Road, I really like Dave MacReady. It seems our entire "cast" is filled with handsome people, except Donnelley of course. LOL
How dare you
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How dare you
[REDACTED]
>THE SAFEHOUSE
>1040HRS...///
They’d made it back in good time, Tom going just slightly above the speed limit. Once they had all gathered in the living room couches, Donnelley took his usual place of leaning against the kitchen table with his arms crossed. He looked to Foster and then to Laine, “You got this?”
Dr Laine nodded at him, taking out her notebook and the autopsy report, “Yes, thank you.”
She took a seat on one of the chairs opposite of Foster and said, “I have quite a bit of information, we’ll start with the autopsy, I have a copy of the report if you’d like to read it in detail but I’ll give you and the rest of those that were not there the highlights.”
Flipping it open, she could see copies of the xrays Bakker had taken, the black shard showing up in the heart of the victim. Laine cleared her throat, “Jane Doe, age 16-23 years, cause of death massive internal bleeding caused by an unknown foreign object. The examiner believed it to have been inserted vaginally with the intent to cause internal injury, there was extensive lacerations to the uterus, cervix and punctures where the object was somehow shoved...ah, shoved through the uterine wall and up until it lacerated the liver, punctured the right lung and finally lodged into the heart, causing death.”
Laine flipped the page, her hands gripping the folder as she continued to read the summaries in a neutral voice, “Other significant trauma was the amputation of the tongue, the removal of the vocal cords and the entire epidermis and dermis layer. This was likely performed while the victim was still alive. Midazolam and Propofol both found in her system, these drugs would have rendered her immobile but no analgesic showed up in the drug tests. She felt everything.”
She paused, taking a deep breath then looked at Foster, handing him the report. “I’ll need a copy of that to reference.”
“Of course.” Foster nodded, turning to Donnelley, “We’ve got the shard in our custody? Program is going to want it.”
Donnelley nodded, “It’s in the garage.”
“Secure as ever, Donnelley.” Foster smirked.
Donnelley rolled his eyes, and turned back to Laine, “What about the Ranger?”
“I guess you’re not sending that piece of the puzzle to CJIS,” Laine commented then opened her notebook, flipping to the page of scribbled writing. “Ranger Frank Wilkins...first I’d like to note that this kid is not a local, and he is shit scared. He reiterated basically what Detective Roy said about Blackriver, people and things disappear and no one talks about it. He’s nervous, he said something about the hills having ears, like that’s a local accepted fact. He gave me a lot of information, Mr Foster but he wants out. A transfer and he’s been stonewalled by his supervisors. I told him I would try to help get him out. And I think we need to and I believe what he told me to be factual.”
Laine glanced down at the paper and said, “He told me that he was walking the trail that used to be part of an old railway to the mines and saw something, he described it as a ‘ripple’ like a heat mirage and heard a scream...then another voice, a whisper saying ‘come and see’. Mr Wilkins then followed, despite what he described as not being a brave man, and he left the trail and came onto the scene where the body was. He said nothing about any figures or footprints, even sounds in the brush only the voice. He also said the body had cloth on it, he said it looked like silk and it was black with white writing. He did not get close enough to read it but he said it was not letters, rather ‘scribble’ I take that to mean some sort of abstract symbol or character writing such as Arabic or Chinese. Of course, unless you or Roy have it, the cloth has disappeared into the Sheriff’s vaults.”
She paused here, looking at Foster then Donnelley, allowing them time before moving on.
Tom listened intently to the report from Dr. Laine. “Heather, what force would be required to move the shard from the vaginal entrance to the heart? There is no way a human could shove it up there with their arm.”
Laine shook her head slightly, “I don’t know, perhaps some sort of...spear? No splinters were found, maybe it was attached to metal.”
Tom nodded his head. A slender shaft would be required for that sort of penetration. Tom then looked at Donnelley, “Boss, if Mr. Mathieu and I are going to escort Senior Airman Weissman to wherever she is going to launch her drone, I should change out of my FBI suit and into something a bit more comfortable.”
Donnelley nodded, “I’d hope so. You’ll all be rolling in full gear. We’ll insert you along one of the forest roads up there and you’ll hike near the scene to somewhere secluded. Try to find a ridge. Take a satellite phone with you and make sure to check in three times a day.” Donnelley shifted in his seat and tightened his folded arms, “If you catch a glimpse of this guy moving around out there, call it in. I don’t want you to engage unless you have full confidence.”
“Do we have any Night Vision devices?” Tom asked.
“Anything anybody didn’t bring in, we don’t have. I can make a call to have some sent in. The drone should be equipped with IR and night vision.” Donnelley shrugged.
“Before you go running off into the hills,” Laine interrupted, “You need to hear what he told me about the old mines.”
Tom was thoroughly curious about her conversation with Wilkins. He nodded, “Certainly.”
Glancing at her notepad then up at Tom then Donnelley, “There’s mines up there, dating back to the Civil War era, so well over one hundred years old. He said they have always been associated with...well local legends, ghost stories, etc. Even the native people that once lived in this area called it a bad place of bitter water and air. It could be something natural, geological or it could mean something else. Something that might be up your...well, our alley.”
She continued, “A few years back, 2007 or 09, a man fell into the mines and was rescued by the sheriff. He apparently was screaming about a devil being down there with him. This man, David Dulane, is still alive at least as far as anyone knows, kicking around in Beckley Prison. I think we should talk to him as soon as we can. He saw something, or he was tripping balls, either way we need to make sure.”
Laine cleared her throat, refocusing, “There was a pair of hikers Mr Wilkins spoke of, they were missing and he said the Park Rangers found the husband but he didn’t continue when talking about what happened to the wife. Seeing his face, I can tell you it wasn’t good. Wilkins is scared and he said he’d call me in two days, I gave him my card. He’s probably wanting me to make good on my promise to try and get him out of there and he’ll tell me the rest, including the names of the lost hikers.”
She went silent, looking around the room and came back to Foster and Donnelley, “The rest is details I need to sort out of my notes but that’s the chunk...oh, one more thing.”
Laine tipped her notepad at Donnelley, “I asked Wilkins if he had ever visited the Sheriff and he said they had to report the lost hikers. Guess what happened?”
“Uh huh.” Donnelley nodded slow, his frown deepening. “I want to find out if the Sheriff’s case files are digital or not. I can try getting an inside man. If that doesn’t work…”
"Hicks usually have digital now, it's 2019 guys." She said typing away on her crack top.
Foster and Donnelley met eyes. Foster nodded and Donnelley’s smirk returned. “Vacation. By the way. Sheriff is either somewhere else or hiding in his office. Either way, he’s making it hard to get to him.”
“Yea and since you can’t see their files without seeing the sheriff, they don’t want you to see the sheriff,” Tom added.
“Fucking exactly. Somehow, someone is going to cut out the middleman. And when that happens,” Donnelley nodded to Gwen. “You know the rest.”
Gwen looked confused as to why the old man was nodding at her. "Yep, definitely." She said, probably something about hacking.
“That doesn’t get us the cloth,” Laine pointed out, “I want to see it.”
“Don’t be surprised when it shows up one day.” Donnelley muttered just loud enough for Laine while making like his hands were mighty interesting.
She glanced at him then pressed her lips together to suppress a smile but said nothing. Looking down at her notepad, she addressed Foster, “I think we owe Frank Wilkins our help, is there anything you can do to get him transferred out? You probably have more pull than I do.”
“I can try.” Foster shrugged, not seeming too committal. “Any other questions, anyone?”
Laine sighed inwardly, then nodded at Foster’s answer. She would need to do some calls on her own to try and get Ranger Wilkins out of the backwoods Bermuda Triangle. Or get their park ranger to help, Laurie might earn his free breakfast afterall. She turned to Donnelley, catching his eye and tilted her head towards the front door and mined smoking, “Can I talk to you real quick, alone?” She then headed outside, taking off her jacket to leave draped on the chair, her shoulder holster still in place.
On the porch she waited, an unlit black cigarette dangling between her fingers as she leaned her forearms on the railing. The view was decent if one could ignore the occasional black plume of coal smoke and the stink that mingled with sunwarmed pine.
Donnelley looked at Foster and raised his eyebrows. Not waiting for any cue or answer from the other man, Donnelley rose and went for the door, closing it behind him as he tucked a cigarette between his lips. He looked once more at the door before sighing, flicking his lighter and drawing in the first drag.
“Yeah?” Donnelley asked. He wasn’t sure what this was about at first, but like a fly buzzing in his face he soon caught onto an idea. “Ah. Go ahead.”
Laine turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him then stood up straight. She shook her head slightly, gathering her thoughts and temper. Finally she turned to face him, unlit clove cigarette pointed his direction. “If you ever bring that girl to any interview I’m involved in, I’ll walk home. I have never seen such behavior from a so called professional, and imitating a federal agent on top of that. She’s been nothing but rude and disrespectful since she got here. If this...”
She made a motion to them both and then the cabin, “Is boring for her, she can take her wiseass home. Or not, whatever...I’m just pissed off, Donnelley. She could have ruined that interview, clawing and rubbing up against that poor man.”
Laine sighed and shook her head, then gestured for a light, her eyes on his. Donnelley held them before giving her a sympathetic nod, offering his lighter out to her. At the same time, he spoke, “This is how this works. We don’t do applications. I didn’t even get to read her file and give a green light for that.” He knew that would do nothing for Laine, but he continued, “Foster needs her, and we don’t have any other people who can operate SIGINT equipment, drones, or hack shit wanting to transfer into UMBRA. The best I can do is send her out into the damn forest so she can play with some toys like she wants.”
He took another drag, inhaling sharp through his teeth and blowing it through his nostrils. He crossed his arms, leaning on the parapet of the deck, “Leastways, she’s Tom and Laurie’s problem and we get eyes on those old rail lines.” He looked at Laine, “I’m sorry. No more of her for interviews, keep her stimulated and in the field. That’s where she wants to be, that’s where she’ll be.”
Laine blew fragrant smoke between her lips, looking at the forest beyond the cabin. “That’s fine, put her to use where she’ll be useful. I know I didn’t handle her attitude in the parking lot very well but...”
She shrugged, crossing one arm over her waist and held her other arm crooked, cigarette smoldering away. “I trust you to handle it. And as for Laurie, I need him to help me get Frank Wilkins transferred somewhere else. I’m afraid to ask if he knows any higher ups well enough to call in a favor. I’m worried for this dude, Wilkins, he’s really a mess. The experience has been rough but his fear is what really seems to be gnawing at him.”
“I saw through the window.” Donnelley frowned, “I’ve heard shit like this before. Everybody’s got their own brand. Back in Afghanistan, some spook came to take us on a field trip to Pakistan.”
He sighed, taking another drag, “We tried to get a guide and a couple fighters from the tribe to come along. When they knew where we were going they just turned around and walked the other way.”
“If Foster won’t do it, I can try.” Donnelley offered Laine a consoling smile. “Moving Frank.”
She nodded, smoking in silence for a few moments, she watched the tree tops swaying in the breeze. “They know here, too. We’re just visitors, they have to live here. Same story all over. When I started with the Bureau I was a field agent at the LA office. Those hoods could be as tight lipped and suspicious of everyone not from there. Especially with badges, a snitch label could get someone killed.”
Laine glanced at him and returned his smile, “I appreciate it, I like to keep my word and I don’t want something to happen to him, he did a brave thing. And I know how it feels to stumble onto something...like that.”
Donnelley nodded, “You’re good people.” He smiled at her, taking another drag, “I’m pretty sure I could at least get him witness protection.”
With a relieved smile, Laine finished her cigarette, snuffing it against the post and kept the filter in her hand so she could throw it away inside. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Keep trying to save the world.”
There was an engine in the distance, the countryside quiet for now and sound carried on the wind. Laine looked over at Donnelley, “I think someone’s coming.”
“Fucking Christ…” Donnelley breathed. He lifted up his shirt and fully unholstered his FN, setting it on the banister under his palm.
The vehicle came into view from behind the treeline, a dark SUV with darker windows. Donnelley watched it, hard-eyed, before he saw who got out. His face changed instantly at Justin, “Staff Sarn’t!”
Justin emerged from the back driver side with a slight scowl on his face, but he couldn’t help but crack a grin as he was recognized. He was wearing his usual, a pair of worn out Wrangler jeans, some ATACs boots, an unmarked red t-shirt, and a blue and white mesh Tractor Supply Co. baseball cap. Over one shoulder he had a duffel bag, and a backpack over the other.
Trodding on up towards the porch, he called out half-jokingly. “So who’s fuckin’ idea was this, eh?” He grinned.
“Weirdest shit. Some guy just started murdering people and the Sheriff is on vacation forever,” Donnelley put his hands up and shrugged, adding sardonically, “Who’d have thought.”
“Hope your break was good enough, because we’re about to ruin it.” Donnelley frowned.
“Justin,” Laine smiled and waved at him, dressed all in black like he would remember. “Good to have you here. And yeah, what he said. I just debriefed the team over what we have going on.”
“Fun, fun. Break wasn’t amazin’. Battalion XO’s an asshole, my Captain’s too reserved to say anythin’ but too stone-fuckin’-cold to take the XO’s bullshit. Plus my LT’s a brown-noser. Not that that means much to you guys.” He rattled off.
“Right, so we’re catchin’ a killer then?” He raised a brow, only now did Donnelley and Laine’s words actually sink in.
“Damn right we are.” Donnelley sighed, not seeming too convinced of that, “We got roadblocks everywhere with this shit. Nobody here wants us to work this case.”
Laine added, “It’s probably one of the worst murders I’ve seen and I’ve seen many. Our best witness is scared shitless of what could happen to him because he’s not a local. You know, small town superstitions.”
“You tried showin’ ‘em Doc Laine’s badge?” Justin chuckled.
“Shoo’, ‘bout the same reaction if I showed ‘em my ass. I already managed to get a business card thrown at me.” Donnelley shrugged, a small smirk, “A record.”
He shook his head, his accent coming back at the appearance of Justin’s own, “Still. Y’aint gonna believe it ‘til we get you out there and talk to one of these pricks. We found a body, what kicked this off. Skinned.” Donnelley frowned and his face darkened as he crossed his arms, “Laine could give you a rundown. I’m thinking we’re gonna need a goddamn lot of whiskey after this is over.”
“Scale of one to meth-cookin’ and cousin-fuckin’, how hick is this place anyways?” Justin inquired, scratching at his stubble.
“Damn near Hills Have Eyes, brother.” Donnelley shook his head. “Ain’t that what he said?”
“Ears,” Laine added absently, “It’s what Wilkes said, ‘the hills have ears’.”
She looked at Justin standing there with his bag then waved him forward, “I can give you the gruesome details, but come inside and get settled. I’ll make sandwiches...if the dishes are done.”
“Fuckin’...” Donnelley grumbled as he turned around to walk inside, remembering he’d been soaking them in the sink.
Laine raised a brow at Donnelley then moved to open the door for the men. “Oh and warn him about Gwen.”
“Oh, fuckin’...” Donnelley sighed harder that time.
“Who?” Justin muttered as he walked inside.
Tom rose when he saw the others walk inside. He recognized Mr. Clark immediately. “Hey Justin!” Tom Stewart exclaimed with a smile. “How the hell are you, Ranger!?”
Justin beamed with a grin. “Doin’ great, Marine! How’s it been?” He replied, sweeping his hat from off his head as he was clear through the door. Old habits.
“I’m doing well, army doggie. Anything you need, let me know.” Tom was happy to see Justin. “Oh yea, when this is over, I have a parachute upstairs that needs packing. Maybe you can lend a hand?”
Justin mouthed. ‘Parachute?’ He paused. “Wait, did-” He was baffled. “Static line?”
“Yes Staff Sergeant. From a V-22 Osprey about 2330 last night.”
“Christ.” Justin muttered, grinning widely. Definitely a Marine thing to do, he thought.
“Come in from an FTX or somethin’?” He followed up.
“My battalion is conducting their annual training near Charleston, WV right now. My battalion commander allowed me to slip away for this soire. Since I work in Operations, it was pretty easy to coordinate a jump with this aviation unit supporting our operations.” Tom conveyed what he was up to, then remembered their newest member. “Oh yea, we picked up a new member of the team.” Tom turned to Gwen, “this is senior airman Weissman. She is a UAV operator, among other things. Gwen, this is Staff Sergeant Justin Clark, an Airborne Ranger from Ft. Benning.”
Gwen went to extend her Laine bane claws towards Justin. “Hi Staff Sergeant, Gwen Weissman glad to be apart of the team.” She said smiling at him. There was a Texan twang to her speech
Justin extended his own hand, shaking hers. “‘S uh, just Justin.” He clarified. “Glad to have ya’ here.” Justin’s accent was twangy as well, but in a different way. He had that cadence and sing-song tone which could make you mistake him for a local. He was Appalachian through and through.
“Alright, sweet.” She said shaking his hand with a smile. She goes to crack her knuckles. “We’re going on a hunt soon for some sunbitch, glad we have more guys around here.” She said as she rubbed her dip-absence jaw. “Just wished everyone was as friendly as you though.” Thinking back to the Laine incident.
“Do not start.” Donnelley called over the sound of the sink and clinking dishes he was busying himself with begrudgingly. Couldn’t let Laine do it. It was a household thing when he was married that whoever cooked didn’t have to clean the dishes and they stuck to that better than their failed attempts at trying church. Donnelley just wasn’t into that. “Figure we’ll catch us some downtime for now. Tom, best pack your things soon, that goes for Laurie and Gwen too. We’ll be doing that thing. Justin- fuck...” Donnelley scrubbed hard at a piece of egg that had dried itself like a rock to the plate it was on, “Uh, Justin. You’re with me and Laine, going to see Roy in Charleston about this Dulane Dickhead.”
“Got it, I’ll toss my shit in a room, already got my go-bag ready.” Justin nodded, going to do just that unless someone else stopped him.
Gwen shrugged innocently at the old man, went to go follow the dinosaurs orders. Taking her bag she left out in the corner before they left earlier, she headed into woman’s bedroom to go start her packing and changing. The operation was coming.
Tom went upstairs with Justin to pack for their operation. While Justin was doing his thing, Tom changed his clothing and packed. He removed his suit and pulled out the olive drab green tactical trousers with oversized cargo pockets, black Marine T-shirt and the low cut boots he’d been wearing all day. He realized he still had his Assault vest from his Marine Reserve unit in the closet. He loaded the magazine pouches with six of the eight magazines, one would go in his M4 and the eighth in a cargo pocket. He opted for the tactical thigh holster for his .40 caliber handgun. His assault vest had a pistol magazine holder as well a bit higher up. He attached his high cut ballistic tactical helmet to the back of his vest and would use it once they were in the field. He planned to use his throat mic in order to have communications with the rest of the team. Hand cuffs and flex cuffs might be a good addition in case they actually made an arrest; his FBI identification and badge as well. His compass was attached to his assault vest. A few chemlites for signaling or marking if necessary. He would definitely bring his M4 on this one. In the butt pack of his assault vest were three broken down MREs, at least they would have some food. He also placed another five Cuban cigars in one of his cargo pockets. He made a mental note to equip a pair of Night Observation Devices (NODs) to wear when it got dark and to pack his grey wind breaker in the butt pack for the overnight. He would later find a Laser listening device or Spectra Laser Microphone to aid in listening for sounds at a distance. Once he was packed up, which was all the equipment he was wearing he returned to the first floor ready to continue with the operation.
Laine opened a cupboard, taking out a loaf of whole grain bread and glanced over her shoulder as the conversation died off and they went to pack. “Should I pack them lunches? You know, juice and raisins, I’ll cut the crusts off Gwen’s sandwich.”
She snickered and then shook her head, holding her hand up as she looked at Donnelley at the sink, “Sorry, I’ll stop. I’m being petty.”
Peanut butter and jelly made good trail food, she made a half dozen and wrapped them tightly in wax paper then into brown bags, along with some dried fruit and trail mix, goldfish crackers and chocolate protein bars. “It’s not Tom’s MREs but it should do for today. How long will they be up there?”
“Their first outing I’ll just put them out there for two nights, see what that gets us and if they can locate those old mines. The drone’s got a range of six or so miles, so they shouldn’t have to move hides too often to find one of them.” Donnelley said, smacking down the handle on the sink to turn it off and using a handtowel to dry himself. “She’s no Combat Controller, but she can handle a Predator? She can handle our drone.”
“Right, so probably...more sandwiches? I’m sorry I’ve only been on day hiking trips,” she said, shrugging, “My mom was into glamping before it was a thing. As long as Airman Wiseass does her job, I’ll be fine. Weissman, I mean.”
She gave Donnelley a small smirking smile as she put some apples and oranges into the large insulated tote along with the brown bag lunches that had a grinning face, a mascot of the chain grocery store printed on it on the bright blue material. “Yeah, this isn’t camo but it’ll keep things fairly fresh. I should put some jerky in there, too.”
Gwen exited the woman’s bedroom wearing her airforce equipment, in tow was her weapons and electronics. She looked like a badass POG operator “Did someone say, food?” She muses entering the room with all her shit and emotional baggage to boot. Her stomach rumbled on command as well.
Laine glanced over her shoulder and nodded, “Packing lunches for the campers. I can make an extra if you’re hungry now?”
She took out some bread, trying to make a conciliatory gesture after her comments.
“I’ll take like three.” She said holding up three fingers for effect.
“Three? Well...alright,” Laine said, tilting her head in amazement at the tall thin young woman. “Peanut butter ok? I forgot about allergies and gluten. I’m a terrible southern Californian.”
“Yea lay it on thick.” She said thinking about the many uses of having 3 extra sammies.
Finishing off the loaf, she passed a plate with the sandwiches to her, “There’s milk in the fridge, two percent. I’ll have to hit the store again, that bread was supposed to last a couple of days. I’m not used to buying for more than one. And Weissman...sorry about earlier.”
“It’s whatever doc, that ranger was more into you than me anyway.” She said blowing out hot steam.
Laine closed her eyes, her jaw twitching as she clenched her teeth. “Well, I need to go take this holster off.”
Food. Food was being made, and that was enough to rouse Laurie from his napping on the couch. He shook his head side to side, standing up to stretch. He had forgotten to bring those monsters to double fist, and so he spent msot of this day sleeping. Perhaps for the better, you can't replace sleep with caffeine forever and it seems he'd have a long watch with the soldier boy and the Jew-... pardon, new girl in the woods. Well, finally something he was used to being what he got a paycheck for. He walked over to the two women, smacking his lips after a yawn. "Evening or whatever the fuck it is. I smell shit to eat, any extras?"
>1040HRS...///
They’d made it back in good time, Tom going just slightly above the speed limit. Once they had all gathered in the living room couches, Donnelley took his usual place of leaning against the kitchen table with his arms crossed. He looked to Foster and then to Laine, “You got this?”
Dr Laine nodded at him, taking out her notebook and the autopsy report, “Yes, thank you.”
She took a seat on one of the chairs opposite of Foster and said, “I have quite a bit of information, we’ll start with the autopsy, I have a copy of the report if you’d like to read it in detail but I’ll give you and the rest of those that were not there the highlights.”
Flipping it open, she could see copies of the xrays Bakker had taken, the black shard showing up in the heart of the victim. Laine cleared her throat, “Jane Doe, age 16-23 years, cause of death massive internal bleeding caused by an unknown foreign object. The examiner believed it to have been inserted vaginally with the intent to cause internal injury, there was extensive lacerations to the uterus, cervix and punctures where the object was somehow shoved...ah, shoved through the uterine wall and up until it lacerated the liver, punctured the right lung and finally lodged into the heart, causing death.”
Laine flipped the page, her hands gripping the folder as she continued to read the summaries in a neutral voice, “Other significant trauma was the amputation of the tongue, the removal of the vocal cords and the entire epidermis and dermis layer. This was likely performed while the victim was still alive. Midazolam and Propofol both found in her system, these drugs would have rendered her immobile but no analgesic showed up in the drug tests. She felt everything.”
She paused, taking a deep breath then looked at Foster, handing him the report. “I’ll need a copy of that to reference.”
“Of course.” Foster nodded, turning to Donnelley, “We’ve got the shard in our custody? Program is going to want it.”
Donnelley nodded, “It’s in the garage.”
“Secure as ever, Donnelley.” Foster smirked.
Donnelley rolled his eyes, and turned back to Laine, “What about the Ranger?”
“I guess you’re not sending that piece of the puzzle to CJIS,” Laine commented then opened her notebook, flipping to the page of scribbled writing. “Ranger Frank Wilkins...first I’d like to note that this kid is not a local, and he is shit scared. He reiterated basically what Detective Roy said about Blackriver, people and things disappear and no one talks about it. He’s nervous, he said something about the hills having ears, like that’s a local accepted fact. He gave me a lot of information, Mr Foster but he wants out. A transfer and he’s been stonewalled by his supervisors. I told him I would try to help get him out. And I think we need to and I believe what he told me to be factual.”
Laine glanced down at the paper and said, “He told me that he was walking the trail that used to be part of an old railway to the mines and saw something, he described it as a ‘ripple’ like a heat mirage and heard a scream...then another voice, a whisper saying ‘come and see’. Mr Wilkins then followed, despite what he described as not being a brave man, and he left the trail and came onto the scene where the body was. He said nothing about any figures or footprints, even sounds in the brush only the voice. He also said the body had cloth on it, he said it looked like silk and it was black with white writing. He did not get close enough to read it but he said it was not letters, rather ‘scribble’ I take that to mean some sort of abstract symbol or character writing such as Arabic or Chinese. Of course, unless you or Roy have it, the cloth has disappeared into the Sheriff’s vaults.”
She paused here, looking at Foster then Donnelley, allowing them time before moving on.
Tom listened intently to the report from Dr. Laine. “Heather, what force would be required to move the shard from the vaginal entrance to the heart? There is no way a human could shove it up there with their arm.”
Laine shook her head slightly, “I don’t know, perhaps some sort of...spear? No splinters were found, maybe it was attached to metal.”
Tom nodded his head. A slender shaft would be required for that sort of penetration. Tom then looked at Donnelley, “Boss, if Mr. Mathieu and I are going to escort Senior Airman Weissman to wherever she is going to launch her drone, I should change out of my FBI suit and into something a bit more comfortable.”
Donnelley nodded, “I’d hope so. You’ll all be rolling in full gear. We’ll insert you along one of the forest roads up there and you’ll hike near the scene to somewhere secluded. Try to find a ridge. Take a satellite phone with you and make sure to check in three times a day.” Donnelley shifted in his seat and tightened his folded arms, “If you catch a glimpse of this guy moving around out there, call it in. I don’t want you to engage unless you have full confidence.”
“Do we have any Night Vision devices?” Tom asked.
“Anything anybody didn’t bring in, we don’t have. I can make a call to have some sent in. The drone should be equipped with IR and night vision.” Donnelley shrugged.
“Before you go running off into the hills,” Laine interrupted, “You need to hear what he told me about the old mines.”
Tom was thoroughly curious about her conversation with Wilkins. He nodded, “Certainly.”
Glancing at her notepad then up at Tom then Donnelley, “There’s mines up there, dating back to the Civil War era, so well over one hundred years old. He said they have always been associated with...well local legends, ghost stories, etc. Even the native people that once lived in this area called it a bad place of bitter water and air. It could be something natural, geological or it could mean something else. Something that might be up your...well, our alley.”
She continued, “A few years back, 2007 or 09, a man fell into the mines and was rescued by the sheriff. He apparently was screaming about a devil being down there with him. This man, David Dulane, is still alive at least as far as anyone knows, kicking around in Beckley Prison. I think we should talk to him as soon as we can. He saw something, or he was tripping balls, either way we need to make sure.”
Laine cleared her throat, refocusing, “There was a pair of hikers Mr Wilkins spoke of, they were missing and he said the Park Rangers found the husband but he didn’t continue when talking about what happened to the wife. Seeing his face, I can tell you it wasn’t good. Wilkins is scared and he said he’d call me in two days, I gave him my card. He’s probably wanting me to make good on my promise to try and get him out of there and he’ll tell me the rest, including the names of the lost hikers.”
She went silent, looking around the room and came back to Foster and Donnelley, “The rest is details I need to sort out of my notes but that’s the chunk...oh, one more thing.”
Laine tipped her notepad at Donnelley, “I asked Wilkins if he had ever visited the Sheriff and he said they had to report the lost hikers. Guess what happened?”
“Uh huh.” Donnelley nodded slow, his frown deepening. “I want to find out if the Sheriff’s case files are digital or not. I can try getting an inside man. If that doesn’t work…”
"Hicks usually have digital now, it's 2019 guys." She said typing away on her crack top.
Foster and Donnelley met eyes. Foster nodded and Donnelley’s smirk returned. “Vacation. By the way. Sheriff is either somewhere else or hiding in his office. Either way, he’s making it hard to get to him.”
“Yea and since you can’t see their files without seeing the sheriff, they don’t want you to see the sheriff,” Tom added.
“Fucking exactly. Somehow, someone is going to cut out the middleman. And when that happens,” Donnelley nodded to Gwen. “You know the rest.”
Gwen looked confused as to why the old man was nodding at her. "Yep, definitely." She said, probably something about hacking.
“That doesn’t get us the cloth,” Laine pointed out, “I want to see it.”
“Don’t be surprised when it shows up one day.” Donnelley muttered just loud enough for Laine while making like his hands were mighty interesting.
She glanced at him then pressed her lips together to suppress a smile but said nothing. Looking down at her notepad, she addressed Foster, “I think we owe Frank Wilkins our help, is there anything you can do to get him transferred out? You probably have more pull than I do.”
“I can try.” Foster shrugged, not seeming too committal. “Any other questions, anyone?”
Laine sighed inwardly, then nodded at Foster’s answer. She would need to do some calls on her own to try and get Ranger Wilkins out of the backwoods Bermuda Triangle. Or get their park ranger to help, Laurie might earn his free breakfast afterall. She turned to Donnelley, catching his eye and tilted her head towards the front door and mined smoking, “Can I talk to you real quick, alone?” She then headed outside, taking off her jacket to leave draped on the chair, her shoulder holster still in place.
On the porch she waited, an unlit black cigarette dangling between her fingers as she leaned her forearms on the railing. The view was decent if one could ignore the occasional black plume of coal smoke and the stink that mingled with sunwarmed pine.
Donnelley looked at Foster and raised his eyebrows. Not waiting for any cue or answer from the other man, Donnelley rose and went for the door, closing it behind him as he tucked a cigarette between his lips. He looked once more at the door before sighing, flicking his lighter and drawing in the first drag.
“Yeah?” Donnelley asked. He wasn’t sure what this was about at first, but like a fly buzzing in his face he soon caught onto an idea. “Ah. Go ahead.”
Laine turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him then stood up straight. She shook her head slightly, gathering her thoughts and temper. Finally she turned to face him, unlit clove cigarette pointed his direction. “If you ever bring that girl to any interview I’m involved in, I’ll walk home. I have never seen such behavior from a so called professional, and imitating a federal agent on top of that. She’s been nothing but rude and disrespectful since she got here. If this...”
She made a motion to them both and then the cabin, “Is boring for her, she can take her wiseass home. Or not, whatever...I’m just pissed off, Donnelley. She could have ruined that interview, clawing and rubbing up against that poor man.”
Laine sighed and shook her head, then gestured for a light, her eyes on his. Donnelley held them before giving her a sympathetic nod, offering his lighter out to her. At the same time, he spoke, “This is how this works. We don’t do applications. I didn’t even get to read her file and give a green light for that.” He knew that would do nothing for Laine, but he continued, “Foster needs her, and we don’t have any other people who can operate SIGINT equipment, drones, or hack shit wanting to transfer into UMBRA. The best I can do is send her out into the damn forest so she can play with some toys like she wants.”
He took another drag, inhaling sharp through his teeth and blowing it through his nostrils. He crossed his arms, leaning on the parapet of the deck, “Leastways, she’s Tom and Laurie’s problem and we get eyes on those old rail lines.” He looked at Laine, “I’m sorry. No more of her for interviews, keep her stimulated and in the field. That’s where she wants to be, that’s where she’ll be.”
Laine blew fragrant smoke between her lips, looking at the forest beyond the cabin. “That’s fine, put her to use where she’ll be useful. I know I didn’t handle her attitude in the parking lot very well but...”
She shrugged, crossing one arm over her waist and held her other arm crooked, cigarette smoldering away. “I trust you to handle it. And as for Laurie, I need him to help me get Frank Wilkins transferred somewhere else. I’m afraid to ask if he knows any higher ups well enough to call in a favor. I’m worried for this dude, Wilkins, he’s really a mess. The experience has been rough but his fear is what really seems to be gnawing at him.”
“I saw through the window.” Donnelley frowned, “I’ve heard shit like this before. Everybody’s got their own brand. Back in Afghanistan, some spook came to take us on a field trip to Pakistan.”
He sighed, taking another drag, “We tried to get a guide and a couple fighters from the tribe to come along. When they knew where we were going they just turned around and walked the other way.”
“If Foster won’t do it, I can try.” Donnelley offered Laine a consoling smile. “Moving Frank.”
She nodded, smoking in silence for a few moments, she watched the tree tops swaying in the breeze. “They know here, too. We’re just visitors, they have to live here. Same story all over. When I started with the Bureau I was a field agent at the LA office. Those hoods could be as tight lipped and suspicious of everyone not from there. Especially with badges, a snitch label could get someone killed.”
Laine glanced at him and returned his smile, “I appreciate it, I like to keep my word and I don’t want something to happen to him, he did a brave thing. And I know how it feels to stumble onto something...like that.”
Donnelley nodded, “You’re good people.” He smiled at her, taking another drag, “I’m pretty sure I could at least get him witness protection.”
With a relieved smile, Laine finished her cigarette, snuffing it against the post and kept the filter in her hand so she could throw it away inside. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Keep trying to save the world.”
There was an engine in the distance, the countryside quiet for now and sound carried on the wind. Laine looked over at Donnelley, “I think someone’s coming.”
“Fucking Christ…” Donnelley breathed. He lifted up his shirt and fully unholstered his FN, setting it on the banister under his palm.
The vehicle came into view from behind the treeline, a dark SUV with darker windows. Donnelley watched it, hard-eyed, before he saw who got out. His face changed instantly at Justin, “Staff Sarn’t!”
Justin emerged from the back driver side with a slight scowl on his face, but he couldn’t help but crack a grin as he was recognized. He was wearing his usual, a pair of worn out Wrangler jeans, some ATACs boots, an unmarked red t-shirt, and a blue and white mesh Tractor Supply Co. baseball cap. Over one shoulder he had a duffel bag, and a backpack over the other.
Trodding on up towards the porch, he called out half-jokingly. “So who’s fuckin’ idea was this, eh?” He grinned.
“Weirdest shit. Some guy just started murdering people and the Sheriff is on vacation forever,” Donnelley put his hands up and shrugged, adding sardonically, “Who’d have thought.”
“Hope your break was good enough, because we’re about to ruin it.” Donnelley frowned.
“Justin,” Laine smiled and waved at him, dressed all in black like he would remember. “Good to have you here. And yeah, what he said. I just debriefed the team over what we have going on.”
“Fun, fun. Break wasn’t amazin’. Battalion XO’s an asshole, my Captain’s too reserved to say anythin’ but too stone-fuckin’-cold to take the XO’s bullshit. Plus my LT’s a brown-noser. Not that that means much to you guys.” He rattled off.
“Right, so we’re catchin’ a killer then?” He raised a brow, only now did Donnelley and Laine’s words actually sink in.
“Damn right we are.” Donnelley sighed, not seeming too convinced of that, “We got roadblocks everywhere with this shit. Nobody here wants us to work this case.”
Laine added, “It’s probably one of the worst murders I’ve seen and I’ve seen many. Our best witness is scared shitless of what could happen to him because he’s not a local. You know, small town superstitions.”
“You tried showin’ ‘em Doc Laine’s badge?” Justin chuckled.
“Shoo’, ‘bout the same reaction if I showed ‘em my ass. I already managed to get a business card thrown at me.” Donnelley shrugged, a small smirk, “A record.”
He shook his head, his accent coming back at the appearance of Justin’s own, “Still. Y’aint gonna believe it ‘til we get you out there and talk to one of these pricks. We found a body, what kicked this off. Skinned.” Donnelley frowned and his face darkened as he crossed his arms, “Laine could give you a rundown. I’m thinking we’re gonna need a goddamn lot of whiskey after this is over.”
“Scale of one to meth-cookin’ and cousin-fuckin’, how hick is this place anyways?” Justin inquired, scratching at his stubble.
“Damn near Hills Have Eyes, brother.” Donnelley shook his head. “Ain’t that what he said?”
“Ears,” Laine added absently, “It’s what Wilkes said, ‘the hills have ears’.”
She looked at Justin standing there with his bag then waved him forward, “I can give you the gruesome details, but come inside and get settled. I’ll make sandwiches...if the dishes are done.”
“Fuckin’...” Donnelley grumbled as he turned around to walk inside, remembering he’d been soaking them in the sink.
Laine raised a brow at Donnelley then moved to open the door for the men. “Oh and warn him about Gwen.”
“Oh, fuckin’...” Donnelley sighed harder that time.
“Who?” Justin muttered as he walked inside.
Tom rose when he saw the others walk inside. He recognized Mr. Clark immediately. “Hey Justin!” Tom Stewart exclaimed with a smile. “How the hell are you, Ranger!?”
Justin beamed with a grin. “Doin’ great, Marine! How’s it been?” He replied, sweeping his hat from off his head as he was clear through the door. Old habits.
“I’m doing well, army doggie. Anything you need, let me know.” Tom was happy to see Justin. “Oh yea, when this is over, I have a parachute upstairs that needs packing. Maybe you can lend a hand?”
Justin mouthed. ‘Parachute?’ He paused. “Wait, did-” He was baffled. “Static line?”
“Yes Staff Sergeant. From a V-22 Osprey about 2330 last night.”
“Christ.” Justin muttered, grinning widely. Definitely a Marine thing to do, he thought.
“Come in from an FTX or somethin’?” He followed up.
“My battalion is conducting their annual training near Charleston, WV right now. My battalion commander allowed me to slip away for this soire. Since I work in Operations, it was pretty easy to coordinate a jump with this aviation unit supporting our operations.” Tom conveyed what he was up to, then remembered their newest member. “Oh yea, we picked up a new member of the team.” Tom turned to Gwen, “this is senior airman Weissman. She is a UAV operator, among other things. Gwen, this is Staff Sergeant Justin Clark, an Airborne Ranger from Ft. Benning.”
Gwen went to extend her Laine bane claws towards Justin. “Hi Staff Sergeant, Gwen Weissman glad to be apart of the team.” She said smiling at him. There was a Texan twang to her speech
Justin extended his own hand, shaking hers. “‘S uh, just Justin.” He clarified. “Glad to have ya’ here.” Justin’s accent was twangy as well, but in a different way. He had that cadence and sing-song tone which could make you mistake him for a local. He was Appalachian through and through.
“Alright, sweet.” She said shaking his hand with a smile. She goes to crack her knuckles. “We’re going on a hunt soon for some sunbitch, glad we have more guys around here.” She said as she rubbed her dip-absence jaw. “Just wished everyone was as friendly as you though.” Thinking back to the Laine incident.
“Do not start.” Donnelley called over the sound of the sink and clinking dishes he was busying himself with begrudgingly. Couldn’t let Laine do it. It was a household thing when he was married that whoever cooked didn’t have to clean the dishes and they stuck to that better than their failed attempts at trying church. Donnelley just wasn’t into that. “Figure we’ll catch us some downtime for now. Tom, best pack your things soon, that goes for Laurie and Gwen too. We’ll be doing that thing. Justin- fuck...” Donnelley scrubbed hard at a piece of egg that had dried itself like a rock to the plate it was on, “Uh, Justin. You’re with me and Laine, going to see Roy in Charleston about this Dulane Dickhead.”
“Got it, I’ll toss my shit in a room, already got my go-bag ready.” Justin nodded, going to do just that unless someone else stopped him.
Gwen shrugged innocently at the old man, went to go follow the dinosaurs orders. Taking her bag she left out in the corner before they left earlier, she headed into woman’s bedroom to go start her packing and changing. The operation was coming.
Tom went upstairs with Justin to pack for their operation. While Justin was doing his thing, Tom changed his clothing and packed. He removed his suit and pulled out the olive drab green tactical trousers with oversized cargo pockets, black Marine T-shirt and the low cut boots he’d been wearing all day. He realized he still had his Assault vest from his Marine Reserve unit in the closet. He loaded the magazine pouches with six of the eight magazines, one would go in his M4 and the eighth in a cargo pocket. He opted for the tactical thigh holster for his .40 caliber handgun. His assault vest had a pistol magazine holder as well a bit higher up. He attached his high cut ballistic tactical helmet to the back of his vest and would use it once they were in the field. He planned to use his throat mic in order to have communications with the rest of the team. Hand cuffs and flex cuffs might be a good addition in case they actually made an arrest; his FBI identification and badge as well. His compass was attached to his assault vest. A few chemlites for signaling or marking if necessary. He would definitely bring his M4 on this one. In the butt pack of his assault vest were three broken down MREs, at least they would have some food. He also placed another five Cuban cigars in one of his cargo pockets. He made a mental note to equip a pair of Night Observation Devices (NODs) to wear when it got dark and to pack his grey wind breaker in the butt pack for the overnight. He would later find a Laser listening device or Spectra Laser Microphone to aid in listening for sounds at a distance. Once he was packed up, which was all the equipment he was wearing he returned to the first floor ready to continue with the operation.
Laine opened a cupboard, taking out a loaf of whole grain bread and glanced over her shoulder as the conversation died off and they went to pack. “Should I pack them lunches? You know, juice and raisins, I’ll cut the crusts off Gwen’s sandwich.”
She snickered and then shook her head, holding her hand up as she looked at Donnelley at the sink, “Sorry, I’ll stop. I’m being petty.”
Peanut butter and jelly made good trail food, she made a half dozen and wrapped them tightly in wax paper then into brown bags, along with some dried fruit and trail mix, goldfish crackers and chocolate protein bars. “It’s not Tom’s MREs but it should do for today. How long will they be up there?”
“Their first outing I’ll just put them out there for two nights, see what that gets us and if they can locate those old mines. The drone’s got a range of six or so miles, so they shouldn’t have to move hides too often to find one of them.” Donnelley said, smacking down the handle on the sink to turn it off and using a handtowel to dry himself. “She’s no Combat Controller, but she can handle a Predator? She can handle our drone.”
“Right, so probably...more sandwiches? I’m sorry I’ve only been on day hiking trips,” she said, shrugging, “My mom was into glamping before it was a thing. As long as Airman Wiseass does her job, I’ll be fine. Weissman, I mean.”
She gave Donnelley a small smirking smile as she put some apples and oranges into the large insulated tote along with the brown bag lunches that had a grinning face, a mascot of the chain grocery store printed on it on the bright blue material. “Yeah, this isn’t camo but it’ll keep things fairly fresh. I should put some jerky in there, too.”
Gwen exited the woman’s bedroom wearing her airforce equipment, in tow was her weapons and electronics. She looked like a badass POG operator “Did someone say, food?” She muses entering the room with all her shit and emotional baggage to boot. Her stomach rumbled on command as well.
Laine glanced over her shoulder and nodded, “Packing lunches for the campers. I can make an extra if you’re hungry now?”
She took out some bread, trying to make a conciliatory gesture after her comments.
“I’ll take like three.” She said holding up three fingers for effect.
“Three? Well...alright,” Laine said, tilting her head in amazement at the tall thin young woman. “Peanut butter ok? I forgot about allergies and gluten. I’m a terrible southern Californian.”
“Yea lay it on thick.” She said thinking about the many uses of having 3 extra sammies.
Finishing off the loaf, she passed a plate with the sandwiches to her, “There’s milk in the fridge, two percent. I’ll have to hit the store again, that bread was supposed to last a couple of days. I’m not used to buying for more than one. And Weissman...sorry about earlier.”
“It’s whatever doc, that ranger was more into you than me anyway.” She said blowing out hot steam.
Laine closed her eyes, her jaw twitching as she clenched her teeth. “Well, I need to go take this holster off.”
Food. Food was being made, and that was enough to rouse Laurie from his napping on the couch. He shook his head side to side, standing up to stretch. He had forgotten to bring those monsters to double fist, and so he spent msot of this day sleeping. Perhaps for the better, you can't replace sleep with caffeine forever and it seems he'd have a long watch with the soldier boy and the Jew-... pardon, new girl in the woods. Well, finally something he was used to being what he got a paycheck for. He walked over to the two women, smacking his lips after a yawn. "Evening or whatever the fuck it is. I smell shit to eat, any extras?"
((TS/SCI/DG/X1//NOFORN))
OPERATIONAL TIMELINE -
((TS/SCI/DG/X1//NOFORN))
OPERATIONAL TIMELINE -
((TS/SCI/DG/X1//NOFORN))
>OUTSIDE...///
The sky was blue.
That was it. That was all. That’s all he felt for a day where children would be playing in the sprinklers outside and lovers would be walking along beaches. He inhaled the sharp smoke, feeling it burn in his throat as he growled it out to the wind. He desperately clung to any thought that wasn’t the case like a drowning man to the last piece of wood. He took another drag down to the filter and flicked it away, his words wreathed in smoke, “Fucking Christ…”
He pulled his pack free again and flipped it open, wondering if he should go for another. His father used to chainsmoke way back when. He wondered if this was what he went through, the endless thoughts and hellish feeling in his skin. He couldn’t blame him. Vietnam was a nice time for nobody. He used to wonder what he saw there, wonder what it was like all up until he had a slice of it himself. It was no jungle but Donnelley would never see Afghanistan, never see Pakistan and the FATA the same ever again. As he looked to Tom, quiet on his own, and then the sky again. He just knew he wouldn’t see West Virginia in the same light. “I read your file,” He said to Tom, though he still was looking at his own hands instead of the man next to him, “I read all of them, but you’re one of the only ones who saw what I did.”
Tom pulled a cigar out of his breast pocket. He bit the tip, spitting it at the ground. The zippo lighter had the traditional globe and anchor of the US Marine Corps engraved on the metallic side. He flipped it open, striking the flint igniting the fuel. Then lit his cigar sucking in a long drag. He held his breath before allowing the smoke to exit his lungs. Jill often told him it was a nasty habit, but he didn’t care. He only smoked away from her, never at the house.
“I say Afghanistan, I’m sure the official reports did too. Real hush, wasn’t even a debrief. I knew it was Pakistan though. We weren’t even supposed to be there, that wasn’t my ODA’s Area of Operations, but we were there,” he shook his head, voice low and distant, “And we saw.”
Tom eyeballed Donnelley as he spoke about Afghanistan and his ODA. “Any idea what this thing is? Or where it came from? It appears otherworldly. I’m not going to even ask how it has this ability to make anyone who comes near it sad.” Tom thought on his use of the word, sad. He paused and added, “sad may not be a strong enough word. Depression.”
Donnelley rubbed at his face and groaned, shaking his head, “I don’t know, Tom.” Donnelley sighed, finally deciding to have that second cigarette, “All I know is I want to find whoever did this and squeeze a round into his head.”
Tom sucked in another drag on the cigar and held it in. He thought of his wife and his unborn child. He thought of his friend and supervisor Ray Calhoun and how he had three healthy children. His oldest, first baseman for his high school team. Those are good things. Must hold onto those positive thoughts. “This is a shit storm, Donnelley…” Tom really didn’t want to talk about it for a bit. “Oh yea, the wife is pregnant. She doesn’t want me to tell anyone. She’s afraid she may lose the child, but indications say I should be a dad sometime next winter.”
Donnelley inhaled sharp through his smiling teeth, blowing out the smoke as he nodded, “Well, shit, congratulations!” Donnelley chuckled, a genuine mirth both for Tom’s soon to be child and his changing of the subject, “You got a name for them? Joseph’s a pretty good one.” He smirked.
Tom smiled as he exhaled a lung full of cigar smoke. “Yes, Joseph is a good name. My grandfather was named Joseph also. I was tossing around the idea of Tom Jr. and maybe a nickname of TJ. My father’s name is Robert and I have an uncle Randy. Might call him Randall if it is a boy. For girl’s names, I was thinking about Michelle, Cheryl, Margot or Clarice. But I haven’t talked this over with Jill yet either.”
“You should.” Donnelley smiled, “My daughter’s name was my… ex-wife’s idea. Tilly. Little Tilly Donnelley.”
Donnelley had a distant smile on his lips, remembering how she’d toddled her way through the house upon a time. “She’s probably, what… sixteen now.”
“Where does Tilly live now? Do you see her much?” Tom was suddenly curious about Donnellley and his daughter.
“Black Diamond. Washington.” Donnelley’s smile was fading, knowing there was a chance Tilly would never remember him if she saw him. But Holly would. Holly would remember a lot. “Big house. She remarried, my ex-wife.”
Tom picked up on Donnelley’s changing expression. Maybe this was a sore subject? “Well, I know we’ve been avoiding the white elephant in the room, but we need to do something about that young woman inside. I believe you said you don’t know where the crime scene is. What about the dump site? Any clues there? Have you found a witness or anyone who can say something about what happened to this young woman?”
Donnelley only shook his head, the bad taste in his mouth from the topic being put back on the case. “It’s like it happened in a goddamn vacuum. Only person who saw the body was a Park Ranger that found it. Nobody knows where the murder itself happened or who did it.” He sighed, taking another drag from his cigarette, “I know places like Whitetree. Grew up in one. Nobody tells shit to the badges, especially Federal ones.”
“Should’ve seen how many words they spent on me when they could’ve just told me to fuck myself.” Donnelley grinned ruefully, a bearing of fangs almost, “And this was at the Sheriff Station. They didn’t want me in their case files so I could cross reference this crime with any similar ones in the past. Or could just be a battle of who’s-the-biggest-asshole and whose jurisdiction ends where.”
Gwen waltzed over to the two by her lonesome. Stopping in front of them she sighed. "That was pretty boring." She said as she started milling about.
“Oh, I’m sorry that you couldn’t hack the body.” He frowned in Gwen’s direction. “Where’s Laurie? Aren’t you supposed to be watching each other?”
"Dunno I fucked him off." She said as she went to check her phone.
“Maybe these local yokels are high tech and have their files on line? Could senior airman Weissman gain access to their server?” Tom was grasping for ideas. The case appeared to be heading to the cold case files. He really didn’t want to see that happen.
"Agent Nikki Romero to you there Agent Muldoon." She responded, she probably could but wasn't by her PC and felt demotivated in any other setting than an air conditioned car.
Laine lit a cigarette as soon as she stepped out, the black Djarum complementary to her funeral attire. She walked over to the knot of people and said nothing, listening to the tail end of the conversation. Whitetree was closed off, it sat among the mines and hills, hunched and squatting like some beast that had been kicked too much. Wary and hateful, the town an embodiment of the people and the tainted landscape. It was a strange place to her yet it reminded her of certain neighborhoods in LA, closed off and spiteful of the law that was not their own.
She caught Gwen's words and Donnelley's reaction. Boring
It was childish. And despite her understanding of how individuals dealt with stress it put her off. Laine looked at the younger blonde woman, a long inspecting gaze until she broke it and turned back to Donnelley.
Gwen didn’t really care, the doc could think what she wanted to - Gwen would just strut and do her stuff like she always did. She stuck out her tongue, menacingly briefly before looking back at Donnely.
Laine blew out the clove scented smoke in Gwen's general direction then turned her back to her, addressing Tom and Donnelley, "We need to speak with the ranger and then track down the sheriff. CJIS is still checking dental records for missing Jane Does, it might take another day or so but maybe we put the feelers on missing people. Even if our Jane isn't local this guy likely is and most killers start off close to home. And there are graves of bones that may contain his first victims, likely locals."
“My thoughts exactly.” Donnelley nodded, flicking ash from his cigarette before he took another drag, “Roy should know who the Ranger is. First Responding officers are supposed to take notes even before anybody else shows up so he’d have the freshest view of the scene.”
“We checked the Sheriff Station in Whitetree. I want to try my luck at the one in Mercy if one’s there.” Donnelley bit his lip, looking away from the rest of them, “There’s only one way we can find out if the case files for the county Sheriff’s office is online or not.”
“If they want to be tight-lipped, I can play things fast and loose.” He drew his lips thin, “Just don’t ask me what I mean. Easier to say you didn’t know if you didn’t know.”
“We could get some SIGINT equipment in here and tunnel our way into their phones. We’ll see who’s laughing then.” Donnelley shrugged, raising a brow for critique.
"I'm down to hack, old man." She said raising her hand in hopes to finally doing something useful for a change.
“Yeah, you’ve been telling me that since you got here, cowgirl.” Donnelley smirked at her. She reminded him of Laurie in the way she shrugged off most things, but like Laurie, he admired her enthusiasm when her back was against the wall. “If backdoor software from a USB suddenly shows up on Sheriff computers, you’ll be the first to know.” He winked.
"Don't you go winking at me." She said winking back.
"Getting into their phones and computers would be very helpful, especially if they are none the wiser," Laine agreed, flicking the ashes absently. "But I really want to find his kill sight. And who the fuck this guy is."
She blew smoke through her nose, then jerked her head towards Tom and Donnelley, "That medication Al...Dr Bakker mentioned, I'm guessing it's not something easy to get. He'd have to have a connection, black market or otherwise. Most of these people cook up bathtub meth but I wouldn't be surprised if there was a dude selling prescriptions. We find who supplies him, that's a huge win."
“If this place is anything like Dalhart, there’s at least ten.” Donnelley spoke through his cigarette’s cloud. “At least where I was. I’ll just call up the DEA right quick.” He mimicked a phone with his hand before he fell back on being all business, “Seriously, though, our best bet for finding script dealers is a bigger city. I doubt people from Whitetree leave often. It’ll be a very lonely Silk Road up to those mountains. We follow it and we’ve got some suspects by the balls.”
Laine raised her glasses as they slid down and said, "No DEA contacts? I'm surprised. But the idea is sound, as far as I know. Let's meet with Roy again and get more information. Then the ranger, hopefully he'll be more forthcoming."
The sheriff's office had stone walled them, the thin beige line, but next time they would be ready.
"Have you heard from the rest of the team?" she asked looking over at Donnelley, her cigarette smoldering between her fingers.
“Quiet so far.” Donnelley shrugged, “I only sent out the message yesterday so I’d like to give them the benefit of the doubt that they’re not standing me up.”
He took a long drag before scraping off the cherry on the bottom of his shoe and flicking the filter away. “Well, we’ve got shit to do. Best not keep Roy or the Ranger waiting. I’ll call Foster to see if he can get us scheduled with her sometime soon.” He sucked at his teeth, “Maybe we’ll visit the Ranger station closest to the scene and ask around for an interview with the man of the hour.”
Laine nodded, putting out her cigarette and said in a low voice as she stood with Donnelley, "We probably should have asked her his name but she was pretty caught up in telling us what a shithole Whitetree is."
She cut her eyes over at him and failed at hiding her expression of annoyance looking over at the newcomer, Weissman. "Should we drop her off at the cabin? All this murder investigation might be too boring ."
"For someone with a PHD you sure act like a kid doc." She said spitting dip onto the asphalt. Before smirking.
"I'm not a pediatrician, unfortunately for you," Laine sniped back, then smiled placidly.
"I bet your doctorate is in history." She said spitting again.
Donnelley chuckled, shaking his head, “I forgot her mobile at home but maybe she’ll take a nap on the way.” He was still smirking as he leaned a bit closer to Gwen, “That means you. I’ll tell it to you like I told everyone else. Eyes peeled and ears open, you might learn something.”
“Let’s head out. We’re burning daylight.” Donnelley said as he turned to the others before walking in the direction of the Chrysler.
>BLACKRIVER COUNTY RANGER STATION...///
“Fucking pick up.” Donnelley muttered for the second time as they all stood around kicking rocks in the small parking lot of the Ranger Station. It was hemmed in by trees on every side, a lonely hut that was only slightly nicer than the buildings in White Tree. With atmosphere like this, green pines looming over, gravel and dirt underfoot, and a log cabin station it was hard to believe it was only a quarter mile off the main highway from Charleston to Whitetree, and Mercy a little further.
In one ear, Donnelley could hear birdsong and the trees shivering in the soft breezes. In the other was the trill of the dial tone to Foster. Finally, their Case Officer picked up the phone, “Yeah?” He sounded tired.
“The fuck are you doing?” Donnelley grimaced, then shook his head, “Actually I don’t care. What was the Ranger’s name again that found the girl’s body?”
“I don’t remember… Wilson? Wilkins?” Foster groaned and Donnelley wanted to chuck his phone into the forests, storm into the station and just ask for the ‘Ranger that found the fucking girl’, but thankfully Foster spoke up again, “Frank Wilkins.”
“Okay.” Donnelley nodded, sighing as he blew out a lungful of anger. “Also, get me some time with Roy. Today. Please.”
“Already on it, Sarn’t.” Donnelley rolled his eyes.
“First of all, wrong rank. Second of all, fuck off. I’ll see you at the Safehouse to brief you on the girl.”
Donnelley spoke. He was starting to remember why Foster was a difficult Officer as he hung up the phone and slipped it into his pocket.
He turned to the rest of the group, “Frank Wilkins. Let’s hope he’s not on vacation for an indeterminate period.” He glanced at Laine, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He returned to his original demeanor, “Questions?”
"Since we're going to have grown up talk, maybe leave the child in the car," Laine said, glancing at Gwen with a half smile. "You know, preferably in the sun with the windows rolled up."
Donnelley instantly pointed at Gwen with a face that told her what he was going to say anyways, “Do not. Say. Shit.” He put away his finger and looked at Laine, “Don’t stoke the fire. Please.”
Gwen gently spit into her spitter. "Agent Romero, copies." She said.
Laine shrugged, then slung her purse over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mr Donnelley, I suppose I have to get used to working with the savant types. Let's go find Ranger Wilkins."
Gwen chuckled making a mental note to send gay porn to Laine's contact list on her email or something. If she was that bored.
With that she strolled away, heading towards the ranger station entrance.
Donnelley nodded to Tom, “Hold the fort.”
He turned away and caught up with Laine, “So, game plan? I don’t feel like going in there and yelling at everyone again.” He smirked, “Maybe you should take this.”
Laine glanced at him briefly, then focused forward, careful of the pitted asphalt under her high heels. "Let's save that for plan D. I can take the lead, sometimes they respond to a feminine touch. Other times they are just condescending. We can always bring Tom in if they won't crack for me."
A wicked little smile touched her lips as she added, "But I normally don't have a problem with men cracking."
"You can't seduce anyone doc." Gwen said from the peanut gallery behind them.
“Most men respond to any attention from a woman positively.” He snorted, pausing as he laid his hand on the doorknob when she added that last bit. He crooked a brow at her, smirking, “Oh.”
He pushed the door open and gestured inside for Laine to step in first. It was quaint, taxidermied buck head on the wall and everything rustic. There was not yet a haughty receptionist like last time. Thankfully. “After you, femme fatale.”
She met his eyes as he opened the door, the secretive smile her only answer. Laine stepped through, trying not to grin at his joke. It was not far from the truth, she cultivated the image for a reason. It was not for seduction, but power and there was a power in sexuality.
The rustic office was empty and Laine moved into the center of the room, "Anyone home?"
Donnelley pursed his lips at the silence that persisted. He leaned a bit closer to Laine and spoke in a hushed tone, smirk in his voice, “Plan D, though? I could try the kissy faces.”
"I'll take the ranger's lap, you take his face. We'll make a mess, old man moves in. Take his computer or some shit." Gwen said as she held her laptop bag, thinking about trying to crack their shit.
“Stop calling me old man.” The humor gone from Donnelley’s voice.
Just then, a creaking of floorboards emanated in the small space of the station and out walked a young, wiry man in a beige Ranger’s uniform and wide-brimmed hat. He tipped it at them. He wasn’t entirely plain looking, innocence was in his eyes which paired with his thin cheeks gave him a boyish appearance. “How can I help…” his eyes went over Laine and then Gwen, a flash of interest in his eyes, “Y-y’all?”
Ignoring Gwen, Dr Laine stepped forward and smiled politely. "Good morning, yes. We're looking for Ranger Wilkins. Agent Laine, FBI."
She showed her badge and credentials, offering it to the slight young man. "I'm with the Behavioral Analysis unit, we need to speak with him."
The young Ranger seemed to shrink into himself as if trying to disappear. His skin paled as he swallowed, any hint of attraction toward either of the women evaporating, “About the body?”
Gwen walked over beside the Ranger, putting a sensual hand on the back of his neck. "Yea, well it's not that serious hun. We'd just like to speak with him is all." She giggled.
“Agent Romero...” Laine sighed inwardly then gave the young ranger a sympathetic look. “Yes, please, I would like to see the trail and location if you could take us to him or...”
Laine looked sharply at Gwen, trying to subtly wave her off the poor man. “What is your name, I’m so sorry.”
Gwen backed away sensually dragging her finger on him before retracting her claws from him. Love claws.
The Ranger flinched under Gwen’s touch, his disposition not changing in the slightest as he moved away from her as she hung back from Laine. “Wilkins.” He said, “Frank.”
“Ranger Wilkins, my apologies for ...that,” Laine said, smiling gently. “This is Agent John Davidson and that’s...Junior Agent Romero.”
She stayed at a respectful distance, only closing in a step or two to speak more privately, “Can I call you Frank? I’m Heather. I understand you found the body and I know it’s hard to speak about but what I really need to know about the scene when you found her. Can we talk alone?”
The Ranger nodded. Donnelley frowned at the prospect of being alone with Gwen.
"My plan worked perfectly." Gwen said sounding astute. She said looking around the place for cameras.
“Jesus Christ, Gwen.” Donnelley said as he took a seat. He didn’t trust anywhere in Blackriver to leave Laine alone with another person he didn’t know. “Do you ever wonder if you shouldn’t do something? Or is everything you do just astounding in its genius to you?”
“Because it isn’t.” Donnelley shook his head and looked away from Gwen, trying to listen out for Laine and the Ranger’s conversation in the next room over.
"Someone had to seduce him, I guess the doc just had more assets than me. So you want me to bust this place open?" Gwen said taking out her laptop complete with cool stickers and decals like any hacker would have.
“No.” Donnelley said firmly. “I don’t want you to do anything unless I tell you to do it, alright? Full disclosure, I don’t want your fucking antics to fuck this up.”
“Then why am I here?” Gwen complained going to put her laptop away. “I should have just stayed in the car with Laurie.”
“Because Foster needs you.” Donnelley frowned. “And don’t worry. There’s some things I can think of you’d be useful for. Just gotta wait, s’all.”
“Maybe that kid just liked older women.” She said shrugging.
“Or maybe he doesn’t want to get touched by some fucking stranger. When are you going to realize that this is fucking serious?” He leaned in at her, “Keep your goddamn mitts to yourself and just watch, alright?”
Gwen blew dip breath at Donnely. “Maybe clue me the fuck in into what the hell y’all are doing, I’m just here for the ride ‘less you tell me what the fuck is going on, old man.”
“Oh, we’re just playing pretend. We get really serious about it because we’re boring outside of work. You know, get together and drink some brews and then-“ he stopped abruptly and stood, speaking as he yanked his cigarettes out of his breast pocket, “It’s a goddamn fucking murder investigation that only we want our hands on. You think Foster called all of us here so he could hang out? Eyes peeled, ears open.”
He turned and left, stepping out of the door and he could see the Ranger in the window to his left. He looked like he was about to shit himself. Laine would have something good when she got back, that was for sure.
“Piece of shit.” She said after he left, taking the rest of her hog out of her mouth tossing it into the trash. Not really learning anything new for why she was there she left the station and headed back to the car.
“Door’s still open, asshole.” Donnelley called back, placing his cigarette between his lips. “Come outside and learn something.”
Tom walked over to the National Park Service Ranger’s office just as Donnelley and Gwen came outside. When he reached the steps, he pulled out a second cigar, bit off the end and lit it. He felt like taking off the coat, but he wasn’t really too hot. It was only in the 80s today. Besides, he was accustomed to wearing a suit on the job. He puffed on the cigar while Donnelley stood with the young hacker from the Air Force.
“This is some fucked up shit, Tom.” Donnelley said through a cloud of thin smoke as he heard the FBI Marine’s footsteps.
“Yea, looks like a heap of shit we’ve stepped into.” Tom took a drag on his cigar. “What is going on? Do you know yet?”
Donnelley nodded, “Just a bit. You don’t have to grow up in a small town like I did to recognize all of it.” He frowned at Tom, “Small town corruption. When Laine and I went to cross reference the case files, you know what happened? None of the case files for missing persons ever changed hands over to State PD or FBI. Blackriver’s a fucking Bermuda Triangle for cases.”
“Sounds like Boston in the 70s. The Combat Zone was a haven for crime. It takes awareness at the highest levels in government to fix things. Tough to wade through that crap.” Tom reflected on his hometown and corruption.
“I’m pretty high in the government and all I’m aware of is this place is fucked deep.” Donnelley shook his head, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the Sheriff’s office was blowing smoke when we asked for the Sheriff. Vacation? Bullshit.”
“Yea, that was definitely a deflection,” Tom agreed.
“I want to monitor that crime scene every day we’re here. The killer might know he’s compromised because we caught the crime scene.” Donnelley nodded, “I think he wanted us to see. He’s going to get his wish.”
He turned to Gwen, “I want a drone up in the air in a five mile radius of that scene. We’re going to have to operate in the area because our drones don’t have the range of Predators.” Donnelley frowned, “I’ll have Laurie and Tom go with you to set up and hide your equipment. You alright with that?”
Gwen simply shrugged. “Sure, sounds good.” She said now feeling like she had a purpose again. She went to open her laptop to set up the required software to operate the shitty drone that they’d be working with.
The room they went into was a break room of sorts, with large open windows giving the viewer a scene of rolling rounded mountains of deep green turning to blue in the distance. It was a beautiful scene, tranquil and peaceful, yet hiding a great evil under those boughs of maple, fir and larch. Laine waited for the ranger to sit or stand, whatever made him comfortable as she looked out the window, admiring the view.
Frank took a seat in the corner, watching Laine as she peered out the window. Blackriver was beautiful, but not after what he saw yesterday. She was nice, this Doctor. Attractive, but still intimidating. He wanted to talk but also keep his mouth shut. Around these parts, the hills could hear you. Or at least that was what the stories said. He cleared his throat, “Uh, Yeah. So, what did you want to know?”
Laine turned from the window, then smiled at him, “A lovely park you protect, Frank. My dad took us to Yosemite one summer, I love hiking.”
That was a lie about hiking part but he did not need to know that. She took a seat across from him, crossing her legs and tucking her feet back, in a manner to convey respect of his space. It was all she could do after Gwen had so rudely invaded it. Laine took out a notepad from her purse and a pen, setting them on the side table which was a piece of old tree trunk cut and sanded to a smooth finish.
“I want to know how you found the scene, start from the beginning,” Laine said, looking at the ranger, keeping her expression calm and neutral. “Tell me everything, even if it might not seem important, as best you can remember.”
Frank nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to recall everything he saw. There were pieces in his memory that he knew she would never believe. Should he say anything about that or would they lock him up for being crazy? He shook his head, sighing hard, “I, um…” he began, he cleared his throat of nothing and continued, “They say this place is a career black hole, you know? Blackriver. They say Rangers don’t last long if they’re not locals, you know? And people and stuff go missing.”
His eyes darted to the left, the thing he saw in the woods stuck with him. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but… “Missing, just out of nowhere. Weird shit. Um, anyways, I was hiking along the trail, used to be the railway the old mines used way back in the Civil War. I saw…”
He was quiet for a few moments before he shook his head and flashed Laine a humorless, nervous smile. A fleeting toothy thing, “I was hiking on the trail, birds and everything went quiet and when that happens you know something’s there. Like, with you.” He let go a shuddering sigh, “Nobody goes around the old railway trails. Not since… listen…”
He seemed to pale again, leaning closer to Laine, “I don’t want to be here anymore. My superiors aren’t answering my emails to transfer to somewhere else.” He looked at the window then back to Laine, “If I talk, I want to know if you can do anything about that. Feds know other Feds, right? You can tell someone I don’t want to be here?”
Dr Laine listened to his nervous voice, the shifting eyes and the signals that he was uncomfortable and frightened. She recalled Roy’s assessment of Blackriver County and the ranger’s tale fell in step with the description. Something was wrong with the place, something dangerous. “I’ve heard of rumors of missing people and the silence after,” she said, leaning forward, her green eyes on his narrow face. “You’re not from here are you, Frank? I can see what I can do but I need information, I’ll do my best to protect you as my source. What happened when everything went silent?”
“You need to know I’m not fucking crazy, alright? I haven’t smoked weed since High School and I don’t even drink that much, okay?” Frank’s voice was stilted and staccato at Laine’s prompting. Finally, he thought, maybe someone that could really help.
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Laine said, picking up the note pad to place against her knee. “I don’t think it’s drugs or drink. I am here because something terrible happened and I’m trying to figure out who might have done it.”
She smiled warmly at him, wanting to encourage his trust and waited.
Frank’s eyes grew distant for only a moment, fixated on nothing, staring through the room deep into his memory of it. “It was there, on the trail. You ever look out at the distance in the desert and see ripples? It was like that. Just ripples.” He said, “Just… ripples and I thought I was seeing things, but it moved. I thought I heard a scream but like… not from someone else, you know? Like I’d imagined it, thought it up?”
He shivered, “And something whispered, like in the same way. Come and see. I wanted to run but I wanted to see. Something in me wanted to see and I’m usually not a fucking brave guy, okay? I followed the ripple and went off the trail until I got to a clearing a good ways away. It was easy to get to, but not too easy. And I saw it.”
He paused, “I saw the body. There was a piece of something like silk on it, like cloth? Just had tiny writing on it. I left it there, I didn’t want to read it.” He said, “I called the Sheriff’s and I left for a bit, because fuck that, you know?”
Laine made a few notes, then pushed her glasses up as she turned back to him. She tried not to let her reaction show on her face, the dread at the mention of the voice. The ripple in space. Her scalp crawled with some primal recognition of deep fear and she felt her hand grip the pen until her knuckles went white.
“You did the right thing,” she said finally, licking her lips. They were dry and her voice felt slightly hoarse. She cleared her throat, “You were very brave, Frank. I appreciate you looking because that sounds like a very frightening experience. The body was...hard to look at but you did. You found her and we’re going to find who did this to her.”
Laine paused, then glanced at him, “What did the silk look like, could you make out the letters even if you didn’t read it?”
He shook his head, “No.” He said, “No, it was like scribbles, but I don’t know. Talk to the Sheriff’s, they might have taken it for evidence or whatever.”
He leaned back and rubbed at his face, “That’s all I know, I’m sorry. I just want to get the fuck out and forget this goddamn place.”
“Of course, they probably took it. I’ll check with them. Now, when you heard the voice, did you see anything other than the rippling? Was there any sort of figure or sounds in the brush? The color of the silk if you can remember it? Nothing is trivial,” Laine asked, jotting down a few words. Silk, symbolic? character? Writing, found on body gone b/4 we got there; railways
“Black.” He said, simply, “White writing. You’re going to help me, though?”
“And I want to help you, I know you’re scared,” she said then paused, glancing at the window and speaking in a lower tone. “Have you ever met the Sheriff?”
“Nah, went there a little bit ago, maybe couple months ago,” he shook his head, “I had to follow up on a couple of missing hikers they found a couple days later. Sheriff was on vacation.”
“Lucky fucker.” He muttered.
“Indefinite vacation,” she said, rather than asked, then waited to see if he would answer any more about the strangeness he saw.
“I guess? You went to see him?” Frank asked, his face playing on interest that the Sheriff would be on vacation this long.
“He wasn’t in,” Laine said, “We were told he was on vacation. So either he was or he did not want to speak with us. Now, Frank...something you said earlier, about the old railways. Tell me about those. Why don’t people go up there anymore?”
She wrote down the notes and then gave him her full attention.
“Just, like, old stories. Campfire stuff. Way back in the old days miners went missing, just disappeared and left their clothes. Tale is that one time, some guy collapsed a mine shaft just because. Sheriff pulled him out of there and he was screaming about the devil way down in the mines.” He frowned and shrugged, somehow this piece of history was distant enough from him that he didn’t believe it. Entirely. “Back before Whitetree was a thing the Indians said the place around here was tainted. The river was bitter and the air was bad. Indians say that about a lot of things, you know? So, yeah. Superstition and… stuff.”
Laine wrote quickly, then glanced up, “You know there is often truth veiled in legend, the veil grows thicker through the passage of time. There are places in the world that have been described like that, bad water and air."
Laine held off in commenting it was often caused by volcanic gasses rising into water and poisoning it or a depression in the land, making a death trap of asphyxiation. Besides, the Appalachians volcanic roots had long been dormant and gasses didn't skin a person.
She continued, leaning forward slightly, "Now, whether something was down there or not, it's hard to know but he saw something. Now was this recent enough that it was the same Sheriff? Would that man who fell still be around?"
“This was a long time ago.” Frank frowned, “Heard from one of the old guys around the Station. 2009? Seven? I dunno. Guy went to Beckley, the prison near Charleston, murder of eighteen guys. People around here are superstitious though. This was before the mines closed down when they wanted to unionize. Not the old ones around the rail lines.”
“But those too, you know? Miners say the old mines are haunted. I just think it’s them breathing that bad air in there. Makes them go crazy, see things.” He sighed, crossing his arms, “I’m, um, gonna get some sleep. Can we not talk about this anymore? I’m sorry, it’s just… you know.”
Laine gave him a sympathetic smile but tapped her pen once against the paper, "Of course, I understand. You've been very helpful, I just have a follow up and one other question. What was the fellow's name? And have you ever had reports of missing hikers? Guests of the park. Perhaps a parent or someone reporting their loved one never came home. I understand the sheriff department would contacted but did you ever know of any cases?"
“David Dulane.” Frank chewed his lip, “Just those two hikers I had to go to the Sheriff’s office for. We ended up finding them ourselves. I say them but… we found him taking shelter in one of the mines that closed down way, way back. 1920s or something. He was in there and he was just shaking. We asked him where his wife was and… Jesus, I’m sorry.”
He got up and ran his hands through his hair and scratched at his scalp. His breath growled in his throat as he paced around the room, making silent rounds. He stopped in front of Laine, “You guys should go. I told you everything I know about this, okay?” He said, annoyed at himself for talking about things he’d long since decided to leave behind himself, “I want to leave. I’m gonna go to my bunk.”
"Alright, Frank," she said, watching him pace after she jotted down David Dulane, fell down well 07-09, devil, @Beckley prison; 2 hikers lost, 1 found in old mine...?
"Thank you, you've been incredibly helpful," she reached into her pocket and grabbed one of her FBI business cards with her title, name and phone number. "Take this, call me if you need me or if you remember anything else. Like the hikers' names and what happened to the wife. Everything helps us find out who butchered that girl. She suffered terribly, she deserves justice. And you deserve peace of mind. I'll be making calls to my contacts in the National Park Service, see what I can do."
It was a stretch, her contacts were miniscule. The ranger in Olympia, a couple in Virginia and Laurie. Taking a deep breath, Laine stood up. "Keep your head down, if anyone asks you couldn't recall anything of value and we left frustrated."
Her eyes peered at him behind the glasses. "You know how information can disappear, better they think we didn't get anything."
Now she sounded like Detective Roy.
He looked scared at that. He was a foreigner to Blackriver, and if anybody saw him talking to these other people, would that mean he’d be next to come up skinned? He looked at the card, swallowing hard, “Thank you.”
The words left him, hollow things. He stood there, everything growing silent in the room. He turned to Laine and offered another humorless smile, “If… if I don’t call you in two days… when I remember the hikers.” He looked out the window at the mountains beyond, seeming menacing now when he thought them beautiful when he first got to West Virginia, “If I don’t call you by then, please come here.”
"You have my word," she replied, meeting his eyes. Her throat felt tight and she hoped that whatever was corrupt in this town had been exaggerated.
He turned for the door and stopped just before he rounded the corner, looking back at Laine, “Thank you, Mrs. Laine.”
And he was gone, the sound of a door delicately creaking and closing the only sound in the Station, signaling he was done with this all. Closing the door on Blackriver. And deep down, everything else too.
Laine waited a few moments, giving him time to leave without being seen with her and to gather her thoughts. She had made a large promise to a very frightened man and now she had to find a way to fulfill it. It was not going to be easy but after what he had been through and shared he needed to leave. And the information was interesting and gave her a few leads for the team to follow up on.
She walked out, a purposeful scowl on her face as she looked around the lobby. Her team was gone but one look outside would direct her where to go. Laine exited the door, saying louder than she usually might with the real irritation and frustration she felt upon seeing Gwen again.
"He couldn't give me anything. Too spooked by the body to recall."
Laine approached Donnelley, digging out her black pack of Djarums and slapped it against her palm to pack the cigarettes. Now that they stood close she murmured behind the lighting of her clove cigarette, "Dude, this boy is shit scared but he gave me something."
Donnelley was mid-drag as his eyebrows rose. His ears piqued at that, “I saw. Safehouse.”
Tom nodded and snuffed out his second cigar of the day. “Yea, let’s head back to the barn,” Tom reinforced Donnelley’s statement. The group headed to the Chrysler to make the drive back.
The sky was blue.
That was it. That was all. That’s all he felt for a day where children would be playing in the sprinklers outside and lovers would be walking along beaches. He inhaled the sharp smoke, feeling it burn in his throat as he growled it out to the wind. He desperately clung to any thought that wasn’t the case like a drowning man to the last piece of wood. He took another drag down to the filter and flicked it away, his words wreathed in smoke, “Fucking Christ…”
He pulled his pack free again and flipped it open, wondering if he should go for another. His father used to chainsmoke way back when. He wondered if this was what he went through, the endless thoughts and hellish feeling in his skin. He couldn’t blame him. Vietnam was a nice time for nobody. He used to wonder what he saw there, wonder what it was like all up until he had a slice of it himself. It was no jungle but Donnelley would never see Afghanistan, never see Pakistan and the FATA the same ever again. As he looked to Tom, quiet on his own, and then the sky again. He just knew he wouldn’t see West Virginia in the same light. “I read your file,” He said to Tom, though he still was looking at his own hands instead of the man next to him, “I read all of them, but you’re one of the only ones who saw what I did.”
Tom pulled a cigar out of his breast pocket. He bit the tip, spitting it at the ground. The zippo lighter had the traditional globe and anchor of the US Marine Corps engraved on the metallic side. He flipped it open, striking the flint igniting the fuel. Then lit his cigar sucking in a long drag. He held his breath before allowing the smoke to exit his lungs. Jill often told him it was a nasty habit, but he didn’t care. He only smoked away from her, never at the house.
“I say Afghanistan, I’m sure the official reports did too. Real hush, wasn’t even a debrief. I knew it was Pakistan though. We weren’t even supposed to be there, that wasn’t my ODA’s Area of Operations, but we were there,” he shook his head, voice low and distant, “And we saw.”
Tom eyeballed Donnelley as he spoke about Afghanistan and his ODA. “Any idea what this thing is? Or where it came from? It appears otherworldly. I’m not going to even ask how it has this ability to make anyone who comes near it sad.” Tom thought on his use of the word, sad. He paused and added, “sad may not be a strong enough word. Depression.”
Donnelley rubbed at his face and groaned, shaking his head, “I don’t know, Tom.” Donnelley sighed, finally deciding to have that second cigarette, “All I know is I want to find whoever did this and squeeze a round into his head.”
Tom sucked in another drag on the cigar and held it in. He thought of his wife and his unborn child. He thought of his friend and supervisor Ray Calhoun and how he had three healthy children. His oldest, first baseman for his high school team. Those are good things. Must hold onto those positive thoughts. “This is a shit storm, Donnelley…” Tom really didn’t want to talk about it for a bit. “Oh yea, the wife is pregnant. She doesn’t want me to tell anyone. She’s afraid she may lose the child, but indications say I should be a dad sometime next winter.”
Donnelley inhaled sharp through his smiling teeth, blowing out the smoke as he nodded, “Well, shit, congratulations!” Donnelley chuckled, a genuine mirth both for Tom’s soon to be child and his changing of the subject, “You got a name for them? Joseph’s a pretty good one.” He smirked.
Tom smiled as he exhaled a lung full of cigar smoke. “Yes, Joseph is a good name. My grandfather was named Joseph also. I was tossing around the idea of Tom Jr. and maybe a nickname of TJ. My father’s name is Robert and I have an uncle Randy. Might call him Randall if it is a boy. For girl’s names, I was thinking about Michelle, Cheryl, Margot or Clarice. But I haven’t talked this over with Jill yet either.”
“You should.” Donnelley smiled, “My daughter’s name was my… ex-wife’s idea. Tilly. Little Tilly Donnelley.”
Donnelley had a distant smile on his lips, remembering how she’d toddled her way through the house upon a time. “She’s probably, what… sixteen now.”
“Where does Tilly live now? Do you see her much?” Tom was suddenly curious about Donnellley and his daughter.
“Black Diamond. Washington.” Donnelley’s smile was fading, knowing there was a chance Tilly would never remember him if she saw him. But Holly would. Holly would remember a lot. “Big house. She remarried, my ex-wife.”
Tom picked up on Donnelley’s changing expression. Maybe this was a sore subject? “Well, I know we’ve been avoiding the white elephant in the room, but we need to do something about that young woman inside. I believe you said you don’t know where the crime scene is. What about the dump site? Any clues there? Have you found a witness or anyone who can say something about what happened to this young woman?”
Donnelley only shook his head, the bad taste in his mouth from the topic being put back on the case. “It’s like it happened in a goddamn vacuum. Only person who saw the body was a Park Ranger that found it. Nobody knows where the murder itself happened or who did it.” He sighed, taking another drag from his cigarette, “I know places like Whitetree. Grew up in one. Nobody tells shit to the badges, especially Federal ones.”
“Should’ve seen how many words they spent on me when they could’ve just told me to fuck myself.” Donnelley grinned ruefully, a bearing of fangs almost, “And this was at the Sheriff Station. They didn’t want me in their case files so I could cross reference this crime with any similar ones in the past. Or could just be a battle of who’s-the-biggest-asshole and whose jurisdiction ends where.”
Gwen waltzed over to the two by her lonesome. Stopping in front of them she sighed. "That was pretty boring." She said as she started milling about.
“Oh, I’m sorry that you couldn’t hack the body.” He frowned in Gwen’s direction. “Where’s Laurie? Aren’t you supposed to be watching each other?”
"Dunno I fucked him off." She said as she went to check her phone.
“Maybe these local yokels are high tech and have their files on line? Could senior airman Weissman gain access to their server?” Tom was grasping for ideas. The case appeared to be heading to the cold case files. He really didn’t want to see that happen.
"Agent Nikki Romero to you there Agent Muldoon." She responded, she probably could but wasn't by her PC and felt demotivated in any other setting than an air conditioned car.
Laine lit a cigarette as soon as she stepped out, the black Djarum complementary to her funeral attire. She walked over to the knot of people and said nothing, listening to the tail end of the conversation. Whitetree was closed off, it sat among the mines and hills, hunched and squatting like some beast that had been kicked too much. Wary and hateful, the town an embodiment of the people and the tainted landscape. It was a strange place to her yet it reminded her of certain neighborhoods in LA, closed off and spiteful of the law that was not their own.
She caught Gwen's words and Donnelley's reaction. Boring
It was childish. And despite her understanding of how individuals dealt with stress it put her off. Laine looked at the younger blonde woman, a long inspecting gaze until she broke it and turned back to Donnelley.
Gwen didn’t really care, the doc could think what she wanted to - Gwen would just strut and do her stuff like she always did. She stuck out her tongue, menacingly briefly before looking back at Donnely.
Laine blew out the clove scented smoke in Gwen's general direction then turned her back to her, addressing Tom and Donnelley, "We need to speak with the ranger and then track down the sheriff. CJIS is still checking dental records for missing Jane Does, it might take another day or so but maybe we put the feelers on missing people. Even if our Jane isn't local this guy likely is and most killers start off close to home. And there are graves of bones that may contain his first victims, likely locals."
“My thoughts exactly.” Donnelley nodded, flicking ash from his cigarette before he took another drag, “Roy should know who the Ranger is. First Responding officers are supposed to take notes even before anybody else shows up so he’d have the freshest view of the scene.”
“We checked the Sheriff Station in Whitetree. I want to try my luck at the one in Mercy if one’s there.” Donnelley bit his lip, looking away from the rest of them, “There’s only one way we can find out if the case files for the county Sheriff’s office is online or not.”
“If they want to be tight-lipped, I can play things fast and loose.” He drew his lips thin, “Just don’t ask me what I mean. Easier to say you didn’t know if you didn’t know.”
“We could get some SIGINT equipment in here and tunnel our way into their phones. We’ll see who’s laughing then.” Donnelley shrugged, raising a brow for critique.
"I'm down to hack, old man." She said raising her hand in hopes to finally doing something useful for a change.
“Yeah, you’ve been telling me that since you got here, cowgirl.” Donnelley smirked at her. She reminded him of Laurie in the way she shrugged off most things, but like Laurie, he admired her enthusiasm when her back was against the wall. “If backdoor software from a USB suddenly shows up on Sheriff computers, you’ll be the first to know.” He winked.
"Don't you go winking at me." She said winking back.
"Getting into their phones and computers would be very helpful, especially if they are none the wiser," Laine agreed, flicking the ashes absently. "But I really want to find his kill sight. And who the fuck this guy is."
She blew smoke through her nose, then jerked her head towards Tom and Donnelley, "That medication Al...Dr Bakker mentioned, I'm guessing it's not something easy to get. He'd have to have a connection, black market or otherwise. Most of these people cook up bathtub meth but I wouldn't be surprised if there was a dude selling prescriptions. We find who supplies him, that's a huge win."
“If this place is anything like Dalhart, there’s at least ten.” Donnelley spoke through his cigarette’s cloud. “At least where I was. I’ll just call up the DEA right quick.” He mimicked a phone with his hand before he fell back on being all business, “Seriously, though, our best bet for finding script dealers is a bigger city. I doubt people from Whitetree leave often. It’ll be a very lonely Silk Road up to those mountains. We follow it and we’ve got some suspects by the balls.”
Laine raised her glasses as they slid down and said, "No DEA contacts? I'm surprised. But the idea is sound, as far as I know. Let's meet with Roy again and get more information. Then the ranger, hopefully he'll be more forthcoming."
The sheriff's office had stone walled them, the thin beige line, but next time they would be ready.
"Have you heard from the rest of the team?" she asked looking over at Donnelley, her cigarette smoldering between her fingers.
“Quiet so far.” Donnelley shrugged, “I only sent out the message yesterday so I’d like to give them the benefit of the doubt that they’re not standing me up.”
He took a long drag before scraping off the cherry on the bottom of his shoe and flicking the filter away. “Well, we’ve got shit to do. Best not keep Roy or the Ranger waiting. I’ll call Foster to see if he can get us scheduled with her sometime soon.” He sucked at his teeth, “Maybe we’ll visit the Ranger station closest to the scene and ask around for an interview with the man of the hour.”
Laine nodded, putting out her cigarette and said in a low voice as she stood with Donnelley, "We probably should have asked her his name but she was pretty caught up in telling us what a shithole Whitetree is."
She cut her eyes over at him and failed at hiding her expression of annoyance looking over at the newcomer, Weissman. "Should we drop her off at the cabin? All this murder investigation might be too boring ."
"For someone with a PHD you sure act like a kid doc." She said spitting dip onto the asphalt. Before smirking.
"I'm not a pediatrician, unfortunately for you," Laine sniped back, then smiled placidly.
"I bet your doctorate is in history." She said spitting again.
Donnelley chuckled, shaking his head, “I forgot her mobile at home but maybe she’ll take a nap on the way.” He was still smirking as he leaned a bit closer to Gwen, “That means you. I’ll tell it to you like I told everyone else. Eyes peeled and ears open, you might learn something.”
“Let’s head out. We’re burning daylight.” Donnelley said as he turned to the others before walking in the direction of the Chrysler.
>BLACKRIVER COUNTY RANGER STATION...///
“Fucking pick up.” Donnelley muttered for the second time as they all stood around kicking rocks in the small parking lot of the Ranger Station. It was hemmed in by trees on every side, a lonely hut that was only slightly nicer than the buildings in White Tree. With atmosphere like this, green pines looming over, gravel and dirt underfoot, and a log cabin station it was hard to believe it was only a quarter mile off the main highway from Charleston to Whitetree, and Mercy a little further.
In one ear, Donnelley could hear birdsong and the trees shivering in the soft breezes. In the other was the trill of the dial tone to Foster. Finally, their Case Officer picked up the phone, “Yeah?” He sounded tired.
“The fuck are you doing?” Donnelley grimaced, then shook his head, “Actually I don’t care. What was the Ranger’s name again that found the girl’s body?”
“I don’t remember… Wilson? Wilkins?” Foster groaned and Donnelley wanted to chuck his phone into the forests, storm into the station and just ask for the ‘Ranger that found the fucking girl’, but thankfully Foster spoke up again, “Frank Wilkins.”
“Okay.” Donnelley nodded, sighing as he blew out a lungful of anger. “Also, get me some time with Roy. Today. Please.”
“Already on it, Sarn’t.” Donnelley rolled his eyes.
“First of all, wrong rank. Second of all, fuck off. I’ll see you at the Safehouse to brief you on the girl.”
Donnelley spoke. He was starting to remember why Foster was a difficult Officer as he hung up the phone and slipped it into his pocket.
He turned to the rest of the group, “Frank Wilkins. Let’s hope he’s not on vacation for an indeterminate period.” He glanced at Laine, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He returned to his original demeanor, “Questions?”
"Since we're going to have grown up talk, maybe leave the child in the car," Laine said, glancing at Gwen with a half smile. "You know, preferably in the sun with the windows rolled up."
Donnelley instantly pointed at Gwen with a face that told her what he was going to say anyways, “Do not. Say. Shit.” He put away his finger and looked at Laine, “Don’t stoke the fire. Please.”
Gwen gently spit into her spitter. "Agent Romero, copies." She said.
Laine shrugged, then slung her purse over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mr Donnelley, I suppose I have to get used to working with the savant types. Let's go find Ranger Wilkins."
Gwen chuckled making a mental note to send gay porn to Laine's contact list on her email or something. If she was that bored.
With that she strolled away, heading towards the ranger station entrance.
Donnelley nodded to Tom, “Hold the fort.”
He turned away and caught up with Laine, “So, game plan? I don’t feel like going in there and yelling at everyone again.” He smirked, “Maybe you should take this.”
Laine glanced at him briefly, then focused forward, careful of the pitted asphalt under her high heels. "Let's save that for plan D. I can take the lead, sometimes they respond to a feminine touch. Other times they are just condescending. We can always bring Tom in if they won't crack for me."
A wicked little smile touched her lips as she added, "But I normally don't have a problem with men cracking."
"You can't seduce anyone doc." Gwen said from the peanut gallery behind them.
“Most men respond to any attention from a woman positively.” He snorted, pausing as he laid his hand on the doorknob when she added that last bit. He crooked a brow at her, smirking, “Oh.”
He pushed the door open and gestured inside for Laine to step in first. It was quaint, taxidermied buck head on the wall and everything rustic. There was not yet a haughty receptionist like last time. Thankfully. “After you, femme fatale.”
She met his eyes as he opened the door, the secretive smile her only answer. Laine stepped through, trying not to grin at his joke. It was not far from the truth, she cultivated the image for a reason. It was not for seduction, but power and there was a power in sexuality.
The rustic office was empty and Laine moved into the center of the room, "Anyone home?"
Donnelley pursed his lips at the silence that persisted. He leaned a bit closer to Laine and spoke in a hushed tone, smirk in his voice, “Plan D, though? I could try the kissy faces.”
"I'll take the ranger's lap, you take his face. We'll make a mess, old man moves in. Take his computer or some shit." Gwen said as she held her laptop bag, thinking about trying to crack their shit.
“Stop calling me old man.” The humor gone from Donnelley’s voice.
Just then, a creaking of floorboards emanated in the small space of the station and out walked a young, wiry man in a beige Ranger’s uniform and wide-brimmed hat. He tipped it at them. He wasn’t entirely plain looking, innocence was in his eyes which paired with his thin cheeks gave him a boyish appearance. “How can I help…” his eyes went over Laine and then Gwen, a flash of interest in his eyes, “Y-y’all?”
Ignoring Gwen, Dr Laine stepped forward and smiled politely. "Good morning, yes. We're looking for Ranger Wilkins. Agent Laine, FBI."
She showed her badge and credentials, offering it to the slight young man. "I'm with the Behavioral Analysis unit, we need to speak with him."
The young Ranger seemed to shrink into himself as if trying to disappear. His skin paled as he swallowed, any hint of attraction toward either of the women evaporating, “About the body?”
Gwen walked over beside the Ranger, putting a sensual hand on the back of his neck. "Yea, well it's not that serious hun. We'd just like to speak with him is all." She giggled.
“Agent Romero...” Laine sighed inwardly then gave the young ranger a sympathetic look. “Yes, please, I would like to see the trail and location if you could take us to him or...”
Laine looked sharply at Gwen, trying to subtly wave her off the poor man. “What is your name, I’m so sorry.”
Gwen backed away sensually dragging her finger on him before retracting her claws from him. Love claws.
The Ranger flinched under Gwen’s touch, his disposition not changing in the slightest as he moved away from her as she hung back from Laine. “Wilkins.” He said, “Frank.”
“Ranger Wilkins, my apologies for ...that,” Laine said, smiling gently. “This is Agent John Davidson and that’s...Junior Agent Romero.”
She stayed at a respectful distance, only closing in a step or two to speak more privately, “Can I call you Frank? I’m Heather. I understand you found the body and I know it’s hard to speak about but what I really need to know about the scene when you found her. Can we talk alone?”
The Ranger nodded. Donnelley frowned at the prospect of being alone with Gwen.
"My plan worked perfectly." Gwen said sounding astute. She said looking around the place for cameras.
“Jesus Christ, Gwen.” Donnelley said as he took a seat. He didn’t trust anywhere in Blackriver to leave Laine alone with another person he didn’t know. “Do you ever wonder if you shouldn’t do something? Or is everything you do just astounding in its genius to you?”
“Because it isn’t.” Donnelley shook his head and looked away from Gwen, trying to listen out for Laine and the Ranger’s conversation in the next room over.
"Someone had to seduce him, I guess the doc just had more assets than me. So you want me to bust this place open?" Gwen said taking out her laptop complete with cool stickers and decals like any hacker would have.
“No.” Donnelley said firmly. “I don’t want you to do anything unless I tell you to do it, alright? Full disclosure, I don’t want your fucking antics to fuck this up.”
“Then why am I here?” Gwen complained going to put her laptop away. “I should have just stayed in the car with Laurie.”
“Because Foster needs you.” Donnelley frowned. “And don’t worry. There’s some things I can think of you’d be useful for. Just gotta wait, s’all.”
“Maybe that kid just liked older women.” She said shrugging.
“Or maybe he doesn’t want to get touched by some fucking stranger. When are you going to realize that this is fucking serious?” He leaned in at her, “Keep your goddamn mitts to yourself and just watch, alright?”
Gwen blew dip breath at Donnely. “Maybe clue me the fuck in into what the hell y’all are doing, I’m just here for the ride ‘less you tell me what the fuck is going on, old man.”
“Oh, we’re just playing pretend. We get really serious about it because we’re boring outside of work. You know, get together and drink some brews and then-“ he stopped abruptly and stood, speaking as he yanked his cigarettes out of his breast pocket, “It’s a goddamn fucking murder investigation that only we want our hands on. You think Foster called all of us here so he could hang out? Eyes peeled, ears open.”
He turned and left, stepping out of the door and he could see the Ranger in the window to his left. He looked like he was about to shit himself. Laine would have something good when she got back, that was for sure.
“Piece of shit.” She said after he left, taking the rest of her hog out of her mouth tossing it into the trash. Not really learning anything new for why she was there she left the station and headed back to the car.
“Door’s still open, asshole.” Donnelley called back, placing his cigarette between his lips. “Come outside and learn something.”
Tom walked over to the National Park Service Ranger’s office just as Donnelley and Gwen came outside. When he reached the steps, he pulled out a second cigar, bit off the end and lit it. He felt like taking off the coat, but he wasn’t really too hot. It was only in the 80s today. Besides, he was accustomed to wearing a suit on the job. He puffed on the cigar while Donnelley stood with the young hacker from the Air Force.
“This is some fucked up shit, Tom.” Donnelley said through a cloud of thin smoke as he heard the FBI Marine’s footsteps.
“Yea, looks like a heap of shit we’ve stepped into.” Tom took a drag on his cigar. “What is going on? Do you know yet?”
Donnelley nodded, “Just a bit. You don’t have to grow up in a small town like I did to recognize all of it.” He frowned at Tom, “Small town corruption. When Laine and I went to cross reference the case files, you know what happened? None of the case files for missing persons ever changed hands over to State PD or FBI. Blackriver’s a fucking Bermuda Triangle for cases.”
“Sounds like Boston in the 70s. The Combat Zone was a haven for crime. It takes awareness at the highest levels in government to fix things. Tough to wade through that crap.” Tom reflected on his hometown and corruption.
“I’m pretty high in the government and all I’m aware of is this place is fucked deep.” Donnelley shook his head, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the Sheriff’s office was blowing smoke when we asked for the Sheriff. Vacation? Bullshit.”
“Yea, that was definitely a deflection,” Tom agreed.
“I want to monitor that crime scene every day we’re here. The killer might know he’s compromised because we caught the crime scene.” Donnelley nodded, “I think he wanted us to see. He’s going to get his wish.”
He turned to Gwen, “I want a drone up in the air in a five mile radius of that scene. We’re going to have to operate in the area because our drones don’t have the range of Predators.” Donnelley frowned, “I’ll have Laurie and Tom go with you to set up and hide your equipment. You alright with that?”
Gwen simply shrugged. “Sure, sounds good.” She said now feeling like she had a purpose again. She went to open her laptop to set up the required software to operate the shitty drone that they’d be working with.
The room they went into was a break room of sorts, with large open windows giving the viewer a scene of rolling rounded mountains of deep green turning to blue in the distance. It was a beautiful scene, tranquil and peaceful, yet hiding a great evil under those boughs of maple, fir and larch. Laine waited for the ranger to sit or stand, whatever made him comfortable as she looked out the window, admiring the view.
Frank took a seat in the corner, watching Laine as she peered out the window. Blackriver was beautiful, but not after what he saw yesterday. She was nice, this Doctor. Attractive, but still intimidating. He wanted to talk but also keep his mouth shut. Around these parts, the hills could hear you. Or at least that was what the stories said. He cleared his throat, “Uh, Yeah. So, what did you want to know?”
Laine turned from the window, then smiled at him, “A lovely park you protect, Frank. My dad took us to Yosemite one summer, I love hiking.”
That was a lie about hiking part but he did not need to know that. She took a seat across from him, crossing her legs and tucking her feet back, in a manner to convey respect of his space. It was all she could do after Gwen had so rudely invaded it. Laine took out a notepad from her purse and a pen, setting them on the side table which was a piece of old tree trunk cut and sanded to a smooth finish.
“I want to know how you found the scene, start from the beginning,” Laine said, looking at the ranger, keeping her expression calm and neutral. “Tell me everything, even if it might not seem important, as best you can remember.”
Frank nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to recall everything he saw. There were pieces in his memory that he knew she would never believe. Should he say anything about that or would they lock him up for being crazy? He shook his head, sighing hard, “I, um…” he began, he cleared his throat of nothing and continued, “They say this place is a career black hole, you know? Blackriver. They say Rangers don’t last long if they’re not locals, you know? And people and stuff go missing.”
His eyes darted to the left, the thing he saw in the woods stuck with him. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but… “Missing, just out of nowhere. Weird shit. Um, anyways, I was hiking along the trail, used to be the railway the old mines used way back in the Civil War. I saw…”
He was quiet for a few moments before he shook his head and flashed Laine a humorless, nervous smile. A fleeting toothy thing, “I was hiking on the trail, birds and everything went quiet and when that happens you know something’s there. Like, with you.” He let go a shuddering sigh, “Nobody goes around the old railway trails. Not since… listen…”
He seemed to pale again, leaning closer to Laine, “I don’t want to be here anymore. My superiors aren’t answering my emails to transfer to somewhere else.” He looked at the window then back to Laine, “If I talk, I want to know if you can do anything about that. Feds know other Feds, right? You can tell someone I don’t want to be here?”
Dr Laine listened to his nervous voice, the shifting eyes and the signals that he was uncomfortable and frightened. She recalled Roy’s assessment of Blackriver County and the ranger’s tale fell in step with the description. Something was wrong with the place, something dangerous. “I’ve heard of rumors of missing people and the silence after,” she said, leaning forward, her green eyes on his narrow face. “You’re not from here are you, Frank? I can see what I can do but I need information, I’ll do my best to protect you as my source. What happened when everything went silent?”
“You need to know I’m not fucking crazy, alright? I haven’t smoked weed since High School and I don’t even drink that much, okay?” Frank’s voice was stilted and staccato at Laine’s prompting. Finally, he thought, maybe someone that could really help.
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Laine said, picking up the note pad to place against her knee. “I don’t think it’s drugs or drink. I am here because something terrible happened and I’m trying to figure out who might have done it.”
She smiled warmly at him, wanting to encourage his trust and waited.
Frank’s eyes grew distant for only a moment, fixated on nothing, staring through the room deep into his memory of it. “It was there, on the trail. You ever look out at the distance in the desert and see ripples? It was like that. Just ripples.” He said, “Just… ripples and I thought I was seeing things, but it moved. I thought I heard a scream but like… not from someone else, you know? Like I’d imagined it, thought it up?”
He shivered, “And something whispered, like in the same way. Come and see. I wanted to run but I wanted to see. Something in me wanted to see and I’m usually not a fucking brave guy, okay? I followed the ripple and went off the trail until I got to a clearing a good ways away. It was easy to get to, but not too easy. And I saw it.”
He paused, “I saw the body. There was a piece of something like silk on it, like cloth? Just had tiny writing on it. I left it there, I didn’t want to read it.” He said, “I called the Sheriff’s and I left for a bit, because fuck that, you know?”
Laine made a few notes, then pushed her glasses up as she turned back to him. She tried not to let her reaction show on her face, the dread at the mention of the voice. The ripple in space. Her scalp crawled with some primal recognition of deep fear and she felt her hand grip the pen until her knuckles went white.
“You did the right thing,” she said finally, licking her lips. They were dry and her voice felt slightly hoarse. She cleared her throat, “You were very brave, Frank. I appreciate you looking because that sounds like a very frightening experience. The body was...hard to look at but you did. You found her and we’re going to find who did this to her.”
Laine paused, then glanced at him, “What did the silk look like, could you make out the letters even if you didn’t read it?”
He shook his head, “No.” He said, “No, it was like scribbles, but I don’t know. Talk to the Sheriff’s, they might have taken it for evidence or whatever.”
He leaned back and rubbed at his face, “That’s all I know, I’m sorry. I just want to get the fuck out and forget this goddamn place.”
“Of course, they probably took it. I’ll check with them. Now, when you heard the voice, did you see anything other than the rippling? Was there any sort of figure or sounds in the brush? The color of the silk if you can remember it? Nothing is trivial,” Laine asked, jotting down a few words. Silk, symbolic? character? Writing, found on body gone b/4 we got there; railways
“Black.” He said, simply, “White writing. You’re going to help me, though?”
“And I want to help you, I know you’re scared,” she said then paused, glancing at the window and speaking in a lower tone. “Have you ever met the Sheriff?”
“Nah, went there a little bit ago, maybe couple months ago,” he shook his head, “I had to follow up on a couple of missing hikers they found a couple days later. Sheriff was on vacation.”
“Lucky fucker.” He muttered.
“Indefinite vacation,” she said, rather than asked, then waited to see if he would answer any more about the strangeness he saw.
“I guess? You went to see him?” Frank asked, his face playing on interest that the Sheriff would be on vacation this long.
“He wasn’t in,” Laine said, “We were told he was on vacation. So either he was or he did not want to speak with us. Now, Frank...something you said earlier, about the old railways. Tell me about those. Why don’t people go up there anymore?”
She wrote down the notes and then gave him her full attention.
“Just, like, old stories. Campfire stuff. Way back in the old days miners went missing, just disappeared and left their clothes. Tale is that one time, some guy collapsed a mine shaft just because. Sheriff pulled him out of there and he was screaming about the devil way down in the mines.” He frowned and shrugged, somehow this piece of history was distant enough from him that he didn’t believe it. Entirely. “Back before Whitetree was a thing the Indians said the place around here was tainted. The river was bitter and the air was bad. Indians say that about a lot of things, you know? So, yeah. Superstition and… stuff.”
Laine wrote quickly, then glanced up, “You know there is often truth veiled in legend, the veil grows thicker through the passage of time. There are places in the world that have been described like that, bad water and air."
Laine held off in commenting it was often caused by volcanic gasses rising into water and poisoning it or a depression in the land, making a death trap of asphyxiation. Besides, the Appalachians volcanic roots had long been dormant and gasses didn't skin a person.
She continued, leaning forward slightly, "Now, whether something was down there or not, it's hard to know but he saw something. Now was this recent enough that it was the same Sheriff? Would that man who fell still be around?"
“This was a long time ago.” Frank frowned, “Heard from one of the old guys around the Station. 2009? Seven? I dunno. Guy went to Beckley, the prison near Charleston, murder of eighteen guys. People around here are superstitious though. This was before the mines closed down when they wanted to unionize. Not the old ones around the rail lines.”
“But those too, you know? Miners say the old mines are haunted. I just think it’s them breathing that bad air in there. Makes them go crazy, see things.” He sighed, crossing his arms, “I’m, um, gonna get some sleep. Can we not talk about this anymore? I’m sorry, it’s just… you know.”
Laine gave him a sympathetic smile but tapped her pen once against the paper, "Of course, I understand. You've been very helpful, I just have a follow up and one other question. What was the fellow's name? And have you ever had reports of missing hikers? Guests of the park. Perhaps a parent or someone reporting their loved one never came home. I understand the sheriff department would contacted but did you ever know of any cases?"
“David Dulane.” Frank chewed his lip, “Just those two hikers I had to go to the Sheriff’s office for. We ended up finding them ourselves. I say them but… we found him taking shelter in one of the mines that closed down way, way back. 1920s or something. He was in there and he was just shaking. We asked him where his wife was and… Jesus, I’m sorry.”
He got up and ran his hands through his hair and scratched at his scalp. His breath growled in his throat as he paced around the room, making silent rounds. He stopped in front of Laine, “You guys should go. I told you everything I know about this, okay?” He said, annoyed at himself for talking about things he’d long since decided to leave behind himself, “I want to leave. I’m gonna go to my bunk.”
"Alright, Frank," she said, watching him pace after she jotted down David Dulane, fell down well 07-09, devil, @Beckley prison; 2 hikers lost, 1 found in old mine...?
"Thank you, you've been incredibly helpful," she reached into her pocket and grabbed one of her FBI business cards with her title, name and phone number. "Take this, call me if you need me or if you remember anything else. Like the hikers' names and what happened to the wife. Everything helps us find out who butchered that girl. She suffered terribly, she deserves justice. And you deserve peace of mind. I'll be making calls to my contacts in the National Park Service, see what I can do."
It was a stretch, her contacts were miniscule. The ranger in Olympia, a couple in Virginia and Laurie. Taking a deep breath, Laine stood up. "Keep your head down, if anyone asks you couldn't recall anything of value and we left frustrated."
Her eyes peered at him behind the glasses. "You know how information can disappear, better they think we didn't get anything."
Now she sounded like Detective Roy.
He looked scared at that. He was a foreigner to Blackriver, and if anybody saw him talking to these other people, would that mean he’d be next to come up skinned? He looked at the card, swallowing hard, “Thank you.”
The words left him, hollow things. He stood there, everything growing silent in the room. He turned to Laine and offered another humorless smile, “If… if I don’t call you in two days… when I remember the hikers.” He looked out the window at the mountains beyond, seeming menacing now when he thought them beautiful when he first got to West Virginia, “If I don’t call you by then, please come here.”
"You have my word," she replied, meeting his eyes. Her throat felt tight and she hoped that whatever was corrupt in this town had been exaggerated.
He turned for the door and stopped just before he rounded the corner, looking back at Laine, “Thank you, Mrs. Laine.”
And he was gone, the sound of a door delicately creaking and closing the only sound in the Station, signaling he was done with this all. Closing the door on Blackriver. And deep down, everything else too.
Laine waited a few moments, giving him time to leave without being seen with her and to gather her thoughts. She had made a large promise to a very frightened man and now she had to find a way to fulfill it. It was not going to be easy but after what he had been through and shared he needed to leave. And the information was interesting and gave her a few leads for the team to follow up on.
She walked out, a purposeful scowl on her face as she looked around the lobby. Her team was gone but one look outside would direct her where to go. Laine exited the door, saying louder than she usually might with the real irritation and frustration she felt upon seeing Gwen again.
"He couldn't give me anything. Too spooked by the body to recall."
Laine approached Donnelley, digging out her black pack of Djarums and slapped it against her palm to pack the cigarettes. Now that they stood close she murmured behind the lighting of her clove cigarette, "Dude, this boy is shit scared but he gave me something."
Donnelley was mid-drag as his eyebrows rose. His ears piqued at that, “I saw. Safehouse.”
Tom nodded and snuffed out his second cigar of the day. “Yea, let’s head back to the barn,” Tom reinforced Donnelley’s statement. The group headed to the Chrysler to make the drive back.
>THE SAFEHOUSE
>BLACKRIVER COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
>0630...///
The one good thing about being drunk before sleeping, or being so drunk he was forced to sleep, was the dreams seemed fiction then. Like watching a television rather than his own feet filling the boots or his own hands holding the knife or cradling Guzman’s head. He’d tried going to sleep sober once. It was not something he’d do if he had a choice at all.
boom… and then echoes. He stirred awake quicker than usual, reached for his M4 and as he scrambled for it, he realized it wasn’t there. He looked around himself. He wasn’t in Afghanistan, but there were mountains. West Virginia. He drew in a breath and blew it out his mouth, looking through the bedroom window to see the plume of dust a blasting charge at the mines had thrown up. The Safehouse. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk and cradled his face in his hands, fingers tracing the edges of the burn scar as his head throbbed. He stayed like that for he didn’t know how long before he shook himself back to the present, standing and stretching. The familiar pops from his joints after a life of hitting the ground hard and ascending steep climbs with a ruck that weighed the equivalent of another man.
He sniffed at the air. Coffee? Was Laine up before him? He wasn’t surprised, he went to sleep later than she did and drunker than she did as well. He slipped a ratty black t-shirt over himself, the Choking Victim logo long faded to a hint that one would have to squint at to tell. He traded his slacks for sweats and slipped his .40 cal into the right pocket, tying a tight knot in the drawstrings to compensate for the weight that threatened to pull it down to his ankles. He eyed a half-empty water bottle on its side at the foot of his bed. He grasped it up and sucked down the rest of it in hopes of wetting his dry mouth, smacking his lips appreciatively as he threw it back into the covers of his bed. The finishing touch being a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
He put his hand on the knob, but froze. There wasn’t any conversation outside yet there was a stirring, a creaking of the floorboards and the sound of someone humming and quietly singing something. It was just Laine and him then. If he hadn’t been such an ass last night perhaps he could’ve strolled into the kitchen and waved at her, making himself a cup of coffee and ask how she slept, but…
Fuck it, that’s what he was going to do. He turned the knob and pulled the door open, closing it behind him and then standing in place. Laine was indeed already up and about, but she had not taken notice of his presence. She stood at the counter, sink on one side of her and cooking range on the other, bowl of soon-to-be scrambled eggs in one hand and her other beating it to rhythmic hell with a fork. He didn’t realize he was staring until he had to roll his eyes away from appreciating how the goddamn light from the window fell over her. She put it down and went for something else, prompting him to flinch back into a conspicuous walk to the island table in the kitchen. On which was a clean mug next to her filled one, coffee still steaming in hers. He grasped the cup by the handle, stepping quietly as he carefully placed it under the Black Budget Keurig’s spigot, replacing Laine’s used cartridge with a fresh French Roast one and letting the machine go to work with a press of a button. He turned around, leaning on the counter and watched Laine work at the morning’s breakfast, the dark-haired woman still utterly oblivious to his relaxed, folded arm presence in the corner of the kitchen behind her. He watched her mouth the words to some song, humming along at other parts. He finally picked it out. He smirked. Suicidal Tendencies. Another flash of normalcy. Another chiding shake of his head and sigh. She’s a colleague, his inner voice spoke, You fucking child.
“Look.” He said finally, the words trudging out of him like a funeral procession, “I didn’t mean anything by last night. I know it isn’t any business of mine and it really shouldn’t matter to me who calls you what.”
His eyes were on the floor and he could feel himself curling over like a guilty pet. She just kept on doing what she’d been and Donnelley instantly recognized the age-old unsaid ‘fuck off’ of the cold shoulder. Holly was a fan of it. There was an ache in his chest at that, a feeling that he was ankle-deep in shit. “Laine, I know I acted very unprofessional last night. I’m just trying to apologize for my behavior and I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Still no answer. And the shit rose to his knees. He sighed, closing his eyes and hanging his head, “I get it.” He breathed, nodding slow, “For the sake of the case we can just start over. No bullshit about someone who’s known you way damn longer than I have calling you by whatever name. Okay?”
No answer, and this time she actually turned away from him, giving him her back. He just wanted to take his coffee and hole up in his room like an angst-ridden younger Donnelley might have. He let out a harsh sigh and began to leave for his room, brushing a defeated hand through his hair, “Fuck, Donnelley...”
Laine flipped the bacon and went back to mixing the eggs, beating a good half dozen with a touch of milk, whisking them to the rhythm of one of her favorite Suicidal songs. She was dressed like she had just rolled out of bed, which she had, still in the faded back t shirt with the modesty of putting on some yoga pants. Her bare feet padded over the polished wood, neat pedicured toenails painted glossy black and dark hair swept back, a small clip holding the short locks out of her face as she cooked.
She went about the business of breakfast, stirring eggs and watching the browning potatoes, completely oblivious as the music blasted into her ears. Her favorite part of the song was coming up and she called out in not quite a full shout, “But here’s my apology, FUCK YOU!”
Donnelley’s shoulders flinched up and he turned slowly, mouth slightly agape. He looked at her and knew every little joke they shared was tossed aside, “Laine, I…”
When she spun around on the balls of her feet she finally noticed Donnelley staring at her and realization hit as she popped the ear buds out, “Oh hey, sorry about that, dude! I didn’t see you. Good morning, how’s your head?”
Donnelley’s brow furrowed even more and he tried to hide his face behind the mug, taking a long sip. When it came away from his face, he forced a smile. It was all just a misunderstanding, he told himself. The ache in his chest needn’t be worried over, it’s all fine now. But it wasn’t, and he resigned himself to sitting at the island table. “You know. Night of drinking. About as good as I could hope after that.” He replied, his smile coming back with a bit more sincerity, “D’you sleep good?”
She smiled a bit, her makeup gone except the raccoon eye remnants of her eyeliner as she had not hit the shower yet. “Yeah, I slept soundly, a little vodka and horrific murder just puts me out. I hope you’re hungry, I’m making enough for a small army.”
Laine glanced over at him, watching him drink his coffee before she poured the eggs into a buttered pan. “How about you? Feeling alright?”
“Yeah,” He was still smiling at her earlier quip as he looked into his mug before taking another sip. Gallows humor and survival and all that. He looked at her, shrugging, “Just a… an awkward start to my morning s’all.”
He leaned over and glanced at the food, feeling his stomach churn with hunger. He smiled as he put his ass back in his chair, “You looking to feed Whitetree with all that ‘cause you just might.”
“My dad always made us a huge Sunday breakfast, just in case we had visitors. His family was one of those that would make the rounds after church,” she said, looking wistfully out the window at the pine trees beyond the drive that only held the Chrysler and her rental Hyundai. She then shrugged, giving him a small grin. “Plus it helps with hangovers, grease and fat and caffeine.”
Laine set a plate in front of him, fluffy eggs and crisp bacon and hashbrowns. She had her own food and most important her cup of dark coffee. She stepped aside to turn off the burners, covering the eggs with a plate. “Awkward?”
She sat down, her face flushed pink and she sighed a soft self deprecating laugh, “Oh yeah, awkward. I’m really sorry about yelling ‘fuck you’ at you. It’s the song, I’m sure you know it. ‘You Won’t Bring Me Down’. One of my wake up tunes.”
She sipped her coffee and dug in, not shy about eating heartily. Laine kept a side eye on Donnelley, he seemed bothered by more than just her accidental cussing out, it certainly wasn’t the first time he had heard that phrase. “Unlike what it seems, I am not a morning person, it’s something I have to force myself into. I can’t do anything until I have coffee. Once that hits and I have a shower, I’ll be ready to be Doctor Laine.”
“Well, then, Miss Laine,” He smirked, forking some eggs into his mouth and finishing chewing, “You sure still know how to remedy a hangover.”
His mind returned to last night. No matter the fact the subject felt so far away from her it still stuck close to him, seeming to breathe down his neck every moment it got. He wondered if he should apologize anyway, now that he had her attention. Then he wondered if it would be more tactful to just shut up about it. “Laine,” Damnit, “I’m sorry about last night.”
Laine bit into a piece of bacon, done to crisp perfection and nodded at his observation of her hangover cure. Menudo was more traditional in the heavily Mexican influenced LA but this she knew how to make. As she ate, she could sense his tension, in the way he held himself and the furrows in his brow. Laine waited for Donnelley, this was a man who could not be pushed.
When he spoke, she turned to look at him. Her dark ringed eyes still calm and observant as he apologized. Setting her fork down, she turned her body slightly as she gave him her attention.
“Why are you sorry?” she said, “It’s not the drinking, I remember the flask. Last night was a nice distraction after the autopsy and you were kind enough to keep me company shopping.”
He sighed a chuckle, smiling softly at her, “Anytime.” He nodded. He wondered if he should just leave it at that, pretend that was exactly what he was talking about and they could both go on with their lives. But Donnelley never did things, never let things go easy, “It’s not the drinking though. It’s…”
“You were right.” He looked away from her, his hand dropping and leaving his fork on his plate, finding it too hard to look her in the eye with this, “What’s it matter. I shouldn’t have brought up Bakker calling you by your first name, he’s known you way longer than I have. I’m just some guy you met a couple months ago.”
Laine bit the inside of her lip, her brows drawing together slightly as he confessed why he was sorry. “Oh, yes, that. You’re right, it wasn’t your business,” she said, then softened her smoke husky voice, “I accept your apology. It’s not something I wanted to get into and it’s nothing that matters now. You’re not just some guy, by the way.”
She finished her coffee, then set her mug down, “I like you, Donnelley. You’re pretty cool. You know, for a black booted CIA spook.”
Laine winked at him slyly then stood and scraped her plate, setting it in the sink.
Donnelley laid a hand over his heart and bit his lip, “Oh, that kinda hurts.” He chuckled, “Go ahead and get about your morning, I’ll take care of the dishes.”
He forked up the last of his eggs and crunched down the bit of bacon he had left before he stood. He swallowed it down just as he set his plate in the sink, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and placing it between his lips, “Thank you. Food was good.” He smiled at her as he walked to the front door and then looked outside the peephole at the sound of crunching gravel beneath tire treads. Then he saw her. “Who the fuck?”
He wasted no time in reaching into his pocket and thumbing the safety off on his handgun. He didn’t have to check the chamber. He always had one in there. He let her knock as he took in her face. Young. Pretty. She didn’t look like someone from town sent to kill him and everyone threatening to break down their sliver of backwoods.
He opened the door, as she knocked and called out at anybody inside. He sucked his teeth, summoning his best authoritative voice well-honed from his time as a Deputy and years in the military, the Texan in his voice apparent. “Think you’ve got the wrong house, ma’am.”
“Nope, Foster sent me - motherfucker.” The voice came back with it’s own Texan twang to it, unheard of in such parts of old Western Virginia. She sounded a bit annoyed, but not Texan pissed, such a fabled mood was seldom except for those who could not control their inner rage.
Donnelley narrowed his eyes at the last bit, the frown on his face twitching a hair deeper, “What?” He leaned in closer, “Don’t think I heard you right.”
Then he heard his phone ring from the other room. It was either Foster calling him to let him know there was a very last minute decision or to notify him that they were all compromised and a small, petite blonde Texan was coming to ventilate his skull. He nodded inside, “Get in here.”
"Took y'all long enough." Hauling her big ol' bag of luggage in with her before sliding it off to the side. "Senior Airman Weissman, pleasure to be of service to ya old man" she said sticking her hand for a lil hand shaky with the head honcho. She was definitely a saucy one.
At the disturbance at the door, Laine popped her head around to see what was going on. The exchange was brief but telling and she ducked back into the kitchen. Serving a plate and setting out another cup, she grabbed her phone and strolled out. “Welcome, I’m Dr Laine, there’s some breakfast waiting if you haven’t eaten. And coffee, plenty of coffee. Looks like you and Mr Donnelley probably have some things to work out so I’m going to grab a shower.”
As she passed Donnelley, she whispered to him, “Don’t kill her.”
Laine vanished into the bathroom after a stop into the women’s bunkroom for her shower bag and towel.
Donnelley regarded the hand and then looked to Weissman for a few good, tense seconds. He took the offered hand. “Joseph Donnelley, OGA.” He put his hands on his hips and nodded at the plate Laine had made, “Eat or not. I’m going outside for a smoke, you can join me if you want. I want to know why you’re here past Foster sending me young cubs to babysit.”
Old Guy Association (OGA), Gwen never thought they existed. Regardless, Gwen was happy enough to go and take the plate. Free food is free food, the Doc chick was pretty nice she thought as she scarfed down the food. After kicking back some killer coffee she went to meet the man who wanted the answers.
"Yea, I'm here to hack shit and do a lot of electronic wizardry." She said proudly. Now taking out her Cophagen Wintergreen giving it a few spanks before packing a mini-hog.
“Oh, good,” Donnelley smirked and dryly added, “If one of us forgets our passwords you can get it back. Appreciate it.”
Tom had woken up at zero five thirty. It was a habit he couldn’t break. It didn’t matter what time he went to bed, he always seemed to wake at zero dark thirty. The sun was just on the horizon; beginning morning nautical twilight or BMNT was here. The day would get gradually brighter as it went on.
Tom stood, moved to the closet, kicking the chute in deeper. Opening his duffel, he pulled out a pair of OD green running shorts and the white T-shirt. He pulled on his running shoes and headed downstairs. He could hear snoring coming from a room in the hall. He ran out the back door and hit the dirt road. He preferred to explore his surroundings on his own when he had time. At 5:45 in the morning, he had time.
The road went on for just under a mile and a half when he hit a paved road appearing to need serious repairs or at least just patching. The local highway department would get to it eventually, if it was in the budget.
‘Colonel Miller is pretty understanding letting me take off like this. I know it was work related, but technically even the FBI needs to let their employees take off time for Reserve training. But I’m not complaining. I want to be here.’ Tom ran along the paved road lost in his thoughts. He remembered Jill and their unborn child. He thought of names like Robert after his father or possibly Tom Jr. with a nickname of TJ. Maybe something totally different. His grandfather was Joseph and he had an uncle Randy, er Randall. Maybe not a boy. What about girls names? Let Jill choose? No. How about Michelle, Cheryl, Margot or Clarice? He then sang running cadences in his head.
After a half hour of running, he figured he was out about three or three and a half miles, turned and began heading back to the safehouse. His thoughts turned to the team. He thought about Mr. Donnelly. He didn’t know the man well enough but appeared to be competent in his work. It didn’t matter what he was like as long as he did his job. At least he brought beers to drink when it was all over. Couldn’t fault a man for his generosity. Heather Laine had called him when he was at home. He was able to follow up some leads that might help her. He would need to share that with her later. Lieutenant Gomez and Mr. Mathius seemed quite capable too. Gomez was a bit high strung at times. He looked forward to seeing Mr. Clark and Jason Jimenez. They were both good guys. He liked working with other military types even if he was an army doggy. They at least knew what they were doing.
Tom hit the dirt road and continued toward the safehouse. A nondescript car approached him from the direction of the house. Tom’s law enforcement and military training couldn’t be impeded. He eyeballed the unimpressed blonde haired gentleman driving the vehicle. He appeared to be close in age to himself and in decent shape. Probably worked out in a gym. He also looked like he could have been part Asian.
He slowed to a walk at about a hundred yards from the building and walked for his cool down. As he approached the house, he spied Mr. Donnelly on the front porch with a young blonde haired woman. She was cute and almost as tall as he and Donnelly; well maybe a few inches shorter, but still tall for a woman. “Hello Mr. Donnelly,” Tom announced walking to the porch, wearing a sweaty white T-shirt and green shorts. He obviously wasn’t carrying any bags. But his hair was cut to the typical US Marine Corps High and Tight length.
“Tom!” Donnelley waved and smiled as the footsteps on the gravel driveway and parking lot of the Safehouse revealed themselves to be none other than Special Agent Stewart, “My favorite Marine. Went on a run?”
He looked around the mostly vacant gravel lot and spotted only his car, the Chrysler. He looked at Tom with some lighthearted confusion and jokingly asked, “You didn’t just run all the way here, did you?”
Tom laughed at that comment. “No sir, I arrived last night,” Tom responded. “I believe it was a little after 2330.” Tom didn’t want to admit exactly how he arrived right away.
“Did you…” Donnelley’s face screwed up with some genuine curiosity, his smirk playing at the edges of his lips, “Missus drop you off, or?”
“Dropped off?” Tom laughed at that. “In a manner of speaking, I was dropped off, but not by the missus. It was courtesy of the US Marine Corps. In fact, it was a V-22 from about two thousand feet up. I parachuted in, boss.”
Donnelley smirked. At Tom’s continued expectant silence the smirk became a chuckle. Then a laugh as he fully realized Tom was being dead serious. “Goddamn, cowboy, I like the way you do things.” Donnelley sniffled and nodded, “Wish I’d been there to witness the justification of budget.”
Tom gave a wink and a smile at the mention of the budget. “Thanks boss,” Tom spoke in his typical Boston accent. “Oh yea, do you know how to rig a chute? We learned in Airborne school and yea, that was about twelve years ago. I should pack it before I go back.” Tom asked Mr. Donnelly. Then smelled the kitchen. “Is that bacon and eggs I smell? Coffee too?”
“Courtesy of our good Doctor Laine, yes it is.” Donnelley jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “Go on, get your chow. We’ve got a morning ahead of us.”
Tom started to enter the house, then asked the obvious question, “Who’s the new girl? Does she work for the farm? Or one of us now?”
“Go on, then,” Donnelley rose his brows at Gwen, “Introduce yourself to the nice man.”
Gwen went to go spit some dip outside before responding. "Weissman, hackergirl." A familiar Texan twang was attached to her voice.
Tom extended his right hand. He spoke in a Boston accent, “Stewart, Tom. I work for the Bureau, among other things. Very nice to meet you. I’m going to head inside. I’ll talk to you later.” Tom entered the house in search of breakfast.
"Cool." Gwen simply remarked making a mental note to creep his social media if he had any. She turned back to Donny. "So yea Foster hired me, you got a PC for lil ol' me?"
“Whatever you brought is what you got.” Donnelley said, smirking at his own unintended writing as he rolled out the cherry on his cigarette before flicking the filter away someplace, “Let’s head inside.”
As Donnelley opened the door and presumed that Gwen would follow, he took his seat at the island counter in the center of the kitchen, “Texas?” He asked, he knew she would know what he was asking.
"Del Rio and you ?" She said strolling in taking out her spitter to spit some dip into it.
“Spit of dirt little south of Dalhart.” Donnelley shrugged, “It’s a shithole but it was my shithole for a bit. Take ten steps and you’ll stub your toes on a meth house.”
He spat the last couple words with some venom, before turning his attention to Stewart, “Tom, I assume you have a storied history in Boston. Care to regale us?”
Tom put a breakfast together, consisting of eggs, bacon and black coffee. He sat down with the others and began eating the meal. “Storied? Well, I don’t know how interesting it is. You don’t want to hear about murder investigations. Especially not at breakfast.” He really didn’t want to talk about those. “How should I dress for the day, boss? I brought a suit just in case you needed me to play the FBI role,” Tom mentioned to avoid any uncomfortable conversations.
"Hmpf, cool." She said strutting into the cabin. She sat down at the table with the rest of them, looking them over. Maybe she was going to ventilate their skulls.
“Anything business. Look official, you know the drill.” He answered Tom as he grabbed a piece of bacon from the paper towel lined plate the stack of them rested on, “Play the FBI role. I am.”
He winked at Tom, “Special Agent John Davidson is my name when we get anywhere outside the Safehouse.” He smirked, talking around a mouthful of bacon, “I’ll give y’all a full briefing when we get to the town Doc. But, you know, don’t want to talk about any of that at breakfast.”
“No problem, Agent Davidson,” Tom smirked as he ate his egg. “I may just call you agent Davidson and John just to get used to the sound so I don’t slip up later.”
Donnelley nodded, offering his hand out to Tom as if they were colleagues meeting for the first time, “Please, just John.”
“OK, John,” Tom shook his hand after placing his fork down. He scooped up the mug and took a sip of the coffee before returning to the fork. “Where’s Heather? Oh, my mistake, Doctor Laine?”
Dr Laine was just getting out of the shower, wrapped in the oversized towel that was fluffy and indulgent, certainly no military regulation towel supplied in the cabin. She had bought it at the mall, a luxury she could not resist. She peeked out the door, then stepped out to make a hasty retreat back to the woman's bedroom, tip toeing along the wooden floor.
Once she was in the room, she towel dried her hair and began her getting ready for the day ritual. Loud music in the empty room, hairdryer blaring and her offkey singing, a person who definitely used to living alone. Laine put on light makeup for the small town, people like this thought a woman to be whorish in anything other than casual nude tones. She dressed in black slacks and a long sleeved black turtleneck, making sure all her tattoos were covered. Unable to surrender all her style to backwater standards she wore her silver skull earrings and four inch black heels. Hopefully no stumbling in the woods but just in case, Laine grabbed her Converse sneakers and shoved them in her leather purse.
Once she was ready, she strolled out of the room and saw the gathering around the table, enjoying the breakfast. “Hey, Tom, just get in?”
“Hey Heather, how’s it going?” Tom asked with a smile on his face. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“My pleasure, I love cooking for people,” she said, taking another Keurig cup out of the cupboard to place in the coffee maker. “Especially when I don’t have to clean up.”
Laine flashed a brief smile towards Donnelley, then put the egg pan into the sink. “Eggs are the worst.”
“Mhm.” Donnelley grunted, wordlessly getting to work on the dishes. Which consisted of turning on the sink to fill up the pots and bowls, giving Laine a smirk, “Just gonna let them soak a bit.”
“Oh yea, before I forget. That John Doe that washed ashore in Cohasset was connected to the Russian Mafia. His name was Anatoly Mikhailov. He was 32 years old and born in Voronezh, Russia. He spent time in the Russian Spetsnaz before immigrating to the US. He had a residence in Brighton Beach. Haven’t figured out how he ended up in Massachusetts yet.” Tom wanted to pass that along to Heather before too long. “I can include it in an email when I get back to Boston if you like. Just so you know, my marine reserve unit is training only about 20 miles south of here near Charleston. If you were in the area, you may have seen military vehicles moving about in town or V-22 Ospreys flying over head. We’ve been borrowing West Virginia National Guard vehicles.”
“I knew it, those damn Adidas tracksuits,” Laine commented on the identification of the washed up body. She wanted to ask about the Jane Doe but her concern was more about their Jane Doe in town. Not enough to bring it up as people still ate, it was a stomach turning conversation topic.
She turned, waiting for her coffee to finish and leaned against the counter. In her stilettos she was as tall as Donnelley and almost as tall as Tom, there was an unspoken communication of power when it came to height so damn the aching arches. “I was in town but I hadn’t noticed, I was shopping.”
Laine laughed a little at herself, then turned to fetch her mug now that the machine was done. “Did you get dropped off with Weissman then?”
Donnelley’s only comment was a soft snort at how Tom said he’d gotten to the Safehouse.
“Weissman?” Tom thought, must be talking about the newbie. “Ah, Gwen. No, I did not. I jumped in last night around 2330.”
Laine was blowing on her coffee then her pursed lips paused and she raised her brows, looking over her glasses at Tom, “Jumped?”
“Yea, you know those V-22’s I mentioned?” Tom paused to sip his coffee. “They are from Chambers Field in Virginia. They are here to support out annual training at Kanawha State Forest. I requisitioned a parachute from their squadron and parachuted into the parking lot out front around 2330 last night.”
She stared at him for a moment then laughed, shaking her head with an indulgent smile and said one word, “Marines.”
“Right?” The Army boy in Donnelley smirked.
Tom had finished his breakfast and still smelled from his run that morning. “If you will excuse me, I need to go shower and get ready for the day.” Tom stood up and placed his dishes near the sink. He left the room and headed upstairs.
Laine turned her gaze to Weissman, studying the younger woman for a quiet moment as she sipped her coffee. “How about you, Airforce right? I think I’m the only one not ex military. I’m sorry I missed the introduction, I’m with the Bureau, the actual FBI not like Davidson here. Behavioral Analysis Unit.”
"I'm still active duty, yea I'm with the air force 67th Cyberspace Operations Group, out of Lackland AFB. What's with all the cops I thought this was like a hacking op." She said just chilling at the table, looking around maybe processing everyone here was some kind of spook or some kind of expert.
“There’s a murder we’re looking into, you are here to help I take it,” Laine replied.
Laurie opened the door, chewing on some wild garlic with a few stalks left in his hands. “Shup.” He said through the chewing, tapping his forelock with index and middle finger before taking off his hat. “Who’re you?” the Ranger queried, looking at the newcomer as he went to lean on a chair.
“Another surprise,” Laine observed Laurie sauntering into the cabin, then nodded at the covered plate of food. “There’s still some breakfast, if that uh...grass isn’t filling. Bacon, scrambled eggs, and hashbrowns, help yourself.”
“You know, between you and Laurie, I think I’m going to feel like a dad again.” Donnelley shook his head as he watched Laurie chomping on a weed he’d found outside. “Just don’t make me get the kid leashes.”
He shook his head at Laurie with an amused grin and turned back to Gwen, “It is a hacking op. For you. And if we need a drone piloted it’s all you, Airman.” Donnelley popped the last morsel of bacon in his mouth and dusted off his hands, talking around his mouthful, “Sadly, we don’t have an air conditioned pilot station and a hangar for your Predator drone out back so I hope the Air Force taught you how to ruck too.”
"Fuck." She said spitting some more dip into her spitter. "Knew I should of said no." In reality she was glad to be out of Texas, but sad it was no hotel gig. 0 stars for this cabin and cabal.
“You can ruck can’t you?” He looked at Laurie and then realized he didn’t remember the guy getting to the Safehouse. “When did you get here? Where do y’all keep coming from?”
Laine caught the reference about Donnelley being a Dad, it should not be surprising since he had been married but it was all the same. She tried to imagine him as such and then ducked her face, trying not to smile. Kid leashes. Maybe she should have bought juice boxes.
“I’m glad I’m only having to carry my shoulder holster and a notebook,” Laine said, raising her cup of coffee in a gleeful reference to the heavy backpacks.
Laurie giggled at the Doctor’s words, nodding gratefully as he went over to make himself and impromptu sandwich wedging eggs and bacon between hashbrowns and placing a bit of his wild garlic in there too. He wasn’t really hungry, but he’d eat a fucking pride of lions and an endangered whale if it was free. “Myeah, I ruck.” He said to Donnelly, initially with hesitation and then resignation realizing he’d be made carry a quite literal shit ton of stuff either way. “Got here real early in the morning, if you didn’t see the ‘cycle. Just had a gander through the woods and all, didn’t feel like a sleep. Don’t worry I’ll double fist some monsters or whatever the fucking zoomers drink to stay awake.” Taking a great big bite. “Y’all mind if I finish these babies?” he queried, looking at the remnants of the breakfast that he hadn’t yet devoured.
"So, hick - you dip?" She said asking Laurie.
Laurie kept chewing after the question came, masticating a few times more before swallowing. “Sure.” he said, leaning over meaningfully under the assumption she was offering.
Gwen sauced her saucy tin of Copenhagen Wintergreen over to the man on the table with one hand. She then went to spit some out into her spitter.
“Unless we have others showing up, go ahead,” Laine said, there was not much left of the eggs anyway. “Help yourself.”
Laurie took a bit of the dip and put it on his plate, before saying something indeterminate in gratitude to Laine as he pounded down all that was left of the breakfast like an industrial machine, sliding the tin right back. The lady hadn’t answered him on who she was, but anyone that gave free dip was good enough in his book. Finishing up he licked his fingers and then went to wash them before drying them off. “I’ve got most of my shit ready on my bike, I’m ready when y’all are.”
She eyed the young woman’s dip can and tried not to make a face, she smoked after all. But a lady didn’t spit. Laine bit back a grin then stepped out of the kitchen to get her gear ready for the day. In her room she put on said shoulder holster, checking the standard FBI issue Glock 9mm to make sure it was loaded and then secured it under her arm. It snugged up against her breast and after a few adjustments finally felt as comfortable as it would get. Laine did not often have to wear it unless she was active in the field and as she was BAU it was not a regular basis.
Inside her purse were her sneakers and wallet, a packet of latex gloves and a few Ziploc bags and her cigarettes, lighter and small makeup bag. A switchblade and a can of mace, her phone charger and camera along with a small notebook with her thoughts on the case and names and numbers to remember was shoved in with a few pens. The purse was black leather, designer but sleek and modest with a shoulder strap. In all honesty she would have carried a backpack and dressed in jeans but as an FBI psychologist she learned to project a certain aura. Power, authority, intelligence and intimidation all in one package. Laine slid her black frame glasses back onto her face and touched up her modest lipstick.
Smoothing the trim dark blazer over the shoulder holster, Laine walked back out, ready to roll.
After the shower, Tom dressed in a pair of navy blue dockers slacks with the FBI shield in its belt holder at his waist and the Gerber leatherman also on the belt in the rear. He put on a white cotton button down shirt and a red necktie with navy blue diagonal stripes. He then put on the tactical boots with the Gerber Mark 2 survival knife tucked into the boot and under his pant leg. The last article of clothing would be the herringbone gray jacket, which he would put on later when he needed to. Inside his duffel, he had a small bag to put a kit together to take with him. It contained: two sets of Peerless handcuffs, several flex cuffs, a first aid kit, rubber gloves, assorted chem lites and a notepad. The Sig .40 cal was placed in the shoulder holster under his left arm. The M4 was too large for the bag, but he would put it in the trunk of the car and use it if needed. Inside the bag would go the eight magazines filled with .223 caliber ammunition along with the throat mic communications equipment if needed. His FBI identification was placed inside the top left breast inside pocket of his jacket along with three Cuban cigars and a zippo lighter.
Tom hefted the small bag, his jacket and the carbine to carry downstairs. Everyone else was busying themselves with getting their equipment together for the day’s mission. He knew they were investigating a murder; expecting there would be complications since it fell to UMBRA, as an experienced investigator he was naturally curious what it was all about.
>ROAD TO FBI CJIS FACILITY...///
Donnelley had elected Tom drive the Chrysler to the CJIS compound based solely on the fact that the majority of them didn’t have FBI IDs, real or fabricated. Tom and Laine took the two front seats, which left Donnelley squeezed into the back with Gwen and Laurie. It had been a quiet drive filled only with sparse small talk up until they got close to the facility. Donnelley has not been in the mood for banter after he stuffed the bag which held the shard into the trunk of the Chrysler. That thing was not meant to be seen, and he had the urge to bury it somewhere nobody could find it again.
Laine had notified Bakker to meet them there where he had moved the body of their Jane Doe and Donnelley figured there were a few things the team needed to know before they stepped foot inside the facility. “Alright, first things first,” He opened from the back seat, “Nobody better fucking even utter the name Joseph Donnelley in there. I’m Special Agent John Davidson to these people.”
“When we get there, everyone but Tom and Laine shuts up. If anybody asks who you two are,” he turned his head to Gwen and Laurie, “You’re studying under Doctor Laine. No more than that. Anybody presses, Tom and I can tell them to kindly fuck off.”
With that, the CJIS facility’s front gates were in sight. Just as planned and without incident, Tom and Laine flashed their identification and they were waved through. They made their deeper into the campus and following Laine, they were able to make it to the freezer rooms. Small drawers that may or may not have contained bodies. Bakker had not yet arrived, which left the team standing around to do nothing in the cold room, which was a welcome reprieve from the summer heat.
Gwen kinda just muddled around following Laine, not really understanding the purpose of some dead dude. She kept her laptop handy and her handy stuff handier on her, she just took in the shitty sights of the CJIS facility and kept quiet. Which in all, was really really hard to do. She just wanted to scream, or yawn but she stopped herself because one of these guys may snap her neck. Also, she got free breakfast earlier.
Tom parked the Chrysler and walked with Dr. Laine to the morgue. “I always hated coming to these places,” Tom admitted quietly. “Dead bodies just give me the creeps. But what creeps me more is when they aren’t really dead.” The temperature today was only in the upper 70s, maybe 80. Tom opted to leave the suit jacket on.
As Tom and Laine stepped out of the car, Laurie leaned out to say he wasn't coming. "Yeah uhh, tell the boss I ain't coming. I'll stay here, hold the fort and be in reserve in case them jap-porn monsters start appearing. Then I can heroically save your asses, otherwise I'll just sit here do a bit of reading and you can give me the spark notes after when I need it for… You know, my real job." With that, he shut the door, pulled out his Bible and started to do precisely what he promised.
“What the heck are we lookin for?” Gwen asked no one specifically but in a quiet tone as to not to earn the wrath from the team or security.
“Doctor Bakker.” Donnelley frowned, leaning on an exam table with his arms crossed. He rolled his shoulders in the blue long-sleeved button up he wore. Goddamn, he hated dressing up. “Y’all seen dead bodies before right?”
“More than I ever wanted to,” Tom responded.
“Yeah, this one time we had a AC-130. I wasn’t piloting cus it wasn’t no drone, but I saw the live footage and damn those things can zoom in like a microscope. This taliban van, well it got talibammed by a 40mm cannon. Insane, really crazy. Why didn’t we just facetime or skype this Doc is he like one of those old men who meet in person only?” Gwen said, not really impressed by the whole covert op to find some old doctor. Sometimes technology just helped you find people, old or not.
“Yeah, why don’t we FaceTime this Doc?” Donnelley asked, a small smirk as he added, “Then again, he is so very important and much needed.”
“If I had a PHD I would facetime people, on appointment of course.” Gwen added to Donnely’s remark.
Laine turned her head, huffing a soft laugh at the comments. “He just texted me, he’s in the parking lot. Facetime is fine but face to face is preferable, I guess I’m old fashioned.”
On cue, Dr Alex Bakker rounded the corner and entered the room, pausing at the size of the crowd. His reddish blonde hair was tastefully messy, purposefully combed that way and he wore casual dark brown slacks and a blazer over a t-shirt. “Circus in town?” he asked, his gaze moving from Laine to Donnelley briefly then he scanned their faces. “Alright, let’s get on with this, I had to self medicate to sleep last night. I hope you catch whoever did this.”
“First time, Precious?” Donnelley muttered ever so softly at his comment of self medicating. Weed? Or alcohol? Now that was the question on sliding scale of tragedy.
He held out a folder with the FBI stamp on it. “Your official unofficial Jane Doe autopsy report.”
“What does the report state as cause of death?” Tom Stewart asked.
“Oh, you’ll want to hear this.” Donnelley smirked at Tom, leaving it at that. The humor was of course a defense mechanism, tried and true for Donnelley. In truth, the body’s internal state and missing organs gave him a creeping anxiety.
Dr Bakker nodded then opened the report, his free hand going to the pocket of his blazer to hide the fidgeting fingers. “First, I’m Dr Bakker, FBI forensic examiner at Quantico. I’m sure Dr Laine told you. Nice to see you again, Agent Davidson. Now, the rest of you I don’t know and if you wish give me your names I probably won’t remember them no offense. I’m going straight home after this and I hope to never see you again.”
His eyes darted to Laine, then muttered, “I’ll see you at work when I pack my things.”
‘Tom intended to tell Dr. Bakker his name. It was the polite thing to do, but after that introduction, maybe it was best just to remain silent about the introductions.’ “Ok, maybe you could just tell us what you found?”
“Right,” he said, “Jane Doe, estimated age 16-23 years, found in wooded location just off a trail. She was disposed of there, the body had been moved from wherever the original crime scene was. Cause of death...”
He squinted his eyes and said, “Massive internal hemorrhaging caused by a foreign object. I believe it to have been inserted somehow, most likely vaginal as extensive abrasions and lacerations were found through her cervix and uterus which was punctured by the...hell I don’t know what it was. It looks like a shard of obsidian or stone. Black...very black.”
Bakker paused, a faraway look in his dark blue eyes as he fumbled his hand in his pocket. Blinking hard he continued, “It tore through her, her reproductive organs, it lacerated her liver, right lung and embedded itself in her aorta.”
He breathed out, then said, “She was also mutilated. Her tongue was cut out, her vocal chords...and most obvious, she was skinned from head to toe. Every bit of dermal layer removed.”
His hand gripped into a fist in his jacket pocket and he cleared his throat, “This was not done posthumously.”
Gwen was uninterested in the whole attitude the Doc had Tom had gone as far as just plain up ask him what’s the dice for this whole thing and made the guy a bit scared. She went up to Bakker and put a consolidating hand on his shoulder.
"Don’t worry Doc we'll find this damned serial killer. Don’t mind my partner, Agent Muldoon." She said gesturing to Tom. "We're just trying to get the pieces we need to find this sunbitch." She said smiling.
Bakker glanced at the blonde, then at her hand and managed a nod of acknowledgement.
Though Donnelley had been smirking at the beginning, he now stood with his eyes closed and thumb resting on his lip. His head seemed to hang lower and lower as Bakker gave the team the rundown of what he’d found out. Finally, he thrust his thumb over his shoulder at the freezer drawers, voice solemn, “Where is she?”
“As distasteful as it may seem, I would like to view the corpse.”Tom mentioned to reinforce what Donnelley was implying. Tom turned to Gwen, “Could you take him out into the hall? He appears to not have the stomach for this sort of thing.” He was referring to Laurie Mathieu.
Laine listened, her face a mask of calm but inside her stomach knotted, the details now clearly telling a tale of torture and brutal murder. She had hoped at least the skinning had been done after death but the young woman was not even allowed that mercy. Her eyes scanned over the team, watching their reactions. Her gaze lingered on Donnelley then returned to Bakker. His stress etched on the fine lines around his eyes and dark circles. She doubted he had slept much and he was normally out like a light no matter what. She stayed silent, not feeling the need to push into the situation, just to observe.
"Of course, Agent Muldoon." She says walking out gesturing to the ol' Ranger to follow her out.
Tom held a stoic, semi-placid appearance. He had seen many corpses over the past five or more years during his time with the bureau.
Bakker folded the flap of the report folder over and put it under his arm, “I’ll get her out for you.”
He moved to the middle row, last drawer on the small freezer wall. Unlatching it, he drew out the stainless steel table, rolling out in a smooth motion and on it lay a petite figure that looked more like a muscle anatomy illustration than a former living human being. Her chest was still split open, closed only with medical staples that could be easily removed to examine the internal organs. She would be sewn up later and buried, hopefully one day to be returned to a family missing their daughter.
Tom pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of a breast pocket and slipped them on. He noticed the lack of flesh on the corpse, finding that aspect quite peculiar as well as telling about the killer. The detail to remove the flesh in its entirety from a human was a voluminous clue. “You say the flesh was removed while she was still alive?” Tom asked the question rhetorically. He hadn’t missed that tidbit, but saying it aloud impacted on himself more solidly that simply recalling it. “
Bakker stood aside, putting on his own gloves and nodded, “Yes, the marks we found on her muscles indicate it was before the other wounds, they were well clotted and starting to knit together in some places. Not too much longer after she died but...she felt that. No traces of pain killers, not even some fucking Tylenol. Lab found Midazolam and Propofol, he made sure she didn’t move but she felt and knew what he was doing.”
His voice lowered to a growl, then he shook his head, pressing his lips together until they were a white line against his ruddy beard.
Tom looked at the opened chest. “You say there was an object embedded in her chest. I see it was removed.” Tom looked around at Dr. Laine and Donnelley, “did one of you secure this piece of evidence?”
Donnelley glanced at Laine before he reached down and grabbed up the duffel bag, placing it on the empty exam table. He paused, a heavy sigh escaping him and a very strong urge to step outside for a smoke. It’d have to wait. He unzipped the bag, rummaging around clothing items until the crinkling of a ziplock was heard. He pulled free a bag and tossed it onto the exam table with a trace of disgust. Within it, a sharp piece of some type of mineral black like a hole in the world stared out at them.
Donnelley’s appearance was not lost on Agent Stewart. He watched him handle the small shard in the ziploc bag and place it on the exam table. Tom picked the bag up to have a closer inspection of the shard. “How was this inserted?” was the thought he had, while verbalizing the question. He stared at the thing a bit longer and he started to feel bad. It was a feeling he felt many years ago. He began to see clouds swirling in it surface. He recalled the black stone in Northern Afghanistan those many years ago. As soon as he realized what he held, he dropped the item back onto the exam table. “Holy shit!” Tom paused, not ready to explain how he recognized the thing. “Where did that come from?!” Fear and anxiety were overwhelming him. He felt sad, turned to Donnelley, “Agent Davidson, could we go outside for a few minutes?”
“Way the fuck ahead of you, Devil Dog.” Donnelley turned on his heel and stuffed a cigarette between his lips. He stopped for a beat, looking at Bakker and Laine, then Bakker again.
“I’m sorry you had to do this.” His eyes lingered on Bakker’s own. He knew they didn’t have the best of starts but nobody deserved a look like that in their eyes. It was those same eyes Donnelley had when he got back to his FOB in Afghanistan years ago. He opened his mouth to say something else but looked to the side, shaking his head and continuing on his way after Tom.
Dr Bakker watched Donnelley take the shard out of the duffel bag and Laine could see his shoulders tense. She felt it herself, the anxiety and dread over something so small yet it reminded her of death and horror in Olympia Forest and now here in West Virginia.
Bakker stepped away from her but before he could answer Agent Stewart’s question the man reacted to the shard. He paused, his gaze moving back to the body of the dead woman that he had spent hours delving into, mentally and physically taking her apart into pieces to figure out what had happened. But she was not just a puzzle but a person and he had stayed awake too long last night thinking about worst case scenarios until he knocked himself out with a heavy dose of Nyquil bought from the small hotel lobby storefront.
He turned to look at Donnelley, then nodded, rubbing his scruff covered chin, “Part of me wishes I hadn’t answered Dr Laine’s call, but if there had to be someone to do this...”
Bakker sighed heavily, glancing at Laine who hung back, and looked back at Donnelley, “I know I did as best I could by her.”
Whether he spoke of Jane Doe or Heather Laine, it was unclear and he said no more. Bakker nodded to him and turned away, the cords on the back of his neck standing out with tension as he looked down at the body.
Laine waited until the men left then walked over to Dr Bakker to stand beside him. He was still silent and she waited, watching him from the corner of her eye brooding over the victim.
"I'm also sorry to put this on you, but I trust you," Laine said.
Bakker rubbed the bridge of his nose then glanced at her. He was still taller than she was in her high heels and he looked slightly down in her face. "Yeah, you said that. Look, this has been a weird damn two days. I missed the conference, by the way."
They both stayed silent then she added, "I guess I'll find someone else to copy off of."
Bakker cut a dark look at her, muttering, "Christ's sake."
"Sorry."
He sighed then shook his head, toying with the edge of the latex gloves. "Seems like much longer than...what's it been 24, 36 hours? Seems like a week since I came down to Whitetree. I was glad to leave it. That place is depressing."
"It's strange," Laine agreed vaguely, "The whole county. The people there..."
"Your new partner," Bakker said, "All of it seems off. But I did my part and I'm going home today. I already made an appointment with the counselor at Johns Hopkins."
Laine turned to him, "Because of this?"
"Somewhat, and I mean a counselor to see how many courses I would need to renew my surgical license. Not a shrink, no offense."
"I still think it would be a disservice to law enforcement but it's your life," Laine said.
"It would make Lily happy, too. That matters to me," Bakker said, glancing aside at her and he held out the folder with the autopsy report.
Laine nodded stiffly as she took it, tucking it under her arm, then turned away. She dug into her purse for her clove cigarettes. "I think I'll grab a smoke, too."
>BLACKRIVER COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
>0630...///
The one good thing about being drunk before sleeping, or being so drunk he was forced to sleep, was the dreams seemed fiction then. Like watching a television rather than his own feet filling the boots or his own hands holding the knife or cradling Guzman’s head. He’d tried going to sleep sober once. It was not something he’d do if he had a choice at all.
boom… and then echoes. He stirred awake quicker than usual, reached for his M4 and as he scrambled for it, he realized it wasn’t there. He looked around himself. He wasn’t in Afghanistan, but there were mountains. West Virginia. He drew in a breath and blew it out his mouth, looking through the bedroom window to see the plume of dust a blasting charge at the mines had thrown up. The Safehouse. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk and cradled his face in his hands, fingers tracing the edges of the burn scar as his head throbbed. He stayed like that for he didn’t know how long before he shook himself back to the present, standing and stretching. The familiar pops from his joints after a life of hitting the ground hard and ascending steep climbs with a ruck that weighed the equivalent of another man.
He sniffed at the air. Coffee? Was Laine up before him? He wasn’t surprised, he went to sleep later than she did and drunker than she did as well. He slipped a ratty black t-shirt over himself, the Choking Victim logo long faded to a hint that one would have to squint at to tell. He traded his slacks for sweats and slipped his .40 cal into the right pocket, tying a tight knot in the drawstrings to compensate for the weight that threatened to pull it down to his ankles. He eyed a half-empty water bottle on its side at the foot of his bed. He grasped it up and sucked down the rest of it in hopes of wetting his dry mouth, smacking his lips appreciatively as he threw it back into the covers of his bed. The finishing touch being a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
He put his hand on the knob, but froze. There wasn’t any conversation outside yet there was a stirring, a creaking of the floorboards and the sound of someone humming and quietly singing something. It was just Laine and him then. If he hadn’t been such an ass last night perhaps he could’ve strolled into the kitchen and waved at her, making himself a cup of coffee and ask how she slept, but…
Fuck it, that’s what he was going to do. He turned the knob and pulled the door open, closing it behind him and then standing in place. Laine was indeed already up and about, but she had not taken notice of his presence. She stood at the counter, sink on one side of her and cooking range on the other, bowl of soon-to-be scrambled eggs in one hand and her other beating it to rhythmic hell with a fork. He didn’t realize he was staring until he had to roll his eyes away from appreciating how the goddamn light from the window fell over her. She put it down and went for something else, prompting him to flinch back into a conspicuous walk to the island table in the kitchen. On which was a clean mug next to her filled one, coffee still steaming in hers. He grasped the cup by the handle, stepping quietly as he carefully placed it under the Black Budget Keurig’s spigot, replacing Laine’s used cartridge with a fresh French Roast one and letting the machine go to work with a press of a button. He turned around, leaning on the counter and watched Laine work at the morning’s breakfast, the dark-haired woman still utterly oblivious to his relaxed, folded arm presence in the corner of the kitchen behind her. He watched her mouth the words to some song, humming along at other parts. He finally picked it out. He smirked. Suicidal Tendencies. Another flash of normalcy. Another chiding shake of his head and sigh. She’s a colleague, his inner voice spoke, You fucking child.
“Look.” He said finally, the words trudging out of him like a funeral procession, “I didn’t mean anything by last night. I know it isn’t any business of mine and it really shouldn’t matter to me who calls you what.”
His eyes were on the floor and he could feel himself curling over like a guilty pet. She just kept on doing what she’d been and Donnelley instantly recognized the age-old unsaid ‘fuck off’ of the cold shoulder. Holly was a fan of it. There was an ache in his chest at that, a feeling that he was ankle-deep in shit. “Laine, I know I acted very unprofessional last night. I’m just trying to apologize for my behavior and I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Still no answer. And the shit rose to his knees. He sighed, closing his eyes and hanging his head, “I get it.” He breathed, nodding slow, “For the sake of the case we can just start over. No bullshit about someone who’s known you way damn longer than I have calling you by whatever name. Okay?”
No answer, and this time she actually turned away from him, giving him her back. He just wanted to take his coffee and hole up in his room like an angst-ridden younger Donnelley might have. He let out a harsh sigh and began to leave for his room, brushing a defeated hand through his hair, “Fuck, Donnelley...”
Laine flipped the bacon and went back to mixing the eggs, beating a good half dozen with a touch of milk, whisking them to the rhythm of one of her favorite Suicidal songs. She was dressed like she had just rolled out of bed, which she had, still in the faded back t shirt with the modesty of putting on some yoga pants. Her bare feet padded over the polished wood, neat pedicured toenails painted glossy black and dark hair swept back, a small clip holding the short locks out of her face as she cooked.
She went about the business of breakfast, stirring eggs and watching the browning potatoes, completely oblivious as the music blasted into her ears. Her favorite part of the song was coming up and she called out in not quite a full shout, “But here’s my apology, FUCK YOU!”
Donnelley’s shoulders flinched up and he turned slowly, mouth slightly agape. He looked at her and knew every little joke they shared was tossed aside, “Laine, I…”
When she spun around on the balls of her feet she finally noticed Donnelley staring at her and realization hit as she popped the ear buds out, “Oh hey, sorry about that, dude! I didn’t see you. Good morning, how’s your head?”
Donnelley’s brow furrowed even more and he tried to hide his face behind the mug, taking a long sip. When it came away from his face, he forced a smile. It was all just a misunderstanding, he told himself. The ache in his chest needn’t be worried over, it’s all fine now. But it wasn’t, and he resigned himself to sitting at the island table. “You know. Night of drinking. About as good as I could hope after that.” He replied, his smile coming back with a bit more sincerity, “D’you sleep good?”
She smiled a bit, her makeup gone except the raccoon eye remnants of her eyeliner as she had not hit the shower yet. “Yeah, I slept soundly, a little vodka and horrific murder just puts me out. I hope you’re hungry, I’m making enough for a small army.”
Laine glanced over at him, watching him drink his coffee before she poured the eggs into a buttered pan. “How about you? Feeling alright?”
“Yeah,” He was still smiling at her earlier quip as he looked into his mug before taking another sip. Gallows humor and survival and all that. He looked at her, shrugging, “Just a… an awkward start to my morning s’all.”
He leaned over and glanced at the food, feeling his stomach churn with hunger. He smiled as he put his ass back in his chair, “You looking to feed Whitetree with all that ‘cause you just might.”
“My dad always made us a huge Sunday breakfast, just in case we had visitors. His family was one of those that would make the rounds after church,” she said, looking wistfully out the window at the pine trees beyond the drive that only held the Chrysler and her rental Hyundai. She then shrugged, giving him a small grin. “Plus it helps with hangovers, grease and fat and caffeine.”
Laine set a plate in front of him, fluffy eggs and crisp bacon and hashbrowns. She had her own food and most important her cup of dark coffee. She stepped aside to turn off the burners, covering the eggs with a plate. “Awkward?”
She sat down, her face flushed pink and she sighed a soft self deprecating laugh, “Oh yeah, awkward. I’m really sorry about yelling ‘fuck you’ at you. It’s the song, I’m sure you know it. ‘You Won’t Bring Me Down’. One of my wake up tunes.”
She sipped her coffee and dug in, not shy about eating heartily. Laine kept a side eye on Donnelley, he seemed bothered by more than just her accidental cussing out, it certainly wasn’t the first time he had heard that phrase. “Unlike what it seems, I am not a morning person, it’s something I have to force myself into. I can’t do anything until I have coffee. Once that hits and I have a shower, I’ll be ready to be Doctor Laine.”
“Well, then, Miss Laine,” He smirked, forking some eggs into his mouth and finishing chewing, “You sure still know how to remedy a hangover.”
His mind returned to last night. No matter the fact the subject felt so far away from her it still stuck close to him, seeming to breathe down his neck every moment it got. He wondered if he should apologize anyway, now that he had her attention. Then he wondered if it would be more tactful to just shut up about it. “Laine,” Damnit, “I’m sorry about last night.”
Laine bit into a piece of bacon, done to crisp perfection and nodded at his observation of her hangover cure. Menudo was more traditional in the heavily Mexican influenced LA but this she knew how to make. As she ate, she could sense his tension, in the way he held himself and the furrows in his brow. Laine waited for Donnelley, this was a man who could not be pushed.
When he spoke, she turned to look at him. Her dark ringed eyes still calm and observant as he apologized. Setting her fork down, she turned her body slightly as she gave him her attention.
“Why are you sorry?” she said, “It’s not the drinking, I remember the flask. Last night was a nice distraction after the autopsy and you were kind enough to keep me company shopping.”
He sighed a chuckle, smiling softly at her, “Anytime.” He nodded. He wondered if he should just leave it at that, pretend that was exactly what he was talking about and they could both go on with their lives. But Donnelley never did things, never let things go easy, “It’s not the drinking though. It’s…”
“You were right.” He looked away from her, his hand dropping and leaving his fork on his plate, finding it too hard to look her in the eye with this, “What’s it matter. I shouldn’t have brought up Bakker calling you by your first name, he’s known you way longer than I have. I’m just some guy you met a couple months ago.”
Laine bit the inside of her lip, her brows drawing together slightly as he confessed why he was sorry. “Oh, yes, that. You’re right, it wasn’t your business,” she said, then softened her smoke husky voice, “I accept your apology. It’s not something I wanted to get into and it’s nothing that matters now. You’re not just some guy, by the way.”
She finished her coffee, then set her mug down, “I like you, Donnelley. You’re pretty cool. You know, for a black booted CIA spook.”
Laine winked at him slyly then stood and scraped her plate, setting it in the sink.
Donnelley laid a hand over his heart and bit his lip, “Oh, that kinda hurts.” He chuckled, “Go ahead and get about your morning, I’ll take care of the dishes.”
He forked up the last of his eggs and crunched down the bit of bacon he had left before he stood. He swallowed it down just as he set his plate in the sink, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and placing it between his lips, “Thank you. Food was good.” He smiled at her as he walked to the front door and then looked outside the peephole at the sound of crunching gravel beneath tire treads. Then he saw her. “Who the fuck?”
He wasted no time in reaching into his pocket and thumbing the safety off on his handgun. He didn’t have to check the chamber. He always had one in there. He let her knock as he took in her face. Young. Pretty. She didn’t look like someone from town sent to kill him and everyone threatening to break down their sliver of backwoods.
He opened the door, as she knocked and called out at anybody inside. He sucked his teeth, summoning his best authoritative voice well-honed from his time as a Deputy and years in the military, the Texan in his voice apparent. “Think you’ve got the wrong house, ma’am.”
“Nope, Foster sent me - motherfucker.” The voice came back with it’s own Texan twang to it, unheard of in such parts of old Western Virginia. She sounded a bit annoyed, but not Texan pissed, such a fabled mood was seldom except for those who could not control their inner rage.
Donnelley narrowed his eyes at the last bit, the frown on his face twitching a hair deeper, “What?” He leaned in closer, “Don’t think I heard you right.”
Then he heard his phone ring from the other room. It was either Foster calling him to let him know there was a very last minute decision or to notify him that they were all compromised and a small, petite blonde Texan was coming to ventilate his skull. He nodded inside, “Get in here.”
"Took y'all long enough." Hauling her big ol' bag of luggage in with her before sliding it off to the side. "Senior Airman Weissman, pleasure to be of service to ya old man" she said sticking her hand for a lil hand shaky with the head honcho. She was definitely a saucy one.
At the disturbance at the door, Laine popped her head around to see what was going on. The exchange was brief but telling and she ducked back into the kitchen. Serving a plate and setting out another cup, she grabbed her phone and strolled out. “Welcome, I’m Dr Laine, there’s some breakfast waiting if you haven’t eaten. And coffee, plenty of coffee. Looks like you and Mr Donnelley probably have some things to work out so I’m going to grab a shower.”
As she passed Donnelley, she whispered to him, “Don’t kill her.”
Laine vanished into the bathroom after a stop into the women’s bunkroom for her shower bag and towel.
Donnelley regarded the hand and then looked to Weissman for a few good, tense seconds. He took the offered hand. “Joseph Donnelley, OGA.” He put his hands on his hips and nodded at the plate Laine had made, “Eat or not. I’m going outside for a smoke, you can join me if you want. I want to know why you’re here past Foster sending me young cubs to babysit.”
Old Guy Association (OGA), Gwen never thought they existed. Regardless, Gwen was happy enough to go and take the plate. Free food is free food, the Doc chick was pretty nice she thought as she scarfed down the food. After kicking back some killer coffee she went to meet the man who wanted the answers.
"Yea, I'm here to hack shit and do a lot of electronic wizardry." She said proudly. Now taking out her Cophagen Wintergreen giving it a few spanks before packing a mini-hog.
“Oh, good,” Donnelley smirked and dryly added, “If one of us forgets our passwords you can get it back. Appreciate it.”
Tom had woken up at zero five thirty. It was a habit he couldn’t break. It didn’t matter what time he went to bed, he always seemed to wake at zero dark thirty. The sun was just on the horizon; beginning morning nautical twilight or BMNT was here. The day would get gradually brighter as it went on.
Tom stood, moved to the closet, kicking the chute in deeper. Opening his duffel, he pulled out a pair of OD green running shorts and the white T-shirt. He pulled on his running shoes and headed downstairs. He could hear snoring coming from a room in the hall. He ran out the back door and hit the dirt road. He preferred to explore his surroundings on his own when he had time. At 5:45 in the morning, he had time.
The road went on for just under a mile and a half when he hit a paved road appearing to need serious repairs or at least just patching. The local highway department would get to it eventually, if it was in the budget.
‘Colonel Miller is pretty understanding letting me take off like this. I know it was work related, but technically even the FBI needs to let their employees take off time for Reserve training. But I’m not complaining. I want to be here.’ Tom ran along the paved road lost in his thoughts. He remembered Jill and their unborn child. He thought of names like Robert after his father or possibly Tom Jr. with a nickname of TJ. Maybe something totally different. His grandfather was Joseph and he had an uncle Randy, er Randall. Maybe not a boy. What about girls names? Let Jill choose? No. How about Michelle, Cheryl, Margot or Clarice? He then sang running cadences in his head.
After a half hour of running, he figured he was out about three or three and a half miles, turned and began heading back to the safehouse. His thoughts turned to the team. He thought about Mr. Donnelly. He didn’t know the man well enough but appeared to be competent in his work. It didn’t matter what he was like as long as he did his job. At least he brought beers to drink when it was all over. Couldn’t fault a man for his generosity. Heather Laine had called him when he was at home. He was able to follow up some leads that might help her. He would need to share that with her later. Lieutenant Gomez and Mr. Mathius seemed quite capable too. Gomez was a bit high strung at times. He looked forward to seeing Mr. Clark and Jason Jimenez. They were both good guys. He liked working with other military types even if he was an army doggy. They at least knew what they were doing.
Tom hit the dirt road and continued toward the safehouse. A nondescript car approached him from the direction of the house. Tom’s law enforcement and military training couldn’t be impeded. He eyeballed the unimpressed blonde haired gentleman driving the vehicle. He appeared to be close in age to himself and in decent shape. Probably worked out in a gym. He also looked like he could have been part Asian.
He slowed to a walk at about a hundred yards from the building and walked for his cool down. As he approached the house, he spied Mr. Donnelly on the front porch with a young blonde haired woman. She was cute and almost as tall as he and Donnelly; well maybe a few inches shorter, but still tall for a woman. “Hello Mr. Donnelly,” Tom announced walking to the porch, wearing a sweaty white T-shirt and green shorts. He obviously wasn’t carrying any bags. But his hair was cut to the typical US Marine Corps High and Tight length.
“Tom!” Donnelley waved and smiled as the footsteps on the gravel driveway and parking lot of the Safehouse revealed themselves to be none other than Special Agent Stewart, “My favorite Marine. Went on a run?”
He looked around the mostly vacant gravel lot and spotted only his car, the Chrysler. He looked at Tom with some lighthearted confusion and jokingly asked, “You didn’t just run all the way here, did you?”
Tom laughed at that comment. “No sir, I arrived last night,” Tom responded. “I believe it was a little after 2330.” Tom didn’t want to admit exactly how he arrived right away.
“Did you…” Donnelley’s face screwed up with some genuine curiosity, his smirk playing at the edges of his lips, “Missus drop you off, or?”
“Dropped off?” Tom laughed at that. “In a manner of speaking, I was dropped off, but not by the missus. It was courtesy of the US Marine Corps. In fact, it was a V-22 from about two thousand feet up. I parachuted in, boss.”
Donnelley smirked. At Tom’s continued expectant silence the smirk became a chuckle. Then a laugh as he fully realized Tom was being dead serious. “Goddamn, cowboy, I like the way you do things.” Donnelley sniffled and nodded, “Wish I’d been there to witness the justification of budget.”
Tom gave a wink and a smile at the mention of the budget. “Thanks boss,” Tom spoke in his typical Boston accent. “Oh yea, do you know how to rig a chute? We learned in Airborne school and yea, that was about twelve years ago. I should pack it before I go back.” Tom asked Mr. Donnelly. Then smelled the kitchen. “Is that bacon and eggs I smell? Coffee too?”
“Courtesy of our good Doctor Laine, yes it is.” Donnelley jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “Go on, get your chow. We’ve got a morning ahead of us.”
Tom started to enter the house, then asked the obvious question, “Who’s the new girl? Does she work for the farm? Or one of us now?”
“Go on, then,” Donnelley rose his brows at Gwen, “Introduce yourself to the nice man.”
Gwen went to go spit some dip outside before responding. "Weissman, hackergirl." A familiar Texan twang was attached to her voice.
Tom extended his right hand. He spoke in a Boston accent, “Stewart, Tom. I work for the Bureau, among other things. Very nice to meet you. I’m going to head inside. I’ll talk to you later.” Tom entered the house in search of breakfast.
"Cool." Gwen simply remarked making a mental note to creep his social media if he had any. She turned back to Donny. "So yea Foster hired me, you got a PC for lil ol' me?"
“Whatever you brought is what you got.” Donnelley said, smirking at his own unintended writing as he rolled out the cherry on his cigarette before flicking the filter away someplace, “Let’s head inside.”
As Donnelley opened the door and presumed that Gwen would follow, he took his seat at the island counter in the center of the kitchen, “Texas?” He asked, he knew she would know what he was asking.
"Del Rio and you ?" She said strolling in taking out her spitter to spit some dip into it.
“Spit of dirt little south of Dalhart.” Donnelley shrugged, “It’s a shithole but it was my shithole for a bit. Take ten steps and you’ll stub your toes on a meth house.”
He spat the last couple words with some venom, before turning his attention to Stewart, “Tom, I assume you have a storied history in Boston. Care to regale us?”
Tom put a breakfast together, consisting of eggs, bacon and black coffee. He sat down with the others and began eating the meal. “Storied? Well, I don’t know how interesting it is. You don’t want to hear about murder investigations. Especially not at breakfast.” He really didn’t want to talk about those. “How should I dress for the day, boss? I brought a suit just in case you needed me to play the FBI role,” Tom mentioned to avoid any uncomfortable conversations.
"Hmpf, cool." She said strutting into the cabin. She sat down at the table with the rest of them, looking them over. Maybe she was going to ventilate their skulls.
“Anything business. Look official, you know the drill.” He answered Tom as he grabbed a piece of bacon from the paper towel lined plate the stack of them rested on, “Play the FBI role. I am.”
He winked at Tom, “Special Agent John Davidson is my name when we get anywhere outside the Safehouse.” He smirked, talking around a mouthful of bacon, “I’ll give y’all a full briefing when we get to the town Doc. But, you know, don’t want to talk about any of that at breakfast.”
“No problem, Agent Davidson,” Tom smirked as he ate his egg. “I may just call you agent Davidson and John just to get used to the sound so I don’t slip up later.”
Donnelley nodded, offering his hand out to Tom as if they were colleagues meeting for the first time, “Please, just John.”
“OK, John,” Tom shook his hand after placing his fork down. He scooped up the mug and took a sip of the coffee before returning to the fork. “Where’s Heather? Oh, my mistake, Doctor Laine?”
Dr Laine was just getting out of the shower, wrapped in the oversized towel that was fluffy and indulgent, certainly no military regulation towel supplied in the cabin. She had bought it at the mall, a luxury she could not resist. She peeked out the door, then stepped out to make a hasty retreat back to the woman's bedroom, tip toeing along the wooden floor.
Once she was in the room, she towel dried her hair and began her getting ready for the day ritual. Loud music in the empty room, hairdryer blaring and her offkey singing, a person who definitely used to living alone. Laine put on light makeup for the small town, people like this thought a woman to be whorish in anything other than casual nude tones. She dressed in black slacks and a long sleeved black turtleneck, making sure all her tattoos were covered. Unable to surrender all her style to backwater standards she wore her silver skull earrings and four inch black heels. Hopefully no stumbling in the woods but just in case, Laine grabbed her Converse sneakers and shoved them in her leather purse.
Once she was ready, she strolled out of the room and saw the gathering around the table, enjoying the breakfast. “Hey, Tom, just get in?”
“Hey Heather, how’s it going?” Tom asked with a smile on his face. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“My pleasure, I love cooking for people,” she said, taking another Keurig cup out of the cupboard to place in the coffee maker. “Especially when I don’t have to clean up.”
Laine flashed a brief smile towards Donnelley, then put the egg pan into the sink. “Eggs are the worst.”
“Mhm.” Donnelley grunted, wordlessly getting to work on the dishes. Which consisted of turning on the sink to fill up the pots and bowls, giving Laine a smirk, “Just gonna let them soak a bit.”
“Oh yea, before I forget. That John Doe that washed ashore in Cohasset was connected to the Russian Mafia. His name was Anatoly Mikhailov. He was 32 years old and born in Voronezh, Russia. He spent time in the Russian Spetsnaz before immigrating to the US. He had a residence in Brighton Beach. Haven’t figured out how he ended up in Massachusetts yet.” Tom wanted to pass that along to Heather before too long. “I can include it in an email when I get back to Boston if you like. Just so you know, my marine reserve unit is training only about 20 miles south of here near Charleston. If you were in the area, you may have seen military vehicles moving about in town or V-22 Ospreys flying over head. We’ve been borrowing West Virginia National Guard vehicles.”
“I knew it, those damn Adidas tracksuits,” Laine commented on the identification of the washed up body. She wanted to ask about the Jane Doe but her concern was more about their Jane Doe in town. Not enough to bring it up as people still ate, it was a stomach turning conversation topic.
She turned, waiting for her coffee to finish and leaned against the counter. In her stilettos she was as tall as Donnelley and almost as tall as Tom, there was an unspoken communication of power when it came to height so damn the aching arches. “I was in town but I hadn’t noticed, I was shopping.”
Laine laughed a little at herself, then turned to fetch her mug now that the machine was done. “Did you get dropped off with Weissman then?”
Donnelley’s only comment was a soft snort at how Tom said he’d gotten to the Safehouse.
“Weissman?” Tom thought, must be talking about the newbie. “Ah, Gwen. No, I did not. I jumped in last night around 2330.”
Laine was blowing on her coffee then her pursed lips paused and she raised her brows, looking over her glasses at Tom, “Jumped?”
“Yea, you know those V-22’s I mentioned?” Tom paused to sip his coffee. “They are from Chambers Field in Virginia. They are here to support out annual training at Kanawha State Forest. I requisitioned a parachute from their squadron and parachuted into the parking lot out front around 2330 last night.”
She stared at him for a moment then laughed, shaking her head with an indulgent smile and said one word, “Marines.”
“Right?” The Army boy in Donnelley smirked.
Tom had finished his breakfast and still smelled from his run that morning. “If you will excuse me, I need to go shower and get ready for the day.” Tom stood up and placed his dishes near the sink. He left the room and headed upstairs.
Laine turned her gaze to Weissman, studying the younger woman for a quiet moment as she sipped her coffee. “How about you, Airforce right? I think I’m the only one not ex military. I’m sorry I missed the introduction, I’m with the Bureau, the actual FBI not like Davidson here. Behavioral Analysis Unit.”
"I'm still active duty, yea I'm with the air force 67th Cyberspace Operations Group, out of Lackland AFB. What's with all the cops I thought this was like a hacking op." She said just chilling at the table, looking around maybe processing everyone here was some kind of spook or some kind of expert.
“There’s a murder we’re looking into, you are here to help I take it,” Laine replied.
Laurie opened the door, chewing on some wild garlic with a few stalks left in his hands. “Shup.” He said through the chewing, tapping his forelock with index and middle finger before taking off his hat. “Who’re you?” the Ranger queried, looking at the newcomer as he went to lean on a chair.
“Another surprise,” Laine observed Laurie sauntering into the cabin, then nodded at the covered plate of food. “There’s still some breakfast, if that uh...grass isn’t filling. Bacon, scrambled eggs, and hashbrowns, help yourself.”
“You know, between you and Laurie, I think I’m going to feel like a dad again.” Donnelley shook his head as he watched Laurie chomping on a weed he’d found outside. “Just don’t make me get the kid leashes.”
He shook his head at Laurie with an amused grin and turned back to Gwen, “It is a hacking op. For you. And if we need a drone piloted it’s all you, Airman.” Donnelley popped the last morsel of bacon in his mouth and dusted off his hands, talking around his mouthful, “Sadly, we don’t have an air conditioned pilot station and a hangar for your Predator drone out back so I hope the Air Force taught you how to ruck too.”
"Fuck." She said spitting some more dip into her spitter. "Knew I should of said no." In reality she was glad to be out of Texas, but sad it was no hotel gig. 0 stars for this cabin and cabal.
“You can ruck can’t you?” He looked at Laurie and then realized he didn’t remember the guy getting to the Safehouse. “When did you get here? Where do y’all keep coming from?”
Laine caught the reference about Donnelley being a Dad, it should not be surprising since he had been married but it was all the same. She tried to imagine him as such and then ducked her face, trying not to smile. Kid leashes. Maybe she should have bought juice boxes.
“I’m glad I’m only having to carry my shoulder holster and a notebook,” Laine said, raising her cup of coffee in a gleeful reference to the heavy backpacks.
Laurie giggled at the Doctor’s words, nodding gratefully as he went over to make himself and impromptu sandwich wedging eggs and bacon between hashbrowns and placing a bit of his wild garlic in there too. He wasn’t really hungry, but he’d eat a fucking pride of lions and an endangered whale if it was free. “Myeah, I ruck.” He said to Donnelly, initially with hesitation and then resignation realizing he’d be made carry a quite literal shit ton of stuff either way. “Got here real early in the morning, if you didn’t see the ‘cycle. Just had a gander through the woods and all, didn’t feel like a sleep. Don’t worry I’ll double fist some monsters or whatever the fucking zoomers drink to stay awake.” Taking a great big bite. “Y’all mind if I finish these babies?” he queried, looking at the remnants of the breakfast that he hadn’t yet devoured.
"So, hick - you dip?" She said asking Laurie.
Laurie kept chewing after the question came, masticating a few times more before swallowing. “Sure.” he said, leaning over meaningfully under the assumption she was offering.
Gwen sauced her saucy tin of Copenhagen Wintergreen over to the man on the table with one hand. She then went to spit some out into her spitter.
“Unless we have others showing up, go ahead,” Laine said, there was not much left of the eggs anyway. “Help yourself.”
Laurie took a bit of the dip and put it on his plate, before saying something indeterminate in gratitude to Laine as he pounded down all that was left of the breakfast like an industrial machine, sliding the tin right back. The lady hadn’t answered him on who she was, but anyone that gave free dip was good enough in his book. Finishing up he licked his fingers and then went to wash them before drying them off. “I’ve got most of my shit ready on my bike, I’m ready when y’all are.”
She eyed the young woman’s dip can and tried not to make a face, she smoked after all. But a lady didn’t spit. Laine bit back a grin then stepped out of the kitchen to get her gear ready for the day. In her room she put on said shoulder holster, checking the standard FBI issue Glock 9mm to make sure it was loaded and then secured it under her arm. It snugged up against her breast and after a few adjustments finally felt as comfortable as it would get. Laine did not often have to wear it unless she was active in the field and as she was BAU it was not a regular basis.
Inside her purse were her sneakers and wallet, a packet of latex gloves and a few Ziploc bags and her cigarettes, lighter and small makeup bag. A switchblade and a can of mace, her phone charger and camera along with a small notebook with her thoughts on the case and names and numbers to remember was shoved in with a few pens. The purse was black leather, designer but sleek and modest with a shoulder strap. In all honesty she would have carried a backpack and dressed in jeans but as an FBI psychologist she learned to project a certain aura. Power, authority, intelligence and intimidation all in one package. Laine slid her black frame glasses back onto her face and touched up her modest lipstick.
Smoothing the trim dark blazer over the shoulder holster, Laine walked back out, ready to roll.
After the shower, Tom dressed in a pair of navy blue dockers slacks with the FBI shield in its belt holder at his waist and the Gerber leatherman also on the belt in the rear. He put on a white cotton button down shirt and a red necktie with navy blue diagonal stripes. He then put on the tactical boots with the Gerber Mark 2 survival knife tucked into the boot and under his pant leg. The last article of clothing would be the herringbone gray jacket, which he would put on later when he needed to. Inside his duffel, he had a small bag to put a kit together to take with him. It contained: two sets of Peerless handcuffs, several flex cuffs, a first aid kit, rubber gloves, assorted chem lites and a notepad. The Sig .40 cal was placed in the shoulder holster under his left arm. The M4 was too large for the bag, but he would put it in the trunk of the car and use it if needed. Inside the bag would go the eight magazines filled with .223 caliber ammunition along with the throat mic communications equipment if needed. His FBI identification was placed inside the top left breast inside pocket of his jacket along with three Cuban cigars and a zippo lighter.
Tom hefted the small bag, his jacket and the carbine to carry downstairs. Everyone else was busying themselves with getting their equipment together for the day’s mission. He knew they were investigating a murder; expecting there would be complications since it fell to UMBRA, as an experienced investigator he was naturally curious what it was all about.
>ROAD TO FBI CJIS FACILITY...///
Donnelley had elected Tom drive the Chrysler to the CJIS compound based solely on the fact that the majority of them didn’t have FBI IDs, real or fabricated. Tom and Laine took the two front seats, which left Donnelley squeezed into the back with Gwen and Laurie. It had been a quiet drive filled only with sparse small talk up until they got close to the facility. Donnelley has not been in the mood for banter after he stuffed the bag which held the shard into the trunk of the Chrysler. That thing was not meant to be seen, and he had the urge to bury it somewhere nobody could find it again.
Laine had notified Bakker to meet them there where he had moved the body of their Jane Doe and Donnelley figured there were a few things the team needed to know before they stepped foot inside the facility. “Alright, first things first,” He opened from the back seat, “Nobody better fucking even utter the name Joseph Donnelley in there. I’m Special Agent John Davidson to these people.”
“When we get there, everyone but Tom and Laine shuts up. If anybody asks who you two are,” he turned his head to Gwen and Laurie, “You’re studying under Doctor Laine. No more than that. Anybody presses, Tom and I can tell them to kindly fuck off.”
With that, the CJIS facility’s front gates were in sight. Just as planned and without incident, Tom and Laine flashed their identification and they were waved through. They made their deeper into the campus and following Laine, they were able to make it to the freezer rooms. Small drawers that may or may not have contained bodies. Bakker had not yet arrived, which left the team standing around to do nothing in the cold room, which was a welcome reprieve from the summer heat.
Gwen kinda just muddled around following Laine, not really understanding the purpose of some dead dude. She kept her laptop handy and her handy stuff handier on her, she just took in the shitty sights of the CJIS facility and kept quiet. Which in all, was really really hard to do. She just wanted to scream, or yawn but she stopped herself because one of these guys may snap her neck. Also, she got free breakfast earlier.
Tom parked the Chrysler and walked with Dr. Laine to the morgue. “I always hated coming to these places,” Tom admitted quietly. “Dead bodies just give me the creeps. But what creeps me more is when they aren’t really dead.” The temperature today was only in the upper 70s, maybe 80. Tom opted to leave the suit jacket on.
As Tom and Laine stepped out of the car, Laurie leaned out to say he wasn't coming. "Yeah uhh, tell the boss I ain't coming. I'll stay here, hold the fort and be in reserve in case them jap-porn monsters start appearing. Then I can heroically save your asses, otherwise I'll just sit here do a bit of reading and you can give me the spark notes after when I need it for… You know, my real job." With that, he shut the door, pulled out his Bible and started to do precisely what he promised.
“What the heck are we lookin for?” Gwen asked no one specifically but in a quiet tone as to not to earn the wrath from the team or security.
“Doctor Bakker.” Donnelley frowned, leaning on an exam table with his arms crossed. He rolled his shoulders in the blue long-sleeved button up he wore. Goddamn, he hated dressing up. “Y’all seen dead bodies before right?”
“More than I ever wanted to,” Tom responded.
“Yeah, this one time we had a AC-130. I wasn’t piloting cus it wasn’t no drone, but I saw the live footage and damn those things can zoom in like a microscope. This taliban van, well it got talibammed by a 40mm cannon. Insane, really crazy. Why didn’t we just facetime or skype this Doc is he like one of those old men who meet in person only?” Gwen said, not really impressed by the whole covert op to find some old doctor. Sometimes technology just helped you find people, old or not.
“Yeah, why don’t we FaceTime this Doc?” Donnelley asked, a small smirk as he added, “Then again, he is so very important and much needed.”
“If I had a PHD I would facetime people, on appointment of course.” Gwen added to Donnely’s remark.
Laine turned her head, huffing a soft laugh at the comments. “He just texted me, he’s in the parking lot. Facetime is fine but face to face is preferable, I guess I’m old fashioned.”
On cue, Dr Alex Bakker rounded the corner and entered the room, pausing at the size of the crowd. His reddish blonde hair was tastefully messy, purposefully combed that way and he wore casual dark brown slacks and a blazer over a t-shirt. “Circus in town?” he asked, his gaze moving from Laine to Donnelley briefly then he scanned their faces. “Alright, let’s get on with this, I had to self medicate to sleep last night. I hope you catch whoever did this.”
“First time, Precious?” Donnelley muttered ever so softly at his comment of self medicating. Weed? Or alcohol? Now that was the question on sliding scale of tragedy.
He held out a folder with the FBI stamp on it. “Your official unofficial Jane Doe autopsy report.”
“What does the report state as cause of death?” Tom Stewart asked.
“Oh, you’ll want to hear this.” Donnelley smirked at Tom, leaving it at that. The humor was of course a defense mechanism, tried and true for Donnelley. In truth, the body’s internal state and missing organs gave him a creeping anxiety.
Dr Bakker nodded then opened the report, his free hand going to the pocket of his blazer to hide the fidgeting fingers. “First, I’m Dr Bakker, FBI forensic examiner at Quantico. I’m sure Dr Laine told you. Nice to see you again, Agent Davidson. Now, the rest of you I don’t know and if you wish give me your names I probably won’t remember them no offense. I’m going straight home after this and I hope to never see you again.”
His eyes darted to Laine, then muttered, “I’ll see you at work when I pack my things.”
‘Tom intended to tell Dr. Bakker his name. It was the polite thing to do, but after that introduction, maybe it was best just to remain silent about the introductions.’ “Ok, maybe you could just tell us what you found?”
“Right,” he said, “Jane Doe, estimated age 16-23 years, found in wooded location just off a trail. She was disposed of there, the body had been moved from wherever the original crime scene was. Cause of death...”
He squinted his eyes and said, “Massive internal hemorrhaging caused by a foreign object. I believe it to have been inserted somehow, most likely vaginal as extensive abrasions and lacerations were found through her cervix and uterus which was punctured by the...hell I don’t know what it was. It looks like a shard of obsidian or stone. Black...very black.”
Bakker paused, a faraway look in his dark blue eyes as he fumbled his hand in his pocket. Blinking hard he continued, “It tore through her, her reproductive organs, it lacerated her liver, right lung and embedded itself in her aorta.”
He breathed out, then said, “She was also mutilated. Her tongue was cut out, her vocal chords...and most obvious, she was skinned from head to toe. Every bit of dermal layer removed.”
His hand gripped into a fist in his jacket pocket and he cleared his throat, “This was not done posthumously.”
Gwen was uninterested in the whole attitude the Doc had Tom had gone as far as just plain up ask him what’s the dice for this whole thing and made the guy a bit scared. She went up to Bakker and put a consolidating hand on his shoulder.
"Don’t worry Doc we'll find this damned serial killer. Don’t mind my partner, Agent Muldoon." She said gesturing to Tom. "We're just trying to get the pieces we need to find this sunbitch." She said smiling.
Bakker glanced at the blonde, then at her hand and managed a nod of acknowledgement.
Though Donnelley had been smirking at the beginning, he now stood with his eyes closed and thumb resting on his lip. His head seemed to hang lower and lower as Bakker gave the team the rundown of what he’d found out. Finally, he thrust his thumb over his shoulder at the freezer drawers, voice solemn, “Where is she?”
“As distasteful as it may seem, I would like to view the corpse.”Tom mentioned to reinforce what Donnelley was implying. Tom turned to Gwen, “Could you take him out into the hall? He appears to not have the stomach for this sort of thing.” He was referring to Laurie Mathieu.
Laine listened, her face a mask of calm but inside her stomach knotted, the details now clearly telling a tale of torture and brutal murder. She had hoped at least the skinning had been done after death but the young woman was not even allowed that mercy. Her eyes scanned over the team, watching their reactions. Her gaze lingered on Donnelley then returned to Bakker. His stress etched on the fine lines around his eyes and dark circles. She doubted he had slept much and he was normally out like a light no matter what. She stayed silent, not feeling the need to push into the situation, just to observe.
"Of course, Agent Muldoon." She says walking out gesturing to the ol' Ranger to follow her out.
Tom held a stoic, semi-placid appearance. He had seen many corpses over the past five or more years during his time with the bureau.
Bakker folded the flap of the report folder over and put it under his arm, “I’ll get her out for you.”
He moved to the middle row, last drawer on the small freezer wall. Unlatching it, he drew out the stainless steel table, rolling out in a smooth motion and on it lay a petite figure that looked more like a muscle anatomy illustration than a former living human being. Her chest was still split open, closed only with medical staples that could be easily removed to examine the internal organs. She would be sewn up later and buried, hopefully one day to be returned to a family missing their daughter.
Tom pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of a breast pocket and slipped them on. He noticed the lack of flesh on the corpse, finding that aspect quite peculiar as well as telling about the killer. The detail to remove the flesh in its entirety from a human was a voluminous clue. “You say the flesh was removed while she was still alive?” Tom asked the question rhetorically. He hadn’t missed that tidbit, but saying it aloud impacted on himself more solidly that simply recalling it. “
Bakker stood aside, putting on his own gloves and nodded, “Yes, the marks we found on her muscles indicate it was before the other wounds, they were well clotted and starting to knit together in some places. Not too much longer after she died but...she felt that. No traces of pain killers, not even some fucking Tylenol. Lab found Midazolam and Propofol, he made sure she didn’t move but she felt and knew what he was doing.”
His voice lowered to a growl, then he shook his head, pressing his lips together until they were a white line against his ruddy beard.
Tom looked at the opened chest. “You say there was an object embedded in her chest. I see it was removed.” Tom looked around at Dr. Laine and Donnelley, “did one of you secure this piece of evidence?”
Donnelley glanced at Laine before he reached down and grabbed up the duffel bag, placing it on the empty exam table. He paused, a heavy sigh escaping him and a very strong urge to step outside for a smoke. It’d have to wait. He unzipped the bag, rummaging around clothing items until the crinkling of a ziplock was heard. He pulled free a bag and tossed it onto the exam table with a trace of disgust. Within it, a sharp piece of some type of mineral black like a hole in the world stared out at them.
Donnelley’s appearance was not lost on Agent Stewart. He watched him handle the small shard in the ziploc bag and place it on the exam table. Tom picked the bag up to have a closer inspection of the shard. “How was this inserted?” was the thought he had, while verbalizing the question. He stared at the thing a bit longer and he started to feel bad. It was a feeling he felt many years ago. He began to see clouds swirling in it surface. He recalled the black stone in Northern Afghanistan those many years ago. As soon as he realized what he held, he dropped the item back onto the exam table. “Holy shit!” Tom paused, not ready to explain how he recognized the thing. “Where did that come from?!” Fear and anxiety were overwhelming him. He felt sad, turned to Donnelley, “Agent Davidson, could we go outside for a few minutes?”
“Way the fuck ahead of you, Devil Dog.” Donnelley turned on his heel and stuffed a cigarette between his lips. He stopped for a beat, looking at Bakker and Laine, then Bakker again.
“I’m sorry you had to do this.” His eyes lingered on Bakker’s own. He knew they didn’t have the best of starts but nobody deserved a look like that in their eyes. It was those same eyes Donnelley had when he got back to his FOB in Afghanistan years ago. He opened his mouth to say something else but looked to the side, shaking his head and continuing on his way after Tom.
Dr Bakker watched Donnelley take the shard out of the duffel bag and Laine could see his shoulders tense. She felt it herself, the anxiety and dread over something so small yet it reminded her of death and horror in Olympia Forest and now here in West Virginia.
Bakker stepped away from her but before he could answer Agent Stewart’s question the man reacted to the shard. He paused, his gaze moving back to the body of the dead woman that he had spent hours delving into, mentally and physically taking her apart into pieces to figure out what had happened. But she was not just a puzzle but a person and he had stayed awake too long last night thinking about worst case scenarios until he knocked himself out with a heavy dose of Nyquil bought from the small hotel lobby storefront.
He turned to look at Donnelley, then nodded, rubbing his scruff covered chin, “Part of me wishes I hadn’t answered Dr Laine’s call, but if there had to be someone to do this...”
Bakker sighed heavily, glancing at Laine who hung back, and looked back at Donnelley, “I know I did as best I could by her.”
Whether he spoke of Jane Doe or Heather Laine, it was unclear and he said no more. Bakker nodded to him and turned away, the cords on the back of his neck standing out with tension as he looked down at the body.
Laine waited until the men left then walked over to Dr Bakker to stand beside him. He was still silent and she waited, watching him from the corner of her eye brooding over the victim.
"I'm also sorry to put this on you, but I trust you," Laine said.
Bakker rubbed the bridge of his nose then glanced at her. He was still taller than she was in her high heels and he looked slightly down in her face. "Yeah, you said that. Look, this has been a weird damn two days. I missed the conference, by the way."
They both stayed silent then she added, "I guess I'll find someone else to copy off of."
Bakker cut a dark look at her, muttering, "Christ's sake."
"Sorry."
He sighed then shook his head, toying with the edge of the latex gloves. "Seems like much longer than...what's it been 24, 36 hours? Seems like a week since I came down to Whitetree. I was glad to leave it. That place is depressing."
"It's strange," Laine agreed vaguely, "The whole county. The people there..."
"Your new partner," Bakker said, "All of it seems off. But I did my part and I'm going home today. I already made an appointment with the counselor at Johns Hopkins."
Laine turned to him, "Because of this?"
"Somewhat, and I mean a counselor to see how many courses I would need to renew my surgical license. Not a shrink, no offense."
"I still think it would be a disservice to law enforcement but it's your life," Laine said.
"It would make Lily happy, too. That matters to me," Bakker said, glancing aside at her and he held out the folder with the autopsy report.
Laine nodded stiffly as she took it, tucking it under her arm, then turned away. She dug into her purse for her clove cigarettes. "I think I'll grab a smoke, too."
Part III
>CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
>GRAFFER’S DRINKS & DINING
>1800HRS...///
Inevitably, Donnelley would have to stop his brooding. It made for bad conversation, but thankfully, for most of the ride to Charleston Laine was also quiet. They didn’t have the good spirits for jokes or speaking at all for a time. Or Donnelley didn’t. Of course, slowly he began to thaw and find his way back to the man he knew himself to be. They’d arrived at the small shopping center in the city and Donnelley followed Laine to the first store they came across. Around the Nordstrom they went, Donnelley with his hands firmly in his pockets as Laine buzzed about the clothing shelves and carousels, looking at shirts and pants and pondering on a few.
Soon enough, the dour attitude of Donnelley was chipped away at the small tries of banter from Laine. Smirks twitched at the corners of his mouth, smiles curled his lips and then chuckles weaseled from him through jokes at the ironic prospects of Laine in sundresses suited more for rich housewives and as Laine furthered her adventure deeper into the labyrinthine clothing section, he found he was smiling just because. He did have to try to look away- and fail in glances- when Laine was busy picking out more intimate and personal pieces of clothing. He came away from the experience red-faced. For the first time in a long time, Donnelley felt something he hadn’t; normal, an average man following a woman through a store and laughing at the stupidest things. At the beginning of it all, he checked his phone religiously for Foster or any of the others. As time went on, his phone was in his hand less and less until he forgot it was even there. The triviality was blissful, almost.
They left the store with Laine’s spoils, prized among them were a pair of black and white low-top Chuck Taylors she’d had a twinkle in her eye for from the moment she sensed their presence near her. Now, sitting in a booth at the bar, Old Fashioned in front of him and waiting for Laine to get back from the bathroom, he remembered what he missed about having someone outside of the Agency to spend time with. Something to do other than work or black out the time in-between. And perhaps the most heartbreaking thing about it is how unprofessional it was. If Foster saw them now he’d have a shit fit. And perhaps that only added to the fun of it all.
In the bathroom, Laine applied lipstick, a deep burgundy that bordered on plum. As close as she could get to black without being unprofessional. She had changed, taking off her skirt and tights to wear black leggings and the heels for the Converse sneakers. Her sweater was next, replaced by one of the few t-shirts she had found appealing, a white shirt with a distressed screen print of a city skyline. The sleeves had been tastefully torn off to resemble a tank top Nordstrom’s idea of urban style no doubt and it displayed her tattoos. She examined herself in the mirror, brushing her hair back behind her ears then forward again, shaking it loose. With a shrug, she grabbed her discarded clothes, rolling them into a tight bundle and tucked it under her arm as she exited the lady’s room.
Her drink was on the table, a cherry vodka sour, something she had not had since college and the bright red candied fruit poised in the liquor made her smile as plopped down across from Donnelley.
“Don’t you love it when you come back from the bathroom and your drink is waiting for you, “ Laine quipped with a sly smile and picked up the cherry, putting it in her mouth.
“Lucky we got anything at all.” He said, his modest smile still on him as he flashed his blue eyes at Laine’s green. He sipped at his drink, “I don’t think buddy over there’s much of a waiter. You look nice.”
Now that he was finally at rest and seemingly content with his life at the moment, he found it hard not to let the conversation stray towards work. The last thing he wanted to be talking about now was the case, and it wasn’t just because of OpSec. He’d spent his life doing one operation to the other. He promised himself not to let it seep into everything, and he’d keep it. “Then again you make it seem like you’ve never looked bad.” He smirked into his drink and shrugged, “I just throw shit on.”
Laine chewed on the cherry, rolling it in her mouth to rid it of the pit. At his compliment she popped the stem out and tossed it on a napkin, a self deprecating smile touching her lips. “That’s not my talent, that’s my mother’s training. She’s a real LA woman. But thank you.”
Leaning forward slightly she said in a low voice, “But isn’t that part of the mystique? Is he a street hood or spook? We’ll never know.”
With a light laugh, she leaned back and took her drink, downing about half of it and shivered, goosebumps rising on her bare arms. Double shot of the house vodka, it was rough.
“Could you believe I was one before the other?” He snorted, sloshing his drink in slow circles, “I might have been one of the five punks in Nowhere, Texas. My Pa was as West Texas as you could get, boots and hat, everything. Wasn’t all bad, learned how to ride from Pa and my manners from Ma.”
“So you dodged falling into the Valley Girl stereotype?” Donnelley rose a brow. “I could see it, riding in the back of a convertible Mustang to the beach and blaring… I don’t know, California Dreamin’ or something. Some Beatles, The Who, the real poppy shit from across the pond.”
“I believe it,” Laine grinned, “I can picture you, mohawk? Or liberty spikes? Brawling with the jocks and rednecks.”
She laughed at his image, shaking her head, “And again, that’s my mother. Not me. She was an actress and model, bleached hair and beach tan; a picture of California. She wanted me to follow in her footsteps but it wasn’t for me. Like I told you, I embraced the dark early.”
A melancholy look flickered in her eyes then she gave him a little smile as she imitated a dramatic teenager, “It’s not a phase, Mom.”
“In your defense it wasn’t for me, either.” He chuckled. He imitated flicking long locks from his shoulder, “I had some long-ass hair. Used to put makeup on and make kissy faces at the cowboys in their trucks to piss them off. I got my ass kicked a lot, but fuck it.”
He smiled, “I did have the vest though. Still got it somewhere, ratty as all hell by now.”
Laine laughed out loud at the image, a contagious slightly hoarse sound of pure glee at the idea of taunting rednecks. "Oh wow, now that's cool. I did a lot of bad poetry and my first real boyfriend had a blue mohawk and taught me to skate and play pool... among other things."
Her own smirk teased her lips and she took a sip then met his eyes. "Hell I want to see that vest one day. Judge your patches."
His brow ticked up at Laine’s insinuating smirk. He decided to let that dog lie for now and followed her along the subject of his vest, “Homemade, all of them. Lots of time on my hands back then and all I did was help fix motorcycles, make patches, break into cars, party and…” he shrugged, “Some other things.”
“We had to go to the bigger cities to party but that usually meant bigger trouble for little Donnelley.” He smiled at the memories, “I remember breaking into a DJ’s car and stealing my first records. We get back to the house show and the cops are at the place, had to pull my friend to the bus stop after he got cracked in the head with a baton.”
“I got a bottle broken over my head by a Crip once.” He looked away from Laine, thinking about any other times he’d got in trouble that should’ve killed him, “I don’t remember two days from those years because of the Xanax, but they said at one point I started a fight with a shitload of White Power Skins.”
“I was making kissy faces at them.” He mimicked it, throwing back the rest of his drink.
Laine raised her eyebrow at his tale of teenage debauchery and vandalism. “You would have been right at home with the boys I knew. Including the makeup, some of them were goth kids you know.”
She laughed at his kissy face, feeling warmth in her cheeks and she finished her drink. “You’ve always liked to tempt fate haven’t you?”
“I’ll be making kissy faces when the Reaper comes to the side of my deathbed.” He chuckled, leaning back and shaking his head, “Time was, I wanted to fight the whole goddamn world. I found out helping it feels better. Crazy idea, who’d have thought.”
He cracked a small smile, placing his hands on his empty glass and looking into it as he spoke, “I don’t get to do this often. I told them I wanted to stay as far away from Langley and America for a while since Holly and I, you know. Years later...” He chuckled, a small thing from his nose, “Besides how it started, I liked today. Forgot how much I missed this.”
His eyes glanced at Laine, catching himself, “Being Stateside.” He finished, a lie on two fronts. His little escapade in Seattle was more sad than anything and well, there was only a handful of things he liked in West Virginia. “It’s been a long time.”
Laine examined his face as he spoke, staying quiet and letting him express his longing for normalcy. Finally she said, “I can imagine, a job like yours is all consuming. I can understand that very well. As for your wife, I am guessing that was rough. I mean, of course it was but you still carry it don’t you? A burden of some kind of failure.”
She caught herself and glanced at her empty glass, setting it aside.
“Sometimes.” He shrugged, watching Laine, “Other times I’m pretty over it. I know she is. Honestly? It’s good for her. With a career like this I’d only be lying to her every day about what I am and where I’m going.”
“We’re both better this way.” He nodded before perking up a bit, giving a half smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring this down.”
Laine shook her head, “No, you didn’t. We’re here, talking and bullshitting, nothing to worry about. I’m going to get us another round since the waiter isn’t passing by. Same thing?”
She stood up, pushing the chair in with her hip and stacked her glass in his, picking them both up in a practiced manner. Once he gave her his answer, Laine sauntered to the bar, leaning against it and had the bartender’s attention in moments.
“Can I get a basket of fries, too? The largest you have, I’m starving,” she smiled and the bartender grinned, setting up their drinks, tossing in an extra shot each.
“On me,” he smiled at her, tossing two cherries into her vodka sour.
A generous tip went into his jar and she said, “Call me when the fries are out, we’ve been abandoned.”
“I’ll make sure you get them,” he said, giving her another cheeky grin, his eyes roaming over her tattoos and back to her face. “What’s the name on the order?”
“Laine. Thanks,” she said, turning on her heel and swayed her hips, giving Donnelley a sly smile and wink, their drinks in hand.
“It’s strong,” she said, setting it in front of him. “I forgot how easy it is to get free drinks.”
“When you’re you.” He winked. “Maybe if I grow my hair out again and give out some kissy faces I’ll be able to work magic like you.”
He took the first sip of his new drink and remembered he hadn’t eaten anything at all today. He was reminded of the fact when he felt the telltale looseness of muscle and tongue so early. He chuckled, “Thank you. You get any food? I haven’t eaten a thing all day.”
"You know I'm still in shock over the first kissy face," she chuckled and sat down, "I ordered a dumb huge basket of fries because I love french fries I don't care. I'll have thick thighs."
She sipped her strong drink and shivered, already feeling her head lighter and her body loosening. "I could add a burger if you want. I haven't eaten much and just now getting my appetite back."
Laine pulled a cherry out and offered it to him, "An appetizer."
“Thank you.” He snorted as he took the cherry and popped it into his mouth, holding the stem out in front of himself and looking at it appreciatively, “I never got how people tied stems out of these things.”
He shrugged, setting the stem down on his napkin and taking another sip to wash the cherry down. “I shared some of my stories,” he clucked his tongue, swirling the liquor in his glass, “Your turn?”
“No?” she said, picking up the cherry and then gave him a coy smile, popping the entire thing in her mouth. She chewed and pursed her lips, her tongue obviously moving in her mouth and trying not to laugh until she finally spit it out. The stem tied in a knot.
His brows rose, eyes going from Laine to the stem and back before he cracked a grin and laughed, “You are full of surprises.”
“I didn’t want to show off the first time,” Laine said, dropping it on his napkin. “Now, my stories...would it surprise you that I was a waitress and bartender at the Whiskey? It was only like six months and I was nineteen, couldn’t even drink legally but it was fun.”
“No petty crime wave like little Donnelley?” He chuckled, “S’alright. I can see it, you’ve got a good smile. Anything the Bureau wouldn’t want to know about from your childhood days kicking up dust with the punks?”
Laine tapped her fingernails, the deep plum polish looked black in the dim bar light. She glanced to the side then leaned in. "You know the usual sneaking out, smoking and drinking, X. Tried a couple of stronger things but I never liked the way it made me feel. But what could have got me in trouble if I'd been caught was shoplifting."
Rolling her eyes with embarrassment, she continued, "A friend of mine from school, Christine and I used to hit up different malls and steal from Hot Topic."
She laughed, blushing at the admission. "I mean, they had some cute stuff and decent t-shirts but fuck Hot Topic. We were too cool to pay for it. We were also like fifteen years old and it was a thrill."
Laine sipped her vodka sour and shook her head, "It's not something I'm proud of and my dad finally caught me with a bunch of tagged clothing in my closet. We had a long talk, you know. I hated disappointing him. I mean, I was used to disappointing my mom, that was easy but my dad? That was hard to face and so my sticky fingers days pretty much ended.”
She gave him a sheepish smile, then shrugged, “I guess I wasn’t as wild as you, but I also was happy to be alone with a good book or studying.”
Laine nursed her drink as he ordered more, watching him get drunk but she kept herself on the right side of sober. The fries helped and they devoured the basket of thick home cut potato wedges then ended up ordering burgers as well. A light buzz enough to take the edge off of the day, the horror of what the autopsy revealed. She felt a sudden pang of guilt, here they were drinking and laughing and Alex was back in White Tree. Laine finished her cranberry juice, what she had started drinking after the second vodka and then motioned to Donnelley, “I’m going to the ladies' room, then we should probably hit the road.”
Once in the bathroom, she pulled out her phone and saw three messages from Dr Bakker. “Shit,” she muttered and called him.
He answered on the second ring and sounded rightfully annoyed, “Jesus, Heather where the fuck are you?”
“Hi, sorry about that,” she winced and sighed, “I had to get some clothes for the next few days in Charleston and we stopped for dinner.”
“Lovely, well I can tell you Annie’s Tavern has dry meatloaf, I wouldn’t recommend it. I need to get back now. I’ve got the report done and the samples I’ll run those down to CJIS myself,” he said and she could hear the impatience in his voice. “Heather, this shit...what the hell did you get into here?”
“I can’t talk about it and neither can you,” she said, checking under the stalls for any feet. “It’s late, are you sure-”
“I already have a room in Clarksburg, I’m heading out,” Bakker cut her off, then she could hear him sigh. “This has been rough.”
“I know, I’m sorry for dragging you into this but I don’t trust anyone else for that job.”
Bakker stayed silent then finally spoke, “At least you helped me decide something. I’m definitely going back into medicine where I don’t have to see shit like this ever again.”
Laine looked up at the ceiling, crossing one arm under her breasts, hugging herself, “It’s important you don’t talk about it, just take my word for it.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I don't even want to think about this again. Take care of yourself, and watch your ass. I don’t know who you’re working with but this whole thing stinks.”
“Yeah...it’s going to be a tough case,” Laine agreed, then waited a moment, “Look, I know you are shook up, hell we all are. But if I need you-”
“It better be dire need, Heather. I mean...shit,” he breathed out heavily, “Look, give me some time. Call me if you need me for anything.”
“Thanks, Alex,” she said quietly, then added, “Text me when you get to your hotel so I know you got there in one piece.”
“Sure. Drive safe.”
After he hung up, she tucked the phone into her waistband and splashed a little cold water on her face, still feeling the fuzziness in her brain. When she exited the bathroom, she spotted Donnelley still at the table.
The sight of him, slouched in his chair but relaxed made her smile as she strolled up, “Ready? Think you can make it to the car on your own feet?”
Without a word, Donnelley smiled, pushing himself up onto his feet with shaky grace. He held his hands out and his brows rose, “Ta da.”
She gave him a golf clap then grabbed her rolled up clothes and purse from the table, leading the way back to the Chrysler. Laine pulled the keys out and opened the car, dumping her stuff in the back before sliding into the driver's seat.
She adjusted the mirrors and seat, her sneakers lacking heels made her shorter height more noticeable. "Back to Whitetree or the cabin?"
Laine glanced at Donnelley then answered herself, "The cabin."
With that she fired up the car and pulled out of the bar parking lot, heading toward what would be home for the foreseeable future. Throughout the trip Donnelley had nodded off a few times, his conscience narrowed down to blinks of time in which he felt like he was a passenger in his own head. A view of a road through headlights. Reaching for a water bottle through the car window, held out by an attractive woman he didn’t know if he knew. More road. Even more empty road. Slowly, his consciousness trickled back to him by the time he felt them stop at the cabin. He kept his eyes closed for a few seconds before he opened them just as he felt and heard the engine cut off. He felt beat, taking a gulp of water and looking to Laine. For some reason, the image of her and Bakker at work, the memory of him addressing her with familiarity flashed back to him. Maybe it was the drink, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it all bothered him for some reason. Just as Laine pushed open her door, Donnelley looked forward, the sight of the moon on high as he spoke. If he didn’t say it now he would never, “He called you by your first name.”
Laine let him rest, keeping the music mellow and ambient as she drove the lonely dark road towards the safehouse. If it had not been for the lingering memory of the dead girl and the horror inside her it would have been a great night. She had kept her own company so long lately she nearly forgot what it was like to get to know someone new and find those exciting connections. Granted, Donnelley was a coworker...no a supervisor. Her hands gripped the wheel and she told herself it didn't matter. They were just being friendly, that was all. A working friendship.
Tapping her thumbs to the Bauhaus beat that filled the silence between them, Laine focused on the winding road that finally lead them to the empty cabin. No one had made it in yet but that was expected, she had just happened to have been so close by. Home sweet home.
As Laine was getting out of the car, Donnelley's words caught her by surprise. Then she realized he meant Dr Bakker. She waited a beat, thinking over his possible reasons for demoting her to the familiar first name in front of other professionals. Or had it been for Donnelley.
Laine shrugged, meeting his gaze, "We've known each other for awhile. What's it matter?"
Donnelley’s brow furrowed, looking at his water bottle and mentally chiding himself that it would not give her the answers he wanted to. Neither would he, but his mouth worked at the words, struggling silently before he shook his head. “I don’t know.”
He looked at Laine but avoided her eyes, her face again a picture of quiet sympathy, the silence begging him to continue. He was her supervisor, a Team Lead. This was wildly inappropriate and completely unprofessional. He felt like a little boy again, confronted by… by what, Joseph? He asked himself. The silence was starting to draw on too long and he knew he might be wasting Laine’s time with this now that she wanted to be in a bed. He did too, but this was more important somehow. “Just...” He sighed, frustrated, “I’m sorry…”
He finally met her eyes with his tired own, flashing a sheepish smile and shaking his head as he looked away again.
Laine sank back into the seat, taking her time as he seemed to struggle with an internal battle. She waited patiently, watching him.
"You don't need to be sorry," she said quietly, and when he looked away she kept watching him.
He met her eyes again and offered her a lopsided grin. He silently pulled his pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and pulled one free with his teeth, getting out of his seat and walking towards the door. The lonely walk to the cabin held disappointment in every step for him but he braced against it long enough to stand at the doorway, unlocking the door and pushing it open for Laine. “Should get some rest,” He smiled, a request to be alone in different words, “I’ll be a little bit.”
She let him go, gathering her shopping bags and her work bag to head inside. As she passed him, she said, "It's been a long day but tonight was nice. Get some sleep."
Laine gave him a brief stern look before a small smile touched her lips, "Good night."
She left him there and went to the bedroom designated for the women in Team UMBRA,this time taking the bottom bunk. Laine undressed and put on an oversized t-shirt she had brought to sleep in. It was faded black with the screen print crackled with countless washings. It was hard to make out the band, only the red rose visible and instantly recognizable to Depeche Mode fans.
Laine flopped onto the bed, laying there for a moment before curling under the covers. She stayed still, closing her eyes and though she would not admit it to herself, she was listening for the door.
Alone again on the porch, Donnelley took a drag of his cigarette. The cherry of it burned brighter for a moment and he blew the smoke out, watching it drift away to the night breezes. For the first time, the night did not have a weight to it, the whispers of the trees as the wind rushed through them quieted and all was silence. Donnelley let a breath out, looking back at the cabin before his gaze met the moon and stars again. Another drag, another cloud drifted away from another sigh. Unprofessional. But Laine did say he liked to tempt fate.
>CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
>GRAFFER’S DRINKS & DINING
>1800HRS...///
Inevitably, Donnelley would have to stop his brooding. It made for bad conversation, but thankfully, for most of the ride to Charleston Laine was also quiet. They didn’t have the good spirits for jokes or speaking at all for a time. Or Donnelley didn’t. Of course, slowly he began to thaw and find his way back to the man he knew himself to be. They’d arrived at the small shopping center in the city and Donnelley followed Laine to the first store they came across. Around the Nordstrom they went, Donnelley with his hands firmly in his pockets as Laine buzzed about the clothing shelves and carousels, looking at shirts and pants and pondering on a few.
Soon enough, the dour attitude of Donnelley was chipped away at the small tries of banter from Laine. Smirks twitched at the corners of his mouth, smiles curled his lips and then chuckles weaseled from him through jokes at the ironic prospects of Laine in sundresses suited more for rich housewives and as Laine furthered her adventure deeper into the labyrinthine clothing section, he found he was smiling just because. He did have to try to look away- and fail in glances- when Laine was busy picking out more intimate and personal pieces of clothing. He came away from the experience red-faced. For the first time in a long time, Donnelley felt something he hadn’t; normal, an average man following a woman through a store and laughing at the stupidest things. At the beginning of it all, he checked his phone religiously for Foster or any of the others. As time went on, his phone was in his hand less and less until he forgot it was even there. The triviality was blissful, almost.
They left the store with Laine’s spoils, prized among them were a pair of black and white low-top Chuck Taylors she’d had a twinkle in her eye for from the moment she sensed their presence near her. Now, sitting in a booth at the bar, Old Fashioned in front of him and waiting for Laine to get back from the bathroom, he remembered what he missed about having someone outside of the Agency to spend time with. Something to do other than work or black out the time in-between. And perhaps the most heartbreaking thing about it is how unprofessional it was. If Foster saw them now he’d have a shit fit. And perhaps that only added to the fun of it all.
In the bathroom, Laine applied lipstick, a deep burgundy that bordered on plum. As close as she could get to black without being unprofessional. She had changed, taking off her skirt and tights to wear black leggings and the heels for the Converse sneakers. Her sweater was next, replaced by one of the few t-shirts she had found appealing, a white shirt with a distressed screen print of a city skyline. The sleeves had been tastefully torn off to resemble a tank top Nordstrom’s idea of urban style no doubt and it displayed her tattoos. She examined herself in the mirror, brushing her hair back behind her ears then forward again, shaking it loose. With a shrug, she grabbed her discarded clothes, rolling them into a tight bundle and tucked it under her arm as she exited the lady’s room.
Her drink was on the table, a cherry vodka sour, something she had not had since college and the bright red candied fruit poised in the liquor made her smile as plopped down across from Donnelley.
“Don’t you love it when you come back from the bathroom and your drink is waiting for you, “ Laine quipped with a sly smile and picked up the cherry, putting it in her mouth.
“Lucky we got anything at all.” He said, his modest smile still on him as he flashed his blue eyes at Laine’s green. He sipped at his drink, “I don’t think buddy over there’s much of a waiter. You look nice.”
Now that he was finally at rest and seemingly content with his life at the moment, he found it hard not to let the conversation stray towards work. The last thing he wanted to be talking about now was the case, and it wasn’t just because of OpSec. He’d spent his life doing one operation to the other. He promised himself not to let it seep into everything, and he’d keep it. “Then again you make it seem like you’ve never looked bad.” He smirked into his drink and shrugged, “I just throw shit on.”
Laine chewed on the cherry, rolling it in her mouth to rid it of the pit. At his compliment she popped the stem out and tossed it on a napkin, a self deprecating smile touching her lips. “That’s not my talent, that’s my mother’s training. She’s a real LA woman. But thank you.”
Leaning forward slightly she said in a low voice, “But isn’t that part of the mystique? Is he a street hood or spook? We’ll never know.”
With a light laugh, she leaned back and took her drink, downing about half of it and shivered, goosebumps rising on her bare arms. Double shot of the house vodka, it was rough.
“Could you believe I was one before the other?” He snorted, sloshing his drink in slow circles, “I might have been one of the five punks in Nowhere, Texas. My Pa was as West Texas as you could get, boots and hat, everything. Wasn’t all bad, learned how to ride from Pa and my manners from Ma.”
“So you dodged falling into the Valley Girl stereotype?” Donnelley rose a brow. “I could see it, riding in the back of a convertible Mustang to the beach and blaring… I don’t know, California Dreamin’ or something. Some Beatles, The Who, the real poppy shit from across the pond.”
“I believe it,” Laine grinned, “I can picture you, mohawk? Or liberty spikes? Brawling with the jocks and rednecks.”
She laughed at his image, shaking her head, “And again, that’s my mother. Not me. She was an actress and model, bleached hair and beach tan; a picture of California. She wanted me to follow in her footsteps but it wasn’t for me. Like I told you, I embraced the dark early.”
A melancholy look flickered in her eyes then she gave him a little smile as she imitated a dramatic teenager, “It’s not a phase, Mom.”
“In your defense it wasn’t for me, either.” He chuckled. He imitated flicking long locks from his shoulder, “I had some long-ass hair. Used to put makeup on and make kissy faces at the cowboys in their trucks to piss them off. I got my ass kicked a lot, but fuck it.”
He smiled, “I did have the vest though. Still got it somewhere, ratty as all hell by now.”
Laine laughed out loud at the image, a contagious slightly hoarse sound of pure glee at the idea of taunting rednecks. "Oh wow, now that's cool. I did a lot of bad poetry and my first real boyfriend had a blue mohawk and taught me to skate and play pool... among other things."
Her own smirk teased her lips and she took a sip then met his eyes. "Hell I want to see that vest one day. Judge your patches."
His brow ticked up at Laine’s insinuating smirk. He decided to let that dog lie for now and followed her along the subject of his vest, “Homemade, all of them. Lots of time on my hands back then and all I did was help fix motorcycles, make patches, break into cars, party and…” he shrugged, “Some other things.”
“We had to go to the bigger cities to party but that usually meant bigger trouble for little Donnelley.” He smiled at the memories, “I remember breaking into a DJ’s car and stealing my first records. We get back to the house show and the cops are at the place, had to pull my friend to the bus stop after he got cracked in the head with a baton.”
“I got a bottle broken over my head by a Crip once.” He looked away from Laine, thinking about any other times he’d got in trouble that should’ve killed him, “I don’t remember two days from those years because of the Xanax, but they said at one point I started a fight with a shitload of White Power Skins.”
“I was making kissy faces at them.” He mimicked it, throwing back the rest of his drink.
Laine raised her eyebrow at his tale of teenage debauchery and vandalism. “You would have been right at home with the boys I knew. Including the makeup, some of them were goth kids you know.”
She laughed at his kissy face, feeling warmth in her cheeks and she finished her drink. “You’ve always liked to tempt fate haven’t you?”
“I’ll be making kissy faces when the Reaper comes to the side of my deathbed.” He chuckled, leaning back and shaking his head, “Time was, I wanted to fight the whole goddamn world. I found out helping it feels better. Crazy idea, who’d have thought.”
He cracked a small smile, placing his hands on his empty glass and looking into it as he spoke, “I don’t get to do this often. I told them I wanted to stay as far away from Langley and America for a while since Holly and I, you know. Years later...” He chuckled, a small thing from his nose, “Besides how it started, I liked today. Forgot how much I missed this.”
His eyes glanced at Laine, catching himself, “Being Stateside.” He finished, a lie on two fronts. His little escapade in Seattle was more sad than anything and well, there was only a handful of things he liked in West Virginia. “It’s been a long time.”
Laine examined his face as he spoke, staying quiet and letting him express his longing for normalcy. Finally she said, “I can imagine, a job like yours is all consuming. I can understand that very well. As for your wife, I am guessing that was rough. I mean, of course it was but you still carry it don’t you? A burden of some kind of failure.”
She caught herself and glanced at her empty glass, setting it aside.
“Sometimes.” He shrugged, watching Laine, “Other times I’m pretty over it. I know she is. Honestly? It’s good for her. With a career like this I’d only be lying to her every day about what I am and where I’m going.”
“We’re both better this way.” He nodded before perking up a bit, giving a half smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring this down.”
Laine shook her head, “No, you didn’t. We’re here, talking and bullshitting, nothing to worry about. I’m going to get us another round since the waiter isn’t passing by. Same thing?”
She stood up, pushing the chair in with her hip and stacked her glass in his, picking them both up in a practiced manner. Once he gave her his answer, Laine sauntered to the bar, leaning against it and had the bartender’s attention in moments.
“Can I get a basket of fries, too? The largest you have, I’m starving,” she smiled and the bartender grinned, setting up their drinks, tossing in an extra shot each.
“On me,” he smiled at her, tossing two cherries into her vodka sour.
A generous tip went into his jar and she said, “Call me when the fries are out, we’ve been abandoned.”
“I’ll make sure you get them,” he said, giving her another cheeky grin, his eyes roaming over her tattoos and back to her face. “What’s the name on the order?”
“Laine. Thanks,” she said, turning on her heel and swayed her hips, giving Donnelley a sly smile and wink, their drinks in hand.
“It’s strong,” she said, setting it in front of him. “I forgot how easy it is to get free drinks.”
“When you’re you.” He winked. “Maybe if I grow my hair out again and give out some kissy faces I’ll be able to work magic like you.”
He took the first sip of his new drink and remembered he hadn’t eaten anything at all today. He was reminded of the fact when he felt the telltale looseness of muscle and tongue so early. He chuckled, “Thank you. You get any food? I haven’t eaten a thing all day.”
"You know I'm still in shock over the first kissy face," she chuckled and sat down, "I ordered a dumb huge basket of fries because I love french fries I don't care. I'll have thick thighs."
She sipped her strong drink and shivered, already feeling her head lighter and her body loosening. "I could add a burger if you want. I haven't eaten much and just now getting my appetite back."
Laine pulled a cherry out and offered it to him, "An appetizer."
“Thank you.” He snorted as he took the cherry and popped it into his mouth, holding the stem out in front of himself and looking at it appreciatively, “I never got how people tied stems out of these things.”
He shrugged, setting the stem down on his napkin and taking another sip to wash the cherry down. “I shared some of my stories,” he clucked his tongue, swirling the liquor in his glass, “Your turn?”
“No?” she said, picking up the cherry and then gave him a coy smile, popping the entire thing in her mouth. She chewed and pursed her lips, her tongue obviously moving in her mouth and trying not to laugh until she finally spit it out. The stem tied in a knot.
His brows rose, eyes going from Laine to the stem and back before he cracked a grin and laughed, “You are full of surprises.”
“I didn’t want to show off the first time,” Laine said, dropping it on his napkin. “Now, my stories...would it surprise you that I was a waitress and bartender at the Whiskey? It was only like six months and I was nineteen, couldn’t even drink legally but it was fun.”
“No petty crime wave like little Donnelley?” He chuckled, “S’alright. I can see it, you’ve got a good smile. Anything the Bureau wouldn’t want to know about from your childhood days kicking up dust with the punks?”
Laine tapped her fingernails, the deep plum polish looked black in the dim bar light. She glanced to the side then leaned in. "You know the usual sneaking out, smoking and drinking, X. Tried a couple of stronger things but I never liked the way it made me feel. But what could have got me in trouble if I'd been caught was shoplifting."
Rolling her eyes with embarrassment, she continued, "A friend of mine from school, Christine and I used to hit up different malls and steal from Hot Topic."
She laughed, blushing at the admission. "I mean, they had some cute stuff and decent t-shirts but fuck Hot Topic. We were too cool to pay for it. We were also like fifteen years old and it was a thrill."
Laine sipped her vodka sour and shook her head, "It's not something I'm proud of and my dad finally caught me with a bunch of tagged clothing in my closet. We had a long talk, you know. I hated disappointing him. I mean, I was used to disappointing my mom, that was easy but my dad? That was hard to face and so my sticky fingers days pretty much ended.”
She gave him a sheepish smile, then shrugged, “I guess I wasn’t as wild as you, but I also was happy to be alone with a good book or studying.”
Laine nursed her drink as he ordered more, watching him get drunk but she kept herself on the right side of sober. The fries helped and they devoured the basket of thick home cut potato wedges then ended up ordering burgers as well. A light buzz enough to take the edge off of the day, the horror of what the autopsy revealed. She felt a sudden pang of guilt, here they were drinking and laughing and Alex was back in White Tree. Laine finished her cranberry juice, what she had started drinking after the second vodka and then motioned to Donnelley, “I’m going to the ladies' room, then we should probably hit the road.”
Once in the bathroom, she pulled out her phone and saw three messages from Dr Bakker. “Shit,” she muttered and called him.
He answered on the second ring and sounded rightfully annoyed, “Jesus, Heather where the fuck are you?”
“Hi, sorry about that,” she winced and sighed, “I had to get some clothes for the next few days in Charleston and we stopped for dinner.”
“Lovely, well I can tell you Annie’s Tavern has dry meatloaf, I wouldn’t recommend it. I need to get back now. I’ve got the report done and the samples I’ll run those down to CJIS myself,” he said and she could hear the impatience in his voice. “Heather, this shit...what the hell did you get into here?”
“I can’t talk about it and neither can you,” she said, checking under the stalls for any feet. “It’s late, are you sure-”
“I already have a room in Clarksburg, I’m heading out,” Bakker cut her off, then she could hear him sigh. “This has been rough.”
“I know, I’m sorry for dragging you into this but I don’t trust anyone else for that job.”
Bakker stayed silent then finally spoke, “At least you helped me decide something. I’m definitely going back into medicine where I don’t have to see shit like this ever again.”
Laine looked up at the ceiling, crossing one arm under her breasts, hugging herself, “It’s important you don’t talk about it, just take my word for it.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I don't even want to think about this again. Take care of yourself, and watch your ass. I don’t know who you’re working with but this whole thing stinks.”
“Yeah...it’s going to be a tough case,” Laine agreed, then waited a moment, “Look, I know you are shook up, hell we all are. But if I need you-”
“It better be dire need, Heather. I mean...shit,” he breathed out heavily, “Look, give me some time. Call me if you need me for anything.”
“Thanks, Alex,” she said quietly, then added, “Text me when you get to your hotel so I know you got there in one piece.”
“Sure. Drive safe.”
After he hung up, she tucked the phone into her waistband and splashed a little cold water on her face, still feeling the fuzziness in her brain. When she exited the bathroom, she spotted Donnelley still at the table.
The sight of him, slouched in his chair but relaxed made her smile as she strolled up, “Ready? Think you can make it to the car on your own feet?”
Without a word, Donnelley smiled, pushing himself up onto his feet with shaky grace. He held his hands out and his brows rose, “Ta da.”
She gave him a golf clap then grabbed her rolled up clothes and purse from the table, leading the way back to the Chrysler. Laine pulled the keys out and opened the car, dumping her stuff in the back before sliding into the driver's seat.
She adjusted the mirrors and seat, her sneakers lacking heels made her shorter height more noticeable. "Back to Whitetree or the cabin?"
Laine glanced at Donnelley then answered herself, "The cabin."
With that she fired up the car and pulled out of the bar parking lot, heading toward what would be home for the foreseeable future. Throughout the trip Donnelley had nodded off a few times, his conscience narrowed down to blinks of time in which he felt like he was a passenger in his own head. A view of a road through headlights. Reaching for a water bottle through the car window, held out by an attractive woman he didn’t know if he knew. More road. Even more empty road. Slowly, his consciousness trickled back to him by the time he felt them stop at the cabin. He kept his eyes closed for a few seconds before he opened them just as he felt and heard the engine cut off. He felt beat, taking a gulp of water and looking to Laine. For some reason, the image of her and Bakker at work, the memory of him addressing her with familiarity flashed back to him. Maybe it was the drink, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it all bothered him for some reason. Just as Laine pushed open her door, Donnelley looked forward, the sight of the moon on high as he spoke. If he didn’t say it now he would never, “He called you by your first name.”
Laine let him rest, keeping the music mellow and ambient as she drove the lonely dark road towards the safehouse. If it had not been for the lingering memory of the dead girl and the horror inside her it would have been a great night. She had kept her own company so long lately she nearly forgot what it was like to get to know someone new and find those exciting connections. Granted, Donnelley was a coworker...no a supervisor. Her hands gripped the wheel and she told herself it didn't matter. They were just being friendly, that was all. A working friendship.
Tapping her thumbs to the Bauhaus beat that filled the silence between them, Laine focused on the winding road that finally lead them to the empty cabin. No one had made it in yet but that was expected, she had just happened to have been so close by. Home sweet home.
As Laine was getting out of the car, Donnelley's words caught her by surprise. Then she realized he meant Dr Bakker. She waited a beat, thinking over his possible reasons for demoting her to the familiar first name in front of other professionals. Or had it been for Donnelley.
Laine shrugged, meeting his gaze, "We've known each other for awhile. What's it matter?"
Donnelley’s brow furrowed, looking at his water bottle and mentally chiding himself that it would not give her the answers he wanted to. Neither would he, but his mouth worked at the words, struggling silently before he shook his head. “I don’t know.”
He looked at Laine but avoided her eyes, her face again a picture of quiet sympathy, the silence begging him to continue. He was her supervisor, a Team Lead. This was wildly inappropriate and completely unprofessional. He felt like a little boy again, confronted by… by what, Joseph? He asked himself. The silence was starting to draw on too long and he knew he might be wasting Laine’s time with this now that she wanted to be in a bed. He did too, but this was more important somehow. “Just...” He sighed, frustrated, “I’m sorry…”
He finally met her eyes with his tired own, flashing a sheepish smile and shaking his head as he looked away again.
Laine sank back into the seat, taking her time as he seemed to struggle with an internal battle. She waited patiently, watching him.
"You don't need to be sorry," she said quietly, and when he looked away she kept watching him.
He met her eyes again and offered her a lopsided grin. He silently pulled his pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and pulled one free with his teeth, getting out of his seat and walking towards the door. The lonely walk to the cabin held disappointment in every step for him but he braced against it long enough to stand at the doorway, unlocking the door and pushing it open for Laine. “Should get some rest,” He smiled, a request to be alone in different words, “I’ll be a little bit.”
She let him go, gathering her shopping bags and her work bag to head inside. As she passed him, she said, "It's been a long day but tonight was nice. Get some sleep."
Laine gave him a brief stern look before a small smile touched her lips, "Good night."
She left him there and went to the bedroom designated for the women in Team UMBRA,this time taking the bottom bunk. Laine undressed and put on an oversized t-shirt she had brought to sleep in. It was faded black with the screen print crackled with countless washings. It was hard to make out the band, only the red rose visible and instantly recognizable to Depeche Mode fans.
Laine flopped onto the bed, laying there for a moment before curling under the covers. She stayed still, closing her eyes and though she would not admit it to herself, she was listening for the door.
Alone again on the porch, Donnelley took a drag of his cigarette. The cherry of it burned brighter for a moment and he blew the smoke out, watching it drift away to the night breezes. For the first time, the night did not have a weight to it, the whispers of the trees as the wind rushed through them quieted and all was silence. Donnelley let a breath out, looking back at the cabin before his gaze met the moon and stars again. Another drag, another cloud drifted away from another sigh. Unprofessional. But Laine did say he liked to tempt fate.
Part II
>WHITE TREE, WEST VIRGINIA
>ROAD TO ANNIE'S TAVERN...///
“Roy and I are taking a break. You can find us at Annie’s Tavern.” Foster’s voice came through the speaker of Donnelley’s phone.
“We managed to get the Sheriff’s number.” Donnelley said, hoping that was good news at least.
“Yeah? Wasn’t there?”
“Vacation.” Donnelley glanced at Laine, “Indeterminate period.”
“Huh.” Foster paused just long enough for Donnelley to wonder if the shitstorm was winding up to pound him in the ass, “What an asshole.”
“Right? We’ll get to you.” Donnelley hung the phone up and stuffed it back in his pocket. There was a mental sigh of relief. Before long he and Laine were turning into another parking lot. Thankfully, there weren’t any Sheriff’s cruisers here, just a lot of empty parking spaces and one unmarked Dodge Interceptor. Most likely Detective Roy’s.
Laine stepped out of the Chrysler, smoothing down her skirt then her hair, bending briefly to check her makeup in the side view mirror. Roy would be their best bet in information, if she was any better than the receptionist deputy. It was still early to hit up a tavern but there was not exactly a plethora of choices of restaurants in White Tree.
"I think we need a game plan this time," Laine suggested. "Have you met this detective yet?"
Donnelley moaned out a stretch and scratched at the back of his head, “Briefly.” He began, scanning the area around the parking lot. It reminded him of his childhood. And that was not a good thing.
It was barren. White Tree looked like a town toeing the boundary between ghetto and graveyard. A dog that looked to have been surviving off of garbage was sniffing at its next rotten meal- roadkill of some sort. A gaggle of teens was the next to greet his eye, one flashing a middle finger and another craning his head to spit a gob of phlegm with impressive distance in his and Laine’s direction.
Stubborn grass and weeds jutted up from cracks in the pavement uncaring to the teens’ fading laughter, and there was no shortage of them. A cold wind blew and Donnelley shook his head. “She’s directly under us- er, the Bureau on this case. We’ll let Foster fill us in. I’m thinking she’ll be happy to share anything to get the fucker skinning people.” He sighed, looking back to Laine and nodding at the Tavern, “Come on.”
Laine resisted the temptation to return the salute, reminding herself when she was a teen and her friends were assholes to anyone over the age to buy beer. She went along with Donnelley, avoiding the cracks in the pavement.
Step on a crack, break your mother's back.
Or her ankle, besides she had broken her mother's heart enough times to spare her back.
The Tavern seemed to be the most welcoming place in the whole of White Tree. Like some metaphor, then, it had to have been empty of any patrons save for an old, scabby-knuckled man mooning into his glass at the far end of the bar. On the other side of it, a woman waved, smiling in such a homely and welcoming manner that was juxtaposed by the town around her. “Heya. What brings you here?”
“Our friends.” Donnelley said, and the woman pointed over to a booth in the corner with Detective Roy, Foster leaned out and waved them over. As Donnelley began his walk, his eyes almost didn’t believe there could be a place like this. It looked like any dive bar in any city. The lights were dim, accented by ropes of Christmas lights along the walls glowing red. Pictures of the very old glory days of White Tree hung there next to them.
Finally, Donnelley and Laine got to the booth. Foster slid out and offered Laine and Donnelley the space where he was sitting and slid back next to Roy, folding his fingers in front of him as he watched the pair sit. “Detective, you’ve met John Davidson with the Bureau.” Foster smiled, and gestured to Laine, “This is Doctor Laine with the Bureau’s Behavior Analysis Unit, she’s going to help us in identifying the bodies and hopefully profiling the murderer.”
“Nice to meet you, Doctor Laine.” Roy offered her hand out to the other woman.
Laine shook the detective's hand, giving her a polite smile as she said, "My pleasure, Detective. Thank you for your help. Nice to see you again, Agent Forrester."
She slid into the booth, letting Donnelley take the outside seat as he no doubt would be more comfortable not being trapped between her and the wall and have a view of the entrance.
Laine glanced at what they were drinking then at the chalked menu on the wall. She was getting hungry after the spare early breakfast. As they settled in she asked Roy, "Do you mind catching me up, what was your take on the crime scene when you arrived?"
Roy took a drink of her beer, setting the glass clinking on the tabletop as she spoke, “NPS contacted the police about a dead body found in the woods. I never thought I’d see a body like that though.” She shook her head, “You see a lot of shit in White Tree, you know? Blackriver’s filled with tweakers and shit. But everything all made sense in the end, open and shut cases with the same perps. Easy motives and small crimes. Usually. This?”
She shook her head, “Anyway, I wasn’t the first responding officer. Had some uniforms on scene by the time I arrived, Deputies.”
Donnelley snorted despite himself. Roy just smirked at him knowingly, “They’d secured the scene and cordoned it off by the time I arrived. Fresh turned dirt and a completely skinless body. Thankfully it’s in Blackriver, or, well…” She held her hands up, pausing, “Not what I meant. I mean I’m glad the press aren’t here because it’s Blackriver. Place is a fucking well of bad news. They’re the pustule on the face of West Virginia. Everybody wants to keep this place hush-hush.”
At her last words, she leaned in close, “I never told you that part. I don’t care who asks.”
“Why?” Donnelley plainly asked, staring up from beneath his brow, head downturned and beckoning an explanation.
“Sometime later, alright?” Roy said.
“Somewhere else.” Foster clarified. Donnelley knew he meant the Safehouse.
“Anyways,” She drew the word out, looking each of them in the eye, “I called CSI to come down and take a look at things, some Troopers to keep tabs on everything. I needed that body moved or else maggots and rats‘d be chewing the evidence away. Thanks for that, by the way, getting it away from the scene.”
“I finally got the Okay to dig up the dirt and what do I find but bones? I don’t know how old they are but the body being placed there, the bones too?” Roy whistled, “Whatever this is, it’s been happening again and again, and again. Which makes me ask the question, where are all the missing persons reports from White Tree and the sister town, Mercy? And if they are coming in,” she leaned in again, “What the fuck is up with the radio silence from the Sheriff Department?”
“Probably on vacation at the time.” Donnelley quipped, not eager at all to let that bullshit go.
“Funny, but this is serious, Agent Davidson.” Roy sighed, looking away and shaking her head, “Fucking Blackriver. It’s a black hole, a damn Bermuda Triangle for big cases. Either the County Sheriff’s is filled with incompetent fucks or...”
Roy’s face didn’t move, her head looking in the same direction though she fixed Laine with a sidelong stare, “What do you think?” She turned fully towards Laine, “You’re not from around here, you got a fresh perspective. What do you think?”
Dr Laine picked at the edge of a cardboard coaster, fraying the water warped paper as she listened intently to what Roy said and didn’t say. She pushed her glasses up and met the detective’s gaze. “I think that there is a possibility Blackriver runs deep. I am used to getting the cold shoulder from locals, feds tend to invite that when we step into other agency’s territory but it’s more than just the absent sheriff and stink eyes from deputies. I can’t explain it other than a feeling and unfortunately a gut feeling isn’t scientific so it doesn’t go into my report.”
She paused, tapping the coaster on the table a few times then added, “I’m from LA, about as far from a town like White Tree on the map and in custom and flavor but there is something in common. If you look past the traffic and concrete LA isn’t much but a bunch of small towns jammed together. People are clannish and territorial, defensive about where they are from. They keep to their own, whether it’s race or culture. They don’t trust authority. Cracking into that defensive wall is something we have to do, people will protect the worst of criminals if they view them as one of their own.”
“That’s my take on it, if this is a small town with a bad reputation that might be hiding crimes and criminals we have to figure out a way to get people to cooperate somehow or we’ll never get the truth. Badges might not mean much here so we have to find what does.”
Her eyes flicked to Foster then went back to Roy, “There’s a lot of work to do, we have a medical examiner coming down to autopsy the body and check out the bones if you could send them over to Dr. Levy’s. After that we’ll get them and the other evidence sent to CJIS in Clarksburg. I want to know who around here likes to skin their own kills or does taxidermy. And if you say you’re not hearing about people missing in Blackriver, then it's a good chance they’re not from here. We need to spread the net further and it’s going to take a lot of leg work and man hours.”
Leaning back, Laine dropped the coaster and said, “Until we learn something about the victims we won’t know anything about a suspect.”
“Speaking of the medical examiner,” Donnelley checked the time on his phone, “When did you say he was getting here? We should meet him at the Doc’s place.”
Laine pulled her own phone out and sent a quick text, giving Bakker the address and an ETA inquiry. Her phone blinked and she checked the text, "He's about to twenty minutes out. We should probably get back there, I don't want him greeted by the Bolshevik revolutionary."
"It was nice to meet you, Detective Roy, we'll call you once the autopsy is done," she said, then gave Donnelley a slight nudge to exit the booth.
...///
“That explains a few things, don’t it?” Donnelley muttered to Laine, his mind busy with the events of today and in Iraq, could they really even be related? “Backwoods town full of bullshit. Dime a dozen, sure, but this is a special type of bullshit.”
The car sped down the road out of White Tree, Donnelley eyeing a Sheriff’s cruiser parked across the street from White Tree’s broken down town sign. He sighed, shaking his head, “All cops are bastards.” He snorted, smirking ruefully before he shot a glance to Laine, “Not you, though.”
Laine glanced out at the cruiser as they passed and chuckled at his statement. ACAB. She turned away from the window, a slight curled smile on her lips. "I appreciate it," she said dryly, removing her glasses to clean the lens on her skirt.
As they approached the doctor's office she could see that they had beat Dr Bakker though she expected to see his Subaru pull up any minute. Laine sighed inwardly, she should have just driven to Clarksburg in her own car. At least she would have her emergency out of town gear rather than just a change of business casual clothes that was in her bag.
When they pulled into the parking spot, she asked, "How long do you think we'll be here?"
“Levy’s or White Tree?” Donnelley rose a brow at Laine as he opened his door, “Because, either way, we’re here for as long as this whole thing takes.”
He smirked, then looked at her with a bit of curiosity, “Why?”
She sighed, rolling her eyes at her own mismanagement. "Because I rushed up here and didn't think about packing. I only have an overnight change of clothes and nothing I can wear if we end up in the woods."
“Oh.” Donnelley bit his lip, “Well, we can head to Charleston or some bigger town for clothes. Tonight?” Donnelley shrugged, “Been meaning to go into town anyways. I’ve been wanting a drink in a place where I’m not looking over my shoulder. I’d drink in White Tree but I don’t usually put one on in the workplace.”
Laine brightened, "Good idea, then I'll be ready to rock once the others get here. We should probably get some stuff for the cabin, unless you want to be eating from whatever greasy spoon they have every day."
She stepped out, then used her hip to shut the car door. "When you say put one on, are you asking me to be the designated driver?"
“Nah, I drive better when I’m drunk.” Donnelley smirked, “If only you knew how many times I’ve found my way home while falling asleep at the wheel.”
Laine shook her head, "Not this time, make sure you give me the keys before diving into the whiskey bottle. Just in case, not that I don't trust your intoxication fortitude."
She walked around the front of the car, facing him. "Besides, do really want to trust your life in the hands of Hippy Lenin over here."
Donnelley clucked his tongue, taking a good look at the dilapidated Quonset hut, “Yeah, you got a point.” He chuckled, “And no pina colada for you? Maitai kind of girl?”
He joined Laine as they sided up to the door into Levy’s office. He rapped his knuckles against the door just as another car pulled into the driveway. He eyed the clean, sleek Subaru with a healthy amount of caution, assuming his position of casually resting his hands on his hips in easy access to his handgun. “That him?” He glanced at Laine, hoping it was a ‘yes.’
"I like getting caught in the rain," she shrugged then grinned at her own cheesy joke then sobered when she saw the later model Subaru Outback pulling up. "Yes, that's Alex."
Laine waved casually at him as the car turned off and a tall man with reddish blonde hair and a well trimmed beard scruff stepped out. He was dressed casually in gray slacks and blazer, his black t-shirt beneath the jacket snug enough to reveal a lean fit physique. He returned her wave but looked at Donnelley with an air of suspicion.
"The cavalry has arrived," Bakker said, flashing a brief grin as he took out his bag from the backseat. It was a military style duffle bag, dark blue with the yellow block letters "FBI" emblazoned across.
When he approached, Laine glanced at Donnelley unsure for a moment, then said,"This is Special Agent ...John Davidson. John, this is Dr Alex Bakker, our medical examiner."
The eye of suspicion was not lost on Donnelley and he gave a look of his own at the younger buck sizing him up from the safety of his car. He mentally rolled his eyes and frowned at Bakker’s precious dimples. In the end, he offered his hand out for a shake when Laine’s Doctor neared them, “Pleased to meet you, Doctor Bakker. Thank you for coming on short notice. You’re highly recommended by Doctor Laine.” He did a little sizing up of his own, remaining stone-faced even though the urge to smirk was powerful, “I know you must be highly sought after and very important, so we’re very lucky to have you here.”
Before Bakker could respond, Donnelley turned his shoulder on him, rapping his knuckles on the door and jerking back as Levy’s face appeared in the open doorway, “I heard the first time! Come in!”
She left the three of them standing in the doorway. Donnelley was first to grab the initiative and gesture to the bodybag as he stepped inside. He crossed his arms and leaned against a counter, “Found this morning. Trust me, it’s not every day you see this.”
Bakker narrowed his eyes slightly at the compliments but then relaxed, it was all true after all. Laine waved him inside as he followed Donnelley, then nodded at Dr Levy, "Thank you for letting us use your facility.
He tried not to grimace at the medical exam room that had not been updated since the Clinton administration. Bakker sniffed then looked at the body bag, apparently no freezer here either. "Right, we'll see. This isn't the first time I've worked on mutilated victim."
Laine gave Donnelley a side eye glance before unzipping the heavy plastic bag, exposing the skinned corpse.
"Jesus," Bakker whispered hoarsely, staring into the empty sockets and rictus grin of the skinned corpse.
He pulled his latex gloves on and opened up the bag, examining closely the exposed muscles and tendons, the pockets of fatty tissue on the chest and hips indicated her femininity but he would verify.
"Heather, do you mind setting up? Get my recorder going," he said, then glanced at her. "Please."
Laine bit back a retort about his kindergarten teacher fiance teaching him the magic word. This was not a time for petty. "Sure thing," she said, setting up the portable tray with swabs and sample jars, putting labels on each.
As Bakker started the exam, he addressed Donnelley, "Agent Davidson, where was she found exactly?"
He used a scalpel to gently pry away a bit of dirt and debris stuck to the caked blood and put it in an evidence bag. "Signs of it being the murder scene?"
He caught Bakker’s use of Laine’s first name. No matter how friendly he and Laine were being in the past few months, personal calls and… he looked at his hand for a moment before returning his gaze to watching Bakker and Laine at work. No matter any of that, he didn’t use Laine’s first name. Odd, sure, but why the hell did any of it matter. The thought occurred to him, cutting off any runaway thoughts. He focused on Bakker as he made to answer him.
“It was up in them mountains.” Donnelley jerked his thumb in no particular direction, “No excessive blood spatter being found at the scene leads me to believe that she’d been killed somewhere else. Bones under recently turned earth might point to it being some kind of storage place for display.”
Donnelley frowned at the woman on the table, “This is ritualistic for this guy. He takes the time to skin her, leave her out for the scavengers and then returns to bury whatever’s left.” He shrugged, “Some heavy conjecture, but I think he wanted it to be seen by people. It was close enough to a trail that a Park Ranger could spot it with a little detouring.”
After all, why had Anzor been doing it in Iraq? Keeping up appearances that the Islamic Caliphate was still fighting and more fearsome and brutal than ever? But what was this lone wolf after in Blackriver then? He shook his head ever so slightly, recognizing his warping the narrative to fit two very tangentially related crimes to the other. He looked to Bakker again, “That good enough?”
Dr Bakker nodded, not looking up. "She was killed elsewhere, probably where her skin is assuming no mention of it means you didn't find it. As for the rest of your conjecture I leave that to the Behavioral department."
He gestured with a tilt of his head towards Laine.
Laine stepped in quickly and said, "I was wondering if the killer didn't just get interrupted before he could finish whatever he does with them before burial. Maybe he heard the sound of the park ranger or something else spooked him off but leaving her for scavengers...that's something to think about. Display for purpose or was this an interrupted scene."
"If Dr Levy has a portable X-ray machine I want to get some shots before cutting into her," Bakker said, "I'll do the rape kit now."
Laine set out the prelabeled plastic jars and swabs. "It's hard to tell what sort of trauma she's had."
"Mmhmm," Bakker replied absently, "Contusion and anything other than a superficial dermal trauma will show on the muscles, just not as colorful. Time of death will be a little more tricky but I think I can get you a good estimate."
Donnelley sighed, getting the message. He carefully made his way to the door separating Doctor Levy and them, softly knocking on the wood. Before long, Levy was staring him in the face, “Yes, what?”
“I was wondering, uh,” Donnelley folded his arms, “Do you have an X-Ray machine?”
The way Levy rolled her eyes and disappeared behind the door wasn’t enough for Donnelley to be sure if she did or didn’t have one. Although, to his relief, she opened the door and dragged yet another relic from the past along with her. The big machine sat where Levy left it while she stalked off back into the smoke-filled, skunky backroom. “I guess she does.” Donnelley said, looking the thing up and down. He turned his attention to Bakker, “How long will this all take? Results and whatever.”
Dr Bakker looked up from his exam, his beard now covered with a paper mask. "The x-rays not long, even veterinarian offices have capability to develop their own x-rays, hopefully she does too."
By his tone Laine could tell he was less than impressed with Levy, this town and the whole situation but he was here and that is what mattered.
"A proper autopsy will take about two hours, maybe longer because I have to ..." He gestured around the room, "Make do."
Laine shook her head, "Spoiled."
"Maybe," he said, his eyes crinkling slightly in a hidden grin.
She went to stand with Donnelley, giving him a small nudge glancing up to meet his eyes. "Want to hang around?"
Laine gave him an apologetic smile, Bakker could be insufferable when indisposed, it was his clinical mind. He was organized to a fault and inflexible at times. She should know.
Donnelley frowned intently, not exactly finding anything better to do with his time. He would only report back to Foster if he asked for it, so he shrugged, nodded. “Sure.” He said, “My schedule’s pretty open. Gonna have a smoke first though.”
Bakker ignored them, focused on the examination of the skinned body, peering between her legs as he cranked the speculum open. He paused, then took his pen light, peering into her vaginal cavity. “Well...that is something,” he said in a low voice, “Bring your camera, you’ll want to get pictures.”
He stepped back, “Vaginal trauma, rectovaginal fistula consistent with violent rape or...”
Bakker paused and peered down with the light, “Huh, looking at the cuts they’re tearing but not in the direction of insertion. A traumatic birth?”
He was almost talking to himself as he moved so Laine could take what pictures she could. Bakker stepped back in, taking swabs of the cervix and external region. Doubtful anything was left if her skin was gone but he would not take a chance at missing evidence in such a horrific murder. “I’m going to get her open and we’ll check that uterus.”
Laine could see the tears, ugly things like a cat clawing up furniture and she winced as she took photos, the raw flesh made even worse with the injuries. She retreated back and nodded, “I think I’ll step out for a smoke, too. Unless you need me.”
Bakker looked over at her, noting the even paler face than usual. Laine was no beginner but the sight was even hard for seasoned agents. “Sure, I’ll be fine. Just routine right now, I’ll come get you if I find anything unusual.”
Laine grabbed her cloves out of the jacket pocket and stepped outside, camera still in hand. She stuck a black cigarette between her lips and breathed out, “Shit, someone did a number on her inside.”
She reached for her lighter and realized it was inside the other pocket and turned to Donnelley, “Light?”
Donnelley’s eyebrows rose at that, though his mouth was busy sucking in a lungful of nicotine. He breathed in sharp, hissing through closed teeth before he blew it. He stuck a hand in his pocket for his lighter and offered it out to Laine, “Jesus.” Donnelley shook his head, smirking at the odd bit of comedy yet to come, “A real jerk, this guy.”
Lighting it, she inhaled deeply, “Looked like a cat clawed its way out. Or in, I don’t know yet.”
At his comment she glanced at him then sighed, “He’s just...focused. He likes things just so and having to rush out here probably made him cranky. He’s great in his lab, not happy about the conditions. He’ll get over it once he’s elbow deep in a corpse.”
She smoked hard, the embers crickling in the familiar way then breathed out the fragrant smoke, feeling the cloves begint to numb her throat. “I think I might have a drink or two tonight. Just enough, I’ll still drive. Hear anything from the team yet?”
Another sharp inhale and he blew the smoke out, shaking his head, “Nope. But I don’t expect them to be available within the hour. We’ve all got jobs, we’ve all got bosses that need lying to. Some bosses harder than others, maybe.”
“And I meant the killer, you know, being the jerk.” He smirked at Laine and took another drag, “Bakker is good, I trust you on that. He’s our best bet. And for that I’ll forgive him that stupid fucking look on his face when he looked at me.” Donnelley chuckled, sounding more like a growl than anything. “He can be however he wants as long as he gets us results.”
"Oh, well, yes. I'd probably use a stronger term," Laine muttered, her face flushing at the mistake.
They stood outside for awhile, smoking and waiting as time ticked by. Laine finished her cigarette and snubbed it out on the concrete. “You know your theory is solid as any. I was thinking about it, you might be right. I figured at first an interrupted crime but since she was killed elsewhere and brought there then maybe she was put on some sort of display. Ritual is a strong indication here, especially with the other bones. If they were killed in similar ways, it’ll make a stronger case for that. But to what purpose to leave her out for the scavengers unless it was just her skin he was after...but he didn’t just bury her, he left her...”
Laine trailed off, running the ideas over in her head and thumbed the top of the box of Djarums.
The door swung open and Dr Bakker stepped out, his dark blue eyes wide as he peered down at them,and he jerked his head, “You’ll want to see this.”
Against the light boxes was an x-ray of the chest cavity, and Bakker pointed out a dark vaguely triangular shape beyond the pale rib cage and the heart. “Foreign object still in there, I’m going to dig it out but first look at this.”
Jane Doe lay on the table, now not just skinned but cut open from throat to pubis, laid open with her organs exposed. Bakker quickly stepped back over to the body and used his forceps to point out the damage. “Her uterus was punctured and scraped, like the worst botched abortion but it kept going. Look, through the diaphragm and across the lung to the heart. Massive internal trauma would be the cause of death, much of the blood is gone as well.”
With the forceps he pinched the lung tissue and lifted it, showing a jagged tear then did the same with the aorta. “Hemorrhaging would have occured and death would have been fairly quick. Now, let’s see if we can find that piece.”
Incising into the heart, he asked Laine to hold the clamps so he could fish out the object. She did, as well as holding her breath as Bakker used the forceps to fish around.
“Got it,” he announced, gently pulling loose the three inch long black shard. It was not metal as one might expect from shrapnel and Bakker held it up to the light. “Obsidian?”
Laine stared at it, her blood running cold as she saw no light filter through the thin sharp edges, no light reflected on it’s invisible angles. Just a sliver of black void clutched by the forceps. It reminded her of the stone that Sofie Childress’ lifeless body had been draped across. She shook her head and then looked towards Donnelley, her eyes wide behind her glasses.
"Not only this," Bakker said, moving to put the shard into an evidence bag, staring at it for a long moment before shaking his head sharply like a dog with a flea. "Ah, what was it... oh right, look at the X-ray of her skull. Her tongue is gone. Snipped right out, nice and neat. I'm going to inspect further as I continue but I..."
His gaze turned back to the infinite blackness of the piece in the bag. "I thought you'd want to know the cause of death."
“Fuck…” Donnelley breathed, his eyes were troubled at the sight of the shard. There was now no doubting it for him. This killer was leaving these bodies out there as a ritual. But she hadn’t been hacked apart or brutally cut open like Afghanistan or Washington, no, just very surgically dismantled. He swallowed hard as he stared into the little hole in the world that was contained in the evidence bag.
Finally, he ripped his eyes away, clearing his throat with a nervous tick of his eyes about the room. “This fucking guy has to be viewing this as some sort of ritual.” He shook his head, folding his arms to keep Laine or Bakker oblivious to the fact his hands were shaking. “Was that all so far?”
Laine stared at the disaster that was the woman’s insides and shuddered at the thought of agony. She had seen death in many forms but this was probably the worst dehumanizing desecration of a human body she had witnessed. “Did it go in or come out?”
Bakker shrugged slightly, “It looks like it came out but honestly I can’t say for certain yet. How it got in there, I don’t know. Not yet, I’ll need to finish then I can tell you more.”
He paused, his stern expression of professionalism cracking slightly as he gazed at the corpse. “This is bad. Whoever did this...”
Swallowing hard, he then excused himself, “I’m going to the john, I’ll be back to finish up.”
Laine and Donnelley were left in the room and she looked at him. “Bad is an understatement isn’t it?”
She could see in his expression the concern, more than just the morbid discovery. This was ritual, this was driven with a dark purpose that would be repeated until the man was stopped. And the likelihood was that it was a man, nearly all serial murderers were men and all who did mutilation and savagery like this were male. And the villages Donnelley had spoke of. Whole villages skinned and displayed.
“This is no copycat, ” she admitted, then rubbed a hand against the back of her neck, feeling the tense cords there. “Ritualized killing and display, skillful not sloppy. Rage, a lot of anger, I think to do that sort of damage but controlled in a manner. I'll have to wait until the final report to make a more thorough analysis, plus the victim's race and age."
Her gaze returned to Donnelley and she fell silent. There were no words from Donnelley either, just a picture of a man with arms crossed and a bearded frown, brows furrowed in concern.
He wondered if this was done all at once. Or carried out in sections. He wondered which possibility was worse. Imagining the girl’s pain, her anguish. How she might call out for her mother or father, beg for mercy. His mind flashed to Holly in that position like something in his brain was trying to hurt him. It worked. His frown deepened and he opened his mouth to say something. He shut it again and took his moment before finally speaking, “I’m killing this man.”
He left that out on the air, “We aren’t in the business of prosecuting.” He shook his head, all the while staring at the cadaver that was once alive and held smiles and laughter and love at one point, “I’m killing this man.”
Laine pressed her lips tight, knowing how he felt. A person who could do this would never be rehabilitated, there was no reason for them to be left alive.this was not an FBI case, the rules changed under UMBRA and she had no way to insist on taking the suspect alive. Except one.
“Not until I get information out of him,” she said firmly, meeting his blue eyes. He turned his gaze on her then, their eyes suspended on the other. He said nothing, just turned and left.
>WHITE TREE, WEST VIRGINIA
>ROAD TO ANNIE'S TAVERN...///
“Roy and I are taking a break. You can find us at Annie’s Tavern.” Foster’s voice came through the speaker of Donnelley’s phone.
“We managed to get the Sheriff’s number.” Donnelley said, hoping that was good news at least.
“Yeah? Wasn’t there?”
“Vacation.” Donnelley glanced at Laine, “Indeterminate period.”
“Huh.” Foster paused just long enough for Donnelley to wonder if the shitstorm was winding up to pound him in the ass, “What an asshole.”
“Right? We’ll get to you.” Donnelley hung the phone up and stuffed it back in his pocket. There was a mental sigh of relief. Before long he and Laine were turning into another parking lot. Thankfully, there weren’t any Sheriff’s cruisers here, just a lot of empty parking spaces and one unmarked Dodge Interceptor. Most likely Detective Roy’s.
Laine stepped out of the Chrysler, smoothing down her skirt then her hair, bending briefly to check her makeup in the side view mirror. Roy would be their best bet in information, if she was any better than the receptionist deputy. It was still early to hit up a tavern but there was not exactly a plethora of choices of restaurants in White Tree.
"I think we need a game plan this time," Laine suggested. "Have you met this detective yet?"
Donnelley moaned out a stretch and scratched at the back of his head, “Briefly.” He began, scanning the area around the parking lot. It reminded him of his childhood. And that was not a good thing.
It was barren. White Tree looked like a town toeing the boundary between ghetto and graveyard. A dog that looked to have been surviving off of garbage was sniffing at its next rotten meal- roadkill of some sort. A gaggle of teens was the next to greet his eye, one flashing a middle finger and another craning his head to spit a gob of phlegm with impressive distance in his and Laine’s direction.
Stubborn grass and weeds jutted up from cracks in the pavement uncaring to the teens’ fading laughter, and there was no shortage of them. A cold wind blew and Donnelley shook his head. “She’s directly under us- er, the Bureau on this case. We’ll let Foster fill us in. I’m thinking she’ll be happy to share anything to get the fucker skinning people.” He sighed, looking back to Laine and nodding at the Tavern, “Come on.”
Laine resisted the temptation to return the salute, reminding herself when she was a teen and her friends were assholes to anyone over the age to buy beer. She went along with Donnelley, avoiding the cracks in the pavement.
Step on a crack, break your mother's back.
Or her ankle, besides she had broken her mother's heart enough times to spare her back.
The Tavern seemed to be the most welcoming place in the whole of White Tree. Like some metaphor, then, it had to have been empty of any patrons save for an old, scabby-knuckled man mooning into his glass at the far end of the bar. On the other side of it, a woman waved, smiling in such a homely and welcoming manner that was juxtaposed by the town around her. “Heya. What brings you here?”
“Our friends.” Donnelley said, and the woman pointed over to a booth in the corner with Detective Roy, Foster leaned out and waved them over. As Donnelley began his walk, his eyes almost didn’t believe there could be a place like this. It looked like any dive bar in any city. The lights were dim, accented by ropes of Christmas lights along the walls glowing red. Pictures of the very old glory days of White Tree hung there next to them.
Finally, Donnelley and Laine got to the booth. Foster slid out and offered Laine and Donnelley the space where he was sitting and slid back next to Roy, folding his fingers in front of him as he watched the pair sit. “Detective, you’ve met John Davidson with the Bureau.” Foster smiled, and gestured to Laine, “This is Doctor Laine with the Bureau’s Behavior Analysis Unit, she’s going to help us in identifying the bodies and hopefully profiling the murderer.”
“Nice to meet you, Doctor Laine.” Roy offered her hand out to the other woman.
Laine shook the detective's hand, giving her a polite smile as she said, "My pleasure, Detective. Thank you for your help. Nice to see you again, Agent Forrester."
She slid into the booth, letting Donnelley take the outside seat as he no doubt would be more comfortable not being trapped between her and the wall and have a view of the entrance.
Laine glanced at what they were drinking then at the chalked menu on the wall. She was getting hungry after the spare early breakfast. As they settled in she asked Roy, "Do you mind catching me up, what was your take on the crime scene when you arrived?"
Roy took a drink of her beer, setting the glass clinking on the tabletop as she spoke, “NPS contacted the police about a dead body found in the woods. I never thought I’d see a body like that though.” She shook her head, “You see a lot of shit in White Tree, you know? Blackriver’s filled with tweakers and shit. But everything all made sense in the end, open and shut cases with the same perps. Easy motives and small crimes. Usually. This?”
She shook her head, “Anyway, I wasn’t the first responding officer. Had some uniforms on scene by the time I arrived, Deputies.”
Donnelley snorted despite himself. Roy just smirked at him knowingly, “They’d secured the scene and cordoned it off by the time I arrived. Fresh turned dirt and a completely skinless body. Thankfully it’s in Blackriver, or, well…” She held her hands up, pausing, “Not what I meant. I mean I’m glad the press aren’t here because it’s Blackriver. Place is a fucking well of bad news. They’re the pustule on the face of West Virginia. Everybody wants to keep this place hush-hush.”
At her last words, she leaned in close, “I never told you that part. I don’t care who asks.”
“Why?” Donnelley plainly asked, staring up from beneath his brow, head downturned and beckoning an explanation.
“Sometime later, alright?” Roy said.
“Somewhere else.” Foster clarified. Donnelley knew he meant the Safehouse.
“Anyways,” She drew the word out, looking each of them in the eye, “I called CSI to come down and take a look at things, some Troopers to keep tabs on everything. I needed that body moved or else maggots and rats‘d be chewing the evidence away. Thanks for that, by the way, getting it away from the scene.”
“I finally got the Okay to dig up the dirt and what do I find but bones? I don’t know how old they are but the body being placed there, the bones too?” Roy whistled, “Whatever this is, it’s been happening again and again, and again. Which makes me ask the question, where are all the missing persons reports from White Tree and the sister town, Mercy? And if they are coming in,” she leaned in again, “What the fuck is up with the radio silence from the Sheriff Department?”
“Probably on vacation at the time.” Donnelley quipped, not eager at all to let that bullshit go.
“Funny, but this is serious, Agent Davidson.” Roy sighed, looking away and shaking her head, “Fucking Blackriver. It’s a black hole, a damn Bermuda Triangle for big cases. Either the County Sheriff’s is filled with incompetent fucks or...”
Roy’s face didn’t move, her head looking in the same direction though she fixed Laine with a sidelong stare, “What do you think?” She turned fully towards Laine, “You’re not from around here, you got a fresh perspective. What do you think?”
Dr Laine picked at the edge of a cardboard coaster, fraying the water warped paper as she listened intently to what Roy said and didn’t say. She pushed her glasses up and met the detective’s gaze. “I think that there is a possibility Blackriver runs deep. I am used to getting the cold shoulder from locals, feds tend to invite that when we step into other agency’s territory but it’s more than just the absent sheriff and stink eyes from deputies. I can’t explain it other than a feeling and unfortunately a gut feeling isn’t scientific so it doesn’t go into my report.”
She paused, tapping the coaster on the table a few times then added, “I’m from LA, about as far from a town like White Tree on the map and in custom and flavor but there is something in common. If you look past the traffic and concrete LA isn’t much but a bunch of small towns jammed together. People are clannish and territorial, defensive about where they are from. They keep to their own, whether it’s race or culture. They don’t trust authority. Cracking into that defensive wall is something we have to do, people will protect the worst of criminals if they view them as one of their own.”
“That’s my take on it, if this is a small town with a bad reputation that might be hiding crimes and criminals we have to figure out a way to get people to cooperate somehow or we’ll never get the truth. Badges might not mean much here so we have to find what does.”
Her eyes flicked to Foster then went back to Roy, “There’s a lot of work to do, we have a medical examiner coming down to autopsy the body and check out the bones if you could send them over to Dr. Levy’s. After that we’ll get them and the other evidence sent to CJIS in Clarksburg. I want to know who around here likes to skin their own kills or does taxidermy. And if you say you’re not hearing about people missing in Blackriver, then it's a good chance they’re not from here. We need to spread the net further and it’s going to take a lot of leg work and man hours.”
Leaning back, Laine dropped the coaster and said, “Until we learn something about the victims we won’t know anything about a suspect.”
“Speaking of the medical examiner,” Donnelley checked the time on his phone, “When did you say he was getting here? We should meet him at the Doc’s place.”
Laine pulled her own phone out and sent a quick text, giving Bakker the address and an ETA inquiry. Her phone blinked and she checked the text, "He's about to twenty minutes out. We should probably get back there, I don't want him greeted by the Bolshevik revolutionary."
"It was nice to meet you, Detective Roy, we'll call you once the autopsy is done," she said, then gave Donnelley a slight nudge to exit the booth.
...///
“That explains a few things, don’t it?” Donnelley muttered to Laine, his mind busy with the events of today and in Iraq, could they really even be related? “Backwoods town full of bullshit. Dime a dozen, sure, but this is a special type of bullshit.”
The car sped down the road out of White Tree, Donnelley eyeing a Sheriff’s cruiser parked across the street from White Tree’s broken down town sign. He sighed, shaking his head, “All cops are bastards.” He snorted, smirking ruefully before he shot a glance to Laine, “Not you, though.”
Laine glanced out at the cruiser as they passed and chuckled at his statement. ACAB. She turned away from the window, a slight curled smile on her lips. "I appreciate it," she said dryly, removing her glasses to clean the lens on her skirt.
As they approached the doctor's office she could see that they had beat Dr Bakker though she expected to see his Subaru pull up any minute. Laine sighed inwardly, she should have just driven to Clarksburg in her own car. At least she would have her emergency out of town gear rather than just a change of business casual clothes that was in her bag.
When they pulled into the parking spot, she asked, "How long do you think we'll be here?"
“Levy’s or White Tree?” Donnelley rose a brow at Laine as he opened his door, “Because, either way, we’re here for as long as this whole thing takes.”
He smirked, then looked at her with a bit of curiosity, “Why?”
She sighed, rolling her eyes at her own mismanagement. "Because I rushed up here and didn't think about packing. I only have an overnight change of clothes and nothing I can wear if we end up in the woods."
“Oh.” Donnelley bit his lip, “Well, we can head to Charleston or some bigger town for clothes. Tonight?” Donnelley shrugged, “Been meaning to go into town anyways. I’ve been wanting a drink in a place where I’m not looking over my shoulder. I’d drink in White Tree but I don’t usually put one on in the workplace.”
Laine brightened, "Good idea, then I'll be ready to rock once the others get here. We should probably get some stuff for the cabin, unless you want to be eating from whatever greasy spoon they have every day."
She stepped out, then used her hip to shut the car door. "When you say put one on, are you asking me to be the designated driver?"
“Nah, I drive better when I’m drunk.” Donnelley smirked, “If only you knew how many times I’ve found my way home while falling asleep at the wheel.”
Laine shook her head, "Not this time, make sure you give me the keys before diving into the whiskey bottle. Just in case, not that I don't trust your intoxication fortitude."
She walked around the front of the car, facing him. "Besides, do really want to trust your life in the hands of Hippy Lenin over here."
Donnelley clucked his tongue, taking a good look at the dilapidated Quonset hut, “Yeah, you got a point.” He chuckled, “And no pina colada for you? Maitai kind of girl?”
He joined Laine as they sided up to the door into Levy’s office. He rapped his knuckles against the door just as another car pulled into the driveway. He eyed the clean, sleek Subaru with a healthy amount of caution, assuming his position of casually resting his hands on his hips in easy access to his handgun. “That him?” He glanced at Laine, hoping it was a ‘yes.’
"I like getting caught in the rain," she shrugged then grinned at her own cheesy joke then sobered when she saw the later model Subaru Outback pulling up. "Yes, that's Alex."
Laine waved casually at him as the car turned off and a tall man with reddish blonde hair and a well trimmed beard scruff stepped out. He was dressed casually in gray slacks and blazer, his black t-shirt beneath the jacket snug enough to reveal a lean fit physique. He returned her wave but looked at Donnelley with an air of suspicion.
"The cavalry has arrived," Bakker said, flashing a brief grin as he took out his bag from the backseat. It was a military style duffle bag, dark blue with the yellow block letters "FBI" emblazoned across.
When he approached, Laine glanced at Donnelley unsure for a moment, then said,"This is Special Agent ...John Davidson. John, this is Dr Alex Bakker, our medical examiner."
The eye of suspicion was not lost on Donnelley and he gave a look of his own at the younger buck sizing him up from the safety of his car. He mentally rolled his eyes and frowned at Bakker’s precious dimples. In the end, he offered his hand out for a shake when Laine’s Doctor neared them, “Pleased to meet you, Doctor Bakker. Thank you for coming on short notice. You’re highly recommended by Doctor Laine.” He did a little sizing up of his own, remaining stone-faced even though the urge to smirk was powerful, “I know you must be highly sought after and very important, so we’re very lucky to have you here.”
Before Bakker could respond, Donnelley turned his shoulder on him, rapping his knuckles on the door and jerking back as Levy’s face appeared in the open doorway, “I heard the first time! Come in!”
She left the three of them standing in the doorway. Donnelley was first to grab the initiative and gesture to the bodybag as he stepped inside. He crossed his arms and leaned against a counter, “Found this morning. Trust me, it’s not every day you see this.”
Bakker narrowed his eyes slightly at the compliments but then relaxed, it was all true after all. Laine waved him inside as he followed Donnelley, then nodded at Dr Levy, "Thank you for letting us use your facility.
He tried not to grimace at the medical exam room that had not been updated since the Clinton administration. Bakker sniffed then looked at the body bag, apparently no freezer here either. "Right, we'll see. This isn't the first time I've worked on mutilated victim."
Laine gave Donnelley a side eye glance before unzipping the heavy plastic bag, exposing the skinned corpse.
"Jesus," Bakker whispered hoarsely, staring into the empty sockets and rictus grin of the skinned corpse.
He pulled his latex gloves on and opened up the bag, examining closely the exposed muscles and tendons, the pockets of fatty tissue on the chest and hips indicated her femininity but he would verify.
"Heather, do you mind setting up? Get my recorder going," he said, then glanced at her. "Please."
Laine bit back a retort about his kindergarten teacher fiance teaching him the magic word. This was not a time for petty. "Sure thing," she said, setting up the portable tray with swabs and sample jars, putting labels on each.
As Bakker started the exam, he addressed Donnelley, "Agent Davidson, where was she found exactly?"
He used a scalpel to gently pry away a bit of dirt and debris stuck to the caked blood and put it in an evidence bag. "Signs of it being the murder scene?"
He caught Bakker’s use of Laine’s first name. No matter how friendly he and Laine were being in the past few months, personal calls and… he looked at his hand for a moment before returning his gaze to watching Bakker and Laine at work. No matter any of that, he didn’t use Laine’s first name. Odd, sure, but why the hell did any of it matter. The thought occurred to him, cutting off any runaway thoughts. He focused on Bakker as he made to answer him.
“It was up in them mountains.” Donnelley jerked his thumb in no particular direction, “No excessive blood spatter being found at the scene leads me to believe that she’d been killed somewhere else. Bones under recently turned earth might point to it being some kind of storage place for display.”
Donnelley frowned at the woman on the table, “This is ritualistic for this guy. He takes the time to skin her, leave her out for the scavengers and then returns to bury whatever’s left.” He shrugged, “Some heavy conjecture, but I think he wanted it to be seen by people. It was close enough to a trail that a Park Ranger could spot it with a little detouring.”
After all, why had Anzor been doing it in Iraq? Keeping up appearances that the Islamic Caliphate was still fighting and more fearsome and brutal than ever? But what was this lone wolf after in Blackriver then? He shook his head ever so slightly, recognizing his warping the narrative to fit two very tangentially related crimes to the other. He looked to Bakker again, “That good enough?”
Dr Bakker nodded, not looking up. "She was killed elsewhere, probably where her skin is assuming no mention of it means you didn't find it. As for the rest of your conjecture I leave that to the Behavioral department."
He gestured with a tilt of his head towards Laine.
Laine stepped in quickly and said, "I was wondering if the killer didn't just get interrupted before he could finish whatever he does with them before burial. Maybe he heard the sound of the park ranger or something else spooked him off but leaving her for scavengers...that's something to think about. Display for purpose or was this an interrupted scene."
"If Dr Levy has a portable X-ray machine I want to get some shots before cutting into her," Bakker said, "I'll do the rape kit now."
Laine set out the prelabeled plastic jars and swabs. "It's hard to tell what sort of trauma she's had."
"Mmhmm," Bakker replied absently, "Contusion and anything other than a superficial dermal trauma will show on the muscles, just not as colorful. Time of death will be a little more tricky but I think I can get you a good estimate."
Donnelley sighed, getting the message. He carefully made his way to the door separating Doctor Levy and them, softly knocking on the wood. Before long, Levy was staring him in the face, “Yes, what?”
“I was wondering, uh,” Donnelley folded his arms, “Do you have an X-Ray machine?”
The way Levy rolled her eyes and disappeared behind the door wasn’t enough for Donnelley to be sure if she did or didn’t have one. Although, to his relief, she opened the door and dragged yet another relic from the past along with her. The big machine sat where Levy left it while she stalked off back into the smoke-filled, skunky backroom. “I guess she does.” Donnelley said, looking the thing up and down. He turned his attention to Bakker, “How long will this all take? Results and whatever.”
Dr Bakker looked up from his exam, his beard now covered with a paper mask. "The x-rays not long, even veterinarian offices have capability to develop their own x-rays, hopefully she does too."
By his tone Laine could tell he was less than impressed with Levy, this town and the whole situation but he was here and that is what mattered.
"A proper autopsy will take about two hours, maybe longer because I have to ..." He gestured around the room, "Make do."
Laine shook her head, "Spoiled."
"Maybe," he said, his eyes crinkling slightly in a hidden grin.
She went to stand with Donnelley, giving him a small nudge glancing up to meet his eyes. "Want to hang around?"
Laine gave him an apologetic smile, Bakker could be insufferable when indisposed, it was his clinical mind. He was organized to a fault and inflexible at times. She should know.
Donnelley frowned intently, not exactly finding anything better to do with his time. He would only report back to Foster if he asked for it, so he shrugged, nodded. “Sure.” He said, “My schedule’s pretty open. Gonna have a smoke first though.”
Bakker ignored them, focused on the examination of the skinned body, peering between her legs as he cranked the speculum open. He paused, then took his pen light, peering into her vaginal cavity. “Well...that is something,” he said in a low voice, “Bring your camera, you’ll want to get pictures.”
He stepped back, “Vaginal trauma, rectovaginal fistula consistent with violent rape or...”
Bakker paused and peered down with the light, “Huh, looking at the cuts they’re tearing but not in the direction of insertion. A traumatic birth?”
He was almost talking to himself as he moved so Laine could take what pictures she could. Bakker stepped back in, taking swabs of the cervix and external region. Doubtful anything was left if her skin was gone but he would not take a chance at missing evidence in such a horrific murder. “I’m going to get her open and we’ll check that uterus.”
Laine could see the tears, ugly things like a cat clawing up furniture and she winced as she took photos, the raw flesh made even worse with the injuries. She retreated back and nodded, “I think I’ll step out for a smoke, too. Unless you need me.”
Bakker looked over at her, noting the even paler face than usual. Laine was no beginner but the sight was even hard for seasoned agents. “Sure, I’ll be fine. Just routine right now, I’ll come get you if I find anything unusual.”
Laine grabbed her cloves out of the jacket pocket and stepped outside, camera still in hand. She stuck a black cigarette between her lips and breathed out, “Shit, someone did a number on her inside.”
She reached for her lighter and realized it was inside the other pocket and turned to Donnelley, “Light?”
Donnelley’s eyebrows rose at that, though his mouth was busy sucking in a lungful of nicotine. He breathed in sharp, hissing through closed teeth before he blew it. He stuck a hand in his pocket for his lighter and offered it out to Laine, “Jesus.” Donnelley shook his head, smirking at the odd bit of comedy yet to come, “A real jerk, this guy.”
Lighting it, she inhaled deeply, “Looked like a cat clawed its way out. Or in, I don’t know yet.”
At his comment she glanced at him then sighed, “He’s just...focused. He likes things just so and having to rush out here probably made him cranky. He’s great in his lab, not happy about the conditions. He’ll get over it once he’s elbow deep in a corpse.”
She smoked hard, the embers crickling in the familiar way then breathed out the fragrant smoke, feeling the cloves begint to numb her throat. “I think I might have a drink or two tonight. Just enough, I’ll still drive. Hear anything from the team yet?”
Another sharp inhale and he blew the smoke out, shaking his head, “Nope. But I don’t expect them to be available within the hour. We’ve all got jobs, we’ve all got bosses that need lying to. Some bosses harder than others, maybe.”
“And I meant the killer, you know, being the jerk.” He smirked at Laine and took another drag, “Bakker is good, I trust you on that. He’s our best bet. And for that I’ll forgive him that stupid fucking look on his face when he looked at me.” Donnelley chuckled, sounding more like a growl than anything. “He can be however he wants as long as he gets us results.”
"Oh, well, yes. I'd probably use a stronger term," Laine muttered, her face flushing at the mistake.
They stood outside for awhile, smoking and waiting as time ticked by. Laine finished her cigarette and snubbed it out on the concrete. “You know your theory is solid as any. I was thinking about it, you might be right. I figured at first an interrupted crime but since she was killed elsewhere and brought there then maybe she was put on some sort of display. Ritual is a strong indication here, especially with the other bones. If they were killed in similar ways, it’ll make a stronger case for that. But to what purpose to leave her out for the scavengers unless it was just her skin he was after...but he didn’t just bury her, he left her...”
Laine trailed off, running the ideas over in her head and thumbed the top of the box of Djarums.
The door swung open and Dr Bakker stepped out, his dark blue eyes wide as he peered down at them,and he jerked his head, “You’ll want to see this.”
Against the light boxes was an x-ray of the chest cavity, and Bakker pointed out a dark vaguely triangular shape beyond the pale rib cage and the heart. “Foreign object still in there, I’m going to dig it out but first look at this.”
Jane Doe lay on the table, now not just skinned but cut open from throat to pubis, laid open with her organs exposed. Bakker quickly stepped back over to the body and used his forceps to point out the damage. “Her uterus was punctured and scraped, like the worst botched abortion but it kept going. Look, through the diaphragm and across the lung to the heart. Massive internal trauma would be the cause of death, much of the blood is gone as well.”
With the forceps he pinched the lung tissue and lifted it, showing a jagged tear then did the same with the aorta. “Hemorrhaging would have occured and death would have been fairly quick. Now, let’s see if we can find that piece.”
Incising into the heart, he asked Laine to hold the clamps so he could fish out the object. She did, as well as holding her breath as Bakker used the forceps to fish around.
“Got it,” he announced, gently pulling loose the three inch long black shard. It was not metal as one might expect from shrapnel and Bakker held it up to the light. “Obsidian?”
Laine stared at it, her blood running cold as she saw no light filter through the thin sharp edges, no light reflected on it’s invisible angles. Just a sliver of black void clutched by the forceps. It reminded her of the stone that Sofie Childress’ lifeless body had been draped across. She shook her head and then looked towards Donnelley, her eyes wide behind her glasses.
"Not only this," Bakker said, moving to put the shard into an evidence bag, staring at it for a long moment before shaking his head sharply like a dog with a flea. "Ah, what was it... oh right, look at the X-ray of her skull. Her tongue is gone. Snipped right out, nice and neat. I'm going to inspect further as I continue but I..."
His gaze turned back to the infinite blackness of the piece in the bag. "I thought you'd want to know the cause of death."
“Fuck…” Donnelley breathed, his eyes were troubled at the sight of the shard. There was now no doubting it for him. This killer was leaving these bodies out there as a ritual. But she hadn’t been hacked apart or brutally cut open like Afghanistan or Washington, no, just very surgically dismantled. He swallowed hard as he stared into the little hole in the world that was contained in the evidence bag.
Finally, he ripped his eyes away, clearing his throat with a nervous tick of his eyes about the room. “This fucking guy has to be viewing this as some sort of ritual.” He shook his head, folding his arms to keep Laine or Bakker oblivious to the fact his hands were shaking. “Was that all so far?”
Laine stared at the disaster that was the woman’s insides and shuddered at the thought of agony. She had seen death in many forms but this was probably the worst dehumanizing desecration of a human body she had witnessed. “Did it go in or come out?”
Bakker shrugged slightly, “It looks like it came out but honestly I can’t say for certain yet. How it got in there, I don’t know. Not yet, I’ll need to finish then I can tell you more.”
He paused, his stern expression of professionalism cracking slightly as he gazed at the corpse. “This is bad. Whoever did this...”
Swallowing hard, he then excused himself, “I’m going to the john, I’ll be back to finish up.”
Laine and Donnelley were left in the room and she looked at him. “Bad is an understatement isn’t it?”
She could see in his expression the concern, more than just the morbid discovery. This was ritual, this was driven with a dark purpose that would be repeated until the man was stopped. And the likelihood was that it was a man, nearly all serial murderers were men and all who did mutilation and savagery like this were male. And the villages Donnelley had spoke of. Whole villages skinned and displayed.
“This is no copycat, ” she admitted, then rubbed a hand against the back of her neck, feeling the tense cords there. “Ritualized killing and display, skillful not sloppy. Rage, a lot of anger, I think to do that sort of damage but controlled in a manner. I'll have to wait until the final report to make a more thorough analysis, plus the victim's race and age."
Her gaze returned to Donnelley and she fell silent. There were no words from Donnelley either, just a picture of a man with arms crossed and a bearded frown, brows furrowed in concern.
He wondered if this was done all at once. Or carried out in sections. He wondered which possibility was worse. Imagining the girl’s pain, her anguish. How she might call out for her mother or father, beg for mercy. His mind flashed to Holly in that position like something in his brain was trying to hurt him. It worked. His frown deepened and he opened his mouth to say something. He shut it again and took his moment before finally speaking, “I’m killing this man.”
He left that out on the air, “We aren’t in the business of prosecuting.” He shook his head, all the while staring at the cadaver that was once alive and held smiles and laughter and love at one point, “I’m killing this man.”
Laine pressed her lips tight, knowing how he felt. A person who could do this would never be rehabilitated, there was no reason for them to be left alive.this was not an FBI case, the rules changed under UMBRA and she had no way to insist on taking the suspect alive. Except one.
“Not until I get information out of him,” she said firmly, meeting his blue eyes. He turned his gaze on her then, their eyes suspended on the other. He said nothing, just turned and left.
Episode 1...
...The Silence Before The Sound
Part I
>THE SAFEHOUSE
>OUTSIDE WHITE TREE
>BLACKRIVER, WEST VIRGINIA
They were still there. Everything. Even the dust, which shifted with the air pressure as Donnelley opened up the door to his private room. He assumed this place was under watch if Foster and Donnelley needed it again in the near future, faceless grey men and women swinging by and doing sweeps in the middle of the night to make sure it was still secure until they got the order to dismantle the safehouse after a few months’ time. But they hadn’t passed that threshold.
He wondered what they thought about the bottles in his room. Half-empty, near-empty, soon-to-be empty. Jim Beam, Wild Turkey, even R&R. Clothes were strewn about the room in piles, in corners, draped over the back of the chair at the little desk where his laptop was. He grabbed up a bottle and took a pull from it before he almost choked, hearing the front door open and shut. Nobody should have been here this early and Foster said he would be at the scene for a while yet, interviewing the cops. Donnelley took a breath, push checking his 40 caliber before placing his hand on the doorknob of his room.
Carefully and quiet, he turned the knob, easing the door open. A figure in the living room. Was he followed? He threw open the door but recognition didn’t grip him in time before he had his front sight leveled on a black-clad woman he knew. Her eyes told surprise and he quickly holstered his handgun, harsh sigh in his throat, “Fuck, Laine.” He gave her a once over, “You’re, uh, early.”
The barrel of the gun seemed to be a gaping maw, dark as death and Laine instinctively put her hands up, startled at the strange man behind it. Then he spoke.
"Donnelley?" She stared for a moment, his red hair had been dyed black though his blue eyes remained the same. Laine quirked her brow then dropped her hands, tossing her bag on the chair. "That's too bad, I was partial to the ginger look. I was down the road in Clarksburg as it happens. Drove up as soon as I got the bat signal. What's going on?"
“I thought I was going to be giving the whole team this speech, but, well…” Donnelley and Laine stood in the quiet and empty safehouse, “You know.”
“Body was found in the mountains. Hiker, local, I don’t know. We don’t know because there weren’t any supplies or gear found,” Donnelley set his jaw and sighed, looking away from her and recalling, “She was just there. It was just muscle and tendon, no skin. And I mean none. Nowhere to be found. Parks Service pinged Foster and Foster pinged me, I pinged UMBRA.”
He crossed his arms and stepped over to the couch, plopping down in it. He ran his fingers through his hair, “Clarksburg?”
Her attention was immediate as she listened to the description of the victim. Laine furrowed her brow, "Any trauma other than the obvious skinning? Determined if it was posthumous or not? Cause of death?"
She rattled off the questions while sitting down, crossing her legs and took out a notepad and pen, writing quickly. "Yes, the Criminal Justice Information center is there. I happen to be attending a lecture on DNA analysis, some new techniques have been approved for identification. Anyway, where is she? I'd like to get a look at her myself. Unless you're going to want to wait for the team."
She tapped her pen, the team with the exception of Agent Stewart were more specialized in combat than investigation. This was a murder, not a septic tank surprise.
Laine glanced at him, then tilted her head slightly. "This sounds like it's more down the FBI alley than UMBRA. It wouldn't be the first time a killer skinned his victim. Why are you interested?"
“I was working a case in the Middle East.” He left it at that, “Almost entire villages were found in the same condition. Foster said the same thing you did until that girl turned up skinned almost the exact same way.”
He frowned, looking out the window, “Fuck, Laine.” He shook his head, sat quiet for a few moments before he looked at her again, “If it is the same, then we’ve got serious concern that it could be something down UMBRA’s alley. And trust me. Nobody wants it to be.”
"If it was a whole village I can see why you would be concerned, I mean...I know the terrorism is bad there but that seems excessive and it would take time, not like beheadings. What a mess."
Her thoughts turned to Jason and what he had confided in her. The possibility of ritual screamed from the description he had given her, as vague as it was. This too was something that might be ritual either in the act or with the skin of the victims. "Alright, so you saw both the villagers and this victim. Are they for certain the same? Did you take any pictures? Was anything posted online about these killings? Perhaps someone here copied it..."
She trailed off, jotting down a few notes. Every answer he gave her raised a dozen questions. "Did anyone examine those bodies? A doctor or someone with any kind of forensic training?"
“I only got the call a couple days ago. And this isn't the first time. Human bones were found in graves at the scene.” Donnelley got up and fished the keys from his pocket, “Let’s just go. Foster’s still there getting the details from the Law.”
He walked outside and slid into the driver’s seat of the Chrysler 300, the engine revving up as he turned it on and waited for Laine, once she was inside, they took off from the Safehouse.
“Whoever it was, they had a lot of time on their hands, and it wasn’t the first time they skinned something… or someone.” He said, “Part of the job is making sure that we even have a stake in the case. But by the time we get a call, we can be sure we do. The Program doesn’t just stick its nose wherever.”
“I got confirmation, by the way. About Washington.” He looked at Laine with a sympathetic frown, “The case was taken over by another Working Group. I know for a fact that means shit to you, Laine, but poking around where you’re not needed when you’re off-duty?”
Donnelley shook his head, “You’re lucky if you get a warning.” He gave a pause, a sidelong glance at Laine, “And don’t tell me you haven’t been trying. I know your type. I was like that. Deputy Donnelley trying to save the world starting with Texas.”
Dr Laine picked up her bag, it held her notepad and her camera, but her boots were at home. She followed Donnelley out, eager to get out to the scene. At least this case seemed something she could handle, she knew what the process was when a body was found and it gave her comfort.
She buckled up and leaned back into the seat as the Chrysler took off. If they had this case then there was something out of the ordinary, even more so than an average murder scene. Skinned. Ed Gein liked to skin women, to wear their skin and she recalled the photos of the scene. A carnal house of body parts and human skin clothing. Her stomach tightened at the thought that had not been a case for the Program. It had not been strange enough, just a serial killer.
Her attention snapped back at the mention of Washington, he was referring to the Childress case. “But why...”
Laine held her tongue when he shook his head, “You’re right, it does mean shit all. I would have at least liked to know who it is taking her, maybe collaborate...”
Her words trailed off at the warning and she reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, trying not to argue.
After a few minutes of stubborn silence she said, “Fine, I get the message.”
Laine glanced towards him, at the large burn scar that was hard to ignore and the fine lines around his eyes that were focused on the road while he drove. There must have been a long hard journey between the two points yet here he was, still fighting.
“How did it go, trying to save the world?” Laine asked in a softer tone, watching the wooded hills pass in a green blur.
“Driver seat’s starting to feel like a couch all of a sudden, Doctor.” Donnelley commented in a rueful, low voice before he cracked a smirk. He liked Laine. They’d already had a moment back on the Baughman Case, true. He wondered if he wanted to talk. Wanted to let the contents of himself spill out into the open air.
“How do you think it went?” He said. Truth be told, Laine’s gaze was disarming, her face a picture of quiet sympathy that coaxed things out of him. Just the right amount of silence to her that made him want to fill them. Therapists had tried, but back then he never wanted to talk. Just keep his teeth together, furrow his brow, and get to work. “You know I was married? I told you, back at Clyde’s.”
“It was a happy marriage that started just after I got back home from the Army and just before I became a Deputy.” He shook his head, “Before long I was back in the Recruiter’s. I was a Ranger, then a Green Beret. If you know anything about those types, you know divorce is a very real possibility.”
“I…” He let go a sigh, “Afghanistan…” his eyes grew distant, remembering the wails and chants. The two JDAMs making thunderous nothing of the mountainside village. He thought about how scared he made his little girl at home and the straw that broke the camel’s back for Holly. The outburst at the school. He jerked the steering wheel to the left when he found they were starting to list off the road.
With violence in his movements he slammed the Chrysler into Park after he veered to the side of the road and rubbed at his eyes. “Fuck.” Said more like he’d dropped something than slipped into a memory skulking at the back of his mind. Resigned, his forehead still in the palm of his hand and the other limp on the shifter, “Well, I’m still trying. Saving the world.”
“Or the pieces I can.” He sat there, collecting himself. Felt like a man quaking in a basement while a tornado passed overhead, eyes closed and trying to think on better times. Or at least different ones. He decided it was his turn as he regained himself, “Why FBI?”
Her eyes never left his face as he began to speak, watching the nuances of the sudden vulnerability. It was not until the car jerked did she break her gaze and look out the window. They were now parked on the shoulder of the road, somewhere between safety and chaos.
Laine said nothing as she watched his silent battle to control himself then she reached out, putting her hand gently on his that held the shifter. With little effort, she curled her fingers into his palm so he would let go and held his hand. She wanted to know more but waited letting him go at his own pace.
She turned in her seat, resting her head against the cushion and looked at him when he asked why she had joined and Laine said simply, “Redondo Beach.”
He looked at her, curiosity tickling at his mind but he didn’t let it get to his tongue even if it seeped to his face. He looked at her, first sidelong and then he turned his head, uncaring that they were on the side of the road. Not caring if Foster was expecting him back soon or not. He wanted to tell her to go on, but he held himself back until she spoke. A little silence from him for her to fill.
Laine gazed thoughtfully at him then dropped her eyes for a moment before speaking, “You know, we all have that place or person that changes our trajectory, sends us on that unknown path that we cannot step back from. Afghanistan. Redondo Beach.”
She sighed, leaning back in her seat and met his eyes again. “I was fourteen when I found the path. I was at a party on the beach at night, snuck out like the little scamp I was.”
Laine breathed a soft laugh but her eyes did not reflect the humor. “I found myself under a pier, I don’t even remember why. And she was there. Victim three of the Redondo Beach Butcher another Jane Doe. A girl not much older than myself, dead and destroyed.”
Her jaw tightened as did her grip on his hand and she drew in a deep breath. “I wasn’t always so inclined to the dark but after that I was. I was obsessed.”
Laine did not mention the dark laugh, the black with in the shadows that her stoned teenage brain might have made up but now, she was not sure again. She sat in silence, staring at his chest then finally back up to his sad blue eyes and shrugged silently.
Donnelley and Laine sat for a good moment. Eyes on each others. He didn’t have to wonder why she was picked for the team, but finding a dead girl was enough for most people to break and run. Run as far away as they could from the possibility of finding another. Death and violence were contrary to most humans’ outlooks on a good, happy life.
But something in Laine’s past, in Donnelley’s, made them stay the course. Made them bear witness. Someone had to. Donnelley nodded, a small jerk of his head at first before he turned away from her, his chin dipping with each one as he shifted to drive and put them back on the road. “Okay.”
He didn’t know what more to say, but maybe there wasn’t anything else needed.
Straightening herself out, Laine quietly pulled out her phone, swiping through her music and glanced at him as she tapped a selection while they continued towards their destination.
Donnelley snorted as he slowly came to recognize the song playing. He gave Laine a chuckle as they sped down the mountain road.
>THE CORDON...///
Donnelley slowed the car down as they neared the roadblock, still manned by the same two bored Deputies making small talk before they jumped to attention and signaled for Donnelley to halt. One of the Deputies approached the driver window while the other covered. Donnelley rolled his window down and didn’t even give the Deputy the time to speak, just flashed the badge plainly in front of Laine, “Special Agents Davidson and Laine, we’re with Forrest.”
The Deputy nodded up the road and Donnelley continued on until they were outside the police tape. “We’re here.”
He lowered his window as Foster was already upon them, waving them down, “They’re going to move the body in an hour or so. Obvious reasons.” Foster rose his brow and nodded to all the wilderness before he noticed Laine in the passenger seat. “You’re quick.”
“I’m glad you met Special Agent John Davidson, I’m Special Agent Spencer Forrest.” Foster’s wink was paired with a smirk as he held out his hand to shake, Donnelley leaning back and away from it while smiling apologetically.
Dr Laine adjusted her glasses peering at Foster, then held her hand out and gave him a handshake as she would a genuine colleague. “Dr. Heather Laine, BAU. As it happens I was down in Clarksburg for a lecture CODIS was giving. Lucky timing it seems.”
Laine glanced at Donnelley, a hint of a smile on her lips, “Isn’t that right, Agent Davidson?”
“Uh huh…” Donnelley said as he opened his door and let Foster step back. A smirk was the sign that the humor of this all was not lost on him.
From her bag she took her phone to use its recording device and found a spare pair of latex gloves. Maybe she should have gone home first to get her kit together but there was a sense of urgency she felt even in the simple text from Donnelley that had put her on the road to the cabin.
“Can I see her now?” she asked, then pulling on the blue gloves to protect from contamination.
“She’s over here.” Foster began the walk towards the woman’s body while Donnelley and Laine followed. They came upon the body then, Foster looking expectantly at Laine for her to start her thing.
She lay on her back in the grass, arms down at her sides, eyeless sockets seeming to stare out at the sky above. No lips gave her an unsettling death’s head grin that Donnelley couldn’t help but stare at. Flies were starting to make cautious approach on her bare flesh and pale tendon as Foster shooed them away. If the reason for moving the body wasn’t obvious now…
Dr Laine took a moment, observing the details of the scene, the position of the body, surrounding vegetation anything that might be disturbed. She was wearing heels that sunk slightly into the earth but she ignored it, taking careful steps towards the body. She swallowed hard, the smell was starting to waft on the morning breeze and the buzz of flies filled the silence.
Laine took a few pictures of the scene, then crouched by the dead girl, her brow furrowing as she gently touched the exposed muscles through her latex gloves. She turned the right hand, looking for defensive wounds and fingernails, in case there might be DNA from the suspect underneath.
Gently laying her hand down she would leave it for the forensic team to gather. She looked at what was left of her face, the empty holes left from her nose and eyes being gone. Her teeth looked decent, especially for this area of the country. She was either very young or perhaps from another place. Gingerly, Laine probed around looking for stab wounds or gunshots.
Donnelley had not been exaggerating, her skin was completely gone, not even bits left on the phalanges or cuts from a skinning knife which would be different than stab marks. Whoever skinned her certainly was not an amateur and this made her gut clench.
"Who is going to do the autopsy?" She asked, glancing back at the two men.
Foster shrugged, “No coroner out here and the closest medical professional is a backwoods doc. Haven’t met her yet.”
“We can follow the ambulance to her place, make sure we’re the only ones looking at the body.” Donnelley offered as he stepped up between Laine and Foster.
Laine frowned slightly, "We need someone with expertise, this skin job is too clean and cause of death is not very obvious. I have experience in collecting evidence and preliminary forensic exam but I'm not qualified to cut into her."
She bit her lower lip slightly in thought then stood up, looking at Donnelley. "I know someone, he's in Clarksburg right now. One of the best medical examiners in the country, he teaches at Quantico and has handled some high profile murders. I know this is top secret but if we need to go deeper to find out what happened to this girl then I could try and get him out here. Otherwise, I'll do what I can."
“Whatever we can do.” Donnelley nodded at Laine and looked at Foster, who already was sporting a deep frown. “You have to admit bringing on a Fed is better than exposing some backwoods Doctor to… us. To this.”
Foster took a breath, taking his time. His frown let up before he nodded, “Sure.” He said, “I’ll tell Detective Roy, have her relay the new destination for… whoever it is you know.”
“He’s airtight, right?” Donnelley said to Laine, hushed, “Not a big damn mouth?”
Laine nodded, already taking out her phone. "I trust him, we've known each other for a long time."
Glancing up at Donnelley as she scrolled through the contacts, "I wouldn't offer if I thought he would do anything stupid."
Laine hoped that were true but could not imagine he would talk about this with his kindergarten teacher fiance. The phone rang three times and finally she heard Bakker's whispered, "Heather? Where'd you go? Hold on..."
Shuffling and steps then his voice again, no longer hushed. "Everything alright?"
"Alex," she said, looking up at the green canopy of ash and oak trees. "I need a big favor. Can you skip out on the rest of the lecture? I need you up here."
A sigh then he said, "Look, I can't meet up with you like this I'm engaged."
Laine rolled her eyes then turned her back to Donnelley, "Goddamnit, don't be so full of yourself I need your expertise. You're going to want to see this, I wouldn't want anyone else doing this autopsy."
"Autopsy? Why...what's going on, you're being very evasive."
"Just come up to Whitetree, in Blackriver County," she turned back around, her cheeks slightly flushed. "And Alex, don't breathe a word. I'll tell you more once you're here."
"Implying I will come," he replied then before she could say anything he added, "Shit, alright, I'll be there. Do I need anything?"
"We're taking her to a local doctor's office, start driving and I'll text you the exact address," Laine replied. "And Alex... thanks. I owe you one."
Bakker breathed deeply, then said, "I'll see what I can do about borrowing gear just in case. Sample kits, etc. I'll be up as soon as I can."
She disconnected the call, then went back to the men, addressing Donnelley. "He's coming, should be here in a couple hours."
Donnelley put his hands on his hips, nodding, “Good.”
“Oh, well there they are.” Foster pointed past Laine and Donnelley, the two looking where his finger landed.
Sure enough, the transportation for the woman’s body rolled up to the edge of the cordon. Blackriver was a backwater, and as such had a contract with the local funeral home, who’d sent a white and windowless van to pick the body up. CSI were already busy hefting the girl’s body into a body bag, zipping it up when they were done. Donnelley watched them place the bodybag onto a stretcher and bring it to the van, stowing it away in the back.
“You folks know where you’re going?” Donnelley raised his voice. One nodded, but that meant nothing to Donnelley. He gave another hard look, just enough.
“Yeah, Doc Levy?” The other said, catching Donnelley’s eye. Donnelley nodded.
The more time he spent here, the more he started feeling like Iraq. A stranger in a land that wasn’t his own.
Laine watched the CSI team like a hawk, pointing out needlessly as they began to get the body ready for removal from the scene, "Bag her hands first."
One gave her a look of masked tolerance that most local authorities used on the feds when they usurped their crime scenes. Laine glanced over at Donnelley when he addressed them and wondered briefly how the Program kept people like this from talking about the strange unsettling things they saw.
She reached into her blazer's pocket and fished a black pack of Djarums, removing a clove cigarette. Before lighting up, Laine held the pack out to Donnelley in a gesture to see if he wanted one. "You said there were bones found as well?"
Donnelley nodded, plucking a djarum cigarette from the pack and tucking it between his lips, raising his eyebrows and nodding for her to follow him in the direction of the small mass graves filled with piled skeletons. He gestured to the hole in the ground. Foster came up beside them, “They took some samples, dating them or something.”
Foster’s head snapped towards the sound of an engine turning over, “Van’s leaving.” He said, “You should follow. Make sure they get to the right place. I don’t trust anybody local.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me.” Donnelley muttered as a passing Deputy seemed to eye the three of them before turning back and going on his way. Donnelley held his gaze on the man even after he was heading away from them. This entire place left a bad taste in his mouth. Time for a smoke, then. He pointed to the cigarette dangling from his lip, “I’m gonna get out of this fucking cordon.”
Laine followed, looking past Foster at the bones in the graves. Moving closer, she took a few pictures and crouched at the edge of the hole. The bones seemed to be a variety of condition of decay but all of them looked intact. A skull stared up at her and she took a picture, before leaning in and picking it up gently.
She studied it, thought it had been awhile since her forensic anatomy training she could tell it was likely female by the comparatively gracile jaw and brow. Inside the lower jaw she could see the third molars still half buried in the bone. Wisdom teeth yet to erupt meant she was young but not a child, perhaps still in her teens or college age. Laine leaned back in to place it where she had found it.
She stood and tugged down her skirt, smoothing it back in place and said to Foster, “They’ll need to go down to CJIS for identification, at least they should. But I’m sure you know that, Special Agent Forrester.
She gave him a sly tight smile then turned to follow Donnelley to the car, treading the exposed roots of trees gingerly in her heels. Laine kicked a clod of mud clinging from one as she lit her cigarette and took a drag, the cloves crackling in the embers. “Hell of a thing. I didn’t see any wounds indicating she fought, but it’s hard to tell...well without the skin. I just hope this was posthumous.”
Watching the deputies load the body into the van, Laine said, “They don’t like it when we step on their toes but I’ve seen too many scenes botched by good intentions.”
Joining Donnelley in the Chrysler, she buckled up and then leaned her elbow on the open window, letting the wind take the smoke.
Donnelley was busy sucking in the sweet smoke of the clove cigarette and let it out as he spoke, turning the car’s engine over, “Lotta shit botched by good intentions, trust me.”
>DOC LEVY’S OFFICE
>BLACKRIVER, WEST VIRGINIA...///
It was a half hour’s drive from the police cordon around the crime scene. Thirty or so minutes took the funeral home van and the two Program Agents in their Chrysler to the turnoff on the road into White Tree. It was marked by a sign on the side of the road, ‘Doctor Anne Levy, Serving Blackriver Since 1991!’
The sign itself was old and decrepit, Donnelley judging it to be a good number of years between the last time it was painted and now. Faded hues despite the happy exclamation.
“I guess this is it.” Donnelley turned the wheel as he watched the van disappear down the turnoff. Soon enough they were parked, Donnelley watching intently as the Deputies and the funeral home employees retrieved the girl’s body.
When they stopped what they were doing and looked towards the tinted windows of the Chrysler expectantly, Donnelley nodded to Laine. He pushed open his door and stepped out, hands on his hips- and close to his handgun. “Figure once we get inside y’all can get back to whatever it was you were doing.” His smile was anything but appreciative, lips pulled right in a mirthless thing, “‘Preciate it.”
The Deputies nodded and Donnelley stepped past them, rapping his knuckles on the door. Almost quick enough to make Donnelley flinch, the front door opened up, struggling against the chain that kept it only just cracked, “What?”
A hard-eyed woman with gray hair tied back into a frizzy bun, thick-lensed glasses perched midway up her nose from which her most unwelcoming stare burned over. Her thin lips cracked a smile, “Oh.” She looked around at the assortment of Deputies and others standing at her door, “‘Scuse me, then. What’s all this about?”
Donnelley tried to bring out his southern drawl a bit more than usual, thinking it would warm the country doctor to him, “I’m Special Agent John Davidson with the Bureau. We’re going to have to store this here body-“
“Yes, sure, come in.” The door shut again and fidgeting with the lock was heard from behind the door before it creaked open again, “Let’s go, come on.”
Donnelley waved the Deputies through the door with the girl’s body. Once they’d placed her on the metal table they did as they’d agreed to, filing out with not much ceremony. That suited Donnelley fine. The less eyes around when Laine’s man arrived and opened the girl up, the better. Everything faded away into silence, the three people in the room standing and glancing at each other. “So…” Doc Levy frowned.
Dr Laine hung back, watching Donnelley control the situation. She was used to sour faced local cops but when the doctor peered through the chained door, her attention perked up. Not the most welcoming entrance to a doctor’s office and the sense of urgency and suspicion from the older woman caught Laine by surprise. She followed the men into the office and when the deputies left, she stepped forward.
“Dr Heather Laine, FBI,” she introduced herself, speaking in a soft but firm voice, “Thank you for letting us bring her here and use your office so we can take care of her. Our medical examiner will be joining us within the next hour or so until then I will handle proceedings and preparation if you don’t mind.”
She scanned the room, a modest medical exam office in the backwater town. It looked clean and organized but certainly not equipped for surgery or an autopsy. Her small camera would have to do and a flashlight since there was no overhead light.
“Dr Levy,” she said, “I apologize if we caught you off hours.”
“Mm.” Doc Levy grunted, folding her arms, “You can use whatever you want, don’t bother me. Just don’t stay too long, there’s sick people here in Blackriver and I’m the only Doctor. I deal with live people, Special Fucking Agents Himmler and Goebbels.”
She spun on a heel and disappeared behind a door that led… somewhere. On the closed door, Donnelley could not help but notice a poster of Che Guevara on the door. He chuckled to himself, “Jesus Fuck. They have those out here?” He sniffed at the air, marijuana. “Doc likes it skunky.”
He shook his head, turning back to Laine and leaning on a table along the far wall. “So,” he clucked his tongue, “This Doctor of yours. How long’s he here for? Killing like this really implies it’s not the last.”
Laine raised her brow at the slander, then glanced at Donnelley, “At least it wasn’t Mengle.”
“I don’t mind the weed, but if she starts diagnosing with crystals and chakras I’m out,” Laine continued as she made a survey of the office. She moved a tray on wheels, it locked up but she kicked the brake and it spun around freely. At his question, she shrugged, “I don’t know, the seminar lasts two days, we’re both supposed to be there but this is more important. Of course explaining that to our boss, that’s another story. Dr Bakker will want to figure this out, he’s been like that as long as I’ve known him. If there are more killings following this MO, I’m pretty sure he would be interested.”
Laine held back her doubt, now that he was engaged and his head turned to living a normal life he might not want to dive into this nightmare. She laid out gloves and swabs, mostly to keep her hands busy as she spoke. She glanced up at Donnelley, “You’re right though, this was a practiced hand and that means there are more out there like her, the bones speak of that. I would not be surprised if they were a certain age and sex type, with similiar deaths. The suspect might be a local, someone familiar with the area, comfortable enough to blend in. These type of people would notice a stranger amongst them.”
Removing her blazer she pushed up the sleeves of her lightweight sweater, resting her rump against the counter, “Did you know of any missing persons in the area? The victim might not be local but usually a killer starts local.”
Donnelley shrugged, “Your guess is as good as mine. I haven’t been around these parts since the Agency sent me to Virginia.” He sighed, “I’m sure Foster can pick up on the local news while he’s out and about. I think this is the first time in years he’s worked a case for himself and not just getting his Working Group to do it for him.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if people went missing around these parts. Hikers, hunters.” Donnelley crossed his arms and shook his head, looking off to the side, “I’m really fucking hoping this is just open and shut. Give it to regular FBI and I can…”
Go back to what? He frowned. His empty, cold house in Seattle? Iraq, and keep chasing Anzor with Smitty and Kingsley? His entire life was work, and whatever scraps of it there weren’t was just meaningless shit. Drugs, alcohol, loose women. “I don’t know. Maybe I need a break.” He snorted, “I heard Fiji is nice.”
His smile dropped as he looked back at Laine, “We can either wait for the others to get here first and we just sit on our hands in the Safehouse or canvas the town. Interview the Ranger that found the girl, talk with Detective Roy.” Donnelley shook his head and sucked at his teeth, “I’m sure Roy or the Sheriff can get us some case files on missing persons, recent violent crimes in the area.”
Laine watched him, crossing her arms under her chest and then nodded, “You probably need a break, but somehow I think you might have to be forced into a vacation. But Fiji is nice, I hear. Come on, let’s go talk to people, to the detective and ranger. It’s the best way to start piecing this puzzle together, start with the edges. Besides, Bakker won’t be here for another hour or two. He’s meticulous in getting prepared, he won’t just jump in his car and tear ass.”
She gave a self deprecating smile, dipping her head slightly so her hair fell forward against her cheek. Grabbing her bag, she slung it over her shoulder and left her jacket still hanging on the chair. “Will it be alright to leave her here?”
Donnelley looked at the bodybag, thinking for a moment. He shrugged, taking his pack of cigarettes out of his collared shirt’s breast pocket, “Doc doesn’t seem interested in anything about this past letting the body sit here.” He nodded, placing a cigarette between his lips, “Let’s get to it, Doctor.”
After leaving the office, Laine asked, “Who do you want first? It might be easier to get Detective Roy, the ranger might be out in the woods and I’m not dressed for a hike.”
“Yeah,” Donnelley unlocked the car with the key fob, opening the door and then sliding into the driver seat, “I’m not really feeling one, anyways. Guess that leaves Detective Roy.”
As they drove, Laine took a few subtle glances at his hair then bit her lip to fight back a grin. “I don’t know if you can go out tonight,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Your red roots are showing.”
She laughed at her own joke, then ran a hand over her hair, the straight dark strands falling back into place of the blunt cut. “What made you do that?”
He snorted out a chuckle and ran his fingers through the top of his hair, “You know many gingers in the Mid East?” He smiled, “I at least have to try to blend in, make me look like anybody but Donnelley. It wasn’t the worst thing I had to do to get into a country, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Point taken. It works, I almost didn’t recognize you. Granted, I was staring down your gun,” she said. “I should have knocked.”
Her gaze shifted to the road to White Tree, the sagging buildings seemed to be bearing the weight of an uncaring world, the soot from the mines long ago staining the roof tiles and tree trunks black. She wondered how he disguised the burn scar that ran from his cheek down his neck, that surely was identifiable but Laine did not ask. Instead she watched a couple of kids walking with their skateboards along the side of the road rather than riding them. She murmured under her breath, “Skate or die, motherfuckers.”
Donnelley cracked a grin at Laine’s words. Those words and those kids so out of place were a callback to a Joseph Donnelley who hadn’t been around since long, long ago now.
The Sheriff’s office wasn’t anything to write home about. With Blackriver being the least populous county in West Virginia with only two towns of struggling Americans, it seemed somebody had laughed in the face of whoever proposed an actual police force for the county. The paint, like the paint on all the other buildings of White Tree, was peeling after years of poverty-stricken apathy. Three Ford Crown Victorias sat in the parking lot, their drivers hooting and hollering over a joke next to them, Blackriver Sheriff’s Department emblazoned on the side.
They all seemed to turn their heads in unison at the sound of crunching gravel underneath the Chrysler’s tires. Donnelley shot a glance their way and shook his head, taking up a space on the other side of the parking lot from the gaggle of Deputies. As he and Laine stepped out of the car, Donnelley waved to the staring Sheriff Deputies. He received nothing but weary eyes in return that averted themselves back to whatever bullshitting they were doing before Laine and Donnelley made their existence known to the town of White Tree. The lobby was small, dark brown carpet and beige walls, a front desk being manned by a young woman in a Sheriff Deputy uniform. “Can I help y’all?”
“Yes, we’re Special Agent John Davidson and Doctor Laine with the Bureau. Would it be possible to see the Sheriff?” Donnelley asked.
“I’m ‘fraid not, sir. Sheriff MacOnie’s on vacation.” The female Deputy offered her best attempt at looking sympathetic to their inconvenience.
Donnelley’s brow furrowed, shooting a glance at Laine before looking back at the Deputy, “Do you think we could schedule something? When’s he getting back?”
The Deputy just shrugged, “I’m not sure.”
“You’re not…” Donnelley pinched the bridge of his nose before he returned his hand to his pocket, “Well, do you think we could get access to some of your case files? You keep case files, right?”
The last bit he might have spat with some vitriol and he worked to keep his tongue in check before he made this visit a fiasco instead of an inconvenience. The Deputy frowned at him a moment, “You’ll have to submit a request to the Sheriff.”
“The Sheriff that’s on vacation for an indeterminate period? Who takes over for him when he’s on vacation for indeterminate periods?” Donnelley’s patience was wearing thin with this backwater Sheriff’s Department. Even his office back in bumfuck West Texas wasn’t this disorganized.
“Well…” Her excuses had hit a brick wall right then. “I’m sorry, sir, but you’re either going to have to submit a request for the Sheriff or leave immediately.”
Donnelley’s jaw set.
He took in a breath and let it blow out his nose as he shook his head. “Get him on the damn phone, this is part of an ongoing investigation and I will do everything I can to make sure you’re thrown out of that uniform straight on your ass.”
“Sir, I do not even know you and frankly, you’re a bit belligerent.” The Deputy stood, “There’s some Deputies outside who’d love something to do.”
Donnelley cracked a dark grin, about to open his mouth until he felt Laine step up beside him.
She put a hand on Donnelley’s shoulder and gave the deputy a sympathetic look, then showed her badge. “I apologize for my colleague, Deputy...”
Laine glanced down at her name tag, “Evans. It’s been a day, and it’s hardly started. I am the Supervising Special Agent, if I need to submit a request I will but I’m afraid we don’t have much time. The Behavioral Analysis Unit sent me to work on identifying a suspect involved in a recent killing not far from here. Time is of the essence and I hope your sheriff wouldn’t mind us reading through some of your case files for information about both unidentified suspect and victim. We’re really in a bind without much to go on.”
Without breaking her gaze on Laine and Donnelley, the Deputy reached over behind the desk. Donnelley’s first instinct was to prime himself to draw his handgun. The Deputy threw a business card fluttering to the ground, “Take it up with the Sheriff and fuck off out of here.”
All things considered, Donnelley breathed a bit easier. He chided himself for how he acted, swearing under his breath as he bent down and picked up the card. The number for Sheriff MacOnie. It was as much a win he and Laine were going to get. He couldn’t meet eyes with Laine, knowing he almost single handedly fucked them because of his mouth. He just walked past her and back to the Chrysler. They sat in the parking lot for a few seconds before Donnelley offered the card over, “I’m such an asshole.” He grumbled, “I’m sorry. That could’ve gone better. Should have.”
Laine pressed her lips together but managed to speak in a civil tone, “Have a nice day, Deputy Evans.”
Dr Laine turned and walked quickly, her high heels making staccato clicks in rapid succession as she went out the door. She breathed out, putting her hands on her hips, giving Donnelley side eye as he got to the car. She followed, not berating him but taking the card to hold onto it. “Well, we all make mistakes. Better pissing off a girl who probably should be working at the Dairy Queen than the sheriff himself.”
Laine smiled a bit, then laughed, as her irritation eased. “You were an asshole though. I need to bring you along when I speak with the manager at Wegmans when they don’t stock my coffee brand. Don’t worry about it, we’ll get in those files. Let’s go find the detective.”
Donnelley managed a grin as he rubbed at his face, letting go a small chuckle that Laine wasn’t being a hardass, “Fuck me,” he shook his head, “Well, if the salary for that’s alright I might have some options for the future.”
He shifted into drive, taking one last scorching glance at the Sheriff’s Office in the rear view before they were off down the road.
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