Ten til Twilight Chapter 1 part 2
Note: I know there's too much dialog in a row between Robin and Finna, I just don't know how to fix that yet, so please bear with me.
* * *
It was about freaking time. He knew the authorities were probably seething at the publicity, but personally he wanted to buy the media a beer. Panic was a wonderful thing.
He leaned back in his recliner, popping the lever to bring the footrest up. It was 10:30 PM and he was ready for a break. Tonight it was time to celebrate. He raised his beer in salute to the chaos on the muted television. With spoken communication smothered by the remote, the breathless reporters, red-faced police, and thrill-gawking bystanders looked like so many ants scurrying around a terminally damaged anthill.
He took a long sip of his beer and cradled it back in his crotch. He really needed an end table. Maybe he would take care of that tomorrow. He had been so worried that the building permit would never go through. He had sweated through all of May, June, July, and now August waiting for the work to resume so his girls could be found. He shook his head, thinking to himself. How much of his work had been delayed by bureaucratic red tape over the years? He shuddered to think of it. It had been a nightmare that just kept recurring ever since his teenage years. His mind dreamt up unimaginable beauty, with his hands he brought that beauty into being, and then it was left to rack and ruin while bureaucrats with their one-dimensional minds sat behind chipped particle-board-and- formica desks and failed to move papers. He found himself wondering if bureaucrats who approved permits were habitually late to the office. He sighed and felt the tension finally leave his body. Shoulders rippled, then released, then the swell of hard muscles in his torso smoothed. Now the wait was over and he could breathe again. He took another sip of his beer and felt the blessed alcohol bathe his brain. He pressed the volume up on the television remote up as the screen changed back to the local newscaster.
“Again, and for those of you just tuning in, this afternoon workers at the long-awaited Cornhill Creek Construction site made a grisly discovery. As you may know, the land was planned for a subdivision but then was bought out recently by the ‘Families Forward’ organization world headquarters. The remains of what may be as many as eleven young women, in varying states of decomposition, were found this morning as workers began clearing the land for construction. The first skeleton, found with a cord tied in six knots around her neck and described as wearing a short top and mini-skirt, was found when a backhoe inadvertently lifted it from where it lay under brush and other debris piled there last fall. Our own Sally Hinton has been on-scene since the discovery this afternoon. Hinton was able to interview the backhoe driver and other prominent players in today’s events at Cornhill Creek.”
>i>A cord with six knots! He jumped in his chair, nearly upsetting his beer. Were the media crazy? How had the police ever let that information slip out? It was better than he had ever hoped for. This truly was the one. Now if only his other sites could be found. Maybe he would have to find a way to hurry them along.
The scene on the cheap black Sony-knockoff TV changed to a bottle-blonde reporter standing in front of the large mountainside clearing cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape. The interview must have been conducted earlier in the day, he mused, seeing the late-afternoon sky with its roiling clouds looking ready to burst in the background. The reporter was flanked by uniformed police officers going about their duties, workers in grimy yellow and orange hardhats, and curious onlookers. In the background, a bulldozer being directed by men in hardhats was moving brush carefully. The camera zoomed in on Hinton.
“I’m Sally Hinton, reporting from what was going to be the site of the new Families Forward World Headquarters. Today was to be the groundbreaking, complete with Families Forward officials and a ceremony. Also present are concerned citizens, mostly college students, protesting the controversial organization. With me now is Robert Barring, a backhoe driver working on the construction site. Mr. Barring, what kind of a day did you expect when you came to work this morning?”
Barring looked vaguely Italian. He wondered if the name had been Anglicized. Barring was wearing a dirty-looking orange plastic hardhat though he was more than 100 meters from the nearest bulldozer. Maybe he slept in the thing. Barring wiped sweat from his brow with the tattered cuff of his red and white plaid cotton button-down shirt. It had definitely seen better days. So had Barring. “Just the usual, I mean, we was just supposed to start clearing away the brush that we cut down and piled last year, then dig the pit for the foundation.” Barring shifted, uncomfortable at being the center of attention. Thunder rumbled in the distance and he glanced at the low-lying, purpling clouds.
“What happened as you started to clear the brush piles?”
Barring looked down and collected himself, then looked back up to Hinton and spoke. “I started on one of them smaller brush piles, I mean, picking brush up and taking it over to the dumpster to be hauled away.”
“And what did you find when you scooped up the brush?”
Barring looked green, his face suddenly slack and sallow. “Some turquoise fabric was under one of the piles and it caught on the teeth of the bucket and there was, I mean, I thought it was a branch sticking out of the cloth and a big clump of dirt and then the clump shifted and I saw it had teeth and then I, I kind of jumped in my seat and I hit the lever by accident and the bucket jerked and the clump, I’d seen it was really a skull, the skull, it dropped and I could see the branch was an arm.” Barring shuddered.
“And what happened to the skull?”
Barring was sweating freely in the close, hot air. “It cracked I guess, that’s what Giancolo said, he was working on the ground nearby when it fell. I didn’t want to look at it. I got out of my ‘dozer but quick. Then Dempsey, he was working on another brush pile nearby and there was bones there too and all of a sudden, it was like we was finding bones under each pile. I really want to leave now. I don’t want to be here, I just want to get home to my family” Barring bolted and the microphone briefly caught the sound of retching off-camera.
Hinton turned back to the viewing audience while walking sideways toward a tall woman who had just approached the line of reporters. The woman handed an empty water bottle to a fellow worker and received a full one in return. She was dressed in black cargo pants and a black sleeveless v-neck shirt with FORENSICS written above the left breast in white. Her long chestnut hair was pulled back into a thick braid.
Hinton spoke again. “A grisly discovery by Mr. Barring, but the day was still young. More bodies are said to have been found, decomposing in what otherwise could be described as an idyllic setting. Foreman Tony Giancolo alerted the police immediately and the area was sealed off for investigation. Soon to arrive on the scene was Dr. Finna Jorgensen, forensic anthropologist for the Southern Colorado region.” She indicated the woman she had just approached. “Dr. Jorgensen, one of the jobs of a forensic anthropologist is to establish the age and identity of victims of foul play. What can you tell us about these bodies?”
“Not much at this time, I’m afraid.” Jorgensen took a drink of water.
“You all look pretty worn out. How is the heat affecting your work?”
“It’s certainly not helping anything, but I’m more worried about rain. I’d like to say thank you to whomever sent out the bottled water.”
“Dr. Jorgensen, how many bodies have been discovered?”
“Right now as you see we have two crews working to remove the remains. It’s been pretty intense work and I’m not sure of the count.”
“How old would you say these women were, Dr. Jorgensen?”
“Well, Sally, I have to point out that it’s too early in the investigation to say whether these persons were male or female. Our main concern is to make a detailed record of the scene and remove the remains in an orderly, careful manner. It’s very important that we don’t do any further damage to the bones or any possible evidence -- and as you can see from the clouds, we’ve kind of got a deadline.”
“You said that it’s important not to do any further damage to the bones. How will the cracking of the skull Mr. Barring found affect your job of identifying the victim?”
Jorgensen’s tanned and lovely face winced, though only slightly.
“It really depends on a number of factors. I haven’t seen that cranium yet so at this time I don’t know. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work now”. Jorgensen turned and a policeman let her cross behind the yellow tape roping off the field.
Hinton turned back to the camera as small droplets of rain hit the lens. “Finna Jorgensen, dedicated anthropologist and consultant to the police as she collects information from the crime scene and races against the weather to remove skeletal remains from the field here at Cornhill Creek. Her job of identifying the victims won’t be made any easier by the damage done to the skull when it dropped from the backhoe, nor is her job being made any easier now by the weather, which threatens to wash away precious evidence from this gruesome scene.” The camera panned back, showing two small clusters of police and other professionals working in the field.
He was pleased to see that very few pin flags dotted the clearing. It was one thing that always set his sites apart from other crime scenes. Where others were sloppy and left evidence to be flagged, he worked diligently and left no clues. He didn’t have to hope that it would rain to destroy traces of his presence the way others would have had to. He had ensured that there was no evidence left to begin with. The phone rang. He muted the TV.
“Hello? Oh, hi. No, I was still up. Have you seen the news? Someone found some bodies up at Cornhill Creek and there were interviews - Jorgensen and some others.” He stretched and took another sip of beer. “It was that reporter, Sally Hinton. What? Sorry. No, I meant the interviewer was Sally Hinton, they don’t know who killed the women. I don’t think they’re going to know for a long time. No evidence.” He watched the newscaster’s silent babble. “Why, what’s your car doing?” He furrowed his eyebrows, frowning. “Do you need me to take a look at it? Ok, call me back if he comes up dry. Sure. I can pick you up in the morning. Seven? Ok, sleep well.” He turned the volume back up.
The local newscaster came on again and said a few words, then cut to a live interview with the lead homicide detective. The sky was still spitting water droplets and looked like it could let loose a deluge at any moment. The detective looked overheated and frazzled. Sweat glistened in her straightened and brushed-back black hair. Hinton was only one of several reporters clustered in front of her.
“With me now is Detective Judith Crewes. Detective Crewes, how long ago would you say these women were killed?”
In the TV camera’s bright lights the detective’s ebony face seemed to go gray. “I’m sure you understand that everybody here is very busy right now and that many of your questions cannot be answered at this time. We will not be able to determine time or cause of death until we can study the remains carefully and thoroughly. At this point any talk of time of death or manner of death is premature. Random speculation is not going to help the victims, their families, or this investigation.”
A reporter pushed to the front of the crowd. “Detective Crewes, is there any reason to believe that someone who has killed prostitutes will target citizens who live in the surrounding neighborhoods?”
Crewes put on a battle-hard face. “It is important to remember that there has been no identification of these victims whatsoever. We do not know who they are and therefore have no idea of their vocations. At this time, all we can say is that we have discovered skeletal remains. It is important that we work from a basis of fact rather than speculation.” The picture cut back to the local newscaster.
He sighed and finished his beer, then pressed the remote to turn the TV off. The officials could talk all they wanted about the need to not speculate, but the animal frenzy had already begun. It was ten past twilight, as his grandmother would have said. Already dark, and far too late for prevention.
* * *
Sometime later in between sweat-damp sheets, Finna snugged her head against Robin’s inner thigh, her fingertips tracing the thick white scar that ran from the left side of Robin’s vulva down to an inch or so below where shorts covered her in summer. Fence bite Robin had explained lazily when Finna had first traced the scar’s course, just after the first time they had made love. Got stuck on barbed wire when I was eleven. Scared the shit out of my brothers. Finna stroked the line, bold as Braille in the darkness and listened to the rain pummel down outside. All the lights were off and all the windows open. Occasionally a fine spray blew through the screens to mist on the women’s shoulders and faces. Robin’s fingers graced idly up Finna’s neck, then back down. To Finna it seemed surreal to be home and safe in bed after the horrors of the day. Robin reached down to Finna, who slid up to rest her head on her pillow. Robin kissed her hair and gathered her in close.
“So any ideas why I didn’t get called to the crime scene today?” Robin murmured into Finna’s hair. “I kept waiting for my phone to ring and it didn’t.”
“Ian Hardwicke is in town on his book tour and found out about the site. He showed up shortly after the police and decided to grandstand.”
Robin drew back from Finna. “Decided to grandstand? What’s that all about? I’ve worked with him before and he was fine.”
Finna thought. She had never outright lied to Robin. There were things that she had omitted talking about - probably much more than she should have, given tonight’s happenings - but she’d never outright lied to Robin. She wasn’t sure she could.
“I don’t know what the problem with him is. We’ve worked together before, and we’ve never gotten along” she sighed. That was true. She knew Hardwicke detested her, and maybe couldn’t even blame him for being dismissive of her - but it wasn’t true that she didn’t understand the reason for his outright hostility. “It gets better. Guess who just transferred back onto the force here and is assigned as lead investigator.”
Robin paused in thought. “Judith is all I can think of, but she’s moved to Alaska I thought.”
“Sheee’s ba-aack. Didn’t like the six-month days, says it drove her inner clock crazy.”
“So you spent the day with your ex and Hardwicke, both of whom you don’t get along with?”
“You spend every day with your ex. Both of your exes, in fact, though I guess it’s not every day with Sky. But you still work in the same building as two of your exes, is my point.”
“That’s true, with Kat working in DNA analysis, we’re always tripping over each other’s feet. But Kat and I broke up a long time ago, under amicable circumstances. Sky, well, that took me longer to get over“ Robin sighed. “But I did. It’s different than you working with your ex. Kat and I get along. Sky and I get along. You and Judith don’t. Big difference.”
“So I spent the day with Hardwicke. And with my ex who’s still in the closet.” Finna sighed and snuggled deeper into Robin’s embrace. “That’s the long and short of it.”
“She’s still in the closet? Holy heck. Maybe I’m glad I didn’t get called in.”
“Don’t hold your breath, babe. I told Judith I wanted you at the crime scene tomorrow, period, despite Hardwicke wanting to bring his people in.”
Robin squeezed Finna’s shoulder affectionately. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“You’ve earned it, Harlowe” Finna brought Robin’s hand up and kissed it.
“I love it when you call me that.”
“I know” Finna said, impishly, then settled back down more seriously. “I don’t know what I ever saw in Judith. I can’t believe I once put our relationship on hold for her.”
“She’s beautiful, brilliant, and good at what she does” replied Robin, stroking the fine hairs on the back of Finna’s neck. “Lots of reasons there for you to be interested.”
“Yeah, but I broke up with you so I could be with her.”
“Correction. We broke up because we were living a thousand miles apart after grad school and it was impractical to be together. You had strong feelings for Judith. It made sense to see if there was more there.”
“You didn’t think it made sense at the time.”
“True, but I got you back, is what I’m saying. In hindsight maybe it made our relationship stronger, we had dated others and knew we wanted to be together, with no lingering doubts about it.”
“Maybe it did make sense at the time” Finna conceded. “Now I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Is she still in the closet because of her dad?”
“Yeah, or maybe there’s more to it than that. Maybe not wanting to disappoint her dad the police commissioner was a good excuse for not being honest about a lot of things. A good excuse for not being honest with herself about a lot of things too, maybe.”
“How did it go with her today?”
“Total cold shoulder. A lot like it was when we were together and in public when we were together, actually. I got relegated to being the lodger in her house rather than even being her friend.”
“So, like, you’re working with your ex but I don’t have to feel threatened or jealous about it” Robin said, breaking the pause.
“Not at all, babe, there’s nothing there to be jealous of. Nothing is going to happen with Judith in a million years.” Finna smiled, warmly and mischievously this time. “Nice to know you had to ask though.”
“I’ve grown rather partial to you” Robin grinned and shrugged. “Just a little, you know, just used to having you around, that’s all. I mean, I’m pretty confident that you’re mine.”
“You should be” Finna met Robin’s grin and kissed her, full and thoroughly.
“Damn. I hate to break this up but I forgot my meds.” Robin broke the kiss. “Be right back.” Robin disentangled herself from the sheets, dislodging all three cats in the process. Finna watched her naked, nicely muscled form cross the hardwood floor to the bathroom, feet strong and luscious. Finna lay listening to the downpour, which still hadn’t slackened. “So what’s the lowdown on the site?” Robin asked. “Lots of trace evidence, or really little?”
“Really little is what it looks like. I think this guy’s a pro at what he does, Robin”
“And what he does is?”
“Gag order. I can’t talk about it until you’re called in.”
“Ok, smartypants, what he generally does is?”
“Multiple murders. Not multiple like slaying a family for revenge or shooting up an office. Multiple as in driven to kill over and over.”
“Can you really make that judgment yet?” Robin asked, dubiously.
“You decide when you see the site.”
“Geez, Finn” Robin blanched and stared hard at her a moment, then pulled her closer.
“Add to that the fact that today was an utter fiasco, and you’ve just about got my mood.”
“What else happened?”
“Well, for starters, the media got to the first skeleton before the police.”
“Ugh.”
“I wanted to borrow sheehans from the archaeology department - you know, those portable wood tent-frame-like things with the plastic over them that they use over their excavation pits when it rains?”
“Yeah. Good idea.”
Hardwicke didn’t think so. I then argued for tarps to be put over the skeletons to prevent trace evidence from being washed away. Hardwicke argued some bullshit that the tarps and/or the sheehans would create unnatural runoff patterns on the site, so the skeletons are surrounded by crime scene tape but there’s nothing protecting them from the elements.”
Robin shook her head in disbelief. “Why would he compromise a crime scene?”
“I’ve no idea. I mean, my guess would be that we are in the way cold zone. The skeleton that I’d peg as most recent has probably been out there for four to six months. Brendan can give us a better estimate when he gets called in. So there’s probably already been massive loss of evidence. But you’d think it’d be good to make an effort to save anything that might be left. If Hardwicke makes a few more such blunders, maybe we’ll be shut of him.”
“I take it you’ve got a feeling that this one’s going to be big.”
“Ginormous, as the kids would say.” Finna drew back from Robin slightly.
Six knots. Jackie. “Rob, if I tell you something can you keep it to yourself, I mean one hundred percent?”
“Of course.”
“There are” Jackie’s excavated body lying beside the creek bed, the dirty white cord with its six knots around her neck . . . Finna tried again. “I’m wondering if - if” . . . the note, carefully folded in the best tradition of high school students everywhere . . .
Robin waited in silence for her to finish.
“Damn, never mind” Finna lay back on her pillow. “Just going off on a half-cocked theory”
“I’m always happy to listen to your theories, fully cocked or otherwise” Robin said, smoothing back Finna’s hair.
“Nah, it’s just a thought. I’ll tell you if it becomes important.”
“Ok.”
“Today’s news coverage is going to have everyone talking serial killer” Finna mused.
“I’ve never worked in the field on a serial killer site. I mean, I’ve worked on stuff that was sent to the lab but I’ve never been on-site. I don’t think the lab work has prepared me emotionally for that kind of impact.” Robin mused.
“Probably it did more than you think. You at least have a background on what one human being can do to another.” Finna was glad that Robin couldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes. She swallowed and tried to ease the muscles constricting her throat.
“Granted, I can see that part.” Robin gathered Finna in closer, though she didn’t realize how close to tears Finna was.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Finna managed.
“No problem, babe” Robin said.
Finna disengaged herself from Robin’s embrace and took her partner‘s hand in hers. Her deep brown eyes met Robin’s green. “Rob, does that sound crazy that I can shut it out?”
“No, it’s a damn good survival skill you have that I’ve always envied.” With light fingers Robin swept the stray hairs from Finna’s forehead, and caressed Finna’s cheek. Finna settled back into Robin. “Shut it out, baby, it’s ok.”
“Mmm” Finna breathed, though shutting it out wasn’t working. Not this time. She lay for some time in the still, purr-punctuated darkness and let Robin’s touch stroke her into a troubled sleep full of white ligatures, yellow ligatures, and Jackie’s beautiful blonde curls.
* * *
It was about freaking time. He knew the authorities were probably seething at the publicity, but personally he wanted to buy the media a beer. Panic was a wonderful thing.
He leaned back in his recliner, popping the lever to bring the footrest up. It was 10:30 PM and he was ready for a break. Tonight it was time to celebrate. He raised his beer in salute to the chaos on the muted television. With spoken communication smothered by the remote, the breathless reporters, red-faced police, and thrill-gawking bystanders looked like so many ants scurrying around a terminally damaged anthill.
He took a long sip of his beer and cradled it back in his crotch. He really needed an end table. Maybe he would take care of that tomorrow. He had been so worried that the building permit would never go through. He had sweated through all of May, June, July, and now August waiting for the work to resume so his girls could be found. He shook his head, thinking to himself. How much of his work had been delayed by bureaucratic red tape over the years? He shuddered to think of it. It had been a nightmare that just kept recurring ever since his teenage years. His mind dreamt up unimaginable beauty, with his hands he brought that beauty into being, and then it was left to rack and ruin while bureaucrats with their one-dimensional minds sat behind chipped particle-board-and- formica desks and failed to move papers. He found himself wondering if bureaucrats who approved permits were habitually late to the office. He sighed and felt the tension finally leave his body. Shoulders rippled, then released, then the swell of hard muscles in his torso smoothed. Now the wait was over and he could breathe again. He took another sip of his beer and felt the blessed alcohol bathe his brain. He pressed the volume up on the television remote up as the screen changed back to the local newscaster.
“Again, and for those of you just tuning in, this afternoon workers at the long-awaited Cornhill Creek Construction site made a grisly discovery. As you may know, the land was planned for a subdivision but then was bought out recently by the ‘Families Forward’ organization world headquarters. The remains of what may be as many as eleven young women, in varying states of decomposition, were found this morning as workers began clearing the land for construction. The first skeleton, found with a cord tied in six knots around her neck and described as wearing a short top and mini-skirt, was found when a backhoe inadvertently lifted it from where it lay under brush and other debris piled there last fall. Our own Sally Hinton has been on-scene since the discovery this afternoon. Hinton was able to interview the backhoe driver and other prominent players in today’s events at Cornhill Creek.”
>i>A cord with six knots! He jumped in his chair, nearly upsetting his beer. Were the media crazy? How had the police ever let that information slip out? It was better than he had ever hoped for. This truly was the one. Now if only his other sites could be found. Maybe he would have to find a way to hurry them along.
The scene on the cheap black Sony-knockoff TV changed to a bottle-blonde reporter standing in front of the large mountainside clearing cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape. The interview must have been conducted earlier in the day, he mused, seeing the late-afternoon sky with its roiling clouds looking ready to burst in the background. The reporter was flanked by uniformed police officers going about their duties, workers in grimy yellow and orange hardhats, and curious onlookers. In the background, a bulldozer being directed by men in hardhats was moving brush carefully. The camera zoomed in on Hinton.
“I’m Sally Hinton, reporting from what was going to be the site of the new Families Forward World Headquarters. Today was to be the groundbreaking, complete with Families Forward officials and a ceremony. Also present are concerned citizens, mostly college students, protesting the controversial organization. With me now is Robert Barring, a backhoe driver working on the construction site. Mr. Barring, what kind of a day did you expect when you came to work this morning?”
Barring looked vaguely Italian. He wondered if the name had been Anglicized. Barring was wearing a dirty-looking orange plastic hardhat though he was more than 100 meters from the nearest bulldozer. Maybe he slept in the thing. Barring wiped sweat from his brow with the tattered cuff of his red and white plaid cotton button-down shirt. It had definitely seen better days. So had Barring. “Just the usual, I mean, we was just supposed to start clearing away the brush that we cut down and piled last year, then dig the pit for the foundation.” Barring shifted, uncomfortable at being the center of attention. Thunder rumbled in the distance and he glanced at the low-lying, purpling clouds.
“What happened as you started to clear the brush piles?”
Barring looked down and collected himself, then looked back up to Hinton and spoke. “I started on one of them smaller brush piles, I mean, picking brush up and taking it over to the dumpster to be hauled away.”
“And what did you find when you scooped up the brush?”
Barring looked green, his face suddenly slack and sallow. “Some turquoise fabric was under one of the piles and it caught on the teeth of the bucket and there was, I mean, I thought it was a branch sticking out of the cloth and a big clump of dirt and then the clump shifted and I saw it had teeth and then I, I kind of jumped in my seat and I hit the lever by accident and the bucket jerked and the clump, I’d seen it was really a skull, the skull, it dropped and I could see the branch was an arm.” Barring shuddered.
“And what happened to the skull?”
Barring was sweating freely in the close, hot air. “It cracked I guess, that’s what Giancolo said, he was working on the ground nearby when it fell. I didn’t want to look at it. I got out of my ‘dozer but quick. Then Dempsey, he was working on another brush pile nearby and there was bones there too and all of a sudden, it was like we was finding bones under each pile. I really want to leave now. I don’t want to be here, I just want to get home to my family” Barring bolted and the microphone briefly caught the sound of retching off-camera.
Hinton turned back to the viewing audience while walking sideways toward a tall woman who had just approached the line of reporters. The woman handed an empty water bottle to a fellow worker and received a full one in return. She was dressed in black cargo pants and a black sleeveless v-neck shirt with FORENSICS written above the left breast in white. Her long chestnut hair was pulled back into a thick braid.
Hinton spoke again. “A grisly discovery by Mr. Barring, but the day was still young. More bodies are said to have been found, decomposing in what otherwise could be described as an idyllic setting. Foreman Tony Giancolo alerted the police immediately and the area was sealed off for investigation. Soon to arrive on the scene was Dr. Finna Jorgensen, forensic anthropologist for the Southern Colorado region.” She indicated the woman she had just approached. “Dr. Jorgensen, one of the jobs of a forensic anthropologist is to establish the age and identity of victims of foul play. What can you tell us about these bodies?”
“Not much at this time, I’m afraid.” Jorgensen took a drink of water.
“You all look pretty worn out. How is the heat affecting your work?”
“It’s certainly not helping anything, but I’m more worried about rain. I’d like to say thank you to whomever sent out the bottled water.”
“Dr. Jorgensen, how many bodies have been discovered?”
“Right now as you see we have two crews working to remove the remains. It’s been pretty intense work and I’m not sure of the count.”
“How old would you say these women were, Dr. Jorgensen?”
“Well, Sally, I have to point out that it’s too early in the investigation to say whether these persons were male or female. Our main concern is to make a detailed record of the scene and remove the remains in an orderly, careful manner. It’s very important that we don’t do any further damage to the bones or any possible evidence -- and as you can see from the clouds, we’ve kind of got a deadline.”
“You said that it’s important not to do any further damage to the bones. How will the cracking of the skull Mr. Barring found affect your job of identifying the victim?”
Jorgensen’s tanned and lovely face winced, though only slightly.
“It really depends on a number of factors. I haven’t seen that cranium yet so at this time I don’t know. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work now”. Jorgensen turned and a policeman let her cross behind the yellow tape roping off the field.
Hinton turned back to the camera as small droplets of rain hit the lens. “Finna Jorgensen, dedicated anthropologist and consultant to the police as she collects information from the crime scene and races against the weather to remove skeletal remains from the field here at Cornhill Creek. Her job of identifying the victims won’t be made any easier by the damage done to the skull when it dropped from the backhoe, nor is her job being made any easier now by the weather, which threatens to wash away precious evidence from this gruesome scene.” The camera panned back, showing two small clusters of police and other professionals working in the field.
He was pleased to see that very few pin flags dotted the clearing. It was one thing that always set his sites apart from other crime scenes. Where others were sloppy and left evidence to be flagged, he worked diligently and left no clues. He didn’t have to hope that it would rain to destroy traces of his presence the way others would have had to. He had ensured that there was no evidence left to begin with. The phone rang. He muted the TV.
“Hello? Oh, hi. No, I was still up. Have you seen the news? Someone found some bodies up at Cornhill Creek and there were interviews - Jorgensen and some others.” He stretched and took another sip of beer. “It was that reporter, Sally Hinton. What? Sorry. No, I meant the interviewer was Sally Hinton, they don’t know who killed the women. I don’t think they’re going to know for a long time. No evidence.” He watched the newscaster’s silent babble. “Why, what’s your car doing?” He furrowed his eyebrows, frowning. “Do you need me to take a look at it? Ok, call me back if he comes up dry. Sure. I can pick you up in the morning. Seven? Ok, sleep well.” He turned the volume back up.
The local newscaster came on again and said a few words, then cut to a live interview with the lead homicide detective. The sky was still spitting water droplets and looked like it could let loose a deluge at any moment. The detective looked overheated and frazzled. Sweat glistened in her straightened and brushed-back black hair. Hinton was only one of several reporters clustered in front of her.
“With me now is Detective Judith Crewes. Detective Crewes, how long ago would you say these women were killed?”
In the TV camera’s bright lights the detective’s ebony face seemed to go gray. “I’m sure you understand that everybody here is very busy right now and that many of your questions cannot be answered at this time. We will not be able to determine time or cause of death until we can study the remains carefully and thoroughly. At this point any talk of time of death or manner of death is premature. Random speculation is not going to help the victims, their families, or this investigation.”
A reporter pushed to the front of the crowd. “Detective Crewes, is there any reason to believe that someone who has killed prostitutes will target citizens who live in the surrounding neighborhoods?”
Crewes put on a battle-hard face. “It is important to remember that there has been no identification of these victims whatsoever. We do not know who they are and therefore have no idea of their vocations. At this time, all we can say is that we have discovered skeletal remains. It is important that we work from a basis of fact rather than speculation.” The picture cut back to the local newscaster.
He sighed and finished his beer, then pressed the remote to turn the TV off. The officials could talk all they wanted about the need to not speculate, but the animal frenzy had already begun. It was ten past twilight, as his grandmother would have said. Already dark, and far too late for prevention.
* * *
Sometime later in between sweat-damp sheets, Finna snugged her head against Robin’s inner thigh, her fingertips tracing the thick white scar that ran from the left side of Robin’s vulva down to an inch or so below where shorts covered her in summer. Fence bite Robin had explained lazily when Finna had first traced the scar’s course, just after the first time they had made love. Got stuck on barbed wire when I was eleven. Scared the shit out of my brothers. Finna stroked the line, bold as Braille in the darkness and listened to the rain pummel down outside. All the lights were off and all the windows open. Occasionally a fine spray blew through the screens to mist on the women’s shoulders and faces. Robin’s fingers graced idly up Finna’s neck, then back down. To Finna it seemed surreal to be home and safe in bed after the horrors of the day. Robin reached down to Finna, who slid up to rest her head on her pillow. Robin kissed her hair and gathered her in close.
“So any ideas why I didn’t get called to the crime scene today?” Robin murmured into Finna’s hair. “I kept waiting for my phone to ring and it didn’t.”
“Ian Hardwicke is in town on his book tour and found out about the site. He showed up shortly after the police and decided to grandstand.”
Robin drew back from Finna. “Decided to grandstand? What’s that all about? I’ve worked with him before and he was fine.”
Finna thought. She had never outright lied to Robin. There were things that she had omitted talking about - probably much more than she should have, given tonight’s happenings - but she’d never outright lied to Robin. She wasn’t sure she could.
“I don’t know what the problem with him is. We’ve worked together before, and we’ve never gotten along” she sighed. That was true. She knew Hardwicke detested her, and maybe couldn’t even blame him for being dismissive of her - but it wasn’t true that she didn’t understand the reason for his outright hostility. “It gets better. Guess who just transferred back onto the force here and is assigned as lead investigator.”
Robin paused in thought. “Judith is all I can think of, but she’s moved to Alaska I thought.”
“Sheee’s ba-aack. Didn’t like the six-month days, says it drove her inner clock crazy.”
“So you spent the day with your ex and Hardwicke, both of whom you don’t get along with?”
“You spend every day with your ex. Both of your exes, in fact, though I guess it’s not every day with Sky. But you still work in the same building as two of your exes, is my point.”
“That’s true, with Kat working in DNA analysis, we’re always tripping over each other’s feet. But Kat and I broke up a long time ago, under amicable circumstances. Sky, well, that took me longer to get over“ Robin sighed. “But I did. It’s different than you working with your ex. Kat and I get along. Sky and I get along. You and Judith don’t. Big difference.”
“So I spent the day with Hardwicke. And with my ex who’s still in the closet.” Finna sighed and snuggled deeper into Robin’s embrace. “That’s the long and short of it.”
“She’s still in the closet? Holy heck. Maybe I’m glad I didn’t get called in.”
“Don’t hold your breath, babe. I told Judith I wanted you at the crime scene tomorrow, period, despite Hardwicke wanting to bring his people in.”
Robin squeezed Finna’s shoulder affectionately. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“You’ve earned it, Harlowe” Finna brought Robin’s hand up and kissed it.
“I love it when you call me that.”
“I know” Finna said, impishly, then settled back down more seriously. “I don’t know what I ever saw in Judith. I can’t believe I once put our relationship on hold for her.”
“She’s beautiful, brilliant, and good at what she does” replied Robin, stroking the fine hairs on the back of Finna’s neck. “Lots of reasons there for you to be interested.”
“Yeah, but I broke up with you so I could be with her.”
“Correction. We broke up because we were living a thousand miles apart after grad school and it was impractical to be together. You had strong feelings for Judith. It made sense to see if there was more there.”
“You didn’t think it made sense at the time.”
“True, but I got you back, is what I’m saying. In hindsight maybe it made our relationship stronger, we had dated others and knew we wanted to be together, with no lingering doubts about it.”
“Maybe it did make sense at the time” Finna conceded. “Now I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Is she still in the closet because of her dad?”
“Yeah, or maybe there’s more to it than that. Maybe not wanting to disappoint her dad the police commissioner was a good excuse for not being honest about a lot of things. A good excuse for not being honest with herself about a lot of things too, maybe.”
“How did it go with her today?”
“Total cold shoulder. A lot like it was when we were together and in public when we were together, actually. I got relegated to being the lodger in her house rather than even being her friend.”
“So, like, you’re working with your ex but I don’t have to feel threatened or jealous about it” Robin said, breaking the pause.
“Not at all, babe, there’s nothing there to be jealous of. Nothing is going to happen with Judith in a million years.” Finna smiled, warmly and mischievously this time. “Nice to know you had to ask though.”
“I’ve grown rather partial to you” Robin grinned and shrugged. “Just a little, you know, just used to having you around, that’s all. I mean, I’m pretty confident that you’re mine.”
“You should be” Finna met Robin’s grin and kissed her, full and thoroughly.
“Damn. I hate to break this up but I forgot my meds.” Robin broke the kiss. “Be right back.” Robin disentangled herself from the sheets, dislodging all three cats in the process. Finna watched her naked, nicely muscled form cross the hardwood floor to the bathroom, feet strong and luscious. Finna lay listening to the downpour, which still hadn’t slackened. “So what’s the lowdown on the site?” Robin asked. “Lots of trace evidence, or really little?”
“Really little is what it looks like. I think this guy’s a pro at what he does, Robin”
“And what he does is?”
“Gag order. I can’t talk about it until you’re called in.”
“Ok, smartypants, what he generally does is?”
“Multiple murders. Not multiple like slaying a family for revenge or shooting up an office. Multiple as in driven to kill over and over.”
“Can you really make that judgment yet?” Robin asked, dubiously.
“You decide when you see the site.”
“Geez, Finn” Robin blanched and stared hard at her a moment, then pulled her closer.
“Add to that the fact that today was an utter fiasco, and you’ve just about got my mood.”
“What else happened?”
“Well, for starters, the media got to the first skeleton before the police.”
“Ugh.”
“I wanted to borrow sheehans from the archaeology department - you know, those portable wood tent-frame-like things with the plastic over them that they use over their excavation pits when it rains?”
“Yeah. Good idea.”
Hardwicke didn’t think so. I then argued for tarps to be put over the skeletons to prevent trace evidence from being washed away. Hardwicke argued some bullshit that the tarps and/or the sheehans would create unnatural runoff patterns on the site, so the skeletons are surrounded by crime scene tape but there’s nothing protecting them from the elements.”
Robin shook her head in disbelief. “Why would he compromise a crime scene?”
“I’ve no idea. I mean, my guess would be that we are in the way cold zone. The skeleton that I’d peg as most recent has probably been out there for four to six months. Brendan can give us a better estimate when he gets called in. So there’s probably already been massive loss of evidence. But you’d think it’d be good to make an effort to save anything that might be left. If Hardwicke makes a few more such blunders, maybe we’ll be shut of him.”
“I take it you’ve got a feeling that this one’s going to be big.”
“Ginormous, as the kids would say.” Finna drew back from Robin slightly.
Six knots. Jackie. “Rob, if I tell you something can you keep it to yourself, I mean one hundred percent?”
“Of course.”
“There are” Jackie’s excavated body lying beside the creek bed, the dirty white cord with its six knots around her neck . . . Finna tried again. “I’m wondering if - if” . . . the note, carefully folded in the best tradition of high school students everywhere . . .
Robin waited in silence for her to finish.
“Damn, never mind” Finna lay back on her pillow. “Just going off on a half-cocked theory”
“I’m always happy to listen to your theories, fully cocked or otherwise” Robin said, smoothing back Finna’s hair.
“Nah, it’s just a thought. I’ll tell you if it becomes important.”
“Ok.”
“Today’s news coverage is going to have everyone talking serial killer” Finna mused.
“I’ve never worked in the field on a serial killer site. I mean, I’ve worked on stuff that was sent to the lab but I’ve never been on-site. I don’t think the lab work has prepared me emotionally for that kind of impact.” Robin mused.
“Probably it did more than you think. You at least have a background on what one human being can do to another.” Finna was glad that Robin couldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes. She swallowed and tried to ease the muscles constricting her throat.
“Granted, I can see that part.” Robin gathered Finna in closer, though she didn’t realize how close to tears Finna was.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Finna managed.
“No problem, babe” Robin said.
Finna disengaged herself from Robin’s embrace and took her partner‘s hand in hers. Her deep brown eyes met Robin’s green. “Rob, does that sound crazy that I can shut it out?”
“No, it’s a damn good survival skill you have that I’ve always envied.” With light fingers Robin swept the stray hairs from Finna’s forehead, and caressed Finna’s cheek. Finna settled back into Robin. “Shut it out, baby, it’s ok.”
“Mmm” Finna breathed, though shutting it out wasn’t working. Not this time. She lay for some time in the still, purr-punctuated darkness and let Robin’s touch stroke her into a troubled sleep full of white ligatures, yellow ligatures, and Jackie’s beautiful blonde curls.