Beneath Her Skin Read online

  Poor kid. Kes looked back at the body. “Clothing?”

  “He had been stripped.” Connie returned to the corpse. “Thus far, I haven’t found any fingerprints, saliva, or stray hairs. Nothing under his nails. I’ve swabbed for DNA, but I’m doubtful there’ll be any from the killer. They were careful.”

  “Age?”

  “Mid-sixties would be my guess. But he’s in good shape.”

  Kes studied the man’s hands. Working hands. Tanned arms. She looked back at the shattered face. Who are you?

  “I’ve sent in his prints; hopefully you’ll get some answers in the next couple of days if he’s in the database.”

  Kes leaned in to examine the needle mark. “At this point we’re the only ones, apart from those on the scene, who know the victims were alive before they were shot, correct?”

  “For now, but it will get out. People were there and they’ll be talking. It doesn’t take long for gossip to make the rounds in a small town.” Connie looked to Kes, sensing her concern. “You don’t want the boys to know.”

  Kes looked to the wounds. “How will they live with that?”

  “Our job is to unearth the truth, Detective. We serve the victim.”

  She was right, but Kes’s idea of justice and truth had warped long ago. It didn’t seem the answer was that simple anymore.

  “Let me know if you find anything else.”

  “The only other thing is this.” Connie picked up a metal bowl. At the bottom was a flattened bullet tip. “Not typical for a shooting competition, in my experience.” She nodded to a back wall covered in marksman certificates.

  “Hollow-point?”

  “All three.”

  “That explains no exit wounds,” Kes said.

  “Someone wanted maximum internal damage.” Connie slipped the bullets into a clear evidence bag and handed it over.

  Kes pulled out her phone and took several photos of the man’s face. “Thanks for getting on this so quickly.”

  “Nice diversion from your run-of-the-mill heart attacks,” Connie joked. “Good luck,” she called after Kes in that soft voice that sounded like a mother’s. “Stay safe.”

  * * *

  Kes sat in her car in the hospital parking lot jotting down notes. The start of her to-do list for when the world opened up again on Monday. Lists gave her something to follow. A trail. She loved collecting details. This was where the answers were hidden. Disconnected and arbitrary facts would eventually build and rearrange themselves into pieces that fit together. She looked out the windshield.

  In another month or so, this place would be slammed with tourists looking for “authentic” Atlantic experiences, lobster dinners and whale-watching tours. Murders didn’t bode well for tourist towns. There would be pressure to solve this case, and quickly. Her phone beeped.

  “Morris.”

  “Brownley here.”

  “What have you got?”

  “I found Chester.”

  “Chester?”

  “My partner. We did a chainsaw test. The blade went through the straw no problem but clogged quickly, and now I’m covered in dust and hay. This couldn’t have been done on-site without leaving a mess.”

  Kes flipped over a new page in her notebook as Brownley continued.

  “And the straw plug that came out was shaved smaller than the opening because of the width of the blade, so it didn’t fit tight. To make it tight it had to be cut from another bale. Chester thinks a carving saw might have been used. Longer blade and finer cut. It would have taken time to carve the hole, fit the bodies, shore up the bales, stitch it back together. A lot of time.”

  “How long?”

  “Days. The bales and plugs had to be prepared beforehand.”

  Kes made a note. Somewhere private. Someone with tools and skill.

  “Good job. Chester, too. See you in an hour and a half at the station.”

  “Yes, ma’—”

  Kes hung up. Her fingers touched the pill bottle. It was only four thirty; she should wait another hour. She took the pill. There was still a meeting to get through.

  She revved the engine and rolled down her window. Warm spring air wafted in. She reviewed the list of what she now knew and the longer list of what she didn’t.

  Pulling out of the hospital lot, her mind trying to link the pieces, she nearly cut off an ambulance racing towards Emerg and slammed on her brakes.

  Five

  On her drive back into town, Fat Freddy’s Drop played loudly. The band always made Kes feel good, syncing her heart to its soulful beat. She turned up the hill past the Historic District and pulled up to an old brick building overlooking a lake that provided part of the town’s water supply. Even the police station was quaint.

  It had been at least ten years since she’d been back. A wealthy American tourist had been stabbed on the waterfront and his grieving widow was all over the news. It had looked like a mugging, but Kes knew immediately it was a hit. The wife and her beau were later picked up in Portugal living off a hefty life insurance payout. The last Kes heard, she was still in jail.

  The officer at the front desk was young and greeted Kes with the cheeriness of a receptionist, directing her down the hall to the conference room. She noticed that the entrance had been renovated. The designer’s directive must have been to “make it friendly” for those coming in to report lost wallets and passports and make parking-ticket complaints. But the aesthetic improvements, Kes noticed, didn’t reach beyond the front desk.

  The working offices were the same cramped rooms, worn carpets, scuffed linoleum, and beige walls. She glanced towards Captain Puck’s office, not really expecting to see him there. The lights were off and the bent venetian blinds were drawn. She remembered he liked to keep tight working hours. In early and out at five.

  Kes walked into the small conference room at eighteen-hundred on the nose. Brownley had his back to her and was regaling a younger man, perched on the edge of the table, with an impersonation of her telling him to clear the crime scene while reciting a barrage of things for him do immediately. The young man was laughing hard. She had to admit, it was a pretty good impression. And she’d heard her share.

  “Not bad, Brownley, but I think my voice is lower.”

  The younger man jumped and Brownley turned red. They reminded her of little boys, two class clowns caught by the teacher.

  Kes took her place at the front of the room. It was tightly crammed with a mishmash of tables and chairs that seemed too small. The younger detective couldn’t hold her eyes. He had sandy hair, a scraggly goatee, and was wearing a seventies-style leather coat and a T-shirt printed with binary code and a joke she didn’t get.

  “You must be Chester?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thanks for the chainsaw tests today. Brownley said you thought it might have been a carving saw. Can that be bought at any hardware store?”

  Chester sat up straighter. “More of a specialty market. It’s higher-powered than consumer-grade, and expensive.”

  “Who would use a saw like that?”

  “Loggers, landscapers, artists…”

  “So we can presume the operator had experience with a saw?”

  “I would think so.”

  “How long have you been a detective, Chester?”

  “Two years, not quite.”

  She held his eyes, testing how long it would take him to look away: three seconds. “Brownley.”

  “Ma’am?” He looked directly at her, prepared to take whatever reprimand was deservedly coming.

  “Did you get the membership list for the gun club?”

  “They said they’d have it by tomorrow. The event was hosted locally, but there were other clubs’ members participating. They need some time to pull it together.”

  She set her phone on the table
. “On here are photos of the deceased male, and I’ve requested photos of the female to be sent from ICU. I need them printed and circulated for identification.”

  “Chester’s your guy for that,” Brownley offered. “He’s a whiz with technical. He’s always fixing my computer.”

  Chester shot him a Don’t admit what you can’t do look and Brownley went quiet. “But Brownley’s the one for tracking down anything you need.”

  “Good to know,” Kes said. They had each other’s backs, which she liked. Chester was like a protective brother, even though he was younger. She looked around the bare room. “We’ll need magnetic whiteboards. Let’s get the photos up and build it from there.”

  She looked to her meagre team. “Right now, all we know is that we have a deceased male and a female in critical condition.” Kes held up the evidence bag. “And we have this.”

  Chester stood up to take a closer look “Hollow-points? Those aren’t used in competition.”

  Kes passed the bag over. “So how did they wind up in the weapons? The boys loaded their guns themselves. Who distributed the ammo? Was it a coincidence that a police officer’s son was shooting? How were the boys selected to be first on line? Check with the club about that, too. And why these bullets?”

  Chester considered. “More damage?”

  She felt the surge of energy she got when she was slipping into a case, or maybe it was just the pill kicking in. “And the bales, where did they come from? Who normally supplied the club?” Kes was pleased both detectives were taking notes.

  Brownley looked up. “There’s something I was wondering about when Chester was sawing through the bales…tractors normally have a hay spear to move them around, but a spike would have pierced the bodies.”

  “So the bodies were put there after the bales were in position?” Chester offered.

  “Maybe.” Kes considered the logistics. “The killer would have to be confident he wouldn’t be seen.” She liked that they were starting to ask their own questions. “What do we know about the murders?”

  Chester considered. “They were planned?”

  Kes agreed. “Highly organized. Meticulous. No fingerprints. No DNA. High-risk, in public, and there’s every indication that the killer wasn’t in a hurry.”

  Brownley pulled a sandwich from his pocket, unwrapped a corner, and took a bite. It looked like baloney and processed cheese. He swallowed, then added, “And he knew about the competition, the workings of the shooting range, how to get in and out…he knew the area.”

  “Correct.” Kes probed deeper. “The victims were naked. Why?”

  “Less DNA evidence, more control of the scene.” Brownley wiped away a bread crumb.

  “Total humiliation,” said Chester. “Degradation?”

  “Yes, it was personal,” said Kes. “So, we start by finding out the identities of the victims and who they were to each other.”

  Brownley held her gaze. “Do we have a serial killer?”

  “I don’t know yet. For now, we treat it like any other murder; we do the homework and connect the pieces. The killer wants his work seen. He’s not trying to hide what he did. He sent a message, now we figure out what it means. You have my number. We meet back here tomorrow morning at oh-eight-hundred.”

  The men got up to leave.

  “See you tomorrow, boss,” Brownley said.

  “Kes,” she corrected him. “I don’t like boss.”

  “Night, Kes.” But she could hear his unease at trying out her first name.

  She watched the two officers leave and wondered how long it would take to get them on her side. She figured Brownley was in his early fifties and probably found that hard to admit. Never left town, likely the same friends since high school. Content with what he had.

  Chester was harder to figure out. Early thirties, maybe late twenties. She got the sense he was a lot smarter and more observant than he let on. Either he was nervous, or conceding to his superiors. He didn’t have confidence in his own ideas yet. She didn’t know if either of them was seasoned enough for this case.

  Give them time, she told herself, let them prove themselves one way or the other. It had been a long day. Her stomach growled. She had forgotten to eat again.

  Six

  The pub was packed and there was a disturbing amount of chatter. Kes chose a stool at the end of the bar so she could watch the people in the dining room. A waitress with an air of seniority, who didn’t smile, leaned on the bar.

  “What can I get ya?”

  “Pint of local ale, please.”

  The woman pushed herself off the wooden counter and went to the taps. She walked with a don’t-screw-with-me authority. A younger man leaned over the bar and gave the waitress a kiss on her cheek. She smiled then. Kes watched her beer overflow under the tap.

  This was a local’s bar. It was darkly lit, but cozy. Side booths and small tables offered a sense of privacy. When she walked in, most had glanced up and registered her as an outsider before looking away.

  A man with a striking mop of curly white hair and long sideburns entered, heading directly for the small room behind her that was crammed with VLTs. He had on a heavy cable-knit sweater and rubber boots. She could smell diesel fuel and cigarettes as he passed by. She guessed he was off one of the boats. The waitress set down her beer and a menu. “Kitchen closes in an hour.”

  Kes took a drink and savoured the cold ale. The head was perfect. The place was packed, and she trusted the food would be good, too. She scoured the menu. Fried fish or red meat? She wanted something greasy and filling. Something to help her sleep. There was a tap on her shoulder, and she turned to see Harrison. He was still wearing the same plaid shirt with traces of flour on the sleeves.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi. You following me?” she half-joked.

  “Well, that’d be one way to demonstrate my detective skills.” He pointed back over his shoulder. “Here for dinner.”

  She looked past him to a table near the door where a young boy was eating fish and chips.

  “Your son?” The boy looked happy. “You haven’t told him yet.”

  Before Harrison could answer, a wiry squirrel of man with several days’ worth of scruff grabbed him by the neck and leaned in. “Hey man, we just got in, heard what happened down at the range…” He was half in the bag.

  “Not now, Carp.”

  “But fuck, it’s so fucked up—”

  “Not now, I said.”

  Carp looked to Kes. “Oh, okay, I get it. Good for you, man.” He patted Harrison on the back and winked at Kes on his retreat.

  Harrison looked embarrassed. “Sorry about that. I saw you here and just wanted to tell you, I remembered something else. When Mac and I arrived at the range, there was a tractor parked at the back of the clubhouse. Had a hydraulic bale-loader attached to the front. Never saw it there before.”

  “Thanks, we’ll follow up on it.”

  “Okay.” Harrison waited an awkward beat. “Enjoy your drink. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  She appreciated how he wanted to prove his worth to her.

  “Harrison, you might be able to help me. Can you take a look at a photo to see if you recognize the deceased? Maybe you’ve seen him around? Maybe you’ve crossed paths?”

  Harrison tensed up. “You think this was targeted at me?”

  “Just ruling out possibilities.” Kes brought up the photo on her phone and passed it to him.

  “No, I don’t know him.” He passed the phone back. “Have you asked around in here?”

  She smiled. “People are eating, didn’t quite seem appropriate.”

  “There’s someone here I think can help.” He reached for her phone. She hesitated only a moment before handing it off. It was worth a shot.

  Harrison stopped at his son’s table first and
Mac responded with a disappointed look, before glaring at her. Fair enough, she was intruding on their time. The waitress returned and Kes quickly put in her order, keeping her eye on Harrison.

  He headed to the booth where four older men were the midst of a card game. Kes watched the ease of his approach and how warmly he was greeted. Even though he was a police officer, there didn’t seem to be a divide between him and his community. Not like in the city. He directed his questions to a man who seemed to hold the room with his presence. Harrison showed him the phone. The fellow’s demeanour sobered and he took a long drink of his pint. He said something to the others and they put their cards down.

  Kes took a sip of beer. The conversation had turned serious. Harrison shook the man’s hand and set down a twenty on the table for the next round.

  Harrison returned her phone. “Carl likes to keep track of people. He says it’s Brandon Rakes. Lives off Ivy Path down a dirt road back in the woods.

  “Did he mention if Mr. Rakes has a wife?”

  “Lives alone. He comes in occasionally to the farmers’ market to sell maple syrup. Carl thinks he might have been a draft dodger, but that’s a common belief here when you don’t know where someone came from.”

  Kes’s meal arrived. “You should get back to your son, Harrison. Thanks for your help. Sorry to have interrupted your dinner and apologies to Mac. Hope I didn’t ruin your night.”

  “Dessert will help.” He turned to see Carp leaning sloppily into Mac, who looked like he was on the verge of tears. He met his father’s eyes and Harrison saw his son’s panic and confusion. Harrison charged towards them. “Carp! Get the fuck away from him.”

  “I was just asking him about what happened and did he see the bodies…”

  Mac looked to his father for the truth and, seeing the answer, ran for the door.

  Harrison shoved Carp, who was already off-balance, sending him onto his ass. “You stupid shit—why can’t you keep your mouth shut?” He ran out the door after his son.

  Carp clumsily got up, staggering. “What the hell’s wrong with him?”