Page 50 of Pure Killers

The forest closes over me, heavy and oppressive without its lights. The first moving shapes I see quickly resolve into a couple against a tree, obviously unbothered by the blackout.

Squinting, I move further in. In a clearing ahead, more moonlight reigns, and I see movement again. This time, something makes me slow down, tugging my gun from where it’s hidden on my hip, under a peach ruffle.

At the peak of silence, my dress catches on a twig and it snaps back loudly, loud enough to be heard by anyone even vaguely nearby. Knowing that any idea of stealth ruined, I throw it to the wind and jump out into the clearing.

The body is high in the tree, swaying like it’s only just stopped moving. "Shit!" I shout, running for the trunk of the tree, reaching the rope wrapped low around the base. I break my nails pushing the knot out, and behind me, the body falls with a sickening crunch. Turning to stare at that crumpled shape, I see the face, the tongue lolling out. Already dead.

"Eleanor!" My head snaps up, recognising Dean's voice filtering through the trees, a half a second later, coming through the earpiece. But instead of Dean, I seehimat the corner of the clearing, his mask shadowed inside a deep, ragged hood like anexecutioner’s uniform. He waves once, then turns and darts into the woods. I consider lifting my gun briefly, then lower it instead and go after him, shouting through the earpiece. “Spotted Needler! On him, headed out the South side of the woods!”

“With you!” Dean shouts back, and again I hear his voice, still behind me.

We clear the woods, and I see the dark shape that is Needler's back at the edge of the lake, running. "You go around to the right," I order quickly, and Dean, no sooner than he reaches my side, sprints off to the right while I follow the shorter way, cursing every step that I stumble over my skirts. Where the hell is Dirk when I need him?

We soon clear the lake, and an air overtakes the estate. Someone spots Needler, then us, Dean and I both with guns in our hands, and the shouts spread. The crowd converges by the time we get to the other end. That arched gateway, I have to slide between bodies pressing in, many of which are wearing silver masks with black ink across their lips.

We're out, back onto the corner of a busy intersection. Beside me, Dean shouts, "There!" He’s pointing across the main road, towards the train station. Cars honk as we race across, narrowly avoiding several bumpers before barrelling into the station, a train platform directly ahead of us. The place is packed with masked and costumed party-goers on their way in or out. Many have turned to watch Needler as he races onto the waiting train.

We go after him. But that’s when the crowd closes in for good. They're suddenly a wall, two people thick, linked hands closing the fence they’ve made along the platform, between us and Needler as the doors close. Dean lifts his gun, but I know as well as they do he's not going to use it. "Move!" he shouts. They don't, and the train doors ping then close, taking Needler away.

An impressive string of curses is still coming from Dean’s mouth as the people quickly disperse before he can get any ideasabout arresting the lot of them, as he threatens to somewhere in his expletives. Howie arrives in a limping gait, and I look behind him. "Where's Dirk?"

Howie, out of breath, leans on his knees. "He's not here?"

"No," I push past, back out onto the street, towards the gates again. I ignore the crowd of onlookers gathered there, going back to the grounds. My suspicions about Dirk are overtaken by the fear that he could have been hurt as he continues not to answer my enquiring through the earpiece.

Howie is in my ear instead. "Dean and I will check out the grounds. You go back to Holt's body. Help is on the way."

Holt. Shit. I almost forgot about the dead body in the clearing. I head back for the forest, and I don't even reach the clearing before I know the scene will basically be useless to us. I can hear the voices already, and sure enough, as I break through the trees, the white supremacy group that was waiting by the lake for him is there. They've moved the body, scuffed any evidence with their heavy boots, and touched just about everything.

"This is a crime scene," I shout. "Please make way."

A handful of them turn to me, and I can see pretty clearly in their faces as they take in my dishevelled peach dress and missing shoe, that they're not about to take me seriously. One accusatory voice raises above the others. "You a cop? Why didn't you stop this from happening?"

"Don't send a woman to do a man's job," another touts.

Having had just about enough of tonight, I choose this moment to pull my gun one last time. "You really want to see a woman doing her job, asshole?"

This has the desired effect, however now I'm pointing a gun at redneck and slightly regretting it. It feels a little extreme, and now I don't know what to say. I'd like them all to clear off, but then it occurs to me that the mystery club owner said a 'gang'was involved in the lynching, and the other members are likely here.

I'm saved from having to decide what to do against these dozen potentially armed men by the appearance of another problem; Dirk, stepping into the clearing from my left. "Woah, what’s going on here?" Dirk looks between me and the group of men with their hands up, apparently having missed a lot. And on top of that, he's soaking wet, his hair plastered to his forehead, his mask gone.

"Dirk? Where the hell…" I cut myself off. Potential criminals first. "You're all coming in for questioning. Down on your knees.Now. Get on your stomachs. Stay there."

Hesitantly, somewhat shamefully, they do as I say. Content that their faces are pressed into the dirt, I turn to Dirk. "Where the hell were you? We were chasing Needler!"

"What? The real one?"

"Presumably! Didn't you hear it through the earpiece? And why are you soaking wet?"

"I heard you saying you wanted backup in the woods. I was about to reply, but a group of Needle-masks must have got wind I was a cop after their idol. They threw me in the lake. My earpiece shorted."

"They threw you into the lake?"

"Well," he shrugs. "They asked me if I could swim first. Nice of them, huh?"

I narrow my eyes. Awfully convenient. And yet, could he have gotten off at the next stop and made it back here in time? Then again, it might not even have been the real Needler who took off on the train. "You didn’t make it to the woods at all?" I press, practically convinced now of my suspicions.

"No, I was over at the Gardens,” Dirk explains, as though it’s something I should know. “Remember? I went there first to see what I could hear when we split up.”

---