Consumed Page 2

  I flipped through the file further, trying to find some of the older information on the investigation. “How many total victims are we looking at, here?”

  “Back in the eighties, they found six women. We have the three now. The bag of bones came out to eight appendages—four arms and four legs, so two more there.”

  “So… eleven that we know of,” Beth said.

  “Appears so,” Ball said. “Though we can’t rule out that this is a copycat. A local could just be recreating what I’m sure has turned into a local legend around there.”

  “Either way,” I said. “There is someone in the area doing it. Where is the main office in Tennessee?”

  “Memphis, three or four hours away from where you guys will be,” Ball said. “It doesn’t make sense to work from there. As I said, Clarksville has a resident agency, but it’s small—Nashville’s isn’t much bigger. You won’t have things like a forensics team, tech center, or anything like that at your immediate disposal—you’ll have to rely on the sheriff’s department or the Nashville PD. Of course, we’ll help you from here as much as we can.”

  “Got it. When are we headed out?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow morning. Jim will get all your travel arrangements taken care of and call you with the details. That’s it. Take your files, get acquainted with the investigation, and call me when you get there tomorrow. You two can take off for the night.”

  Ball ran a hand through his gray hair and crossed his arms over his chest. From his demeanor, I could tell he was waiting on Beth and me to leave. We walked from the meeting room and headed toward our desks. I rolled open my desk drawer and grabbed my car keys.

  “Looks like it’s me and you on the road again,” Beth said. “I’ll try not to almost get killed.”

  I nodded and flashed her a smile. “I’d appreciate that. Guessing I’ll meet you at the airport in the morning sometime.”

  “Sounds good.” Beth grabbed her things from her desk and left the office. I followed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The drive took me the better part of an hour to get home. Over the past few weeks, I had come to enjoy my time fighting through traffic. Since my wife had turned over the car-buying duties to me, I’d liberated myself from the hot-pink hybrid I’d been driving and picked up a nice, new black lifted four-door Jeep Wrangler. I felt that was a good choice as the four-wheel drive would help in the winter months. Karen related my purchase to the first time parents left teenagers home alone and them throwing a party and trashing the house. I’d shrugged off her comments.

  I caught the time on the Jeep’s radio. Karen should have been just starting her drive home. I figured then was as good a time as any to break the news that we wouldn’t be heading to Tampa for the weekend. I dialed her cell phone, and she picked up within a few rings.

  “Hey, I’m just leaving the office now. What’s up?” Karen asked.

  “I call bearing bad news.”

  “Ugh,” she said. “What?”

  “I’m getting sent off to Tennessee tomorrow morning.”

  “Really?”

  “Really, really. We have one out there, and Scott and Bill are on something else.”

  “You and Beth again?” Karen asked.

  “Yup.”

  “What time do you have to leave?”

  “Not sure yet. Jim is going to call with all of my travel arrangements.”

  “Okay, well, find out as soon as you can. I have an early meeting, and if I need to take you to the airport in the morning, I might have to reschedule it.”

  “No, don’t worry about it. I can just drive there and leave the Jeep in the lot.”

  “Do you really want to leave it there for a week or however long you’ll be gone?”

  “Not really. We can swap vehicles. You can take mine for the week, and we can leave your truck there.”

  “I think that’s a better idea,” Karen said.

  “Okay. We’ll talk about it more when you get home. I’m just pulling up now.”

  “Sure. I’ll be home in a bit.”

  “All right. Love you,” I said.

  “Call Kane and tell him.”

  “I will.”

  “Okay, love you. Bye,” Karen said. She clicked off.

  I drove into the driveway of our townhouse and pulled off to the side. I hit the button on the remote control clipped to the visor to lift the garage overhead. The suspension lift on the Jeep wouldn’t allow it to fit inside the garage. I killed the motor, grabbed the file on the investigation from the passenger seat and stepped out. I walked through the empty garage and slapped the button on the wall to close the overhead door. The sound of Porkchop scratching at the door leading from the garage into the house caught my ear. I knelt and pushed the door open. Porkchop let out a few high-pitched whines while he slobbered and licked. I gave him a good petting and shoved him back into the house so I could get inside. Then I walked to the back patio door and slid it open so he could go out.

  I wasn’t looking forward to the phone call to Kane—it had seemed to mean a lot to him that Karen and I agreed to be godparents. While I knew he’d understand that we wouldn’t be able to make it, I didn’t like the feeling that I was letting a friend down. I tossed the case file on the dining room table, took a seat, and dialed Kane. The phone rang in my ear. Kane wasn’t one for long, drawn-out stories—I would give it to him straight.

  “What’s up, Hank?” Kane answered.

  “Not much. I won’t beat around the bush. I just got word I’m getting sent off to Tennessee tomorrow morning. Karen and I aren’t going to be able to make it down this weekend.”

  “Ah, that sucks.” Kane paused for a moment.

  I could hear him speaking with someone else on his end of the phone.

  “We had this giant thing planned out at the house,” he said. “Now I’m going to have to call everyone and tell them it’s off.”

  I scratched at my forehead. “Sorry. I feel like shit. There’s just no one else that can go, though. The other two field agents are in Louisiana on something else.”

  “Oh, man. Callie is going to be pissed. She had family coming from out of state. We had a band booked.”

  I let out a breath and rocked my head back. “I apologize. My hands are tied here.”

  I heard him chuckle, along with what sounded like a woman laughing.

  “I’m just busting your ass, Hank,” Kane said. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Huh?” I asked.

  “There wasn’t anyone coming over other than you, Karen, and maybe a few people from the station—Bostok and the guys. We can do it anytime.”

  “You had to screw with me. I felt bad enough as it was.”

  “Well, Callie wanted me to give you shit for bailing. She’s standing right next to me.”

  “Hi, Hank!” a woman’s faint voice said.

  “So what’s the case you have to head out for?” Kane asked.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” I said sarcastically. “Just some dismembered bodies and a possible cannibal.”

  “Ugh,” Kane said. “You’re serious?”

  “Yeah, and that’s the glossed-over version.”

  “Okay, why don’t you get a hold of me when you get back, and we’ll figure something out to try to do this again.”

  “Without a doubt. How are Callie and John doing?”

  “Callie is good. John is a handful. Sleep is now a luxury instead of something that’s expected. My dad and stepmom were down here for two weeks, helping out. Callie’s parents are coming next week. So far, so good, though. He hasn’t exploded or spontaneously combusted or anything yet, so I guess we’re doing our jobs.”

  I smiled. “We’ll get down there as soon as we can.”

  “No problem. We’ll be here.”

  “Okay. Tell Callie I apologize.”

  “Yeah, yeah, give me a ring when you’re done in Tennessee. Catch the asshole,” Kane said.

  “Sounds good. We’ll see you.” I hung u
p, let out a breath, and tossed my cell phone on the tabletop. Porkchop had finished with his outside business and was sitting next to my leg, staring up at me, wanting to be fed. He got his dinner, and I retook my chair at the kitchen table. I figured I had a good twenty minutes to look over the investigation file before Karen walked in—I would go over everything in finer detail after she went to bed. My wife wasn’t a fan of me looking over case files at the house or of herself seeing what was inside of them.

  I popped the file open and spread the contents across the table. The photos and related content from the most recent victims went off to the left, the older victims and associated information off to the right. I looked through what we had on the two recent women that we had identification on. I started with Brittany Colwell, and the information was slim: driver’s license photos and rap sheets that showed multiple arrests for drugs and solicitation. I saw no friends or family interviews, no information regarding where specifically she had last been seen, no cell phone or banking information. I moved on to Rhonda Oakley, who had even less in her stack of papers than Brittany did.

  I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed Beth. She picked up right away.

  “Hey Hank, What’s up?” Beth asked.

  “Hey. Are you someplace where you can look at the file from the investigation?” I asked.

  “I’m actually looking at it now. I’m supposed to meet Geoff at the theater in, like, an hour, so I figured I’d dig in on it a bit before I had to leave. See something?”

  “No. Nothing, actually,” I said.

  “Yeah. I’m looking at the same lack of anything as you are. I’m guessing that’s why this guy is choosing these women as victims. Nobody knows if they go missing, and unfortunately, it doesn’t seem that anyone cares when they do.”

  “There’s just nothing here aside from priors and driver’s license photos.”

  “Yeah, they seem pretty far off the grid,” Beth said. “Drug problems maybe. Living on the streets, who knows. The Nashville PD or arresting officers from some of their priors might be able to provide us a bit more insight.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said.

  “Okay. Hear anything from Jim yet on our travel arrangements?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “I’m sure he should be getting everything over to us shortly.”

  “All right, I’m going to get back to looking at this for a few minutes until the wife gets home. I’ll shoot you a message if something pops out at me, which I doubt. Enjoy your movie, and I’ll catch you in the morning.”

  “Sounds good,” Beth said.

  I hung up and went back to examining photos of dismembered bodies.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Richard stood outside the driver’s door of his old light-blue Datsun pickup truck. He’d been waiting the better part of a half hour, but he knew he was early when he arrived. He was parked next to the vacuums of a rundown car wash in Nashville. That area of town was known for its street-walking prostitutes, and Richard knew just what time they started coming out.

  “No one ever looks for missing whores,” his father always used to say.

  The truck was fitted with a windowless cap, the back glass replaced with a piece of metal he could padlock to the tailgate. Richard’s mother was in the back—he didn’t like leaving her home alone.

  “There’s two down the street,” Richard heard his mother say.

  “Shut up. They’ll hear you.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  Richard banged his fist against the side of the truck.

  Richard looked up and down the sidewalk and spotted two women, clearly prostitutes, stumbling toward him from down the block. He waited patiently and adjusted the large hunting knife on his belt to the side and under his shirt—out of view for the most part. The pair of women noticed him standing there as they came up the sidewalk. They walked toward him and stopped before him.

  “Looking for a date, hon?” the one on the right asked. She reached out and twisted his long, greasy black-and-gray hair between her fingers. “I like big guys.” She smiled at him.

  “I might be looking,” he said. Richard looked her up and down. The woman was a platinum blond though it could have been a wig. She wore a leopard-print skirt and fishnet stockings. Her top was pink and loose, exposing her thin right shoulder.

  “We can give you a deal if you want both of us,” the other said.

  Richard’s eyes went to her. That woman was shorter than her friend, with jet black hair. Her eyebrows were thick and dark—the right one had a small gap at the corner that Richard assumed to be a scar, probably from being punched by a John. She wore some kind of faux leather skirt, tall black boots, and a dirty white top.

  Richard said nothing.

  “Well, what’s it going to be, honey? Are you looking for a date or not?” The one with the leopard skirt asked.

  Richard looked down at the women. The single light overhead, above the vacuums, lit the two women’s faces. Both women’s eyes were glazed over, and he noticed they both had track marks on their arms.

  Richard didn’t respond to the woman’s question.

  “We ain’t got all night. You want us or what?” the platinum blond asked.

  “Don’t suppose you have any bigger friends? You two are a little thin for my tastes.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” the blond said.

  Richard smirked, thinking that the hooker had a point.

  “Yeah. How much for the both of you?” Richard asked.

  The two women looked at each other. “Two hundred for both of us, and we’ll do whatever you want,” the dark-haired one said.

  “What are your names?” he asked.

  “I’m Candy,” the blond said. “This is Peaches.” She pointed at the dark-haired woman.

  “Well, Candy, Peaches, get in the truck,” Richard said.

  “Show us the money first,” the dark-haired one, Peaches, said.

  Richard reached into his pocket and removed his wallet.

  “Don’t you give those whores any money,” he heard his mother say from the back of the truck.

  Richard didn’t respond. He looked at the two women—they were still waiting to see the cash. Richard pulled two hundreds from his wallet and held them up. Candy, in the leopard skirt, reached for the money, but Richard pulled it away.

  “You get paid after. I have a place right up the street. Hop in,” he said.

  Richard opened the driver’s-side door and got behind the wheel. The two women rounded the front, went to the passenger door, and got in. Richard pulled from the lot and made a left.

  “Do you have any coke?” Peaches, sitting closer to him, asked.

  “No,” Richard said. He didn’t look at her and continued driving.

  A few minutes passed without any words being said.

  Richard reached over and squeezed the thigh of Peaches, then he reached over farther and did the same to Candy. The two women looked at each other in question.

  “Where is your place again?” Candy asked.

  “Just up here a ways.” Richard scratched at his long beard.

  Peaches, sitting directly next to him, ran her hand up his leg. “Just pull down one of these side streets. We can do it there.”

  “No,” Richard said. “What the hell kind of name is Peaches? Do you think that name is cute or something?”

  “It’s just a name,” she said. “Why? You don’t like it?”

  “I never understood why whores and strippers always wanted to give themselves stupid names. You know, if you’re a whore and your name is Nancy, why not just be Nancy the Whore? How is Peaches the Whore any better of a name?”

  The woman went quiet. Richard noticed her looking at her friend from the corner of his eye. He stared back out of the windshield and saw the sign for the freeway approaching. He put on his turn signal to get in the lane for the on ramp.

  “I thought you said your place was just up the street?” Peaches asked.

  “A
few exits up,” Richard said.

  “We didn’t know we’d be going somewhere far. We don’t really do that. You know, I know a place that’s close that we can go to. Don’t you want to get this party started?” Peaches continued farther up his leg with her hand.

  Richard turned his head and looked her in the face. “I’m paying you. You’ll go where I say. It’s probably in your best interest to just shut up.”

  “This doesn’t feel right,” Candy said.

  “Candy,” Richard said, “shut your mouth.”

  “Just pull over and let us out,” Peaches said.

  “No.” Richard slowed for the right hand turn onto the freeway ramp.

  “No? What do you mean no?” Candy asked. “Pull over and let us out.”

  Richard turned his head and looked at her. “Did I stutter? I’m not pulling over.”

  “Let us out, you asshole,” Peaches said and swatted her hand into his chest.

  The blond, Candy, reached into her purse for something.

  He pulled to the side of the road, halfway up the on-ramp. Richard checked his mirrors—no other cars in sight. Candy reached for the door handle, and Richard reached for the hunting knife on his hip. She pulled the handle—the door didn’t open.

  “It won’t open. Open the door! Let us out, you freak!” Candy said.

  Richard brought the hunting knife up and plunged it into Peaches’s chest. He stared at the blond, Candy, as he did it. He pulled the knife out and stuck it in again. Peaches’s neck jerked, and her eyes bulged in shock. Her hands trembled as she reached for her chest. Candy screamed and pawed at the passenger door. Richard reached over Peaches and began stabbing Candy. The first stab caught her in the side—deep enough where Richard figured it had hit something vital. The second stab slammed through her chest and out her back—the knife’s blade passed clean through the woman and stuck into the foam of the truck’s vinyl bench seat. Richard continued stabbing until Candy stopped moving.

  Richard yanked the knife from her chest and pulled it across Candy’s throat. Her neck opened, spilling blood down her chest. Then he rested the knife on his thigh, put the truck in drive, and continued up the freeway ramp. Beside him, Peaches was still moving. Richard flipped on his directional and merged onto the freeway. He picked up the knife from his leg and ran it across her throat as he drove. The lights overhead on the freeway lit the cab of his truck. The front of Peaches’s white shirt went wet and red.