Authors: Mike Omer
Spider's Web
Contents
Spider’s Web
Mike Omer
Spider’s Web
Copyright © 2016 by Mike Omer
All rights reserved.
Cover art Copyright © 2016 by Deranged Doctor Design
All rights reserved.
For Liora
Chapter One
When Kendele selected the songs for her jogging playlist, she didn’t pause to think “What if I die hearing this?” It wasn’t a question that normally occurred to her, though perhaps on that day it should have. She thought Taylor Swift’s
Shake It Off
would be a fun song to jog with.
It played as she ran through the park, toward a thick cluster of trees.
The park was mostly empty this early in the morning. Thin mist hovered above the grass, covering the ground in a forlorn gray blanket. A long, paved path circled the park, twisting around Buttermere Pond, and then led into a small grove. This was the path Kendele now followed on her early morning jog, listening to Taylor Swift, thinking about her growing clientele and income. By the time she reached the artificial pond in the middle of the park, she had broken a sweat. The chilly morning breeze was pleasantly cool on her skin. She watched the calm, dark water as she ran, noticing the way the trees reflected in it, warped into strange shapes. She was cautiously happy. Kendele treated happiness like a toddler learning to walk. She approached it gently, taking careful, tentative steps. She didn’t want to rush into happiness. That was how you got hurt.
She didn’t want to get hurt again.
What she loved most about her new life was the complete control. She had control over herself, over her financial situation, over her schedule. She had complete control over the people in her life.
She kept those to a bare minimum.
She rounded a corner, following the path as it moved closer to the pond, when something exploded against her right temple. Her vision darkened for a moment, and then she could see again. Everything seemed fuzzy. She was on her knees, one hand on the ground and one hand against her head, trying to understand what had just happened.
Taylor Swift was singing about haters.
Someone grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back. She screamed as he pulled her to her feet. She tried to look backwards, but turning her head was hard, and the world was an unfocused blur. Her attacker shoved her forward and she stumbled, nearly fell, the person behind her holding her up by her twisted arm. It felt as if he was about to rip it out of its socket. She cried in pain, begged him to stop, whoever it was. She tried to make sense of things. Who was it? What did he want from her?
She realized where he was taking her, and she struggled, trying to twist away. Something—a rough hand—smacked her on the back of her head. She knew it was a hand; she knew how it felt, being beaten. But it wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. Not here.
Two more steps, and she felt the cold against her legs. Her attacker forced her into the pond, the water’s surface a blurry thing, sparkling in the early sun. Her eyesight slowly focused and she realized that, in the background, Taylor Swift was still singing, telling her to shake it off.
And then, another sharp pain, her arm twisted even higher. She screamed again, tears filling her eyes. She was forced to bend forward, stumbling to her knees, the water lapping against her, drenching her shorts. She babbled, pleading, she didn’t know what was happening, couldn’t see her attacker, who never let up pulling harder, and harder, and she felt dizzy, nauseated, about to faint.
And then everything was cold. She inhaled in shock, and her mouth and throat filled with water. A hand held her head under; she panicked, twisting, not caring about the pain in her arm anymore, just trying to breathe. Spots danced around her field of view as it darkened, the muddy water’s swirling cloud patterns growing dimmer. The hand was relentless, crushing her head against the pond’s sandy bottom, wet sand clogging her nose, brushing against her teeth—and still the music played.
It was getting dark, her mind foggy, and her lungs exploding with pain. She had just one reflex left, telling her she had to break through, screaming that she had to get away, had to breathe.
But she was weak, and helpless, and she couldn’t.
Detective Mitchell Lonnie walked down the paved path that snaked through the park, approaching the crime scene. The rain pattered around him, a light drizzle, but enough to make him regret his decision to leave the umbrella at home. He hunched his shoulders and pulled the collar of his jacket closer as the raindrops crawled down his neck. The sky was gray, matching his mood as he thought of Pauline’s face when he told her that he’d gotten a call, that they would have to cancel their plans for lunch. She’d had that spark in her eyes, the kind she had when she knew she shouldn’t be angry but was anyway. They hardly had any time together lately, and though people could be murdered anytime, she would have appreciated it if they wouldn’t do so on a weekend.
Candace, the dispatcher, had told him on the phone that a body had been found buried near Buttermere Pond. He could see the crime scene now; several people were already there, near the path by the grove of trees. He’d already seen his partner’s car parked in the parking lot next to the patrol car that had originally been dispatched to the scene. It was a good thing it was raining. On a sunny August weekend, the park would have been full of people, and they’d have had to handle the gaggle of onlookers that would invariably flock to the scene. As things stood, the park was empty, and the scene held only five—no, six—people, and he recognized almost all of them.
He stopped for a moment, trying to take in the entire scene. Kate and Noel, the patrol officers, were talking to a young, scared-looking Hispanic teenager. He wore a yellow raincoat and a backpack, and clutched the leash of a wet golden retriever. The two crime scene investigators, Matt Lowery and Violet Todd, were hunched by a shallow hole. Matt dug carefully with a small shovel while Violet took pictures with a small camera. Next to them stood Mitchell’s partner, Detective Jacob Cooper, wearing his iconic fedora over his completely bald head and holding a black umbrella. He was a wide-shouldered man, his presence authoritative and imposing. His eyes were icy blue, always alert, and missed nothing. He’d spent the last twenty-five years on the force, and was one of the sharpest detectives ever to work for the Glenmore Park detective squad.
Mitchell approached Jacob, who shook his hand.
“What do we have?” Mitchell asked.
“The kid’s dog found the body,” Jacob said, indicating the teenager. “It was buried about two feet deep. He called us as soon as he realized what it was.”
“He just happened to be walking in the park on a rainy day?” Mitchell asked.
Jacob shrugged. “I haven’t talked to him yet,” he said.
Mitchell approached the grave. It was only partially uncovered, with the body’s feet and head visible, and the rest of the body still buried. Matt, his dark-skinned neck glistening in the rain, slowly scratched away the soil, careful not to disrupt the evidence in any way. Kneeling, he looked even shorter than usual. Matt was one of the shortest people Mitchell knew, and his surname, Lowery, had probably caused him infinite grief over the years.
The air was rank with the smell of rot and death, and Mitchell found himself taking quick, short breaths through his mouth. The body was far from fresh; the blackened, glistening skin made Mitchell’s stomach turn. It was, as far as he could tell, a woman, her eyes and tongue protruding gruesomely. Her hair was partially detached from her scalp. He took a step back, an involuntary gasp escaping his mouth.
“Watch your step,” Matt said, without turning around.
Mitchell looked at the ground by his feet. A splash of yellow sludge was only inches from his left foot. “What is that?” he asked in a muffled voice, holding his wet shirt to his mouth and nose.
“A partially digested breakfast, contributed by the kid who found the body,” Matt answered.
Vomit. Stood to reason. A few feet from the puddle of vomit was another splash. “That one as well?” Mitchell asked, pointing.
“That one belongs to Noel,” Matt said.
“Right,” Mitchell said, and considered adding his own contribution to the lot. His empty stomach was rebelling against the whole thing.
There was a pile of evidence bags by Matt’s feet, most holding dirt. Next to them were several containers in which Mitchell spotted some insects crawling.
“How long do you think you’ll be here?” Mitchell asked.
“Well,” Matt said. “I’ll uncover the body and take some additional insect and soil samples. I’ll scan the surrounding area, but I wouldn’t hold my breath for any evidence I find here. Hundreds of people walk here every day, and this isn’t a fresh crime.”
“Any idea how long ago?” Mitchell asked. “Just an approximation?”
“No,” Matt said shortly.
“Yeah, okay,” Mitchell said. He walked away to join Jacob, who was approaching Noel and the teenager. Noel nodded at Mitchell and Jacob, his eyes serious. Mitchell liked Noel; he was a solid cop and never showed any of the resentment some of the other patrol cops displayed toward detectives.
“I’m Detective Jacob Cooper,” Jacob told the kid. “This is my partner, Detective Mitchell Lonnie. What’s your name?”
“Daniel. Daniel Hernandez,” the kid said. His light brown face was wet from the rain, his black hair flat on his head. His eyes were a bit red, and Mitchell suspected he had cried earlier. His golden retriever sat on the ground glumly, its head on its front paws, its fur a soggy mess.
“Can you please tell us how you found this body?”
“It was my dog that found it,” Daniel said. “Not me.”
“Did you pick up anything, or touch anything before or after you found the body?” Jacob asked, narrowing his eyes.
“No. I mean… maybe I touched some things but not the body. I think. I might have touched it once, accidentally. I’m sorry.” The boy began sobbing again, his eyes on the ground.
Mitchell knelt by the boy, and touched his arm gently. Daniel lifted his gaze, and met Mitchell’s compassionate stare. Mitchell saw the boy’s shoulders sag as he relaxed a bit, identifying a perceived friend. It was a cheap trick. Both detectives knew well that people reflexively liked Mitchell. Jacob would establish the role of the hard, no-nonsense detective, and then Mitchell would swoop in and earn their trust. Though probably, in this case, it was hardly needed. This was just a kid who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Don’t worry, Daniel,” Mitchell said, his voice soft. “You did nothing wrong.”
Daniel nodded, sniffling.
“How did your dog find the body?” Mitchell asked.
“She’s like a stench magnet. If there’s anything rotting or stinking within a mile, she immediately homes in on it. She likes to roll in dead animals.”
“I see,” Mitchell said, queasy at the thought. “So she smelled it?”