Dunston Falls (7 page)

Peck ignored Bender’s comment and looked at McCoy. “Anybody get wind of Doris White?”

“Not that I could determine. If they have, nobody said anything to me.”

“Somebody must know her. You’re sure nobody’s asked or missed her?” Peck said.

McCoy shook his head. “Not to me.”

Regan said, “By my count, we have two hundred town residents staying at the church and hospital. That leaves a hundred or so still in their homes. People must figure she is one of those hundred, if they figure anything at all.”

“What about Sunday mass?” Peck said.

“What about it?” Regan sipped coffee, looking at Peck over the rim of the cup.

“You said she was a regular at Sunday mass,” Peck said. “Sunday is two days from now. Somebody might notice she isn’t there and ask around. Maybe take a ride out to her place to check on her. They come back and ask questions, then what?”

Regan’s surprise registered in his eyes. “I…….. hadn’t thought of that.”

Bender said, “We might have the state police here by then. I wouldn’t worry too much about it until we have to.”

Peck sipped coffee and looked at Bender. “Jay, rule number one in a homicide investigation is you never stop worrying until the jury says guilty.”

With a crackling fire for background noise, Bender twisted frequency knobs on the short wave radio. After several minutes of static, he shut it off and looked at Peck who was at his desk, making notes.

“Nothing,” Bender said. “You think somebody would be there. Anybody.”

Peck looked up from his notes. “A few hundred state cops scattered throughout a state the size of Maine, what makes you think they’re sitting around waiting for a distress call from us?”

Frustrated, Bender slapped the side of the short wave radio on his way to his desk. “And where the hell is Kranston?”

“Home and asleep in his own bed if he had any sense.”

Bender checked his watch and looked at Peck. “It’s after eleven. Maybe I think I’ll go home and try to get some sleep.”

Peck scribbled a note. “No reason for the both of us to lose a night’s sleep.” The truth was he could hardly wait to see Deb again and hoped Bender’s interest in the state police would wane and he would do what he said and go home.

Bender stood up and reached for his jacket on the coat hook when the door opened and one of Deb’s waitresses entered the office.

“Sheriff, Jay, can I see you for a minute.” she said.

Peck and Bender looked at her. She appeared nervous and her eyes darted back and forth between the two men.

“Yes?” Peck said. “Is there something we can help you with?”

“She didn’t come in. I thought I should tell you.”

“Who, you mean Deb?” Peck said.

The waitress nodded. “It’s probably nothing, but we asked Paco to take a run to her place on his way home and check on her. It’s silly, but……”

“No,” Peck said. “It isn’t.”

“So much for going home,” Bender said. He looked at Peck. “I’ll go warm up the car.”

Peck nodded to Bender, and then looked at the waitress. “Are you off work?”

“Yes.”

“Can you get home?”

“I have a ride.”

“Go home. Stay there. Everything will be fine,” Peck said. “And don’t worry. Deb probably couldn’t get her truck started and there’s no phones to call.”

The waitress smiled at Peck. “You’re probably right. I’m probably worrying for nothing.”

“You did the right thing,” Peck said. As he stood up, he could feel the anxiety building up in his stomach. “I’ll walk you out.”

THREE

Bender had a steady hand behind the wheel of the heavy cruiser. The drive to Deb Robertson’s home took thirty minutes, as Bender had to hold speed to thirty-five miles an hour to avoid severe skid out on the ice-covered roads.

When they arrived at her home, Bender parked the cruiser close to Deb’s pickup. Peck exited the cruiser first and immediately knew something was wrong when he found the stalled pickup with the gearshift in park.

Bender exited the cruiser and stood next to Peck. “I don’t get it. She’s was warming up her truck and let it stall?”

Peck’s eyes went to the house. It was completely dark. Not even a candle was burning. Smoke was not visible from the chimney and the generator was quiet. “I don’t think so,” he said. A tight ball was forming in his gut.

“Then what?” Bender said, his eyes following Peck’s gaze.

“Let’s find out what,” Peck said.

They walked to the stairs and climbed to the top. Bender peered through a dark window, then shrugged at Peck. “Nothing,” Bender said. Peck looked at Bender, then knocked on the door and it slowly swung open.

“Shit,” Bender whispered.

Peck pulled the flashlight from his belt and Bender did the same. Peck stepped inside, followed by Bender.

“It’s freezing in here,” Bender whispered, able to see his own breath.

“Take the first floor,” Peck said. “Yell if you find anything.”

Bender nodded and moved toward the kitchen. Peck walked to the stairs and climbed to the second floor. “Deb, it’s Dave. Are you in here?”

Peck’s request went unanswered. He reached the second floor where he paused for a moment to scan the flashlight around the hallway. At the top of the landing, against the wall Peck remembered a small table where a second phone rested. The table was sideways on the floor. The phone was halfway across the hallway.

Peck shifted the flashlight to his left hand and drew his revolver. He approached the master bedroom where the door was halfway open. “Deb, are you in there?”

The silence was unsettling as Peck pushed the bedroom door completely open. Entering the bedroom, Peck swung the flashlight around the room, where end tables were overturned. A wood chair was broken and clothing littered the floor.

Peck aimed the flashlight on the bed. He dropped the flashlight and revolver to the floor and grabbed his head in his hands. The room was suddenly spinning around him. “Oh God…..oh no…..oh God….oh no,” he screamed.

Bender was suddenly in the bedroom, breathing hard from running. “Dave, what is….Jesus Mary, mother of God.”

With the hum of the generator as background noise, Peck, Kranston, Bender and Father Regan sat at the kitchen table and drank coffee, while they waited for Doctor McCoy to complete his examination. McCoy had been at it for nearly thirty minutes and that span of time seemed an endless eternity. Every so often, they could hear a creak in a floorboard as McCoy walked around the master bedroom. The sound was unnerving.

Peck lit a cigarette, his fourth in a row, and then took a sip of coffee.

Kranston cleared his throat as he looked at Peck. “Dave, I…… don’t know what to say. You were right all along. I can’t believe this has happened. I’ve known Deb……I can’t believe this has happened.”

Peck remained silent and took another sip of coffee. Above his head, the floorboard creaked.

Regan removed rosary beads from a pocket and clutched them tightly between his fingers. Peck glanced at the priest and saw Regan’s lips move in silent prayer.

Peck turned to Bender. “When you went for McCoy, did you try the state police like I asked you to?”

“For a half hour,” Bender said. “All I could raise was static.”

“Try again when we get back.”

Bender nodded his head. “The roads are drivable. I could try making the trip.”

“If we get no response,” Peck agreed.

Kranston looked at Peck. “I take responsibility for this, Dave. If I hadn’t been so stubborn about making the news public, Deb would still be alive.”

Peck shook his head. “You don’t know that. Nobody does. The man who killed her is responsible and only that man.”

“If I listened to you, if we warned people of…...”

McCoy’s footsteps drew their attention and all heads turned to the staircase. McCoy descended and walked to the kitchen table. His face was ashen, drained of any color and appeared to have aged ten years. He quietly sat down next to Peck.

“Doctor?” Peck said when McCoy remained quiet.

“You were right, Dave. I’m sorry,” McCoy said. “This should not have happened. It was preventable.” He looked at Peck. “We should have listened to you.”

“It was the same man, wasn’t it?” Peck said.

“I’m a country doctor, Dave.”

“But you are a doctor.”

“Yes, I am a doctor, which doesn’t qualify me as a forensics expert.”

“But as a doctor,” Peck insisted.

McCoy looked at Peck. “There is little doubt that both women were killed by the same man. The angle of the stab wounds, the knots in the ropes.”

“Thank you,” Peck said. He looked at Father Regan. “If you’re ready, I’ll walk up with you, father.”

The priest looked at Peck through red eyes filled with pain, and then stood up.

Peck stood up and joined Regan. Together, they slowly ascended the stairs to the second floor. At the bedroom, Regan cautiously entered, then made a sound that could only be described as anguish at the sight of Deb Robertson’s body.

In a fashion similar to Doris White, Deb Robertson was spread eagle on the bed, bound to the bedposts with rope. A dozen knife wounds were visible in her chest. Red impressions on her neck were so deep finger markings were visible. Dried blood stained the sheets and the floor near the bed and appeared quite black.

Regan turned to Peck and tears filled the priest’s eyes. “How can people do this to other people? Why?”

Peck did not respond and watched Regan at the priest moved to the bed where he began to recite the sacrament of last rites.

Peck watched the priest for as long as he could stand it, then turned away and waited in the hallway. Regan began to pray, first in English and then in Latin. Peck closed his eyes and tried to drown out the priest’s voice.

Seated on the sofa in the living room, Regan openly wept into his hands. Peck placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring, gentle squeeze before he went to the kitchen and looked at Jay. “Take everybody back, then put chains on the ambulance and return with the doctor.”

“That could take a while,” Bender said. “A couple of hours.”

Peck looked at Bender. “She isn’t going anywhere.”

Alone on the sofa, the house was cold and silent. The generator had run out of gas and candles burned for light. For something to do, Peck went around back, filled the generator from a gas can and pulled the start cord. The generator fired to life. He stood there for several minutes, staring at the generator, listening to its deafening, gas powered engine, delaying the enviable of reentering the house.

Finally returning to the living room, Peck clicked on the lights. On the sofa was a large, black carrying case. Picking up the case, Peck went upstairs to the master bedroom where he set the case aside and slipped on a pair of rubber gloves.

Walking slowly, Peck did a visual inspection of every item in the room. An upturned, rocking chair was on the floor near the foot of the bed. The night before, when he stayed over, the rocker had been in the corner of the room against the wall. A Teddy Bear rested on its seat. Peck found it under the bed, soaked in blood.

Someone, the killer, probably had moved the chair. With Deb tied up and helpless, the sick son of a bitch took a comfortable spot in the rocker where he had a bird’s eyes view of his demented handiwork.

Women’s pajamas and Deb’s robe lay tossed across the dresser. Peck inspected them and could find no traces of blood. Not even a small tear. Had the killer made her strip for him like he probably made Doris White?”

It was possible she knew him and even invited him unknowingly to her bedroom. Was her murderer another lover? It was a thought Peck did not want to face, though he knew that he had to as part of the investigation.

Peck stopped at the bed and stared for many long minutes at the lifeless body. The killer used everyday, common rope which was available anywhere. Did he bring his own or find it in the house?

The multiple stab wounds came from a kitchen, bread knife and were similar to the wounds in Doris White’s chest. Formed by a downward, striking motion, the wounds were deep, some penetrating the breastplate. The weapon was nowhere in the house. He probably took it with him and discarded it deep in the woods or kept it as a trophy, a sick reminder to relive the experience.

Peck noticed something on the fingertips of Deb’s right hand. Using a pocketknife, Peck cut the ropes and lifted the hand for a closer look. There were remnants of dried blood under the nails. He would bet the blood was not her own.

Deb had fought her assailant and she died hard.

From what little he knew of her, that seemed to fit her personality. She was not the type to lie down and go out without a fight. Maybe it was that fight which cost her, her life. Maybe Doris White, too. Maybe if they had been passive?

Peck righted the rocking chair, sat it in and lit a cigarette. He stared at the lifeless body on the bed as he smoked. If this were Baltimore, a team of detectives would jump on the murders the moment they made a connection between the two women with the idea of a serial killer/rapist case as a ticket to bigger and better things. Nothing motivated homicide detectives like a juicy story above the fold. More often than not, that motivation led to a quick and satisfactory conclusion.

If this were in Baltimore.

In Dunston nowhere Falls, Maine, you sit in a rocking chair and wait for the state police to dig their cars out of the snow and hope they have chains on their tires. Or you get around by decade old snowmobiles and hope they don’t break down.

In the meantime, three hundred innocent people were at the mercy of a very sick and violent man who murdered twice and probably won’t stop, not until he is either caught or killed.

Peck stood up and put his cigarette out in the toilet in the bathroom. He picked up the black case, opened it and removed a box camera. He inserted a bulb and took a picture from the foot of the bed. He took another from the left side, then the right. There were three bulbs left in the case. As he removed a spent bulb and reached into the case for a fresh one, the pain in his head struck so unexpectedly and so viciously, he was on the floor without realizing he had fallen.