Darkhouse

THIRTY

Stinger’s Creek, North Central Texas, 1992

Ogden Parnum closed the plastic folder and watched a hand print of sweat shrink and dry on the surface. He stared at the space between two photos on the wall ahead of him, then hung his head until his neck strained and blood pulsed at his temples. He ran trembling fingers over and over through his thin hair. Then he hit the intercom.

‘Marcy, I think we need to call someone to the station. Come in to my office.’

‘Sure, Chief.’ Ogden Parnum had worked with five deputies over the years, but none was as bright and efficient as Marcy Winbaum. He knew now that she was the last person he needed on this case. And the suspect he was forced to call in was the last person he wanted to see.

‘Isn’t it exciting?’ she smiled, pointing at the lab report.

‘Take it easy there, Marcy. I think it’s all a bit premature and there could be a whole ’nother explanation.’

‘Well, I’ve got something else I’m excited about, if you’re willing to listen, boss. I’ve been going through the rest of the Crosscut Killer file. And uh, then I cross-referenced it with the Janet Bell file, the body found in ’88, the prostitute also went by the name of Alexis? I think she’s one of them, sir.’

‘She’s a gunshot wound, Marcy.’

‘OK, bear with me on this one, bear with me. The body of Mimi Bartillo shows up the same year, our “first victim”, puncture wounds to the kidneys, six slashes to the ribs. The body is left out for us to find. Then eight months later, the body of Janet Bell, buried, badly decomposed, an apparent gunshot wound to the kidney. But, look at this.’ She pointed to one of the crime scene photos. ‘On her satin skirt. If you look closely, you can see a triangular tear in the fabric.’ She looked at him. His face was blank. ‘What if it wasn’t a gunshot wound, but a wound from another weapon, an arrow? A three-blade arrow. Triangular. I’ve checked with the M.E. and he thinks it’s a definite possibility. When a body has been hit by a projectile at high speed, a wound opens up and lets us know what happened – we can tell a stab wound from a gunshot wound, because of the type of damage done. But if the body decomposes over a time, well, it’s harder to tell, it gets kind of…mushy or whatever.’ She blushed. ‘I guess the, uh, flesh around the wound would be…compromised.’ She nodded. ‘The triangle on the clothing here is the key.’ She paused. ‘I think Janet Bell was the first victim, sir. She was buried, but then the killer kinda liked the idea of leaving the bodies out, so that’s what he started to do.’

‘But Bell wasn’t shot in the leg, so how’s that her skirt would be cut?’

‘OK. Imagine that I’m running in a satin skirt. Chances are the wind would catch it and it would blow up. Remember Marilyn Monroe over the vent? Well, what if Ms Bell was running away from her killer, the skirt blew up and whoosh, the arrow goes through the fabric, penetrating her back?’

‘Jeez, Marcy,’ said Parnum. ‘That’s a bit of a leap, don’t you think?’

‘I know you hate me interfering and all, but I really think I’m on to something here. So far, our guy has killed Mimi Bartillo, ’88, Cynthia Sloane, ’89, Tonya Ramer, ’90, Tally Sanders, ’91 and now our Jane Doe. And, I think Janet Bell, ’87. That’s six women, boss. And if the evidence today—’

‘But didn’t you think Rachel Wade, that barmaid, didn’t you think she was one of the Crosscut Killer’s too, when Bill Rawlins was locked up for that?’ As soon as he mentioned the case, everything he had been working on over the last four years crystallised into one depressing reality.

He managed to keep talking. ‘You’re new to this, Marcy. Stay focused, all right? Let’s not jump the gun.’

Her smile faded and as soon as she took the details from him, she walked out, back to the file open on her desk and the yellow pad beside it. Parnum followed her, flipped the file closed and pushed it under his arm.

The interview room of the Stinger’s Creek Police Department was small and windowless. Light came from a dim bulb that hung loosely from the ceiling, barely covered by a dusty green lampshade. It cast grim shadows.

‘Will you wait here to speak with the Chief?’ said Marcy.

‘I will speak to the Chief, ma’am, yes I will. But I’d like to speak to him alone.’ Duke Rawlins sprawled himself on a metal chair with his back to the door, spreading his legs wide, tilting his pelvis upwards. Marcy Winbaum turned and left. Parnum stood in the doorway and stared at the man sitting in front of him. Beads of sweat sprang up across his brow. He wiped them away with a handkerchief pulled from his pants pocket.

‘Remember me?’ Duke turned around and leaned an elbow over the back of the chair. Parnum shut the door behind him, then pushed against it until he heard a click.

Duke raised his eyebrows and smiled. ‘What am I again? Your little bitch, your little faggot, your baby boy, your tight-ass whore, your, oh yeah, your, oh yeah, your buckin’ bronco?’

‘I got a report from the lab an hour ago,’ said Parnum, dropping his voice to a hiss, ‘to say they’ve matched the paint on our Jane Doe’s shoe to a Dodge Ram pickup. And Jesus Christ Almighty there’s only one that I know of round here and it’s sitting in your yard.’

Duke looked at him calmly.

Parnum slammed his fist onto the table. ‘Don’t you get it? Other people know. Marcy, the lab…we’ve found evidence!’

‘Well, here’s the thing,’ said Duke, leaning on his palms, pushing himself close, ‘you can damn well UNfuckingfind it.’

Parnum recoiled. ‘Are you out of your mind? I can’t, I…’

‘Now let me think. What about Mrs Police Chief and the baby Chiefs? They like to know your secret? What about Reverend Ellis? What about the amazing grace of the First Baptist Church Choir?’

Parnum remained silent. Eventually he spoke. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘No – you’ll DO what you can do.’

‘You’ve murdered five women.’

‘D’ya think?’

Parnum swallowed.

‘Oh, don’t you judge me – don’t you dare judge me, you motherfuckin’ son of a bitch.’

Waves of nausea swept over Parnum. He gripped the table edge.

‘You were there Friday night—’

‘If I was there Friday night, Chief, how could I have gone all-in against your poker of sevens?’

‘I wouldn’t play poker with a—’

‘You wouldn’t play poker with me?’ He snorted. ‘Anyway, wasn’t just me. Donnie Riggs was there too. We wouldn’t have had any beer if it wasn’t for Donnie.’

‘Sweet Jesus. Donnie Riggs. We never—’

‘I guess your life’s about flashin’ before your eyes right now, big boy.’

‘You sick son of a bitch.’

‘Me?’ Duke laughed loud.

‘I know about Rachel Wade,’ said Parnum. ‘You let your uncle go to jail…’

Duke’s eyes narrowed. ‘What? Do I look like a judge to you? Do I look like twelve angry men to you? Or,’ he stopped, ‘maybe I look like the fat fuckin’ donut boys who worked the case. You got the wrong guy. And then, all I could do was support him. I went to that trial every day—’

‘Sat there and listened to the details of your—’

‘Watch your mouth now. You watch what you’re sayin’ there. Wouldn’t want to make any accusations you can’t back up, now, would you?’

‘Bill Rawlins was a good man,’ said Parnum.

‘Never said he wasn’t.’

‘His handkerchief was found in that girl’s mouth…’

Parnum shook his head. ‘You let him die.’

‘I will say to you again. I let nothing happen. I wasn’t there in that prison cell when he clutched his heart and fell to the floor. If I was, I would have been pumpin’ his chest a lot quicker than the retards who found him.’

‘You are one—’

‘Shh, shh, shh, now.’

The room was silent. Outside, Marcy Winbaum banged a drawer shut. The phone rang.

The air conditioning hummed.

Duke spoke. ‘Do you think you’re a good man, Chief? Do you?’

‘Uh, I, uh…’

‘DO you?’ boomed Duke. ‘Do you?’

‘Yes.’

‘You know, I knew that. I knew that’s what you thought. Which makes this all the more pleasurable.’ Duke thrust his crotch out and grabbed it with his hand. ‘This way, it’s win-win for me. I get to keep on keepin’ on. I get the goddamn purity of the pleasure that that brings. And for my bonus round, I know that every night when you lie in bed you will be thinkin’ about me. And this time, you won’t be gettin’ no woody in your shorts. You’ll be gettin’ the cold sweat of fear soakin’ into your sheets.’

Parnum was rigid. Duke eased himself up and bent low into his ashen face. He leaned in and kissed him hard on the cheek, trailing his tongue down his jaw. Parnum shuddered.

‘My ass may have been yours at one time, Parnum…but now your ass is well and truly mine.’ He kicked back his chair and walked out of the room.

‘Nothin’ to see here,’ he said to the deputy as he stepped into the cool night air.