Page 93 of I'm Watching You

Chapter Twenty

Wednesday, July 9, 8:10A.M.

As Zack drove in to work, he was in a foul mood when his cell phone rang. Sex with Lindsay had been better than he could have imagined. And for a moment he’d thought their troubles were behind them and they would find a way back together. And then she’d panicked and bolted.

He took the Parham North exit off I-64 toward police headquarters. He unhooked the phone from his belt and snapped, ‘Detective Kier.’

‘It’s Warwick. We’ve got another mutilated body.’

Zack’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. ‘Where?’

‘At Meadow Farm Park.’

Zack glanced at the dashboard clock. ‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’

He did a U-turn at the intersection, merged onto I-64 east, and followed the interstate to the Mountain Road exit. He pulled into the graveled parking lot. A dozen cruisers, blue lights flashing, filled the lot. It looked like a three-ring circus.

Zack got out of the car. Already the heat of the day was oppressive. Sweat trickled down his back. He removed his coat, tossed it in the backseat, and rolled up his sleeves.He headed toward Warwick, who stood outside the yellow tape that roped off a colorful playground play set. ‘What do we have?’

Warwick wore khakis and a black T-shirt. His gold badge hung around his neck. ‘The call came in about a half hour ago. A jogger found the body.’

Both donned rubber gloves and put paper booties on their shoes.

‘Ayden will be along soon,’ Warwick said. ‘The chief is chewing his ass out. The county manager is going nuts. The area hasn’t seen a stranger murder in years and now we’ve had two in three days. It looks like no one is sleeping until this guy is caught.’

Zack followed Warwick under the yellow tape into the wooded area. The body was propped against a thick oak tree. The victim was a white male in his midforties with a shock of black hair on his head and dark stubble covering his square jaw. His jeans and burgundy sports shirt were covered in dirt, blood, and the thick scent of urine. His left hand had been cut off.

‘I know this guy,’ Zack said.

‘Burt Saunders,’ Warwick said. ‘He attacked Lindsay yesterday as she left work for lunch.’

Zack shoved out a breath. He hoped Lindsay had an alibi.

‘He wasn’t shot,’ Warwick said. His expression was grim. ‘It looks like Saunders bled out from his wrist and a sliced femoral.’

‘Jesus,’ Zack said.

Warwick pointed to the body. ‘He has pronouncedbruising on his right hand and around his ankles. He fought against his restraints.’

Zack squatted, studied the body. ‘There’s not much blood here. He was killed somewhere else.’

‘Wherever he died has to be soaked in blood.’

Humid heat clung to Zack’s skin as he stared at the stump that had been Saunders’s left hand. ‘Look at the cuts. The killer wasn’t in a rush. He worked the guy over pretty well.’

Warwick frowned. ‘And the victim is another connection to Lindsay.’

Zack was loyal to his wife. ‘Lindsay is no murderer.’

Warwick’s silence telegraphed his uncertainty. ‘Do you know where she was last night?’

‘No.’ He sighed. ‘Where is the guy’s wife?’

Warwick checked his notebook. ‘His wife, Gail, has a sister in Blacksburg. I called there a half hour ago and spoke to Gail. And her sister will verify that Gail hasn’t left her sight since she arrived thirty-six hours ago.’

Two men who both were accused of beating their wives were dead. Both wives had an alibi. Jesus. He didn’t want to consider that they had a serial killer on their hands.

‘Is there a note?’

---