“Text me that, huh?” he said, and then rattled off his cell number.
She sent him the pic and his phone dinged with the alert.
Meyers pulled the unmarked to the end of Meadow Lane, a dead end that terminated in a wooded patch known as “The Pines.” Kids had been playing there since Meyers was in diapers. Over the years he supposed fewer and fewer kids went back there, as the woods couldn’t compete with YouTube and PS4. Still, the cops shagged teenagers from The Pines for drinking on a regular basis.
He parked, got out, and took a heavy Maglite from the back seat. Shadows and little sunlight in The Pines. He supposed it was a good place to hide out and drink.
Right now patrol cars were headed out to the places Tanya Hart had mentioned: the mall, the comics shop. Meyers had a feeling those boys were in the woods, for better or worse.
He slipped between two trees and followed a rough path that wound through The Pines. In the distance, the creek burbled. He spotted the stone footbridge that crossed to the other side of The Pines. No sign of the boys.
He came to the bank and peered over. Not much water in the creek. The water dribbled out from under the bridge. It was dark under there. He spotted something on the creek bed, a backpack strap, red. Poking out from under some brush.
Meyers slid down the embankment, skidding before catching his balance. His shoes slopped in the mud. It was one time he wished he didn’t have on a suit; the younger detectives favored jeans and work boots. Those would’ve suited him better.
He pulled his foot from the muck and it popped loose with a wet, sucking noise. Made his way to the pack and pulled it from the brush. It had stickers all over the back, which he presumed were bands he’d never heard of. Whatever happened to the days when The Who and Zeppelin reigned supreme?
The name written on a zipper tag read: C. Hart.
Cole. “Where are you two?”
Meyers’ hand went to his Glock. He shined the light under the bridge and saw only moss growing on the stones. He ducked under the bridge and passed through to the other side.
The creek disappeared around a bend. Still, there wasn’t much water. He followed the creek, stepping on slick rocks. As he rounded the bend, he saw why the water level was low: good-sized rocks had been stacked in the creek, forming a makeshift damn. He saw the bodies stacked on the rocks, one on top of each other, crossed in an “X.” Blood dribbled down the rocks.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Meyers said.
He got closer. The boy on top was shirtless. A large patch of skin had been cut from his back, revealing the muscle beneath. Two fingers on the right hand were removed. The second boy was also shirtless. He lay on his back, head cocked back, the throat gashed open. Part of one ear was missing.
Meyers rubbed his eyes, as if he could make the scene go away. No luck.
“Fuck,” Meyers muttered.
He worked his way back to the unmarked and called for help.
As he waited for patrol cars, an ambulance, and the crime scene techs to show up, he scanned the area. Kept a hand on his Glock. He had that prickly feeling on the back of his neck; he felt like he was being watched. Was the killer one of those sick fucks who liked to hang around and watch? If so, Meyers would love to put a few rounds into the son of a bitch.
The first patrol car pulled up. It was followed soon by the ambulance. In reality, he was glad other people were on the scene. He didn’t consider himself a coward; as a narcotics officer he’d gone through many a door on a drug raid without hesitation. Being down here in the Pines with two dead boys creeped him out.
Now he had to work the scene. He wasn’t sure which was worse: going back down in that creek or delivering the news to the mom.
Tanya Hart had fallen to her knees on the front porch when Meyers told her. He had crouched next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder while she cried. The department had a liaison officer who usually handled things liked this, but Meyers felt it his personal duty to notify victims’ families himself. It was the least he could do.
He had walked the boys’ mother through calling her parents, and they showed up about fifteen minutes later. He left them to grieve and got in his unmarked car.
He drove out to the town park and pulled into the lot adjacent to the ball diamonds. Killed the engine.
Dead kids. A mysterious man walking the roads. Three groups of people had reported seeing him in the past month, a tall man in a long coat. He wore a hood over his head. Two girls walking home from the movies had seen him crossing the road near the powerhouse. A UPS driver had spotted him out by the slaughterhouse. A third person had seen him crossing a farmer’s field.
In all three instances, patrol cars had been dispatched. All three times they found no one. Was this guy the killer, or just a transient wandering town? Either way, the town was scared. Kids were being escorted or driven to school by parents. One resident was asked to return his gun to its safe when he was observed sitting on his porch with a semiautomatic rifle.
He would never ask, but he wondered what possessed Tanya Hart to let her boys roam in the Pines when there had been two disappearances in town. He supposed you couldn’t live in fear, but the Pines was a potential murderer’s wet dream. It was isolated,
