Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 01 - Courting Murder (3 page)

Frizz jumped from his patrol car and slogged to where the bodies had been discovered. Neal followed Frizz. Rosswell followed Neal. The EMTs stayed in the ambulance.

“Damn,” Frizz said when they reached the spot.

“Oh, shit,” Neal said.

“Holy crap!” Rosswell said.

After the storm, Rosswell’s acid reflux and allergies soared to epic proportions, yet his headache had disappeared.

Along with the bodies.

T
he killers planned Eddie Joe
Deckard’s murder on a cloudless, starry night, under a full moon. Torturing and blackmailing him hadn’t achieved the result they wanted. Execution was the only way.

“Do you really think we could pull it off?” the killer asked Babe as they sat in the dark woods at the edge of the broad bank leading to the river. Unlike a lot of streams around there, the bank wasn’t gravel but earth, all the way to the water’s edge. The trees stopped and the bank sloped gently for several more feet until the shore met the water. The scent of honeysuckle and rose verbena pervaded the air. Whippoorwills called to their mates.

A beautiful place. A place for lovers. A place for murder.

“It’s spooky out here. Why’d we have to come here?”

As usual, Babe had a problem answering a direct question. The bitter taste of anger flooded the killer’s throat and mouth. “I asked you, do you think we could do it and not get caught?” Repetition shouldn’t have been necessary for the bitch. Her listening abilities were excellent. This wouldn’t turn out good unless she paid attention as she did in her real life. Lawyers listen and pay attention. The killer had spent a lot of time lying flat, working out all the details, and the killer wanted her to listen.

Babe said nothing. She rose and, in the same motion, brushed away the dead leaves, grass, sticks, and small rocks—the stuff that clings to a woman’s butt when she sits on the ground in the woods. She made no move to leave but continued standing, still breathing hard, still looking around, and wringing her hands.

The killer watched the show of nerves as long as was bearable. “God damn it, I asked you a question and I want an answer.” The killer knew Babe had been beat down so much in her life that the only way to get a response was to beat her down some more. She’d done a superb job of hiding that from the public, but the killer had discovered it and used it against her. Besides, the killer liked beating her down.

Babe plopped down beside the killer and collected a new bunch of stuff on her butt. “If I didn’t think … believe … we could do it, then I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

Just like a woman. The killer knew about being a woman. “Would you listen to the question? Read my lips.” Why can’t women answer a direct question? “Do you think we can do it and not get caught?”

Now Babe pouted. “I can’t see your lips all that good. It’s dark. Or hadn’t you noticed? Spookier than all get out.”

“It’s not that dark. There’s a full moon and lots of starlight.” The killer clenched fists and pounded Babe’s arms. “Do you think we can get away with it?” That got her attention.

“Stop it,” Babe whimpered. She rubbed her arms but didn’t return the killer’s blows. “Mighty testy tonight.”

The killer stayed silent. Sometimes, after getting Babe’s attention, the killer had to give her time to think.

“All right,” Babe said. She started with the labored breathing and worrywart stuff again. “Yes, I think we could get away with it. If we’re careful and nothing screws up the plan, we can escape without them noticing and live happily ever after. A fairy princess story for sure.”
Babe laughed and laughed. “Now, that’s pretty funny. A fairy princess story. We’re sure a couple of freaking fairies.” Babe laughed again but the high-pitched whinny wasn’t pretty.

“Good.” The killer moved a hand between Babe’s legs. “We’d fit good in a fairy princess story.”

“And if the plan does get screwed up? What if someone gets on to us? Then what do we do?”

“After the first execution, the second one gets easier.” The killer continued caressing Babe, the feel of her shooting waves of pleasure. “Someone gets in our way, we kill them. Simple.”

“Something else.” The touching didn’t stop Babe’s talking.

“And what would that be?” The killer spoke in a coy, shy, altogether fake voice. The fingers of the other hand moved, exploring the place where the stuff had collected on Babe. Her earlobe tasted salty when the killer chewed on it.

“Why,” Babe said, stifling a moan of pleasure, “did we have to come out here? I hate being in the dark. Outside in the dark.”

“Is that your silly little fret? I never noticed you hating the dark.”

The killer used both hands now, rubbing front and back. Even that didn’t stop Babe from talking. Her moans of pleasure sounded better than her whiny voice.

Between deep breaths, Babe said, “Outside in the dark, reminds me of things. Things that didn’t go too well. He liked the dark. I mean things still have a way of—”

“Shut up.” The killer stopped exploring, taking her face in both hands. Babe appeared to rock on the edge of an abyss. The killer had to stop her from throwing herself over. “Keep your mouth shut tight.”

“I’m shut,” Babe mumbled through clenched teeth.

“I’m not real sure you need to dwell on those things.” The killer stuck one hand down Babe’s pants and the other hand on the back of her neck. “Those things are over and done, and we’ll stamp finished on it. Look at it this way—maybe those things will help you when we carry out the plan. You have to search for silver liners in black clouds.”

“Linings.”

The killer paid no heed. “Yes, think of those things that way. It will help you.”

Babe choked back a sob. “They keep playing over and over in my head. Those things replay like a YouTube video stuck in repeat mode. They play in my mind where I see scenes of him—”

“Stop.”

Babe stopped. Then summoning a trace of tenderness, the killer spoke, gently explaining the necessity of this death. “You know why we have to do this. It’s the only logical and rational thing to do. We went over all the reasons before. No one but us will punish that bastard. He violated both of us and no one cares.” Babe scooted close to the killer. “We came out here because here’s where it’s going to happen.”

“Here?” Babe’s voice cracked. “I didn’t know that was part of the plan. Here?”

“I’ve checked it out. There are no houses for miles, the road isn’t used much, and it’s a nice place. In fact, except for the camping area, no one is allowed here after sundown. We’re trespassing.” The killer smiled and cooed at Babe. “There are trees, rocks, birds, streams, plants, and animals. This is nature at its best. A nice place.”

“A nice place?” The wonder at the label for the place was plain in Babe’s voice. “All that’s here is a bunch of dirt. Dirt and dirty stuff. Woods are junky places full of green crap. Towns are nice places.”

“Now that’s where you’ve gone wrong. This is a nice place, a perfect place for the death. Spring is the time of rebirth, a time for new resolutions.” The killer gestured at the words, although it’s doubtful that Babe could see the hands moving. Gesturing helped the talk flow. “We should begin the new year in the spring, not the dead of winter. It seems more like a new year when new things are budding and new animal babies are being born. This is a good time to bring to life resolutions about death. Don’t you think?”

“What are you talking about?”

The killer reminded her that the question was what she thought about springtime. Hitting her again seemed a possibility.

Babe said, “I think often.”

“You should be more romantic. Thinking too much means not enough action. Thinking is simply thinking. Action is romantic.”

“Thinking is my job,” said Babe. “When will we do it?”

“The execution?” The killer felt Babe move her head, and silence fell for a few moments. “We’ll have to seize the first chance we get. It could be days, weeks. I don’t know.” The killer shook a finger at her, much like a parent scolding a kid who’d raided the cookie jar. “We have to be prepared when opportunity rings the doorbell. We have to be ready at all times.”

“How will we do it?” Babe said.

“Who? What? Where? When? How? What are you? A journalist?”

“If I’m in on this, I need to know how. The plan. How can we have a plan if we don’t have details? You keep springing new details on me and then you won’t tell me other details. I’ve got to know.”

“A gun would be nice.”

“And bring the neighbors running? That’s stupid.”

“I told you,” the killer said, “this place is isolated. Even if one of these ridge runners hears a gunshot, he’ll think it’s one of his kinfolks shooting deer before the poachers kill them off.” Not only did the killer have to grab Babe’s attention, it was work keeping it from wandering.

Babe said, “There’s more than one way to shoot an old dog.”

The killer laughed. Babe said something funny? What a miracle!

“He’s a son of a bitch,” the killer said. “A dog shooting is exactly what we’re going to have. A gun right between the mutt’s ears would turn the deadly trick.” The killer’s target practice had been regular and effective. The shots wouldn’t miss.

Babe said, “I’d like a gun.”

“You would. A gun is just like you.” Babe was a woman who loved guns.

“Or a knife. That would be quiet. Quiet and effective.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“No,” Babe said.

“Also just like you not to have a gun,” the killer said, once again pointing out the obvious. She claimed to love guns yet didn’t have one. “Then how about a knife? You’re right that a knife would be quiet. You have a knife? And I don’t mean a butcher knife. A butcher knife is meant for dead meat. We need a knife meant for live meat.”

“A knife.” Babe snapped her fingers so hard it sounded like the pop of a firecracker. “Yes, a knife would be quiet and quick.”

“Got one?”

“Everybody’s got a knife, and I don’t mean a butcher knife. You can never tell when a knife might come in handier than a thumb on a monkey. There’s a knife in the office.”

The killer had a better idea. “No, I’ve got it. A hangman’s noose. A nice noose for an execution in this nice place.”

“A noose it is.” Babe kicked at a sweet smelling golden currant shrub. “It might take longer. Choking takes longer. But it would be quiet and it would work. I’d enjoy watching that dish of crap choke to death.” She crushed several of the shrub’s yellow flowers in her hands. “But what do we do with the body? Bury it here?”

“That’s the last thing we want to do.”

Babe said, “Then what?”

The killer listened to a bullfrog belching love songs for a few seconds before answering.

“If we dump the body in the middle of everything, where we talked about before, they’ll never suspect us. They’ll never suspect us.”

“Why? That makes no sense. I’m not sure I understand this part. How would it help us to dump a body on the courthouse square?”

“We’re smart, outlandishly smart,” the killer said. “They’ll think whoever did it was stupid to dump the scum there. Distraction is our insurance. We’ll be magicians, pointing one way with the right hand while the left hand does the deed. It’s so simple, it’s subtle.”

To emphasize the feeling of ingenuity for figuring out this part of the plan, the killer kissed her. Deep. She tasted sweet.

Babe said, “The hammer strikes, the anvil remains.”

“What the hell does that mean? You’re just full of witty sayings, aren’t you?”

“But if we dug a grave here, no one would ever find it.”

“Right. No one would find it. No one, that is, until one of these hillbillies goes coon hunting. The dog would lose it when he got near the body. I’m not getting my ass in a squeeze from some tie hacker’s mixed breed coonhound sniffing a corpse.”

“I see,” Babe said. “I think I see.” She tilted her head back to stare at the sky, now full of clouds. “I’m not sure I see. If someone finds the body here, they’d suspect us but if they find it in the middle of every- thing, they won’t suspect us? I don’t get it.”

“Trust me, it’ll work. Isn’t this a nice place? Such a nice place.”

“A nice place for a murder. My Taser will make it even nicer.”

“Stun him first. I like that.” The killer laughed. “But God damn it twice. We’ve talked about that. It’s not murder, it’s an execution.”

“It’s the excitement. I forgot.”

“I’m sorry you have to be outside in the dark. Perhaps I can make it up to you.” Without standing, the killer took off every stitch of clothes, not bothering to knock away the stuff of the forest floor, which now clung to bare skin. Then the killer removed Babe’s clothing. A hand, then the mouth went to Babe’s favorite place. And the killer did other things, glorious things, to Babe. And Babe returned the favors.

They touched each other everywhere. Then the killer made it up to Babe. No maybe there.