Cannibal Jack, page 5
He felt unreasonably tired, considering he’d done little more than push papers all day. The trip out to the Dawson house had taken it out of him but mostly he was tired in anticipation of what came next.
The house was dark at that hour. He’d lived alone since his wife, Carrie, had left him over a year ago. Some women are cut out to be a cop’s wife and some aren’t. Turns out, Carrie was of the “aren’t” crowd. At least they had parted amicably and, from time to time, like at Christmas, they would call each other to check in. It’s not that she didn’t love him, after all. She just didn’t love waiting up to see if he’d be killed on duty every night.
Mark shut the door behind him and leaned against it. “Computer, turn on the living room lights.”
The ceiling fan light and the two table lamps sprang to life and the little speaker responded, “Okay.”
He shoved off from the door then and made for the bar. At the base of the staircase was a small antique bar, set up for him and him alone. It contained all the things he loved: good bourbon, the set of glasses his parents had given him as a wedding gift, a fancy cocktail smoker, and all the fixings. He grabbed one of those glasses and poured three fingers of bourbon, straight up, no rocks, no muss, no fuss. He swilled down one finger of that in the first gulp.
Calmer now, with the heat of the bourbon washing through him, he crossed the room and dropped into his chair. He set the glass on its appointed coaster on the table next to him and pulled out his phone.
No matter where they had gone or what life had given them, Mark, Jake, and Frank had always kept in touch. The thing that bound them was horrible, that was true enough. But it was also comforting to have people in the world who knew you, who really knew you.
Mark scrolled through his contacts until he found Jake’s info. When he tapped it, the phone rudely reminded him that he hadn’t spoken or even texted with Jake in nearly three years. Another failure. He was about to make up for that but it was not a happy occasion.
He tapped the icon that looked like a green receiver and pressed the phone to his ear.
“Mark! Holy shit, it’s you!” Jake laughed long and loud. “And here I thought you were dead or something.”
“Nope. Not dead at all. At least, I don’t think so.” Mark found that a smile had crawled onto his face, unbidden.
“So, how the hell are you? How’s Carrie? Any kids yet?”
Mark took a beat. He hadn’t spoken to Jake since before the divorce. Bad news piled on bad news. This call was not going to be pleasant. “I’m afraid Carrie and I got divorced about a year ago. No kids. So now it’s just…me.”
“Aw, man! I’m sorry to hear that, buddy. Truly I am.”
“How about you? Everything good? Did you ever get married or are you still catting around?”
“Naw, man. I’m still the lone wolf. I have yet to find the woman who can keep up with me.”
“Maybe if you slow down a little, eh?”
“Maybe.”
There was a pregnant pause in the conversation during which Mark took another slug of his bourbon and tried to muster the courage to say what he needed to say. “Listen, Jake….”
“Is it Dewey?”
Another pause. “Not per se.” Mark bit into his lip. That old pain had crept back into his heart, and he felt his pulse in his forehead. “The Dawsons are dead.”
“All of them?”
“Well, the parents sure are. And I’m pretty sure that kid of theirs did it. The bodies were…chewed up.”
Jake whistled through his teeth. “Damn.” There was a pained silence and then, “You’re sure it’s them?”
“Sure I’m sure. I went to the house myself. Blood everywhere. But no sign of the kid. Or Dewey for that matter. I won’t know everything until I get the report in the morning. Deputy Keene probably has the report finished but I didn’t go back to the office.”
“Hang on a sec.”
Mark waited, reached for his glass, realized it was nearly empty. He pulled back his hand. Suddenly, he heard the printer in the back bedroom start up and begin spitting out pages. Startled, he climbed out of his chair and made for the bedroom at a good clip. After Carrie had left, he’d turned that back bedroom into his home office and now, without any action on his part, the printer was spewing out pages faster than he could pick them up.
“That report should be coming out of your printer as we speak,” Jake said into his ear.
“What the hell, Jake?”
“Your deputy did, indeed, finish that report. So, I just grabbed it off the sheriff’s department servers and sent it to your printer. And by the way, you should change the default password on that router of yours.”
“How…?”
“Aw, come on, man. I have six degrees, a top-secret clearance, and the undying gratitude of my government. There isn’t a system in this world I can’t hack.”
Mark couldn’t see him, but he was sure Jake was smiling that toothy grin of his.
“Huh!” said Mark by way of response.
“I looked for the coroner’s report but there isn’t one yet. You might want to get on that.”
“Sure thing.”
“So, looks like they found the old couple dead. Listed as Gabriel and Cherilynn Dawson. Cause of death…preliminary report says…exsanguination. No other bodies found at the scene.”
Mark sighed. “That’s not exactly true.”
“What do you mean, Mark?”
“Well, I told you that I went over there just now. When I was poking around in the basement…a really creepy place, by the way…I found a patch of concrete under a rug that didn’t match all the other concrete. If I were a betting man, I’d bet the farm there’s a body under there.”
Over the phone, Mark heard Jake’s chair squeak. There was a small thud and the sound of a lighter being ignited. “You think it’s Dewey?”
“No way to tell. Could be him. Could be the cannibal kid. Either way, we’ll know tomorrow. I’m going to have the boys recover the body and take it to the lab.”
“Jesus, Mark.”
“Jesus, indeed.”
Jake exhaled loudly and said, “You call Frank yet?”
“I called you first.”
“You’re dealing with enough there. Why don’t you let me call Frank? We’ve stayed pretty close over the years, so I think it’ll go down better coming from me.”
“That’s fine by me. Frank’s going to freak out when he hears all this.”
“Yeah. Poor guy. It took years of therapy for him to deal with this on any level. And now….” Jake audibly took another drag of his cigarette and exhaled. “I just hope it doesn’t put him over the edge.”
“Maybe it’ll offer him some closure. Who knows?” Mark sighed heavily. “Tell him he can call me if he has any questions. I’ll tell him everything I know.”
“Good deal, man. Listen, you get a good night’s sleep and update me when you find out something about the body in the basement. Hell, if you find anything at all.”
“Will do.”
“Later, Mark.”
“Later. And Jake? Lose that connection to the server, huh?”
Mark shut off his phone and went to crawl into his bottle of bourbon.
Frank Rivelli had turned out just about the way everyone thought he would. A stickler for details, almost to the point of being OCD, Frank had become an accountant. He had worked for two smaller companies before being snatched up by a major law firm. He had a sweet—though plain—little wife and one son. His son, Gabe, was smart enough, cute enough, well-behaved enough to pass beneath everyone’s radar, much the same as Frank himself had been in his childhood. Frank was president of the local Jaycees, his wife president of the PTA at Gabe’s school. They lived in a plain little house in a bland neighborhood where nothing much ever happened. In short, every day for Frank was much like the last, except for Thursdays when he saw his therapist. He had been seeing the same therapist for five years and, if it was doing any good at all, he couldn’t see it.
Frank had never told his wife anything about what drove him to therapy, though she was keenly aware of his panic attacks and his intermittent depression. Occasionally, he had bouts of nightmares that woke him in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and sometimes with a scream on his lips. Over the years, he had learned how to fake being okay, even managing to choke back the screams that accompanied his rude awakenings.
It was Wednesday, the day before therapy day and the day after meatloaf day. His wife was in the kitchen, and he was upstairs changing out of the suit he had worn to work. Nothing came close to the comfort of easing out of that suit, carefully hanging it to try and squeak just one more wear out of it before having to take it to the cleaners. Now, he was comfortably wrapped in a pair of sweats, his feet stuffed into wool socks he had gotten for Christmas last year, but which were a tad too large. He yanked at them and hauled them higher, making them fit better at the toes but placing the heel of them at his ankle.
His phone rang.
Frank grabbed it from the nightstand and saw the name. Jake Babcock. He hurried into the bathroom and shut the door.
“Hey, Jake! What’s up?”
“The price of coffee. Damn government won’t even provide us with coffee so we have to put a buck in the jar every time we get a cup. A buck!”
“Given the price of beans today, and the cost of running the machine, the water—”
“Yeah, I know. It just pisses me off.” Jake paused for a moment. “So, how’s it with you?”
“Same old, same old. You know.”
“I do.” Jake drew in a breath, braced himself. Frank spoke in his usual rapid-fire pace, but he didn’t sound like he was in the throes of a panic attack. Jake supposed that was about to change. “Listen, Frank, I’ve got some bad news….”
Frank dropped onto the toilet and put his hand to his forehead. “It’s Dewey, isn’t it?” His hand began to tremble.
“Sorry, yeah. Now, I don’t want you to freak out….”
Frank shot up from his throne and put his hand on his hip. “Why does everybody always think I’m going to freak out. I’m not going to freak out, Jake.”
“Okay, buddy. Okay. So, here’s all I know. They found Mr. and Mrs. Dawson dead in the basement. They had been murdered, obviously. But the murderer didn’t stop there.”
“Jesus.” Frank knew what was coming. He dropped back down on the closed toilet and shivered.
“Their bodies were partially eaten. Buddy, the basement door was locked.”
“Did they find…it?”
“No, pal. No sign of the monster. They think he took the keys and escaped, then locked the door again.”
“And Dewey?”
“No sign of Dewey either.” Frank didn’t say anything for a long while, so Jake added, “You okay, Frank?”
“Yeah. No. Jesus.”
“Jesus indeed. They haven’t gotten the autopsies back yet. And last I heard from Mark, he was going to take a trip out to the house. As soon as I hear anything else, I’ll let you know.”
“Dead or alive, he has to be there, Jake. Dewey has to be there.”
“I know.”
“Well, are they at least looking for him? Are they looking for the monster? What the hell is Mark doing?”
“Frank, calm down, buddy. Mark can’t just put out an APB for Dewey. That would raise a lot of questions, you know? But he is looking. And he’s looking for the monster. Trust me, Mark wants this figured out as much as we do. He was Dewey’s best friend, after all.”
“Yeah, I know.” Frank rubbed at his throbbing temple and sighed. “We should go help him. We were all there. We’re all responsible.”
“Frank, pal, listen…I agree with you. But—and this is a ginormous but—we’re looking for a corpse now. You know as well as I do that Cannibal Jack ate him almost the minute he went in there.”
Frank felt hot tears spill from his eyes and he sniffled. “Probably. But we don’t know. And that’s what’s been killing me all these years, Jake. The not knowing.”
“I getcha. Honest. And Mark’s going to keep us in the loop. Whatever he knows, we’ll all know. But you can’t let this get to you, man. Just hang tight and try not to worry. It’ll all get sorted out one way or another, okay?”
“Yeah.”
“So, just don’t get your panties in a wad, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll call you with an update tomorrow, all right? Or just to check in.”
“Yeah.” Frank swiped a hand over his face and sighed. “Bye, Jake.”
Chapter Six
It was nearly ten by the time Barbara awakened the next morning. Exhaustion had driven her to bed by nine and for all the strangeness, she had slept soundly. Now, her body ached and her back screamed at her. Her legs threatened to dump her to the floor when she tried to haul herself out of bed. There were still so many boxes, such a tremendous amount of their stuff to be put away.
She staggered to the kitchen, certain that she could enjoy a quiet cup of coffee before the girls arrived. They had worked equally hard. Surely, they were enjoying their last morning before school started.
But no! Jennifer was already planted in front of the television. Evidence of her early awakening filled the sink and littered the kitchen table. Shannon, herself a ray of sunshine, was folded neatly over a plate of pancakes.
“How do you do it?” Barbara yawned, reached instinctively for the coffee maker urn.
“Do what?”
“Get up so early after working so hard. And how dare you look so pretty and fresh!” She shot a half-chiding grin at Shannon.
“Mom.” The tone was resigned and annoyed, all at once.
Barbara shook her head and slumped into the chair next to Shannon, sipping coffee and groaning. “I feel like I was hit by a truck. How can you not hurt?”
“’Cuz I’m still young.” Shannon smirked and winked.
“Oh sure! And I’m old and washed up. I get it.”
“I still love ya.”
“Gee, thanks!”
Barbara passed a leisurely hour-and-a-half by taking a long, hot bath and doing her hair. Then she presented herself for the girl’s approval, only to find they didn’t care a wit about how their mother looked.
“Well, I thought that I should at least look decent while we’re out touring the town. I mean, what if we ran into somebody from school or something?”
“So what? I’m the one who has to make a good impression. Not you.” Shannon shrugged dismissively and grabbed her jacket.
“This is a private Episcopal school. The whole family is judged. You know that. And if they think I’m horrible for being divorced or my behavior is too risqué or something….”
“Then screw ’em! We’ll go to public school.”
Barbara cocked her head to one side and groaned. “Shannon, I wish you’d care more about your education. The only thing….”
“The only thing to stop you from becoming like me is a good education and a successful career. Isn’t that right, Mom? That’s what you’re always saying? Well, I get it, okay? I get it. But I still don’t like it. All those plaid skirts and the praying and kneeling and communion. It’s a drag. And all when I could be out there being a normal teenager.”
“Getting hooked on drugs, dropping out, getting pregnant too soon, or worse. Being killed in a gang fight because your shirt is the wrong color. We’ve had this discussion before, too, and I get it. So, we’re not having it again. We’re not. You’ll go to that school, and you’ll do your best. Or I’ll send your sarcastic little butt off to a nice convent in Switzerland and you can be a nice normal teenager from there.”
Cold stare met cold stare and two unyielding females—one in the prime of womanhood, one on the verge of it—remained unmoving.
“Are we going out, or what?” Jennifer’s hands were on her hips, her face pressed into service as a threat.
“Yeah, we’re going out.” Barbara snatched up her keys smartly and shoved them into the pocket of her sweater. She was almost to the door when Shannon grabbed her roughly and hugged her tight.
“Sorry.”
“Me too.” Barbara pulled back and smiled. “Still love me?”
“No.” Shannon stared for a moment longer, then laughed. “Is a frog’s ass water-tight?”
“You’ve got to stop talking like that. It may have shocked your father, but it won’t work on me. It might get you kicked out of school, though. And then it’s off to….”
Shannon held up her hands and shook her head. “I know. I know! The convent, blah-blah-blah.”
Barbara stepped out the door and into the brisk fall air. It smelled of leaves burning and fireplaces steaming fragrant logs. Long spirals of smoke rose from the chimneys of the older houses. Outside the newer ones, electric heaters hummed and purred. As far as she could see, the place hadn’t changed in the past one hundred years. Street after street full of historic houses filled the town, framed by a newer, more useful shopping district. There wasn’t much to the place, that was for sure. But if it was anything, it was quaint.
“What’s that?”
Barbara snapped her head around to see Jennifer standing dead still in the middle of the sidewalk some ten feet back. Her head was cocked to one side and her brow knitted. Barbara brushed the hair behind her ears and listened.
“Cows.”
“They have cows in town? For real?”
Barbara laughed. “Not in town, sweetie. On the farms outside of town. In a place this small, without any highways or anything, you can hear the tiniest sound for miles.”
“All we heard in L.A. was traffic, rap music, and gunshots.” Shannon yawned. It gave Barbara hope.
“All you’ll hear around here are farm animals, birds, and the occasional combine.” Barbara took Jennifer’s hand and hurried her along.
Three blocks east of the house was downtown Rapture. A tiny two-block strip of street, it sported a cafe, an apothecary, and a few antique shops. All festooned in columns and sporting signs declaring the date of construction, the buildings looked untouched by the passage of time.
