A Fractured Peace Read online

  “Good. I found the two arms. The rest of it might be long gone with coyotes, foxes.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t like it. I don’t think this is an animal kill.”

  “I’d say not,” Kyle chimed in. “At least, not one I’ve ever seen has presented like this. This cut here, on the neck, wasn’t made by teeth or claws. I’d say, guessing, now, that we’d be looking at a pretty sharp blade. Though the assailant was a little timid—or weak. Didn’t get clean through on one blow.”

  I immediately thought about my kids, home alone and unaware that some lunatic might be wandering around dismembering people. Unease crept in and lingered in my veins, cold and agitated at the same time.

  “Yeah,” I said. “The pieces I found looked pretty clean cut.”

  “Mine too,” Butch said.

  “He wasn’t killed here, at any rate,” Kyle continued as he stood with a grunt. “There’d be blood, and a lot of it. It would be all over the ground here. We haven’t had any rain, and these remains are not more than a couple days old, at first guess. Decomposition sets in pretty quick outdoors, and with animals … still, the eyebrows, hair, and tongue are well intact and …”

  “All right,” Butch interrupted. “We’re looking for a site, then, with a lot of blood. What else?”

  “Murder weapon and a signed confession, maybe? Let’s take a look at these other pieces, then. Boys, get this head into the body bag,” he told the two stunned-looking medics.

  “Uh,” one started, the name Steve embroidered on his damp blue-striped shirt.

  “Should we wait?” Butch asked. Unsure, like the rest of us, what to actually do. This is Creek County, not some war zone or drug cartel hideout where this kind of violence might be commonplace.

  Kyle shrugged. “I’m no crime scene expert but I think it’s safe to move it all. He wasn’t killed here,” he repeated, “and the longer we leave this—these parts, the more degraded they’ll become.”

  “Okay.” Butch nodded, then turned to me. “Any dried blood of the kind we’re looking for with the pieces you found?

  “No, no,” I said. “What about dogs? Should I call Bill?” Bill was a retired deputy but still ran our local K-9 unit on his own time and dime.

  “Yeah. Better do.” He handed me his radio and the camera. “And hell, we’d better have Elijah call down to the CBI crime lab and get somebody up here ASAP. Do that, then get pictures of the pieces you found.”

  They departed to gather the arms Butch had discovered. Steve and the other ambulance driver approached the head with the body bag they’d brought from the ambulance. I put our requests through to Eli. The squawk of the radio static seemed loud to my ears, and intrusive. Elijah radioed back a few minutes later to say that Bill was on his way.

  I was suddenly exhausted and starving. It was almost seven; I hoped Dan had at least made he and Margo some sandwiches.

  Joe’s voice rang out from the meadow. “Well O’Connor, you sure know how to get a-head.”

  “Go to hell, Joe,” I whispered to myself, while the two medics sniggered. I left to photograph my body parts and let Joe find his own way to the gruesome scene. I was jittery and probably in a bit of shock. Gold Creek is safe, insulated from the horrors of killers like Ted Bundy. Joe could make jokes, but none of this felt like any kind of funny to me.

  Twenty minutes after Joe’s arrival, Bill showed up with his two dogs. We spent another hour and a half looking for the rest of the body, finally finding a half-eaten pelvis and the other leg far from the initial scene. One foot and hand remained missing. Butch agreed with Kyle’s decision to take it all to the morgue, despite the flak we’d likely get from the state crime lab. But it didn’t make sense to leave the parts scattered and in place. We found no blood, no tell-tale footprints, no clothes, no weapon. It was as if our victim’s body had been magicked into the forest, the perpetrator vanished without a trace.

  Chapter Three

  When I pulled into the drive at my house it was after ten and every light was on. I’d stopped by Soo Long’s café to get Chinese food; I was starving and figured my kids would be too. The front door stood open to the screen and I heard shouts of male laughter and swearing inside as I came up on the porch. Dan and his friend Atticus sat playing on the Atari, Space Invaders by the look of it.

  “Hey Dano, Atticus. Where’s your sister?” I asked. “Have you eaten?”

  “Hey Mom,” Dan said, turning around. “Um—I don’t know where she is. I mean, she’s here. Somewhere. You got food? We had some peanut butter sandwiches a while ago but I’m starving. Atticus—you want some Chinese?”

  “Margo!” I called. “Come on, Bear! I got chicken chow mien for you with extra crispy noodles.”

  She didn’t emerge so I figured she was immersed in a current Barbie drama in her room. I set the food in the kitchen, which lay in an open plan beyond the living room. Down the hall to Margo’s bedroom but both it and the bathroom were dark. I got a small flutter and told myself to calm down. She wouldn’t be down in Dan’s lair—she hates the basement. My room? And there she lay, asleep and wrapped in my blankets, her face pale and innocent against the pillows. I sat next to her, putting my palm gently on her skinny chest to feel the rise and fall of her breath.

  “Hey Bear,” I whispered.

  She woke and fixed me with a blurry, brown-eyed stare. “You’re late.”

  “I know. I had to work by surprise. Did Elijah call you? Talk to Dan?” Margo loved Eli and secretly hoped, I thought, to rope him in as daddy material.

  “Yeah.” She sighed deeply. “I missed you. I thought we were going to watch Peter Pan.”

  I had promised her a movie night, since Dan had told me that he’d be at Atticus’ house. Thankfully Dan had changed his plans and hadn’t left Margo alone. I felt a surge of love for my boy, on the verge of manhood but still sweet and willing to look after his sister. How much longer would that last, now that he was almost fifteen?

  “I know. Maybe tomorrow night, okay? Do you want to get up and have some Chinese?”

  She nodded and I stood and stretched. I saw Sunday—so much for my weekend off—and the week ahead packed with work. Butch had Elijah searching the missing person’s files so we could check any reports that might match our victim. Kyle would have a long day tomorrow too, literally piecing together the body for the autopsy. Although it seemed clear enough what had killed him—sharp object wielded with intent—once we had a more accurate time of death and estimate of his age and ethnicity, we could target our inquiries. The body had been brown-skinned, and Gold Creek is pretty damn white. The ethnicities we have the most of here are Mexicans, a few American Indians, and the Asians—I wasn’t sure of their nationality—up at the Shining Mountain monastery.

  Dan and Atticus were in full attack mode on the Chinese food when I returned to the kitchen, and I warned Dan to leave the chow mien for his sister. I joined in with a plate and soon we all sat in front of the TV on our big blue sectional watching an ABC movie of the week—Cannonball Run—starring Burt Reynolds. I felt relieved to be immersed in such a normal scene after what I’d found today. Fortunately, my kids hadn’t even asked what I’d been doing.

  The phone rang at about eleven. I jumped up and went into the kitchen to grab it. Uncurled the six-foot cord and stepped into my pantry to have a bit of privacy.

  “Hello?”

  “Shannon, Butch here. I’ve been looking at the duty roster. We’ve got to have all hands on deck for this homicide. I’m calling a meeting for 9 a.m. Can you get some childcare? We’re gonna have some overtime, erratic hours.”

  “Um—yeah, sure,” I said, scanning my options. I knew this would come up; childcare is my never-ending number one issue. I could ask Dan to look after Margo, but my neighbor Norma was probably a better choice.

  “Eleanor might be able to help out, if you’re stuck,” he said, meaning his wife.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll figure it out. You think we’ll have to call the CBI for an inve
stigator as well as a scene of crime tech?”

  “Depends. Let’s see where we get tomorrow.”

  “Elijah find anything in the MisPers files?”

  “Nah, not for Colorado. I only had him look at recent years, from 1985 back to 1980. We can dig deeper if we have to. Of course, the vic could be anybody. Kyle thinks Asian. So, once he confirms that, maybe the first place to look is up at the monastery. Maybe they’re missing somebody, haven’t thought to report it. Body hadn’t been up there that long. In fact, I’m gonna have you take the lead on the monastery angle. I’ll keep Joe on regular patrol out the county.”

  My stomach wriggled in a mix of excitement, dread, and satisfaction. Joe is openly racist, like many good ol’ boys in town; he wouldn’t be able to handle a case with a minority element. But I’d never led an investigation, never mind a bizarre homicide.

  “Okay. God, Butch, we’ve never had something like this before, have we?”

  “Nah,” he said again. “But you and Elijah and I can put our heads together. If it gets too technical, and we can’t get anywhere within a couple, three days, we’ll get the CBI more involved. They may hand it off to the Feds, anyway, if it’s a foreign national we’re dealing with.”

  We said our goodbyes and I called Norma, apologizing for waking her. She would be able to come get Margo after church, which meant Dan would be on duty ‘til eleven or so. That would work. I realized how tired I was and wished, as I often did, for a husband to share all of this with: the burdens of my day and the responsibility for my kids. But I have never had much luck attracting sympathetic, helpful types of men.

  “Hey Dano,” I said, returning to the kitchen. He and Atticus had polished off the rest of the Chinese; I’m still amazed at how much teenage boys eat, where Margo’s one container would keep her alive for a week.

  He looked at me, all big blue eyes and hair flopping over his forehead. I get a gut punch sometimes when I look at him, he looks so much like my brother Danny.

  “You’re on deck for the morning with Margo, ‘kay? Norma will come by and get her after church.”

  “Mom—”

  “Bud, you guys won’t even get up ‘til eleven. I have to go in, we have kind of a big case. I really appreciate you being there for her today—you too, Atticus. Thanks for changing your plans.”

  “Whatever, okay. But we’re definitely not here in the afternoon. Atticus’ dad is taking us fishing.”

  “Yep, fine.” I started to clean up the aftermath of dinner.

  “What happened today anyway?” Dan asked. “I thought you had the weekend off.”

  I try to insulate my kids from the worst parts of my job. It’s a losing battle, of course, since Gold Creek has only about 7,000 citizens and gossip spreads fast. I don’t like to outright lie to them, though God knows I have, and I do. This time I decided on the PG version of the truth.

  “I found a dead person up on Pinto Ridge trail, at the County Park.”

  Both boys’ mouths dropped open.

  “What?”

  “No way!”

  Margo’s little voice chimed in. “Mama? You saw a dead body?”

  Damn. I hadn’t realized that she was still sitting on the floor behind the couch. Now her head popped up, her face pale with alarm.

  “Yep, yep I did. Not a big deal.”

  “So, like, what was it? Who was it? Did you know them?” Dan pressed for details.

  “I can’t really talk about it. It’s an investigation now; we don’t know who it is and I’m not going to say any more about it.”

  “Mama, are you all right?” Margo asked, her usual perception catching me off guard. She came over to pull on my arm.

  “Yeah, I’m fine, Bear. Thanks for asking.” I smiled and picked her up. She’s too old to be held like that, but she’s still so little and I knew she wanted it. Me too maybe.

  “So, like, was it—”

  “Dan, that’s enough.”

  “Are you going to be on TV?” Atticus asked. “Appealing for public help in identifying the body?”

  Of course, they would find it funny, because it was just like TV, to them. They hadn’t been there. Thank God.

  “No comment,” I said, and went down the hall with Margo. I dumped her on her princess-pink bed and tickled her till she shrieked with laughter and, I hoped, had forgotten about dead bodies. I should have known better.

  “Mama, did you see his ghost? The dead man?”

  “No, Bear, there’s no such thing. You know that. We’ve talked about this.”

  Margo is sensitive in a way that I find extremely troubling. She seems to sense things, like other people’s feelings, and she’s always talking about spirits and things that other people can’t see. I put it down to little kid stuff—I had an imaginary dog until I was eight, I get it—but Naomi, my best friend, says that Margo’s got second sight. Which I so don’t want to be true.

  “Some people think that if you cut a person up in little pieces, they can’t have a ghost, but that’s not true,” she said, matter-of-factly. “A ghost is what happens when—”

  “Margo, that’s enough. You’ll get all excited and won’t be able to sleep. I don’t want to talk about it anyway. Go get ready for bed.” My heart pounded. How could she have known about the state of the body? That it was a man, that he was in pieces.

  She gave me her ‘old soul’ look, as Naomi calls it, where it feels like she’s seeing right into me.

  “Okay, mama. I was just saying.”

  “You’re a silly billy. Brush teeth.”

  Margo scampered off to the bathroom and I sat at the edge of her bed rubbing my head. How could she know about our victim? The gender could be a guess; but being in pieces? I could hear her singing in the bathroom, Elmer Fudd’s ‘kill the wabbit’ ditty from Saturday cartoons. I shivered. She didn’t know what she knew. Or maybe it was just coincidence, and I was overtired. But she spooked me.

  The sounds of Pac Man drifted in from the living room, and the boys’ yells of competition. The moon shone outside of Margo’s window. Her room, scattered with clothes and Barbies seemed so normal, but I felt a shadow of disquiet. We’d never had a gruesome homicide in Gold Creek, not in the ten years I’d been at the sheriff’s office or, I doubted, ever. Drunk driving, bar fights, farm accidents, but not this.

  Margo ran back in and put on her jammies. She smoothed and fussed with her bed until I snapped at her to hurry it up. Immediately I felt bad and sat down on the bed as she settled against the pillows.

  “Sorry Bear, long day.” I pulled her into a hug.

  She snuggled close. I loved her warmth and little girl-ness, even though her sensitivity worried me and half the time as a mother I felt desperately inadequate and afraid for her.

  Chapter Four

  “Okay, everybody, let’s get started. Lot of work to do today,” Butch said.

  We were all assembled in the outer office that the deputies shared.

  “Let’s go over what we know. Kyle did the autopsy last night, so hats off to him for staying up all night. We all could see that this was a probable homicide from the dismemberment of the body. Kyle has confirmed that; the weapon was most likely a small axe, a sharp, large cleaver, or machete-style knife. No murder weapon was found. We don’t have all the body parts either, as you know.”

  “Terrible scene for you guys,” Elijah said.

  “Yeah, yeah, it was.” Butch paused, then continued with the autopsy results. “There was food in the stomach, and this was how Kyle confirmed how long the poor guy had been dead. He was killed not more than four hours after eating the meal—lentil and potato soup or stew. The body itself had suffered quite a bit of degradation from animals, but Kyle seems to think that our victim was killed within a day of when he was actually scattered up there. We won’t get an exact time, but let’s put it at Thursday night through to early Saturday morning.

  “He had quite a blow to the back of his head, but not one that looked fatal. From that injury, Kyle tho
ught that he was struck by someone a lot taller, or who stood above him as he was kneeling or sitting down. Probably right-handed.”

  “What was the actual cause of death, did Kyle say?” I asked. “Was he dead when—”

  “Blood loss while the victim was unconscious. Kyle thought that the neck was probably the first wound,” Butch licked his lips. “As the other cuts were more ‘confident.’ He’s confirmed the victim as Asian, male, between twenty and thirty years old, and about five foot, five inches tall.”

  “Kyle said yesterday that he wasn’t killed up there where we found him,” I mused. “And the killer wouldn’t have dismembered him or dragged him up there in broad daylight, would he?”

  “You think, O’Connor?” Joe sneered.

  “Joe—” I began.

  “People, if we can keep going?” Butch looked tired. “The challenge is we got this outdoor scene and the body presumably carried from the murder site up the trail. He wasn’t cut up where he lay or anywhere near that meadow or in the parking area; no blood. The dogs were pretty interested in an area near the creek, just below that petroglyph wall, near to where the head was positioned, but we didn’t find anything. The killer’s had plenty of time to clean up the scene and the murder weapon’s probably back in the kitchen drawer or wood shed, innocent as you please. We have to be looking for someone physically strong enough to dismember a body; even with a sharp implement that takes some strength.”

  “And some impressive cojones,” Joe said, swinging his feet up on a desk. “Wasn’t no lady, that’s for sure.”

  Although I objected as usual to his lame-ass remarks about women, he was probably right. “And whoever it was had to carry that body up the trail,” I said. “Unless he was killed up there, but we just didn’t find the site. Maybe the killer stood near or even in the creek or something, you know, where the blood would wash down.”

  Joe nodded. “Let him bleed out from the neck cut. Maybe the killer severed the arteries first, and then hacked the neck off.”