thy remnant shall fall by the sword. They shall take thy sons and thy daughters; and thy residue shall be devoured by the fire. They shall also strip thee out of thy clothes, and take away thy fair jewels. Thus will I make thy lewdness to cease.’”
Nothing too bizarre here.
Just some freaky psycho going around town doing exactly what God and Ezekiel told him to do.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Sea Haven's Department of Municipal Maintenance must have a ton of tarps.
Santucci and his team have completely fenced in about ten thousand square feet. The whole First Annual Sand Castle Competition area, plus the plot where Ceepak and I found the skulls. Everybody on the beach-and there's thousands of them now-thinks the giant green screens are part of some mysterious big unveiling to take place Thursday afternoon when the sand sculpture exhibition is officially opened to the public. The current buzz is that the drapes will be majestically pulled down during a big ribbon cutting ceremony.
Chief Baines looks pleased.
He's on-site inspecting the situation: hands on hips, chest swelling with salty sea air. The chief doesn't wear a uniform anymore. These days he prefers a natty tailored suit. I think he buys them in bulk from the Men's Wearhouse. His gold badge shines on his hip, clipped over his belt. I think he might also have strapped on one of those ankle holsters. Either that or he's retaining water something fierce. His right ankle looks humongous, like it's wrapped with an Ace bandage over a sheet of bubble wrap.
The chief and Santucci stare at the billowing sheets.
“Excellent job, Dom.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Terrific response to the situation. Well done. I've talked to the mayor. The C of C. They're all on board. Think the tarps will help build suspense for the grand opening. Good job, guys.”
“We're not postponing the event?” Ceepak asks.
The chief gives him a tight, bright smile. “No way.”
“But….”
The chief walks away. Down to the beach to personally greet some of our “guests.” The paying visitors he doesn't want to scare off the island.
Santucci stations himself in front of the entrance to the Sand Castle Kingdom. If any civilian sunbathers attempt to sneak a peak at what's going on behind the curtains, he'll most likely bayonet them away.
Just kidding. But old Dom is standing tough. Looking fierce. Probably always wanted to be a bouncer when he grew up.
The chief prowls the sand like a politician, moving among the sun umbrellas, stopping to greet families spread out on cheerful towels, surrounded by their brightly colored beach gear. He pumps hands and laughs and encourages everyone to
That's the official slogan in Sea Haven, even though it officially sucks.
Ceepak and I pull open a flap in the tarp surrounding our pockmarked section of sand. The fabric is hot and has that oily scent of a tent pitched in the sun too long. It's time to go back to work.
Time to continue our treasure hunt.
Ceepak goes to Hole Number Four. He takes a miniature compass out of his cargo pants and holds it flat in the palm of his hand.
“Due east,” he says, and strides across the sand, heading toward the ocean. Only I can't see the sea-just the tarp wall separating our designated quadrant from the Sand Castle construction site. To my left, I see dancing shadows of kids flinging Frisbees. To my right, more shadows. A volleyball game. Ceepak and I are alone inside our walled-off little world. Alone except for whatever we find buried in Hole Number Five.
Ceepak walks seven steps, kneels on the sand.
“Danny?”
I start digging.
“Slow and steady,” says Ceepak.
“Right.”
I slow down. Shovel the sand into a little mound off to the left of the hole. When I get three feet down, there's sweat stinging my eyes and I hear the all-too-familiar sound of metal tapping plastic.
Ceepak motions for me to stop.
“Photograph.”
“Right.”
I take out the camera. Snap a shot.
“I'll continue the dig,” says Ceepak. “You record the evidence as we uncover it.”
“Right.”
He digs. I do the pictures. In about two minutes, we've unearthed yet another plastic bin. This one is more squarish. The sides are milky white. The top, black.
“Removing container from hole,” Ceepak narrates.
The plastic box is heavy. He sets it down near the hole's rim. I see him squint.
He doesn't want to open the lid just yet because he already knows what's inside.
So do I.
Ceepak takes a breath, finds an edge, and pries it open.
“Jesus,” I moan.
It's more of the same. Another skull, the flesh long gone, rotted away.
I have a feeling we're going to need more grocery sacks before this day is done. I wouldn't mind one of those airsickness bags, either.
• • •
“John, it's a cold case. Heck, it's so cold, it's frigid.”
Chief Baines has joined us inside our tarp fortress behind the green privacy screens.
We have most of the evidence from Hole Number Five lined up in a neat row in front of the sand crater. The skull. The newspaper wrapping. The baggie with the index card and treasure map. And something new: a twist the killer must've added when he got bored of doing the same-old, same-old on the first four holes.
Ceepak's holding the new stuff. Two snapshots we found taped to the bottom of the plastic box. Polaroids. Before and After pictures.
We haven't shown these to the chief yet.
“We should drop this thing for now,” he says. “You guys can pick it up again later. I'm thinking after Labor Day, when the tourist season is over.”
“That will be too late, sir,” says Ceepak.
“Too late? Come on, John. We're talking about crimes allegedly committed back in the 1980s. When was this one….” He searches for a good way to say it. “You know-decapitated?”
Ceepak doesn't need to look at the index card. He has it memorized.
“August 25. 1981. A Monday.”
“Okay. Good. That's what? Over twenty-five years ago? Nobody ever reported this girl missing, did they?”
“We don't know that. We should check with the CJIS.”
“Hmm?”
“The FBI's Criminal Justice Information Service.”
The chief just grunts.
“Her name is Esther,” says Ceepak. “She had auburn hair.”
Baines eyes the white skull baking in the sun. “You found a strand of hair?” he asks. “Where? In the bin? The baggie?”
