Killing Ways

27

The next morning, Ren put a call into Undersheriff Cole Rodeal in Douglas County.

‘Rodeal — could you cast your mind back to your heroic night in the ambulance bay?’

‘Why, I’ve barely moved on from it, I’ve been so busy basking in the glory.’

‘The woman who came in... she was burned, wasn’t she?’ said Ren.

‘She was burn-ing,’ said Rodeal. ‘She’d just poured lighter fluid on herself, she found it on the floor of the truck, and she lit herself on fire.’

‘And you found nothing else out about her — is that right?’ said Ren.

‘Yes, ma’am. Why are you asking?’

‘Nothing other than she was found the same night Stephanie Wingerter disappeared — they both had burns.’

‘Totally different burns,’ said Rodeal.

‘I know, I know. But lighter fluid as an accelerant...’

‘Would it help if you spoke with my wife, Edie? She was around the whole time that lady was at the hospital.’

‘Thanks,’ said Ren. ‘That would be great.’

Ren waited until after work to drive to the Sky Ridge Medical Center to meet with Edie Rodeal.

‘Our Jane Doe,’ said Edie. ‘Yes — she was ninety-three pounds, a serious IV drug user, we found heroin in her system, she was malnourished, she had been beaten, she had broken bones, she had been tied by her wrists and ankles, she had wounds infected with maggots...’

‘The stuff that doesn’t make the newspapers...’

Edie nodded.

‘Any personal effects?’ said Ren.

‘She came in with nothing,’ said Edie. ‘I mean, her nightgown was destroyed when she set herself alight. She had nothing else with her. The young woman had stumbled across her, the gentleman in the pickup stopped to help them.’

‘And did the guy and girl know each other?’ said Ren.

‘No. It was obvious from how they were talking. Or not talking. He tried his best.’

‘Do you think the woman was psychotic?’ said Ren. ‘Is that why she set herself on fire?’

‘We ordered a psych eval, soon as she came in,’ said Edie, ‘but the doctor saw no evidence of psychosis. She refused to speak, so that made any specific diagnosis impossible. She was an abused and broken woman, but he did not believe she was psychotic. He believed she was choosing not to speak.’

‘Why would she have set herself alight?’ said Ren. ‘She was being rescued. She had obviously escaped from somewhere.’ She paused. ‘Unless she was trying to destroy something... an identifying mark, maybe — a mole, a tattoo, bite marks.’ She shrugged. ‘But if she was the victim, why would she do that? Were the burns anywhere in particular?’

‘Mainly her shoulder,’ said Edie. ‘She had poured most of the lighter fluid there. They were full thickness burns. You wouldn’t even be able to tell what might have been there to destroy.’

Weirdness. ‘How did she even get to where she was found?’

‘Like I said, she didn’t speak to us, but—’

A young nurse at the counter looked up. ‘Are you talking about the old lady? I heard her moaning something when I went in at night. Kind of singing in her own way. A few times. I thought she might have been hallucinating.’

‘What was she singing?’ said Ren.

‘Something about tiny fingers pointing at her and about needles. She was distressed. We had to put a lot of lines in.’

‘She was an IV drug user,’ said Edie, dismissively. ‘She was used to needles.’

Ren had zoned out. All she could see were the words she had been staring at for weeks on her Wall of Horrors: words that were written on the napkin taken from Carrie Longman’s jeans: “tiny fingers pointing your way, needle’s pointing to your heart, sharps disposal, sharps disposal, now I know the way we’ll part...”

“Sharps disposal”. That’s quite a medical expression for a song lyric... usually a songwriter, that wouldn’t be their world. Would it?

Was the songwriter moon-lighting: medical person by day, singer by night? This Jane Doe was singing those lyrics six weeks before Carrie Longman was at Manny’s. Was the songwriter someone at the hospital who heard the Jane Doe’s ramblings when she was admitted and later used it in a song? Performed it in Manny’s?

Who was this Jane Doe? What has she got to do with Carrie Longman? Could she have known Carrie Longman? Or known that Carrie Longman was going to be a target?

‘Do you have any amateur singers on staff?’ said Ren.

‘Everyone’s an amateur singer these days, if you ask me,’ said Edie.

‘Anyone who has performed on Open Mic night in Manny’s Bar in Denver?’ said Ren. ‘In any bars?’

‘Not that I know of,’ said Edie. ‘I’ll ask around.’

‘Can you show me any photos of the Jane Doe?’ said Ren.

The nurse opened the file, passed them to Ren.

Fuuuuck.

‘I know,’ said Edie. ‘Not a pretty picture.’

‘And worse than I imagined,’ said Ren, ‘which is impressive.’

The woman’s face was ruined by drugs, hard-living, abuse and neglect. The fire added new scars, new colors and contours. Her neck was horrifically burnt, her jaw, most of her left ear. Her hair had shriveled on that side of her head.

‘A merciful Lord has taken her,’ said Edie.

‘Was there any evidence that she was sexually assaulted?’ said Ren.

‘No.’

‘Do you have anything else on her?’

‘Nothing,’ said Edie.

Ren nodded. ‘OK — thank you for your time.’ She paused. ‘Before I go — do you have the names of the two people who came in with her? They weren’t in the newspaper reports.’

‘I can’t imagine they were,’ said the nurse. ‘Neither of them was the type to want publicity: she was a sweet thing, wouldn’t want any credit for an act of kindness type of girl, and he was just the loner type who’d be like a bug under a looking glass in the sun with any attention on himself. Apparently, the young woman found the lady wandering along the side of the road. And the young man was driving past and stopped to help. The ambulance got lost trying to find them, and the young man took matters into his own hands. She was a pretty girl, and he looked like he was trying to impress her. He might have thought that this was his only shot at ever being a knight in shining armor. You know — like my husband.’ She smiled. ‘Let me go get those names for you.’ She came back and handed them to Ren on a yellow Post-It.

Kurt Vine and Amanda Petrie.

Ren ran them through the system. Kurt Vine lived close to where he picked the two women up. It was an hour from Sky Ridge.

There is nothing to stop me from dropping by. Amanda Petrie lives too far away for tonight.

Ren called Gary as she drove. She got his voicemail.

‘Gary — I have your rock-solid connection. It’s just not one I expected: this time it’s that Jane Doe and Carrie Longman. It’s a weird one: the lyrics Carrie Longman wrote on the napkin are exactly the same as the ones that lady was singing while she was in the hospital. They were the only words that came out of her mouth. Nuts! Call me.’

Ren drove on to Kurt Vine’s house, thinking about tiny fingers and needles.

Creepsville.

She pulled into a clearing at the front of his house.

Griiiiiim.

Everything about it was unmaintained.

How do people live like this?

Her cell phone rang. It was Edie.

‘Ren, it’s me again — I forgot something. It was only when I was talking to one of the nurses on my break about you coming in. She reminded me that after the crash, when I got up after Cole jumped in to protect me, I ran over to the pickup to check on the occupants. The Jane Doe kept saying that something terrible had brought her there, that she did something bad. I told my friend on the night, but I had completely forgotten it until she reminded me just now.’

‘The woman said that she did something bad?’ said Ren. ‘The woman herself?’

‘Yes,’ said Edie. ‘I figured it was a reference to setting herself on fire. And it’s fairly clear that something terrible had brought her to the hospital. But just in case there’s any other angle I’m not thinking about, I thought I’d say it to you.’

‘Thanks,’ said Ren.

So this lady may have been complicit in something. Or have been so psychologically damaged that she simply thought she was complicit in what happened to her. Like she’d been told enough times by her captor that she had done something bad.

Ren walked over to the timber steps up to the porch, and stopped to inspect them.

Steps through rotten wood, cuts up legs, dies of exsanguination.

She went up the steps anyway, holding the shaky railing as she did. She rang the bell.

Sweat was pouring down Kurt Vine’s face, his erection was straining his track pants, hurting him. The stinging, the cramp in his hands — he was locked into it all.

The doorbell rang. Nothing good had ever come to Kurt Vine when he opened his door at night. ‘I came to collect my debt.’ He shivered at the memory.

The doorbell rang again.

‘Not happening,’ he muttered. ‘Not fucking happening.’