The River Runs Dry (8 page)

Jack was sure he had his man. The kid was only 18, but the apartment was near to the Brewhouse and overlooked the entrance from down the street. It would have been the perfect vantage point to watch the girls come out and stumble off back to Claire Marshall's house.

He was tall, too, and strong for his age, physically capable of subduing a woman and inflicting the sort of wounds she'd suffered from. Jack could see it all playing out – a troubled teen watching these girls from afar, creeping after them and killing them in their home.

He'd gone to the boy's apartment with two officers and brought him in for questioning. They had his blood at the scene, he even wore boots that fit the mud stains found on the entrance to the house.

When Jack questioned him, however, he quickly realized that he was on the wrong track. It wasn't just his instincts that told him that, it was the fact that the boy had an alibi, a concrete fucking alibi: he hadn't even been in town that night, he'd been away on a hunting trip with his old man.

And the blood? Well, the kid worked as an handyman, doing odd-jobs for various people around town. One of them just happened to be Claire Marshall, whose lawns he cut and windows he cleaned. It just so happened, that at some point he must have nipped himself on that loose bit of wood.

Of course, the press quickly found out what was going on and were having a field day. All Jack had done was follow through with protocol, following up on what appeared to be a promising lead. But the press didn't see it that way, and were slowly trying to make Jack into the pantomime villain of the piece.

“Do you have any idea what I'm having to deal with here Jack. The boy's father is thinking of suing.”

Jack's eyebrows curled down into a frown. “Come on Bill, he can't sue, I was within my legal rights to bring him in.”

“Yes, well, we know that, but it's just another headache. He's been talking to the press, so has the kid. No matter what, he's going to be tarred with this his entire life, you do know that don't you.”

Jack nodded his head slowly.

“People believe what they want to believe. There are always going to be whispers about that kid now,” Bill continued. “I've seen too many innocent people taken in by the police who become outcasts in their own communities. You've got to be absolutely sure, Jack, before you make any move.”

“I had to follow the lead Bill. He fit the profile, we had his blood at the scene. It was a mistake, but an honest one. People should understand that.”

“
Should
and
will
are two very different words.”

“Well I need to do my job, and to be quite honest, it's the press who are creating these problems. If I could work without them hounding my every move that would be very helpful.”

“Well, we've been trying to keep them out of things, but it's not as easy as that. This is a great story for them Jack, and they're gonna stick with it until it runs out of steam. You've got to learn to tolerate them, or you'll end up doing something you regret.”

Jack nodded. Bill might have been living the quiet life out here in Burgess for a long time, but he'd built up a lot of experience and wisdom over the years. His advice was well taken.

“Look, let's draw a line under this and move on, shall we. I've spoken with the Sheriff and, well, I know you go back a long way, so he's completely behind you. What else have you got?”

“Honestly?”

Bill nodded.

“Not much. There was nothing at the scene, no one along the road saw him approach the house, go in, or leave...”

“CCTV?”

“Nothing. There are some cameras in the center of town, but only there.”

“What about personal security cameras outside people's homes?”

“Again, nothing. There are a few in the area, but not many, and none that can see so far onto the street. I've spoken to all residents, and no one has been able to help thus far.”

The chief scratched his patchy brown beard, thinking.

“The chloroform, can we trace it somehow?”

Jack shook his head again. “There's nowhere in town that sells it. You can't buy it over the counter anyway, so the only way to get hold of some would be if the killer worked for a medical company of some sort, of which there are none in Burgess. Of course, you can make it at home as well, with the right ingredients, but they'd be impossible to trace.”

“And elsewhere, surrounding towns? There's nothing to say the killer lives in Burgess.”

“No, of course. There are a couple of pharmaceutical companies in the county, and some major hospitals as well. They would stock it. But there's little chance of that leading anywhere. If, and it's a big if, the killer were to have taken the solvent from their place of work, they could have done so at any time. They could work there, or may have stolen some. And, like I say, they might also have made it at home.”

“So that's a dead end as well?”

Jack nodded. “I'm afraid so.”

Jack stared into Bill's face, who looked just as tired and weary as he did. Things were already starting to take their toll; the heat, the press, this elusive killer, all weighing them down.

Jack knew where they stood right now. He knew exactly what needed to happen, although he felt appalled at himself for even thinking it. Right now, they had nothing, zip, nada. The killer was beating them, he was beating Jack, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Do you want the truth sir?” Jack said, a hint of resignation in his voice.

Chief Bill Trickle lifted his eyes to Jack's and looked him dead in the eye.

“I don't think we're going to find anything until he kills again.”

“And you think he will?” asked Bill, an ominous tone to his words.

Jack stared at him and nodded, slowly. “Yes sir, I've no doubt about it.”

Chapter 10

Jessie stood in her house, waiting patiently while the realtor carefully looked around the living room. He was noting down things as he went, and asking questions every so often.

“So do you own the entire property?” he asked, still ticking things off his checklist and annotating in the margins.

“Yes, there's no mortgage on it at all.”

“That's unusual for so young a girl. How old are you Miss Trent, if you'll excuse me asking.”

“I'm 23, and the house belonged to my mom, it was passed down through the family.”

“And where is she?”

“She died, over two years ago now.”

The realtor turned quickly up from his clipboard and looked at Jessie. “Oh, I'm sorry. So, you live here alone?”

“Yes,” she said.

The guy nodded before turning back to his businesslike voice. “So, obviously the market isn't what it used to be right now. There aren't too many buyers out there, so it might be hard to get the sort of money the house might be worth at another time.”

Jessie wasn't overly surprised to hear that. She'd heard that house prices had been falling for some time.

“This heat isn't helping either. Someone moving here from another town might think twice when they turn up to this sort of weather. It's off-putting for people at the best of times.”

“So I guess work's been hard then?” Jessie asked, a bluntness to her words. “You work on commission, don't you?”

“I get a basic wage packet, but commission is where the real money is. I wouldn't say business has been flourishing lately, no.”

The guy looked slightly downcast, but continued along professionally.

He wrote a couple of notes on his pad once more as his eyes drifted around the house. “There's another factor to consider as well, one that may also have a negative impact on our ability to sell your property at the moment Miss Trent.”

Jessie shook her head lightly and linked eyes with him. She knew what he was about to say.

“It's these murders, these rumors of a serial killer on the loose. It's not exactly an enticing attraction for people moving to the area. There are fees, of course. If we're unable to sell the house, there will still be charges to pay us.”

“It sounds like you don't think I should sell? I suppose I should thank you for your honesty.”

The man smiled. “Look, we can try, but like I say, don't expect to get full value. If you want that, I'd advise you wait.”

“And what do you think the loss is likely to be?”

“It's hard to say really. The local housing market has been going through a drought, just like the weather. With so few sales, it's hard to gauge what you might expect to get with any real accuracy. As far as I know, no houses have been sold in this neighborhood for over 6 months.”

“But none of them are on the market,” said Jessie quickly, “so that's not relevant is it?”

“Well, there's a reason they're not on the market Miss Trent. No one is even trying to sell right now.”

Jessie rolled her eyes slightly and huffed. “You do seem pretty keen to put me off selling! I'd have thought you'd be desperate to get me on your books.”

“Well, we realtors aren't all looking to just get our cut. Frankly, if you decide to sell, I still won't get anything myself unless I find a buyer you're happy with. So, there's no guarantees for me either. The power stays with you really.”

Jessie sat down on the sofa, a look of dejection spreading over her face. It wasn't the news she wanted, but it's what she expected.

“It seems as though you're in a rush to move, or am I wrong?” said the realtor, moving in and sitting down opposite Jessie.

“I suppose. I guess when you make your mind up about something it's hard to hear that it might not happen for you.”

The guy nodded. “Yep, we all know that feeling. What's your urgency, if it's not too personal to tell?”

“No, it's fine. I've just had enough of living here really, for reasons I won't bore you with. I want to go back to college, and need the money.”

“But what about a student loan?”

Jessie shook her head. “I won't get one. I already had one before, I've got too much debt already.”

“So you were at college, and then you left?”

Jessie nodded, unwilling to give too much away to a stranger.

“Right, so that explains the quick sale – pay off debt, cover new costs. That makes sense.”

Jessie stayed quiet.

“Look,” continued the realtor. “Let's have a run at it, shall we. You look like you want out, so we'll give it a go. Don't be put off by the fees. They're pretty minimal really if we don't manage to sell the place. It's really us who bares the brunt of it. I've worked in this business long enough to know that anything can happen. So, what do you think?”

Jessie looked up.

“And what's your percentage of the sale?”

“Usually 6%.”

Jessie thought for a moment, still slightly torn about selling, or even trying to sell, the house at all. The house had been in the family for a long time, and Burgess had always been her home. But she knew, deep down, that her mom would want her to move on, follow her dreams. She'd spent too long in the wilderness now, too long hiding behind her grief. It was time to let go.

She looked at the realtor, who had a friendly expression on his face, his eyes slightly wide as he awaited her response. When it came, it brought a smile to both of their faces: “OK,” she said, “let's do it.”

…

It was later that same night that Jessie found herself with a cold beer in her hand in the Shack, surrounded by people, young and old, she'd known for years. It was hard telling some of them that she planned to sell her mom's house and move on. Jessie's mother had, before her death, been a hugely popular figure in the town her whole life, and it would be sad to see the Trent name leave the town for good.

She'd told Darcia about her intentions a couple of days before, so she wasn't hearing it for the first time. Frankly, the state she'd been in recently, she was likely to make a scene, so it had been best telling her separately. When she told the rest of her high school friends who'd remained in Burgess, the reaction was as expected: upset, but understanding. When Jessie returned from college after the death of her mom, her local friends knew it was only a matter of time before she'd leave again. Most of them were probably surprised it had taken so long.

Jessie sat now, round a large circular table, as people took turns up on stage, entertaining the crown with a mixed bag of musical performances. A night that had started out as a regular drinking session had quickly escalated into an impromptu leaving do, with half her friends insisting on buying Jessie drinks.

Most seemed happy for her, but not all. No, there was one particular friend who'd found it particularly hard to crack a smile all night. Instead his eyes still lingered on Jessie, becoming ever more gloomy as the evening wore on.

It wasn't until later on that Liam finally moved to talk to her, rather than sitting wistfully at the back of the group. He crept in beside Jessie and, amid a torturous rendition of 'Living on a Prayer' by Tony, finally found his voice.

“So you're leaving,” was all he could say, as if he'd only just heard and it hadn't been the subject of conversation all night.

Jessie turned her eyes from the stage and her smile dampened at the look in his eyes. “It's time,” she said. “Although only if the house sells.”

Liam's eyes raised a touch. “So you haven't sold the house yet?”

“Oh God no, I've only just talked to the realtor. It doesn't sound too promising to be completely honest.”

Liam cracked his first smile of the evening. “So you might be staying after all?”

Jessie looked at him, trying to cover his smile and narrow his eyes. It was touching, in a way. She knew he wanted her to stay, that much was obvious enough. Liam was one of those guys stuck in the mud, and probably happily so. He would never leave Burgess, but he'd always wanted Jessie to be the same.

“Well, I will be leaving eventually Liam. If not now, then soon. It's only a matter of time really.”

His eyes dropped a touch again as she spoke. “Well, you were always too good for this town Jess. I guess it's no surprise that you want to go.”

“I'll come back, though. I'll come back to visit everyone all the time. This is where I grew up, so it will always be home for me.”