Dunston Falls (9 page)

“Guess.”

McCoy nodded. “Subjugation would be my first inclination.”

“Come on, Tom, what the hell is that?”

“Long term repression.”

“Repression? You think I’ve been sitting on this for a decade and a half?”

“It’s possible,” McCoy shrugged. “You came out of the war and went right back to work. In many ways, being a cop is like being a soldier. It is a high stress job. There is no time or room for mistakes and certainly no time to reflect on the past. However, now you are retired and living in the middle of nowhere. All of a sudden, there are two very gruesome murders to contend with sandwiched between a crippling storm and the past catches up with you. Your mind starts to fatigue and you have post traumatic, combat stress syndrome.”

“Which is what exactly?” Peck said.

McCoy shrugged. “If I knew that, I’d be lecturing at the Surgeon General. Look, Army hospitals are full of men who suffered breakdowns from combat stress. They stare into space and see Germans under the bed and in the closets. They just don’t know enough at this time to fix these poor bastards.”

“Three times, I’ve dreamed of or hallucinated about fire,” Peck said. “That has nothing to do with my combat experience, so I’m not making the connection.”

“You aren’t, but your subconscious mind is,” McCoy said. “The man who dreams about falling or flying is actually dreaming about freedom, that kind of thing.”

“What does fire represent?”

McCoy shrugged his shoulders. “That I don’t know. I am not a psychiatrist. I will give the information to a doctor I know at Maine Med when I talk to him. I’m sure, when all is said and done that you’re fine.”

Bender entered the diner and spotted Peck and McCoy and approached their table.

“There’s a state police cruiser pulling up,” Bender said.

Peck stood up from the booth. “About time.”

Peck and Bender approached the state police car just as a tall; ramrod straight man of about fifty exited and stood on the curb. The man wore a dark suit and overcoat. He had the look of military about him, like a retired officer.

I’m Sheriff David Peck, this is my deputy Jay Bender,” Peck said.

“Lieutenant William Reese.”

Reese and Peck shook hands and Peck noted that Reese had a solid and firm grip.

“Sorry about the delay, this storm,” Reese said. “You have a place where we can talk?”

“The office,” Peck said.

Peck and Bender took Reese to their office where a fire crackled in the woodstove and fresh coffee rested in a pot on top of it. Reese tossed his coat on a coat hook and looked around. “Cozy,” he said.

“Coffee, Lieutenant?” Bender said, handing Reese a mug.

Reese sipped coffee from the chair opposite Peck’s desk. “It’s most unusual to have a double homicide in…...”

“Not a double homicide,” Peck corrected Reese. “Two homicides committed days apart in all likelihood by the same man.”

Reese nodded. “Who are the victims?”

“Two white females in their mid to late forties.”

“Is there any relationship between the two?”

Peck shrugged. “They both live in this town.”

“And they’re both dead,” Bender added.

Peck and Reese looked at Bender. “I saw in an episode of Perry Mason once, the only clue they had to go one was that all the victims were dead. I forget how it ended.”

“That may not be as far fetched as you think,” Reese said. “And I think I saw that episode.”

Peck lit a cigarette, looking at Reese. “Other than both victims are dead, I have no leads, no clues and no suspects at this point. I have one murder weapon, which is a bread knife from the kitchen of the first victim. The second knife was probably tossed in the woods and won’t be found until spring, if at all. This is a town in the middle of nowhere and cut off from the rest of the state until the roads are cleared, power is restored and phones are back on line. Where would you like to start?”

“Show me the victims?” Reese said. “That’s usually a good place.”

Peck and McCoy stood in the background while Reese inspected the body of Doris White, who was prone on a slab in the tiny, hospital morgue. Wearing rubber gloves, Reese inspected the stab wounds, red marks on her neck and rope burns on the wrists. He took his time and when he touched the body, he was gently, as if touching a baby.

“Had rigor set in when you found the body?” Reese said.

“Yes, by about twelve hours,” McCoy said.

“The broken bones in the arms, legs and rib cage, they were caused by the tree?”

McCoy nodded. “She was dead a good eight hours before the tree came down.”

“The second victim,” Reese said.

McCoy moved forward to close the slab containing Doris White and pull out the one with Deb Robertson.

Reese moved up and down the body of Deb Robertson, touching her neck and wrists. “You check for rape?”

“Yes,” McCoy said.

Peck turned away as Reese opened Deb’s legs for a closer examination. “And what did you find?”

“There are definite signs of forced entry,” McCoy said. “Irritation and swelling of the vaginal walls and membrane. Some minor bleeding.”

“Rigor?”

“Not when the body was found.”

“Time of death?”

“Between eleven and eleven thirty.”

Reese looked at Peck. “What time did you discover the body?”

“About twelve twenty,” Peck said.

“You just missed him then.”

“Yes.”

“Too bad,” Reese said, shaking his head. It would have made things easy.”

“Yes.”

Reese removed his gloves and tossed them into a trashcan. “Is there a place we can talk?”

Reese sat at the table in the hospital lounge and sipped coffee as he looked at Peck.

Peck and McCoy sat at the table opposite Reese.

Reese said, “What are your thoughts, sheriff?”

Peck lit a cigarette and took a sip of coffee before answering. “He’s fueled by rage and very powerful. The markings on the necks of both women are deep and the stab wounds go clear to the handle of the knife. He even cut bone, not easy to do.”

Reese nodded. “Anything else?”

“Tying the women to the bed was for pleasure, not necessity. He is easily strong enough to overpower both women if his goal was just rape and murder. There’s something else going on.”

McCoy stared at Peck, as did Reese. “You’ve worked homicide before?” Reese said.

“Baltimore. What’s your take?”

Reese took a sip of coffee and said, “Without the benefit of seeing the crime scenes, I would guess that both women were selected at random by a man who didn’t care who they were or what they looked like. To him they were just there.”

“I’m just a country doctor,” McCoy said. “So I’m a bit lost and a lot curious as to how you derived that.”

Reese looked at Peck. “Care to enlighten the doctor, sheriff?”

“One woman was beautiful, one was not,” Peck said. “Looks didn’t matter to him, only results.”

McCoy thought for a moment. “The results being the rape or the murder?”

“Probably neither,” Peck said. “In most cases like these, the killer has some inadequate feelings that need satisfying and uses his crimes to fulfill them.”

“Like mommy didn’t give him enough attention?” McCoy said. “That kind of thing.”

“Possibly. Nobody knows for sure except the killer himself.”

Reese looked at Peck. “We still have some daylight, sheriff, feel like taking a ride?”

FOUR

Reese and Peck stood outside the trailer home of Doris White. Reese circled her old pickup, inspecting it and then walked completely around the house with Peck following him. Reese carried a flip open, notebook and he used a pencil to make notations. They stopped at the remains of the front door where Reese quickly scanned the debris and rubble.

“No noticeable tire marks or footprints?” Reese said. “The snow and ice around the house are pretty much undisturbed except for the tree. You didn’t see anything previously?”

“No, but whatever footprints or evidence might be here is under three inches of ice.”

“Well, we can’t exactly wait for spring.” Reese entered the trailer, followed by Peck.

“We’ll be fortunate to get anything from this mess, but I’ll mark it for the forensic team,” Reese said. He entered the bedroom, followed by Peck. “It’s almost impossible to determine if there was a struggle.”

“I don’t think so,” Peck said.

“Reason.”

“Her pajamas. There wasn’t a mark on them. Not a thread out of place. It was as if she removed them willingly.”

“Which she may have under threat of harm,” Reese said. “You’ve tagged them for evidence.”

“Yes.”

Reese moved to the bedroom window and peered out through the broken glass.

Peck looked at his watch. “There’s enough daylight if you want to see the second site.”

Reese nodded and they stepped outside the trailer.

Reese scraped ice off the windows of Deb Robertson’s truck with a pocketknife and looked through the window at the keys, which still dangled in the ignition. “The engine was running when you arrived, you said?” Reese said, noting the ignition key was still in the start position.

“Stalled, but on,” Peck said.

“Did she start the truck herself?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

Reese turned to look at the house. “For a couple of reasons. She came down herself and the killer was hiding say in the woods nearby. He could have slipped into the house unseen. She would have walked into a trap. The other thing is if someone started the truck for her that someone could be our man. In any event, the truck and keys will be dusted for prints.”

Reese removed a handkerchief from a pocket, forced open the truck door and confiscated the keys. Locking the door, he closed it.

Peck started walking toward the house and Reese followed. “But, you already thought of all that, didn’t you?” Reese said.

“It occurred to me,” Peck said.

They climbed the stairs and Peck used a key to unlock the door.

“What else has occurred to you?” Reese said as they stepped inside.

Peck drew his flashlight and clicked it on. Even in daylight, the house was dark and cold. “You tell me,” Peck said.

They walked the house, room to room. Reese made notes along the way in his small notebook, using a pencil, which he continuously moistened with his tongue. Peck stayed in the background and did his best to remove his personal feelings and keep them from interfering with his instincts as a detective.

In the master bedroom, Reese paused and turned to Peck. “The killer wasn’t a stranger. She let him in and went to the bedroom for something. That’s when he surprised her. Maybe from behind. My team will be able to determine if she was choked into unconsciousness. At any rate, all the action took place in here.”

“Because the downstairs is undisturbed,” Peck said. “All the mess is up here.”

Reese nodded as he jotted a note on his pad.

Peck said, “The thing of it is, in a town this small who is a stranger? Even if you don’t know somebody’s name, you’re sure to recognize a face. Moreover, Deb ran the only diner. She must have seen and known just about everybody in town and half the paper mill. If someone were to come to her door for help, she would almost certainly let them in.”

Reese snapped his pad shut and tucked it into a pocket. “My men will do a complete sweep of the house interior, exterior and her truck. Prints, hair, blood typing, the works. We might get lucky and find a set of prints that have no business being here.”

“Have you seen enough?” Peck asked.

“For the moment, Yes. Why?”

“I thought you might like to catch dinner before it’s all gone.”

“This turkey is delicious,” Reese said as he ate a mouthful of the bird.

“That’s because it’s fresh.”

Reese looked at Peck over his fork. “How fresh is fresh?”

“I think my deputy shot it this morning.”

Reese smiled at Peck. “In times of extreme stress, nature will provide. My father always said that. However, when you said catch dinner, I didn’t know you meant literally.”

“Your father was a hunter?”

“A poacher,” Reese said. “His life was nothing but one long train ride of extreme stress. He was arrested at least twenty times that I know of. He poached everything and anything he could shoot, but we were always well fed.”

Peck looked around the diner. It was only half-full. Either people ate earlier or they were returning to their homes.

Reese ate another slice of turkey. “Do you have phones?”

“Not yet.”

“Without power, this is going to be tough,” Reese confessed. “We could run a generator, but we’ll need a place to headquarter.”

“There’s an old logging camp just outside of town. It has a dozen cabins and a main hall where you could hook a generator. I’ve been there and it’s pretty comfortable.”

“Good.”

“I’ll show you where it is in the morning.”

“About the victims, what can you tell me personally?”

“About Doris White, nothing. I never met the woman. Deb Robertson, more.”

“How much more?”

Peck picked up his coffee cup and took a sip.

Reese nodded. “You were lovers.”

“Briefly,” Peck confessed. “It was in the beginner’s stage, but if she lived, we might have had something. Funny, it was this damn storm which brought us together, and this damn storm which broke us apart.”

“I’m sorry,” Reese said. Then added, “Were you the last one to see her alive?”

“She came to work. Half the town saw her the day before she died. I’m in the half that didn’t.”

“My men will narrow down the list.”

“What about Doris White?”

“We have to go with the freshest site. Find the killer of one, find the killer of both,” Reese said.

The waitress who came to the office stopped by the table to freshen Peck’s coffee. Peck stared at her.

“The other day when you asked me to check on Deb,” Peck said. “You said Paco went to check on her. Do you know if he did?”

“I haven’t seen him,” the waitress said. “He won’t be in until midnight to clean up and wash dishes.”