Page 4 of Dark Hearts

She sat hunched on a mattress on the floor, one hand tied to a pipe using a zip tie. Hunger gnawed in her belly, but he’d left her water and allowed her to use the bathroom before he left. It was a dilapidated room, with cracked tile and brown stains covering the basin and shower cubicle. The toilet flushed and in the back of her mind she tried to picture the building when they arrived. It had been dark and she’d seen other structures, and yet on entering they’d walked through what looked like an old redbrick office building and taken stairs down to what could only be described as a cellar. At first there were no lights, and he’d used a flashlight to guide them. Once he’d secured her, he’d left her in the dark, but not long after, a light flooded the room and he returned.

Footsteps sounded on the steps outside, and Cassidy cringed as the door opened and he walked inside. He’d showered and changed. His hair was still damp. He said nothing but turned his back on her and went to stoke the old furnace. Overnight it had warmed the cellar, but now an icy chill filled the room and he cursed her for keeping him so busy he’d allowed the furnace to go out. He walked over to her and took a knife from his belt. Terrified, she cringed away in terror.

“If I’d wanted to kill you, I’d have done it already.” He bent and cut the zip tie and then handed her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in plastic wrap. “Eat.”

She stared at the sandwich, wondering how she could fit anything between her swollen lips. The need to survive gripped her and she met his amused gaze. “Thank you.”

“When I was a kid, my pa would always give me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as a reward for being good.” He looked her over. “He’d often sneak me out of the house and take me to work with him at night. I’d be on a cot out back and people would come in and buy stuff. I had to keep quiet and not tell anyone.”

Cassidy broke off small pieces of the sandwich and pushed them into her mouth. “What about your mom? Didn’t she worry about you?”

“No. I did tell her, and she beat me for telling lies.” In a second, his calm demeanor changed. His expression grew hard and his mouth turned down. He stared at her without blinking. “When Pa left, she blamed me. She blames me for everything. If it darn well rains, it’s my fault. She was never fat before she had me. I can’t do anything to please her. You know, when I was six, she broke a broomstick over my back. I hate her.” He scratched his chin. “I don’t know why she turned nasty. My grandma told me she was a lovely girl until she married my father at seventeen.”

Unable to believe he was holding a conversation with her as if they were close friends, she washed the sandwich down with water, wincing at the pain of her cut lip. “Did you tell your grandma you were being abused?”

“No, I smothered her with a pillow.” He raised both eyebrows and stared at her as if waiting for a reaction. “I was twelve and my mom sent me over next door—that’s where she lived—to take her some soup. I left the soup beside the bed. She wanted me to feed her and she smelled like shit. I hated her too.” He smiled. “It was the best day. My mom went over to get the plate and found her dead, the soup untouched beside her. End of story. Seems when I put the pillow over her face, she suffered a heart attack.” He chuckled. “Trust me, she didn’t have a heart.” He looked at her again. “Finished? Go and take a shower.” He pulled a plastic spray bottle out of his backpack and handed it to her. “Use this. Wash all over and your hair. I’m going to watch to make sure you do it right.”

After a humiliating shower, using a lotion that burned her skin, he allowed her to dry herself on paper towels and dress, but he kept her underwear. Trembling with fear, and flesh burning,she stood staring at him, waiting for his next command. He seemed to enjoy giving her orders. After pushing everything she’d used into a garbage bag, he marched her outside and back into his truck. “Where are we going now?”

“I already told you.” He gave her a long look and shrugged. “I’m going to let you go.”

They drove for miles and Cassidy had no idea even which county they were in by the time he stopped on the deserted highway and pointed to a clump of trees. “Head to the trees. There’s a house on the other side. You can call your mom from there.” He pulled a scratch game from his pocket and handed it to her. “This is your lucky day. Wait there I’ll come around and open the door for you.”

Bewildered, Cassidy took the card and scrambled out of the door. Looking around, she scanned the blacktop way into the distance, hoping to see another vehicle, but the highway was empty both ways for miles.

He took out his pistol and waved it at her. “Run.”

The sound of a bullet being chambered seemed loud in the silence. Terrified, she took off running toward the trees without a backward glance. The trees seemed so far away, and she couldn’t run fast enough. Behind her a gun fired, and the grassy lowlands spun away into darkness.

FOUR

As the FBI chopper descended onto the top of Roaring Creek General, Beth surveyed the town. It was spread out over miles, with the usual mountains, rivers, and ranches dotted out across the lowlands. Redbrick and wooden buildings lined Main. As they flew, she took in the immediate area. The highways joining the communities went long and straight for miles in all directions across the lowlands or wound through mountain passes like long black snakes. Mining was evident, with mining camps peppering the landscape like clumps of mushrooms or with bare patches cut out of the green vegetation and filled with massive pieces of machinery. She shook her head, wondering if the land ever managed to return to its natural state after so many trees had been stripped away.

She appreciated beautiful scenery, loved painting it, and it soothed her soul on days like these filled with bloodshed, but she hated seeing the land destroyed. That part of her appeared to be untouched by her psychopathy, and she loved animals, another anomaly. She often compared herself to science-fiction characters who by no fault of their own had been the issue of two opposite species. In her case, both sides of her had different ideas of how to deal with monsters and each had a convincingargument for being themselves. Yes, she often referred to herself as two people because in reality that’s what she’d become. She gripped the seat as the wind increased, making the landing difficult. The chopper swayed dangerously before setting down. She turned to Styles when he cut the chopper’s engine and removed her headset. “I’m not seeing any land reclamation. Isn’t that part of the agreement for a mining lease of natural resources in these parts?”

“What you’re seeing are ongoing concerns.” Styles hung up his headset and looked at her. “Yeah, you have it right. Any land disturbed during excavating must be returned to how it was before the mining. Not that they can replace trees they cut down, but I guess it’s okay if they plant young ones. It’s not my field of expertise, to be honest.” He gave her a long look. “We’re going to see the body of a young woman brutally murdered and a number of gunshot victims, and you’re worried about trees?” He snapped his fingers and smiled at her. “Oh, right. This is a coping mechanism you use to deflect the horrors of murder.”

Sighing, Beth nodded. “Yeah, it distracts my mind for a time. I find it difficult knowing that someone is close by killing young women, and right now we can’t do a thing to stop them. Viewing victims of crimes is horrific. I need to take in some beauty to cope sometimes.” She glanced at him. “It’s not idle chatter either. I really do care about the land. That’s something I can help conserve. I can only bring the girl’s killer to justice, but I can’t bring her back to life. The land can be saved.”

“The land is owned by someone, Beth.” Styles gathered his things. “Leave them to care about the land and you concentrate on profiling this killer.”

Nodding, Beth climbed from the chopper and watched Styles tether the skids securely to the helipad. It was something she’d never seen him do before. As she headed for the door, a blast of wind almost swept her off her feet. Styles grabbed her by the armand steadied her, his feet spread wide apart and one hand on his Stetson. She smiled at him. “Wow, it’s windy up here. I figured after the melt the weather would improve.”

“It’s always windy here.” He pointed to the mountains and a gap. “It comes through that valley and blasts the town most times. That’s why they’ve built tethers into the roof for the choppers.” He stared into the sky. “Did you get an ETA for Dr. Wolfe?”

Nodding, Beth gripped the doorframe and pushed open the door to the building. “Yeah, I figure he’ll be here withing ten minutes. He told me his chopper was ready for takeoff as he was planning on heading out to Helena. It’s nothing urgent, so he got his team organized and left at once.”

They walked down a flight of steps and came to a bank of elevators. Beside them on the wall was a directory. They headed inside and hit the button for the morgue. The car dropped fast, not stopping at any other floor, and the doors opened with a whoosh, immediately filling Beth’s nose with the strong antiseptic odor of hospitals. Outside they found a corridor and a desk with a bell beside a notice:press if counter unattended.

Beth rang the bell and they waited for at least five minutes before a woman came out from the swinging metal doors. She had a name tag attached to her jacket that readmina soares. Composing her face into a neutral expression and putting her hard-nosed cop persona into place, Beth approached the counter. “I called earlier. Agents Katz and Styles. We’re here to see the body of Arizona Carson. The medical examiner, Dr. Shane Wolfe, and his team are in transit.”

“Yes, we’ve been expecting you.” Ms. Soares raised both eyebrows. “We’ve been advised by the local sheriff to wait until Dr. Wolfe arrives before we allow anyone to see the body.”

Obviously, her hard-nosed cop attitude wouldn’t work with this woman, so Beth reverted to using charm. During theride from Rattlesnake Creek, she’d read files and made a few assumptions about the killer. It was very rare for a psychopathic killer to leave a victim without taking a trophy. This could be anything that reminded him of the kill and allowed him to relive them in his mind. The reason behind trophies was easy to understand. Once the person is dead, the memory vanishes from their minds. Not like amnesia but more like a soda can. Who cares about a soda can once it’s empty? The memory of the sweet drink is still there, and if they’d kept a reminder, they could bring back the memory of indulging in an instant. She smiled at the woman. “Yes, of course, I understand completely. Would it be too much trouble to see her personal effects? Have they been preserved?”

“Well, if you mean have they been handled by someone without gloves? The answer is no. They were cut from the body and bagged. I’ll be able to get them for you.”

Beth nodded. “Thank you so much. Is there a room we could use to examine them?”

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