Murder Comes by Mail (26 page)

Buck pulled up on his door handle. “Guess we can’t let a dog show more nerve than us, Mike. Let’s go take a look-see.”

Michael climbed out of the truck and followed Buck toward the car. Dread pressed down on him until he could hardly breathe. Nobody had called in anybody missing. Nobody could be missing in Hidden Springs two days without somebody noticing. Even so, he had no doubt he was going to know the blonde in the car.

The windows were all closed, but that didn’t keep the smell from leaking out to them. Michael put his hand in front of his nose and tried to take shallow breaths.

Beside him, Buck choked out a cough and turned away from the car. “Oh, man!”

Michael clamped his throat closed and made himself look. The face was barely recognizable. The gunshot wound was to the side of her head closest to the window. Jackson must have caught her by surprise. But what was she doing with him to begin with?

Without the hair, Michael might not have known her. She was dressed in a red knit sleeveless top and a short white skirt. Her hands were folded over her chest just like in the pictures of Hope and Kim Barbour. When Michael held his breath and leaned closer, he could see the nylon fishing line holding her hands in place.

“Wait, Mike.” Buck stepped back another couple of feet. “Don’t open that.” He whipped out his handkerchief to cover his nose. “Better let the troops get here before we disturb the crime scene.”

“Right.” Michael looked away from the woman’s body in the car out at the clear, blue lake. He’d never seen the water look so inviting. “I wish I could just jump in the lake.”

“Yeah. Probably couldn’t smell this underwater. Any idea who she is?”

“Julie Lynne Hoskins.” Michael shut his eyes and remembered how the woman had flaunted her beautiful body to shock her Hidden Springs fans after the play in Eagleton. So sleek. So beautiful. So alive.

Michael turned away from the car. He was glad when Jasper leaped up to plant his paws on his chest. Usually he kneed the dog when he jumped up on him, but not this time. He ruffled the dog’s ears, then buried his face in his fur to breathe in his dog smell.

“She from Hidden Springs?” Buck was back at his truck, his hand on the door handle. “I don’t recognize the name.”

Michael raised his head away from Jasper. He couldn’t hide from it forever. “She grew up here. Went to school with me. She’s an actress now. Was an actress. Starred in that play over in Eagleton last week.”

“The play you were driving the old church ladies to when you saw the jumper?”

“The very one.”

“How would Jackson know that?”

“Hank probably put something about the play in the
Gazette
article. I don’t know. I never read it.” He pushed Jasper off his chest. “But one of the women was Julie Lynne’s aunt. That’s why they decided to go.” Michael looked over his shoulder toward the car. “I feel like we ought to cover her up.”

“Nobody out here to see her who hasn’t already seen it all.” Buck didn’t look back at the car. “Look, we’re going to have to drive out of here to get a signal to call this in.”

“You go. I’ll stay here to secure the scene.” Michael fished his house key out of his pocket and handed it to Buck. “You can go in my house and call on my landline if you can’t pick up a signal on your cell phone. Or you can use the radio in my cruiser. Better tell Betty Jean to call Justin.”

“His hearse won’t get through that road,” Buck said.

“Right. Guess you’ll have to wait and let him ride down here with you in your truck.”

“My truck?” Buck swallowed hard, realizing what that meant. The body was going to have to be carried out some way. “We should have come down in your old rust bucket.”

“The keys are in it.” Michael shrugged. “I haven’t driven it for a few days, but if you can get it started, you can drive it down here if you want.”

“What’ll I tell old cameraman? He sees Justin, we won’t be able to keep him away.”

“He won’t want to take a picture of this.”

“That man would take a picture of anything,” Buck grumbled as he got in his truck and slammed the door extra hard. He turned around and was gone up the rough road.

The sound of the truck faded away and left nothing but the buzzing of flies in Michael’s ears. He studied the ground as he walked in half circles behind the car. Jasper seemed to know it wasn’t the time to chase squirrels or dig for moles and followed close behind him.

Michael doubted he’d find anything, but he needed to be moving. Doing something. He couldn’t bear the thought of Julie Lynne in that car. Because of him.

He’d made his fourth sweep of the area without finding anything more interesting than a garter snake slipping out of sight in the weeds when he heard someone coming. Walking. He wasn’t surprised when Hank came around the curve into sight. Michael stopped and waited.

Rivulets of sweat were running down Hank’s face and his shirt was plastered to his back. “It’s hotter than blue blazes out here.” He stopped in front of Michael and pulled his shirttail up to wipe his face. It took him a minute to find a spot dry enough. “And a lot farther back here than Buck said.”

“He tell you to walk in?”

“Yeah.” Hank dabbed at his face again, but he couldn’t keep ahead of the sweat. “Said you’d found Jackson’s car and that it wasn’t far. A stroll in the park, he said. Buck has a great sense of humor.” Hank looked toward the car. “What is that awful smell?”

“Julie Lynne Hoskins.”

All the color drained out of the editor’s face and his eyes rolled back in his head. He made a strange noise as he wobbled up and back on his feet like one of those round-bottomed kids’ toys.

“Easy, Hank.” Michael grabbed the man’s arms, but no way could he keep him on his feet. He lowered him to a sitting position on the ground. He wished for the smelling salts in his emergency kit back in his cruiser, but he’d have to make do without them. “Put your head down between your knees and breathe in and out. You better not be having a heart attack.”

Hank did as he was told. After a few minutes of slow breaths, he raised his head. Color had flooded back to his face. “I’m all right, Michael. It’s just . . .” Hank peeped toward the car and went pale again. “It’s just that I can’t keep from thinking that could be Rebecca Ann.”

“But it’s not.” Michael made his voice firm. “Rebecca Ann is safe, away from it all. So get hold of yourself.”

“You’re right, Michael. Sorry.” Hank fingered the camera strap around his neck. “I guess I should take some pictures.”

“Not until we get the body covered.”

Hank didn’t argue. He stayed where he was on the ground and looked around. “Do you think Jackson walked out of here?”

“I don’t know. I’m guessing he did.”

“All the way out to the road?” Hank frowned. “Then what? He thumb a ride with some local yokel? And why would he pick this place? You think he knew you lived down here?”

“Yeah, I think he did.” Michael didn’t bother answering Hank’s other questions, but he had to believe if Jackson walked out of here back to the highway, somebody would have seen him. Could be he had tied a boat up somewhere before bringing the car down to the lake. The man seemed fast and organized.

“Do you think he’s got somebody helping him?” Hank went on with his questions. “It just seems like all this gets weirder and weirder. I know that Eagleton detective didn’t think Rebecca Ann knew what she was talking about when she said the man who gave her the pictures didn’t look like the picture of Jackson in the paper, but the girl is a lot like me. She notices things and remembers faces.”

“Whitt will be here. You can tell him what you think, but psycho killers are generally loners.”

Hank didn’t act as if he heard him. Instead he kept talking as though trying to figure it all out. “And now he had to get out of here and it’s a long walk back to civilization. Somebody would have seen him.”

“Maybe he had a canoe or kayak tied on top of the car.”

“The Jackson we saw on the bridge?” Hank turned disbelieving eyes on Michael. “You think that guy would even fit in a kayak?”

“Who knows? The man is full of surprises.” Michael looked back at the lake as if it might reveal some unseen clue. “He didn’t look like somebody who could kill three women and take those posed pictures either.”

“That’s the truth. And then figure out how to get those pictures into the hands of a newspaperman.” Hank wiped the sweat off his forehead. “It’s like we’re talking about two different people or maybe a half-dozen different people. You think this Jackson has a multiple personality? That Dr. Colson said something about that when he called me.”

“That might explain it.” Michael dropped down beside Hank. Jasper shoved up against him. He’d taken a dip in the lake, and Michael welcomed his wet dog smell. He looked over at Hank. “Do you really hate dogs?”

“Sometimes I wonder about you, Mike.” Hank frowned at him. “What difference does it make whether I like dogs or not?”

“None. None at all. Just curious.”

“But better than talking about dead women, I guess.” Hank blew out a long breath. “So if you want to talk dogs, we can talk about dogs.”

“I like dogs.” Michael ran his hand down Jasper’s back.

“You must have never got bit.” Hank didn’t wait for Michael to say anything. “Well, I have. Used to get bit all the time when I delivered papers for my granddaddy back when I was a kid. Anyway, this one little dog lay in wait for me every time and then did his best to grab the back of my leg. I wanted to quit taking the paper to that house, but Granddad said it was just a little dog and all I had to do was kick it a few times and it wouldn’t bother me anymore.”

“Did it work?”

“I almost threw my leg out of joint kicking at that dog, but he was a quick little rascal. I never landed the first kick.” Hank was silent for a minute before he went on. “Then one day I got there and somebody had run over the dog. Flattened him right out in front of the gate to his yard. You’d have thought I’d be glad, but it was a funny thing. Instead, I got all teary-eyed and wished the scoundrel was biting my ankle. People are weird, aren’t they?”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Hank was quiet as he plucked some grass blades. “You asked your question. Now I get to ask mine.”

“Fair enough.”

The editor shifted on the ground like a stick had started poking his rear. He kept his gaze on the ground. “You go to church, Mike. You even sort of date a preacher woman. Tell me.” Hank looked over at Michael and then quickly back at the grass in his hand. “You think God does this kind of thing to punish us? You know, because we skip church to go to a ballgame or whatever. Or get too busy to pray and give the Big Guy enough credit for the good things in our lives.”

“No.”

Hank looked at him again. “Is that all you’ve got to say? No. I need more than that.”

“I’m no theologian, Hank. You’d do better asking Karen.”

“Karen’s not here. You are.” Hank pointed toward the car. “And she is. Very dead maybe because I put her name in the paper.”

“Or because I pulled a jumper back from the brink.”

“So has God got something against us? You and me.”

Michael wanted to just say no again. Leave it at that. Some things couldn’t be explained, but Hank was staring at him, expecting more. More than Michael knew to give. “I don’t think so, Hank. Bad things happen. Sometimes because they just happen. And sometimes like this.” Michael motioned toward the car. “Because of somebody evil. Some kind of monster.”

“Who’d have ever thought we’d have to worry about that kind of monster here in Hidden Springs?”

“Not me.”

“But God could stop it, couldn’t he?”

“Maybe he’s depending on us to do that. To stop it. Good over evil.”

“You think we’re good enough?” Hank picked up a rock and scraped out a little hole in the ground beside them.

“With the Lord’s help, maybe. At least I hope so. I sincerely hope so.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Hank gave the rock a pitch. “Me too.”

They sat there then without saying anything as bees buzzed past them and a mockingbird ran through his songs in a tree behind them. The sun climbed higher in the sky and waves of heat rose up off the car. Michael thought he should go check for marks that might indicate a canoe had been tied on top of the car, but he didn’t get up. He stayed there between Hank and Jasper and took shallow breaths that kept the smell from being as bad.

After a long time, Hank spoke. “Where do you think he sent the pictures?”

27

The sun was straight up when Buck brought Justin in. He took a quick look through the window at the body and agreed with Buck and Michael they should wait for the Eagleton homicide people to get there. Once would be enough to open that door.

“It’s not like there’s any question as to cause of death,” Justin said. “Gunshot to the head. Death instantaneous.”

“How long ago?” Michael asked.

“Hard to say,” Justin hedged.

Michael didn’t know why he asked. The fact was, Justin would have no idea. The only reason he was coroner was because he was the local funeral director. The people of Hidden Springs thought it logical to vote him in as coroner since he’d be the one collecting the bodies for the funeral home anyway. Plus, they figured he was the only man in town who didn’t mind looking at dead people, but Michael knew better. He’d been beside Justin at enough accident scenes to know the only time the man didn’t mind being coroner was when he could say a person died of natural causes in his or her sleep.

People who died of unnatural causes made Justin nervous, and poor Julie Lynne’s very unnatural death made him very nervous. While they waited for Whitt to show up, the tall, thin man wore a path in the grass and weeds in front of the tree where Hank and Michael slouched in the shade. Buck had gone back out to the highway to usher in the Eagleton troops. It was his truck, and he wasn’t about to stay anywhere close to that car if he could come up with a reason not to.

Michael slapped at a mosquito and wondered if drinking lake water really made a person as sick as the health people warned. He asked Hank what he thought.

Hank kept his eyes shut and didn’t act as if he heard him. Michael studied Hank’s chest. His breathing didn’t appear labored, but something was wrong with the man. Asking questions about God and not once pulling out his little notebook and pen to jot down any details for next week’s
Gazette
. He hadn’t even taken a picture of the car.