Page 12 of A Curse On Black Lake
I give him a deadpan stare, and he throws his hands out. “Come on, man, you know I have to ask you this,” he mutters.
“I know,” I sigh. “No, I have never seen her before.”
He writes it in his notebook. Wyatt Sawyer is my cousin, probably my only friend left in this town, and we don’t talk much, not since my dad died, and that’s my own fault. But of all people, he knows I would never,couldnever do something so heinous.
“Alright, well, when the crime scene tech is done, we’ll be gone,” Wyatt says.
I watch Deputies Hoyt and Connor lift the woman into a body bag. This has happened before. In fact, it’s been happening for years, and we’ve never been able to catch the son of a bitch.
“We might ask you to come to the station,” Wyatt says.
“Why? I had nothing to do with this,” I snap.
Wyatt gives me a funny look and writes something down.
“Do you have anything else? I need to get back to work, and y’all need to get off my damn land.” At this rate, I’ll be working in the dark.
Wyatt’s jaw twitches. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Killian,” he says.
I lift a shoulder. It has been a while, and I stopped caring. I stopped caring about a lot of things since Dad died. I stopped caring about how people come and go from your life because it takes effort to stay.
“I don’t expect nothin’ from anyone, cousin,” I mumble.
Wyatt doesn’t respond, and I spin around, going back to Daisy.
Dad’s words roll around in my head, and I can’t help but wonder if this is what he was talking about. But how would he have known that?
Shaking myself from the thought, I move on with the rest of my work for the day. My mind keeps spinning around the woman on my property, and the tug in my gut tells me it’s only going to get worse. Why my land? Why the pose, and why was her hair dyed? I’ve seen this perp’s work before. If it’s the same murderer, the flower is a dead giveaway, but this time was different, and it’s not only the hair.
Killian, 5 Years Ago
“We have a 10-54d up on Route 96 East on the north side by Black Lake. It … looks like the one from last month,” Deputy Hoyt says over the radio.
I take a deep breath, grabbing my gun, holstering it, and dropping my hat on my head before I head out to the crime scene.
When I arrive, I leave my lights on and hop out, crossing the street parallel to the lake. Deputy Connor is looking at the body as he walks the scene, taking pictures.
My stomach knots. Hoyt was right. It’s the same guy. He’s got her posed, a flower in her hand, and her throat is purple, likely strangled.
“Where’s Wyatt?” Hoyt asks me.
“He’s on his way. He wasn’t on duty tonight.”
Walking around the dump site, I look for footprints, or evidence of some kind. But as always, there’s nothing to find. And if we do find something, the weather or animal life destroys it, so it’s unusable.
I want to catch this bastard. I’ve been working tirelessly trying to get more than his signature. His motive eludes all of us. Every woman is different, with varying body structures, hair, and ethnicities. And never any evidence to work with other than what we can see.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I answer it, already knowing who it is. He should be asleep right now.
“Hey Dad,” I say.
“Son? When are you coming home?” he asks.
“I’m on night shift tonight, Pops. Remember?” I ask him.
It’s quiet for a moment. “Oh, yeah, I guess you did tell me that. Well, are you going to be able to help me move cattle tomorrow?” he asks.
I groan silently, looking up at the night sky, something that I get peace from. But tonight it’s offering anything but. “Yeah, I’ll help you,” I tell him. And completely disregard the fact that he has three ranch hands who work for him.
