Sand City Murders (39 page)

“You’re gonna need it. The green heads are bad today.”

“What’s up?”

“Another one… another girl, a lot like Sunset Park.”

“Why did you call me?”

“Where the hell is Fynn?”

“I don’t know.”

“Me neither.” Durbin started the engine and we set off into the marshlands along a disused fire-road. Dozens of little blue boxes passed by like signposts. These little cubes are what kept our town habitable in the summer— bug traps and effective ones at that. Sand City was no longer famous for its mosquitos. I glanced over at Durbin. He didn’t exactly seem talkative but it was too loud for conversation anyway. I half expected that we’d run across a crop circle up ahead. It seemed like the perfect place for one. But I doubted Durbin would wake me up and call me out just for that.

Swamp, wetlands, marsh, bog, whatever word you use, most of it had been filled in over the decades with trash and debris. Most of it was an old land fill by now, I remember historical guy Kevin telling me. When it got too full they just covered it over with sand, tamped it down, and started dumping someplace else. Every year there was less and less swamp.

“Best thing that ever happened to Sand City,” Eleanor had said. “When I was a young woman, they used to drive around every week and spray DDT everywhere. I’d say it’s an improvement.” From Long Neck Road, if you looked east, you could still see endless miles of marshland. There was still lots of room to dump the trash, I guess. And it was all in proximity to Baxter Estates.

After about a mile or so, Durbin pulled off the track and headed south. I saw another police ATV up ahead and it looked like Officer Allen was standing beside it. Well not exactly standing, more like dancing. I could see his arms and legs thrashing about, he seemed to be hopping up and down. The detective stopped along side him and as soon as he cut the engine I understood why Allen was in motion. He was being eaten alive by stinging horseflies. I threw the can of bug spray over.

“Thank god, and thank you, Jardel.” Allen shot himself thoroughly, head to toe, and threw the can back over. I gave myself a good dose too. Out here, existence was futile without it. Durbin grabbed the can and did the same.

“What’cha doing, Allen?” the detective asked.

“Playing scarecrow.”

I looked at him funny.

“Keeping the goddamn birds away.”

I looked up. An inordinate amount of crows were hovering nearby, and above them riding the thermals, I could see turkey vultures circling slowly.

“No tracks, no footprints,” Durbin said and led me towards the body. “No cell phone, no bag, no ID,” he continued. “No tire marks either, like from a four by four— that would leave a mark. No, she just dropped out of the sky… How the fuck did they dump her here? There’s nothing for a mile in any direction, at least.”

“How did you find her?”

“SkyTours… out of Oldham. They flew over this morning and spotted her. Called it in.”

“It’s the same,” I said.

“Same as what?”

“Sunset Park.”

“I dunno,” he countered. “She’s not blond, maybe not quite as pretty.” Durbin paused. “And there’s this…” He led me over to a pair of shoes. A pair of red high heels had been conspicuously placed near the body. I got my camera and moved in a little closer. The earth was soggy beneath my feet. Flip flops were probably not the best choice in footwear today. Next to the high heels was the body of a young girl laying face up, no tarp; she was barefoot, wearing only a polyester nightdress, shiny and printed with tiny owls on it. The flies were relentless along with their soft angry buzz. I hated to think it, but she was better off dead at this point. And I recognized her. I put my camera down and looked again. It was Lucinda.

“You know her?” Durbin was quick to ask.

I did, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Did she still work at the
Chronicle?
Would anyone else remember? I shook my head as noncommittally as I could. I’d have to check the masthead to be sure.

“That’s not much of an answer.”

“She’s sort of familiar,” I finally said.

“Where were you last night, Patrick?”

“Home.”

“Alone?”

“Well, my cat…”

“Not much of an alibi.”

“Alibi— what the fuck, Durbin?”

“I think you know this girl.”

“It could be Lucinda,” I said almost in a whisper.

“Who is Lucinda?”

“She works at the
Chronicle
, selling ads…”

“Where does she live?”

“I don’t know, in the Village somewhere.”

“Okay, maybe I’ll have to talk to Eleanor.” Durbin made a face.

I hoped and prayed she would remember this timeline.

“Who can ID this girl…? I mean, if you can’t be sure.”

“Eleanor.”

“Shit, I don’t want to call her in for that.”

“Melissa then, Miriam… or Donald Pagor?”

“Better…”

A more selfish thought struck me. “Wait… I might have an alibi,” I blurted.

“What?” Durbin swiveled to face me.

“You could check my computer.”

“Huh?”

“Check my laptop, look at the browser history. You can see where I was, at least when I was online.”

Durbin eyed me up and down. “You’ll let me do that?”

“Sure.”

“Okay…” Durbin failed to smile. “Let’s get the fuck outta here. I’m not waiting on Hackney or the rest of the county techs. “Take your pictures, Jardel, and make it quick…there’s no more bug spray left.” Durbin started brushing away the swarms of horseflies with a waving hand and my shutter clicked as rapidly as it could go.

***

By Sunday evening, Lucinda was at Willard and Sons, Sand City’s only funeral parlor. The coroner had yet to examine her, but Durbin thought it was important to confirm her identity before anything else. With a little help from Melissa, namely employment records, the detective was able to start a preliminary background check. He must have spent the whole day on it.

“I’ll tell ya, I didn’t find a whole lot. Lucinda Roberts, residing at 22 Scudders Lane. No DMV records, no license, no registration. No convictions, no prints… no credit cards… Just a savings account with some regular deposits. She’s a goddamn mystery woman,” Durbin explained, frustration all over his face.

“You do know it’s Mothers’ Day, right?” I asked him.

“Yeah?”

“Just saying…”

Melissa and Eleanor arrived together shortly afterwards. Neither said a word but they did confirm her identity. Eleanor seemed to take it hard. She’s not known for her open displays of emotion, but began to weep, and Melissa had to steady her on more than one occasion. Durbin talked to them both; he was especially kind to Eleanor:

“How did she get to work if she had no driver’s license?”

“Walked?” Eleanor gave him her look.

“How did she get to her advertisers?”

“Bicycle? Or by telephone, I suppose. Sometimes Melissa would give her a ride.”

“How long did she work at the paper?”

“For as long as I can remember…”

“Next of kin?”

“Wasn’t that on her employment form?” Eleanor asked flatly.

“Did she talk about her family at all?”

“She talked about her mother from time to time.”

“Do you know where she is, her mom?”

“No sorry, Richard.”

Detective Durbin also talked with Melissa, though I didn’t hear that conversation. I took my turn comforting Eleanor. He took me aside just after they left, led me outside Willard’s and lit up a cigarette.

“Patrick, talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Your co-worker, Lucinda.”

“I barely knew her.”

“Eleanor said she’s been working at the
Chronicle
for as long as she can remember.”

“That’s a weird thing to say…” I paused. “I think it’s only been a couple of months.”

“Really?”

“What did Melissa tell you?”

“Same thing. Why would Eleanor say otherwise?”

“She’s old, she’s upset— and we’re under the gun right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our big summer issue is coming out next week. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“I can’t figure this one…” Durbin leaned against the wall. “She’s like a missing persons case, only she’s not missing. Her social doesn’t even match up. It’s bogus.”

“What do you mean?”

“The social security number. It’s not hers.”

“That’s a red flag.”

“Yeah, it belongs to somebody else, a dead person.”

“Who?”

“Helen Moriches… died like thirty years ago or something.”

“From Sand City?”

“What?”

“Was she from Sand City?”

“Hmm. I didn’t check…” He gave me a look. “You’d make a pretty good cop, Jardel…” Durbin said and managed a half smile. “And you’re right, maybe I should find out more about this Helen Moriches.”

I think Durbin just paid me a compliment and I was a bit surprised.

“I ran Lucinda’s cell. All her calls? Either to people in the office, Eleanor, Melissa, Pagor, Jason, or businesses in town… and every single one of them advertises in your paper.” He snubbed out his half-smoked cigarette. “Sad really, no family, no friends, no relatives. Looks like she just moved here about two months ago. We can’t even find next of kin.”

I had nothing to add.

“Bring your laptop?” he asked.

I nodded, reached into my satchel and handed it over.

“Thanks, I’ll get it back to you in a couple days, okay?”

“A couple of days?”

“Alright, maybe tomorrow… Hey, have you heard from Inspector Fynn?”

“No.”

“It’s like he freaking disappeared off the map or something.”

“Yeah.”

“Patrick, I need a favor,” Durbin said awkwardly.

“Sure.”

“Listen, with Lucinda here, we’re up to five freaking murders. People are whispering serial killer. I’m thinking the whole season’s gonna go down the crapper…”

“And you’ll take the blame, won’t you?”

“Pretty much.”

“How can I help?”

“I don’t know… like a press release or something. A way to spin this so it doesn’t seem so bad to the tourists.”

I sighed and considered Durbin’s request. “Wow, that’s a tall order…”

“No ideas?”

“How about the truth?” I asked.

“That’s not going to fly. The truth is, I don’t even have a goddamn suspect.”

“Let me think about it.”

Later, I managed to call my mom in Florida. I got a weird recording though:
the number you have reached is not in service. Please check the number and dial again
. I did just that with no result. That can’t be good, I thought. Hopefully, the card I had mailed would make it on time.

***

Monday morning was difficult. I couldn’t help but think that Lucinda’s murder combined with the kennel killings might prove to be a fatal blow to the Sand City tourist season, and the
Chronicle
as well. I got to the office early. Melissa acting on Eleanor’s behalf had texted everyone on staff, requesting their presence at 9:00 a.m. For once I was not ten minutes late. Everyone was already camped in the editorial office when Eleanor came in, wearing her matching seersucker skirt and blazer. Without a word, she walked behind her desk and sat down. We all looked on expectantly and silently.

“Thank you for coming in this morning… and so promptly,” Eleanor began and looked around the room. “Recent events, and I must say, very tragic events have cast a shadow on our lives, everyone’s lives, here at the paper, and here in Sand City.” She paused to light a cigarette. “I’ve been here a very long time, nearly my whole life, and I for one cannot remember anything so distressing. It’s unprecedented.” She glanced around from person to person. “So… the question which comes to mind is, what’s next? What do we do? How do we proceed?”

Everyone understood not to say anything. Eleanor continued, “This spate of murders has called everything into question. There are doubts about the upcoming summer season… I’m sure you have heard bookings are already down this year. This affects us, and the community as a whole… Our advertisers are extremely skittish, and this last point raises doubts about whether the
Chronicle
will, or should continue.”

I expected a few murmurs at least, but everyone remained mute.

“You may have also heard the rumors that I’ve decided to sell the paper,” Eleanor went on. “It’s true that I’ve had some discussions with potential buyers. Mr Chamblis for one, and the Fairhaven
Times
have shown some interest. Even Melissa and her husband Julian—once he’s back on his feet— are also candidates with the proviso that they can obtain financing.”

All eyes darted in Melissa’s direction. She returned her perfect smile.

“That being said, I have decided not to take any action on this until after Labor Day.” Eleanor paused. “I’ve decided that we must carry on one way or another… for the sake of Lucinda of course, and for the sake of our community at large.”

It sure seemed like Eleanor had finished but no one said anything. I jumped into the silence: “I can’t speak for everyone here… but I’m pretty sure we’re all feeling devastated right now. It’s like we’re all in shock— and for me, all of this hasn’t really sunk in.” I looked around the room. “It’s hard to know how we can just get on with our normal lives after this… it almost seems meaningless in a way… But, and this is important, we owe our greatest debt to Eleanor.” I gave her a small smile. “If our editor-and-chief is not going to call it quits, then I say, well, I’ve got your back.”

“Thank you, Patrick,” Eleanor said almost in a whisper. She looked a little choked up. Joey and Pagor both came over and slapped me on the back. Miriam was nodding her head. Frank seemed oblivious as usual, though this morning he was scratching his left leg furiously. Jason looked on sullenly. Amy said nothing, which was probably a good thing.

“Alright then, people,” Eleanor said in a more normal tone of voice. “We have our work cut out for us. For practicality’s sake, I’ve decided to push up the Summer Preview Issue by a week. So we’re now looking to publish on May thirty-first. Mel and Don have already volunteered some extra duty to cover for our loss, and we should all hope and pray that Detective Durbin can apprehend this, this brutal killer sooner rather than later. In that regard, please offer him any assistance possible— that goes for Joey and Patrick especially.” Eleanor looked around the room a final time. “As a small tribute to poor Lucinda, and to the courageous girls at the kennel, I’m going to ask you all to take the day…” She paused. “Tomorrow, we’ll start again, bright and early. Thank you all.”