Page 28 of Their Wicked Games

“No, I took her laptop and asked Bobby Kalo to help me access it later tonight.” Carter sighed. “Her dog’s name is Butch and very much loved, by the photographs of him by her bed. No family pictures but she sure loved hunting. The dog reacted positively when animal control came to get him. He was protecting his house, is all. There’s not a bad bone in his body. They figured they’ll be able to rehome him, if you can’t find a family member to take him.”

“We haven’t found anyone locally.” Kane sipped his coffee and sighed. “I’ve sent her information to Kalo. He might find a distant relative, but at this stage we don’t even have anyone to claim her body.”

Jenna thought for a beat and leaned back in her chair. “It’s strange, in the last case we were talking about victims. At the time, they didn’t own a dog. It seemed that no one who was getting murdered owned a dog. If she had been at home or had taken Butch with her, she would have been okay. If the dog was as aggressive as you say guarding the house, he wouldn’t have let anyone near her. As she wasn’t going hunting, why did she leave the dog behind?”

“Maybe the man she was meeting had an aversion toward dogs? Or was allergic maybe?” Kane smiled at her. “That’s a good point and one we should follow up.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Carter cleared his throat. “I’ve had the experience of an angry pooch trying to attack me the moment I tried to make a move on a woman during a date. I mean, just putting my arm around her shoulders made the dog sink his teeth into my leg. If Alicia was planning to have a romantic liaison at the rock pool, skinny-dipping and all, she might not have wanted to take the dog with her for that very reason. Butch being overprotective, he’d certainly destroy the mood, and from all accounts, Alicia didn’t attract many men. Well, I figure she wouldn’t want to spoil her chances.”

“The woman is dead, Carter.” Jo rounded on him. “That’s not a very nice thing to say. Have some compassion. Her death would have been horrific.”

“I wasn’t being unsympathetic, Jo.” Carter stared at the ceiling as if waiting for divine intervention. “I was just making a point. She knew she was going into the forest, right? She’d left her crossbow and hunting gear behind. This was plain to see as she had a room with everything set out on the wall. If something was missing, we’d have known about it.” He dropped his gaze back to Jo. “She was familiar with the dangers of the forest, so any sane person would take her dog with her if she was going for a walk. It’s obvious she’d made plans to meet someone at the rock pool. It’s a remote place that nobody visits because it’s dangerous, so this wasn’t an opportunistic thrill kill. It was planned. She knew her killer well enough to undress and climb into the rock pool with him.”

Taking in everything he said, Jenna nodded. “Which takes us back to the people at the crossbow club. It seems to me these were her only friends. So it has to be one of them who killed her, as we believed in the first place.” She glanced at her watch. “Okay, people, let’s call it a day.” She turned to Kane. “I’m going to freshen up and change my clothes before we go to dinner.” She smiled at his expression and quick glance at his watch. “We have time. I know the reservation is at seven-thirty.”

“Me too.” Jo stood, collected the empty to-go cups and threw them in the trash. “I’m sure glad we leave changes of clothes in the locker room. We never know what’s going to happen in this town.” She headed out the door.

TWENTY-FIVE

Miles Nolan stared at the ceiling. So what, he hadn’t done his chores? It was spring break and he’d gotten spectacular grades. All the other kids’ parents rewarded their kids for doing well at school. They gave them time to enjoy their vacation before the next grueling semester began, but not his pa. What was the big deal about forgetting to take out the trash twice this week? It wasn’t life threatening? Surely his brother, at twelve, was more than capable, but no, his brother’s nice little chore was to unload the dishwasher. Now he was grounded for the rest of the week, his phone, laptop, and car keys confiscated. His pa’s voice boomed in his brain.“Driving is a privilege at your age, not a right. You earn luxuries in this house by doing your chores. You need to learn that it’s hard work that gets rewards, not being lazy.”

He tossed and turned in bed and punched the pillow. The most humiliating was being sent to bed at eight-thirty, especially when he needed to explain things to his girlfriend. Without his phone or laptop, he had no way of contacting her, and Betty-Jo, being Betty-Jo, would assume he was ghosting her. He wanted to tear out his hair because no matter how many times he tried to explain this to his pa, he refused to listen, and the more he insisted, the more punishments his pa added to the list.

He just knew the moment his back was turned one of the guys would move in on his girlfriend, especially as they’d had a fight, which he’d smoothed over by inviting her to a party. It was the perfect makeup situation and he’d make everything right, but now he couldn’t go. The problem was Betty-Jo was gorgeous and the captain of the cheerleading team. If he didn’t show, she might give up on him and take up with one of the other jocks. The idea made his stomach cramp. He’d lose her for a couple of lousy bags of garbage. He pressed the pillow to his face and swore. All his friends were going and they’d planned to meet up under the bleachers at the football stadium at ten. It was a onetime deal. The keys “borrowed” from the janitor’s room must be returned by the following morning. One of the guys had scored two twelve-packs of beer; some of the girls had managed to obtain bottles of wine. He’d been looking forward to going and told his folks he'd be staying over at a friend’s house. They’d covered for each other and the plan was golden—until now.

He switched on his bedside lamp and stared at the clock on the wall. It was generic, a white face inside a black circle, with large black numerals, black hands, and a red second hand ticking by the seconds of his life. He couldn’t remember how long he stared at that clock. As a young kid, he would sit up all night waiting for it to tick so slowly down to Christmas morning, too scared to peek down the stairs in case he scared Santa Claus away. Other times it moved so fast. When he fell out of bed, running late in the morning, he’d swear the hands sped up, and he’d need to run to catch the school bus.

The hand ticked past ten and his mind went to Betty-Jo. He slid out of bed and opened the bedroom door and listened. The TV in the family room blared out the news but if he went downstairs, his mom would see him walk by the kitchen. Her soft humming drifted toward him as she made a snack, so the back door was out of contention. The stairs in the old house creaked and would alert his parents if he tried to slip out of the front door. There was only one other option. He dressed fast and, pulling on his sneakers, opened the window and, heart pounding, eased out, grabbing for the drainpipe. He’d climbed down this way a thousand times before as a kid, but he was a whole lot heavier at seventeen. The drainpipe creaked and groaned and he fell the last five feet or so, landing heavily on his backside.

Pain shot through his hip and he lay on the damp grass panting. Had his parents heard the thump as he hit the ground? He rolled under the window and waited before limping away. Walking softly, he kept to the bushes around the perimeter of his yard. It was a long walk to the stadium unless he took the alleyways that joined most of the properties facing Stanton Forest and linked roads for pedestrians. He face-palmed his head the moment he got to Stanton and peered along the dark road. Only a few streetlights spread their yellow light, the sidewalk in between was cloaked in shadows. How did he forget to take a flashlight? He knew darn well the alleyways were pitch black at this time of night.

Grim determination spurred him on. He must get to the party and sort things with Betty-Jo. Shaking off the warnings nagging him about walking the streets at night, he zipped up his jacket and picked up his pace. Light from a vehicle illuminated the blacktop and he turned to stare into the halogen beams. A truck drove past and stopped a few houses away. A man climbed out and opened the back door, leaning in as if searching for something. Miles nodded as he walked past and kept going, taking the first alleyway. He’d used the alleyway network like most of the locals many a time, but during the day. A shiver of apprehension went through him as he entered the seemingly endless dark tunnel. Stanton was opposite the forest, and anything could be lurking in the alleyways. They were different to the ones in town; they had sidewalks and buildings along each side. The alleyways along Stanton ran alongside someone’s yard and acted as a property line. Thick bushes lined each side of the alleyway. Some of them neatly tended by the owners of the houses, others left to run riot, with branches reaching out to touch the opposite side, creating a tunnel of vegetation and blocking out the moonlight.

Gathering his nerve, Miles took a deep breath and kept moving into the darkness. Behind him, the wind from the mountains rushed down Stanton in blustery waves and with each step leaves rustled and branches groaned. Nerves on edge, he shuffled forward deeper into the dark unknown. Behind him an engine started, and the sound of the truck moving slowly along Stanton left him frighteningly alone. No one was about to help him. Hurrying on into the darkness, he kept to the middle of the alleyway, with both arms outstretched and fingers trailing along the bushes. Relief flooded him when the streetlights of the road ahead came into view and he increased his pace. As he crossed the road, he noticed an identical truck parked some ways from the entrance to the next alleyway, but many people drove trucks in Black Rock Falls.

The streetlights gave off an eerie glow, as he jogged across the misty blacktop and headed into the dark pathway. Confident a bear or wildcat wouldn’t venture this far from the forest, he moved silently into the entrance, his sneakers not making a sound on the gravel.

Keeping alert, he listened for any warning sounds coming from ahead but only the sound of wind rustling the leaves came in the silence. He’d reached about halfway, when the distinct sound of footsteps, like boots on gravel, echoed down the alleyway toward him. He stopped and turned, looking both ways, but saw nothing. Uneasiness crept over him as he strained his eyes trying to peer into the darkness, but nothing moved ahead of him

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

His heart pounded as the footsteps came closer, but no one loomed out of the darkness. The hairs on the back of Miles’ neck stood to attention and fear gripped his stomach. He shook his head trying to dispel the stories of ghouls prowling these alleyways at night. The footsteps stopped suddenly, and Miles stared into the pitch black. “Hello, is somebody there?”

Nothing.

Terrified, he forced one leg in front of the other and shuffled forward, one hand against the bushes, the other held out in front of him like a blind man. Stuck midway through the alleyway, it was too far to go back. He must keep moving forward. Trying to calm shattered nerves, he gave his head a shake, wondering if he’d imagined the footsteps. His pulse pounded in his ears as he moved onward. Wind whistled around him and shadows moved. Each small sound was magnified. He forced his feet to take each step, sure someone was close by. An odor came to him on the breeze, thick, musky. Was he smelling his own fear? No bear or cat smelled like that. He turned, peering into blackness over one shoulder, and a crunch on gravel cut through the silence. Pain shot through his head and he turned, shaping up ready to fight. Something cold hit his stomach and he cried out as white-hot pain sliced into his belly. He dropped his arms, hugging the leaking mass seeping through his fingers, and fell to his knees. The smell of blood surrounded him as he shuddered in agony. Under his palms the slippery mess of intestines, moved like snakes fighting to get free. Gasping, he stared into the darkness, seeing nothing, but someone was there. He could sense the menace hanging over him.

Footsteps moved away, and he tried to take a breath to call for help, but blood filled his mouth. He rolled onto his back and using shaking legs pushed himself along the gravel on his back. He must get to the end of the alleyway to get help. It was his only chance. Slowly, inch by excruciating inch, he moved along.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Terrified, Miles listened with horror as the footsteps came closer. Slow, deliberate strides, but this time the light from a phone illuminated the alleyway. He stared down in horror at the bloody mess filling his hands and sobbed in fear. The light came closer, a tall shadow behind it. Miles lifted his head. “Help me, please, help me.”

No words were spoken, no comfort given. The person just stood there, ignoring his pleas. His killer had returned to watch him die. Sobbing, he stared into the sky seeking divine intervention. The bushes overhead moved against the moonlit sky, like the long fingers of an exotic dancer dancing to the song of the wind. No help came. Cold seeped into him and his heart jittered, beating erratically as if trying to leap from his chest. Warm blood leaked over his fingers, in a horrifying rush. A smiling face came out of the darkness, so close, he could make out the neat straight teeth. The flash of a bloody knife waved across his vision. Terrified, he cried out. A thump of pain hit the center of his chest without warning. As the world slid away, Miles stared into the face of his killer.

TWENTY-SIX

WEDNESDAY

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