“No kidding,” said the doctor, clearly surprised.
“Your second day here and you’ve already got trouble.” The sheriff stared at Eric before slowly taking a small notebook out of his shirt pocket and writing down a few things. Then, he added, “Well, let’s take a look.”
“I smelled decay yesterday.” Eric headed for the shed. “At first, I figured a cat or something.”
He’d been wrong. Dead wrong.
“This morning, I couldn’t take the smell anymore.”
That the shed was in one piece was nothing short of astounding. It had actually been built before the main cabin, and Eric’s ancestors had lived in it while they finished building their permanent residence. The sheriff opened the door and started to take a tentative step. The putrid odor caused him to pause, and then he took a rubber glove from his pocket, held it to his nose and entered. Boards creaked in protest. They creaked even louder after the two deputies, sans the rubber gloves, joined their boss. Eric and the doctor waited a moment.
“I thought I read you got out of jail almost six months ago?” Doc said.
“No, that’s when the paperwork started. It took about three months to get it through the system.”
“System’s a joke,” Doc said, and headed for the shed.
Eric’s lantern still hung from a nail. Its glow, inadequate for the task, simply made the room look spooky. Eric lit a second lantern, and both deputies pulled out flashlights. One immediately started gagging and headed for the door. The doctor applied vapor rub under his nose and handed the jar to Eric. Then, he took out his flashlight and moved toward the far wall and the body. Bending down, he made a careful perusal of the area. Taking out a minirecorder, he said, “First assessment. Remains appear to be of a woman between the age of thirty and fifty. She’s been discovered in a shed and exposed to carnivores.”
The sheriff moved closer and started taking pictures. He glanced at Eric. “What made you think she’d been dead about six months?”
“I have a degree in criminal justice. Finished it while in prison. Plus, I’ve seen dead bodies.”
“Not a bad guess, but you forgot to allow for the heat.” Winters returned to his recorder. “Based on the level of deterioration, the female has already started…”
Eric left the room. He didn’t need to hear any more. While the body was badly decomposed, it didn’t take a scientist to judge it female, since it was wearing a faded pink polyester pantsuit. Still, Eric would have blown his assessment of the corpse’s age, putting her in her seventies or thereabouts based on the style of clothes.
He headed back to his front porch and sat, waiting. Doc Winters was soon replaced by the coroner. Soon, another law enforcement officer arrived. This one had a bigger camera. The man didn’t meet Eric’s eyes and didn’t bother to introduce himself.
But then, the sheriff hadn’t offered a name, either.
But Eric knew who he was. Rich Mallery. His family had settled the area, alongside Eric’s family. Rich’s family stayed in the area and went into law enforcement, politics and land speculation. Eric’s family left for the city and kept law enforcement busy, paid off politicians and watched as blood soaked the land.
Eric’s family demanded attention; Eric wanted none of it. He’d been at the cabin two days without a single visitor, a dream come true.
Trust his family to ruin everything.
He wondered which brother, or brother-in-law, was responsible for the Jane Doe in the shed.
“This is the sixth cop in ten years. It’s a cruel world and the good die young.”
Ruth Atkins tried not to listen to the words. She also tried not to turn around and stare at the speaker.
“I mean,” the woman continued, “I wouldn’t let my boy be a cop.”
Finally, Ruth recognized the speaker and understood the shrill speculation. Her boy, Ruth knew, was unemployed and lived at home, at the age of fifty.
“And, I can’t believe that now they allow women to be police officers. Why, in my day…”
Ruth turned around and glared.
The older woman smirked. “Well, let’s just say that if I needed someone to protect me, I’d sure expect the cop who showed up to at least be taller than I am.”
A swoosh of air escaped from between Ruth’s teeth as she turned back to face the minister and listen to his eulogy. Eventually, her breathing returned to normal. She’d attended more than one anger-management session during the two years since she joined the police department. The department would be relieved to know the time had been well spent.
Once she had her breathing under control, Ruth stood, made her way to the aisle of the church and headed for the ladies’ restroom where she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. The sixth cop in ten years. The fourth in the last two years.
Jose Santos, a veteran of the police force for twenty-five years, beloved father of five, had hesitated when faced with shooting the car thief who palled around with his only daughter.
Two families destroyed: Jose’s and the single mother who raised the shooter—a fifteen-year-old boy.
Jose’s wife was burying her husband. Ruth was still looking for hers. In Ruth’s case, there was no closure. Dustin was still listed as missing. No justice. Gracia Santos, Jose’s wife, knew the murderer, could look the boy in the face and cry for justice.
But instead, Gracia, a Christian, cried for both her husband and the teenager.
Ruth had no compassion for the family of those who murdered her husband. She blamed the Santellises, and they were evil. Ruth would not, could not, shed a tear for the death of the two Santellis boys she blamed for Dustin’s disappearance. They’d been shot just a year ago on the front steps of a Phoenix jail, and Ruth had been glad.
Glad!
Nothing would change Ruth’s mind about that, not even the sound of “Amazing Grace” reverberating from the main auditorium. She opened her eyes hearing the bathroom door open. A face peeked around the corner.
“You okay?” Rosa Packard asked.
“I just need a moment. Really.”
Rosa nodded before retreating, the way a best friend should.
Walking to the sink, Ruth grabbed a few hand towels and dabbed at her eyes. Fine time to have a pity party. The whole world, well, at least everyone at the Fifth Street Church, would know she’d been crying in the bathroom.
Last time she’d cried in this bathroom had been eight years ago. At only twenty, and with only twenty minutes to go until she walked down the aisle and said “I Do” to the love of her life, she’d stood in this very place and wept. Not because she was sad, oh, no, but because she was about to enter the fairy-tale life she’d dreamed of. She was marrying a good man; she was going to have a good life.
And she had, for five years.
She’d married a man who was the antithesis of her father. She married a hero. This had been his church. It had also been Jose’s. Her best friends Rosa and Sam Packard attended. For the last few months, Ruth and her daughter had accompanied them. Bible Study with Sam on Wednesday nights was becoming habit. And the new minister, Steve Dawson, seemed to direct some of his sermons right at her—usually the message had to do with forgiveness.
Well, she wasn’t ready for that, not when it came to Dustin, but she was learning about Jesus, learning to pray, learning about this grace thing and thinking