonging here any longer.”
“He did?”
“Yeah, that was right before I walked to your table. I’m a bit fuzzy after that.”
“Well, clearly, if I were a thrill killer, you were too-easy prey.”
“Theo and others saw me leave with you. That can really screw up an alibi.”
“I wish I stayed longer at that party to see who Julie and Marty left with.”
I narrow my gaze. “Why were you there again?”
“It was a hunch that didn’t pan out.”
“And you left?”
He nods. “Detective at underage party with alcohol and illegal drugs only works if I’m undercover.”
“I wish you had been.”
“Me too, Jill.” He taps the steering wheel with the back of his wrist. “I’ll let you know what I learn at the sheriff’s department.”
“Thanks,” I say as I close the truck door before Keith drives away.
The parking lot is mostly empty. Of course, it isn’t even four o’clock on a weekday.
Lunch is over, and the early-bird specials haven’t started.
I’m not certain the Walleye Tavern has early-bird specials.
From the sign down at the Sunshine Cafe, they do.
Maybe that’s part of the compromise the two businesses have reached.
“Shit.” I notice a folded paper flapping from beneath my windshield wiper. “A ticket?”