Beverly Connor - The Night Killer

Diane turned her attention to the dining room. The dining room furniture was Victorian, like much of the furniture in the house. A mahogany breakfront hutch holding ornate dishes stood against one wall. Here too, the doors were ajar, but the hutch was not ransacked. Diane would like to have seen the rest of the house.

She took out her cell phone and began taking pictures of the crime scene and of the environment 360 degrees around where she stood. When she finished she put her phone back in its case on her belt. That was as much as she could do.

Diane listened again to the sounds of the house. Virtually quiet except for normal house sounds. She retraced her steps out the door and walked down the long steps that led to the road she’d left by not six hours earlier. It was dark except for the moon, and she had to be careful where she placed her feet going down the steep stairs. The road was muddy from the rain. She started off in the opposite direction from where she had gone earlier, walking on the shoulder, trying to keep out of the mud as much as possible. Surely the Barres had another neighbor nearby who wasn’t homicidal or, at the very least, didn’t keep skeletons.

She rounded a bend just as a pair of headlights came over the hill in her direction. Her heart pounded in her chest. She was out in the open with no place to hide. She would have to make a run for it again. Please don’t let it be the stranger from Massey Road-or the killer.

Diane eased backward, putting distance between her and the road-and the approaching car. A ditch brimming with rainwater flowed between her and the muddy road. A car would most assuredly get stuck if it tried to cross toward her. As it drew closer, Diane saw that it was a rugged-looking Jeep Wrangler. So much for getting stuck in the ditch. She unconsciously stepped farther back. The vehicle slowed and stopped.

Diane’s heart beat rapidly. She wanted to run, but she couldn’t very well run from everyone she met. She was weak and getting shaky. She’d have to take a chance and trust someone.

The Jeep door opened and a man got out, shielding his eyes from the brightness of his dome light, looking in Diane’s direction. From what little Diane could see, he looked young, perhaps in his twenties. She could also see that he was wearing a uniform, and there was a blue light mounted on the dashboard of his Jeep. He was a policeman.

“Miss Fallon? You the lady lost in the woods? I got this anonymous call-well, it was pretty strange, really. I’m Deputy Travis Conrad, ma’am. Well, are you lost?”

Diane almost collapsed with relief. She ran stumbling to the vehicle, sloshing in the soggy weeds and leaping over the ditch and into the mud.

“Yes. Yes, Deputy Conrad. I’m Diane Fallon,” she said, resisting the urge to hug him.

“Well, I’ll be damned. I told Jason I’d take the call. I was curious. We get all kinds of crazy calls, but this was a new one. I thought the guy was drunk, but Jason said he didn’t sound drunk.”

The deputy looked intently at her in the light from his open door, an expression of deep concern on his face.

“Excuse me for saying so, ma’am, but you look somewhat worse for the wear. How long have you been out like this?”

Diane hadn’t given a thought to her appearance. She pushed back a strand of hair from her face with shaking fingers. “Five and a half. . maybe six hours. . I don’t know exactly.”

“Are you injured? Do I need to get medical help for you?”

“No, no, I’m not hurt. Just exhausted and dehydrated. I haven’t had any water.”

Travis Conrad looked at her pleasantly and slapped the hood of the Jeep. “Why don’t you get in the ol’ Wrangler here and get off your feet? I believe I’ve got a bottle of water.”

The deputy put a supportive arm around her and walked her around to the passenger side. He opened the door for her and took her arm to help her in.

“My shoes. .” Diane began, indicating the muddy globs encasing her footwear.

“Does this look like a vehicle that’s finicky about a little mud?” He grinned. “Get in.”

She climbed in the blessedly dry vehicle and Deputy Conrad went around to the other side and got in. He reached behind the front seats and came up with three bottles of water held together by plastic rings.

“Try a little of this,” he said.

Diane reached to take a bottle from him. Her hand was shaking uncontrollably. “Thank you,” she said. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.” She twisted open the bottle cap and took a long drink of water.

“Let me see here,” Deputy Conrad said. He reached into the glove compartment, felt around for a moment, and pulled out a candy bar. “Never know when I might get low blood sugar. Chocolate okay?”

“Absolutely perfect,” Diane said. She fumbled with the wrapper before finally tearing it open, and took three bites in rapid succession. She realized that her head was spinning. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat.

“You just relax. You’ve had a time of it,” Conrad said. “That ought to make you feel better in just a few minutes.” He put the Jeep in gear and started out. The tires spun and the Jeep slipped sideways in the mud for a few feet before he straightened it on the road.

“We gotta do something about these roads,” he said. “Where were you headed to, anyway?”

“Looking for a phone,” Diane said.

“You know, Roy and Ozella Barre live right up the road here. You must have passed their place. I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded you getting them up,” he said.

“That’s why I was looking for a phone,” Diane said.

“What’s why you were looking for a phone? You know, you’re not making a lot of sense. You just relax until you feel better.”

“No, you don’t understand,” said Diane. “I left the Barres’ house earlier this evening, about seven thirty. I had the altercation with the man at the house on Massey Road, and managed to get back to the Barres’ after more than five hours of trudging through the woods on foot.”

“In all this storm? That must have been quite a hike,” he said.

“But listen, about the Barres.” Diane stopped, a lump forming in her throat.

“Afraid to wake them up?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the muddy road.

“No. It’s much more serious. Look. This is hard,” she said. “The Barres are dead. When I got back here, I found them murdered in their house. Someone has killed them.”

Deputy Conrad slammed on the brakes. The Jeep fishtailed in the road before coming to a stop. Diane pressed against the seat belt and held on to the dash.

“What do you mean, killed?” he asked, as if he didn’t know what the word meant.

“Someone cut their throats. They are sitting at their dining table,” said Diane. “They’re both dead. I found them not more than thirty minutes ago. Their phone is dead too.”

“Is this for real? This is not some joke, because if it is. .”

“I wish it were,” said Diane.

“I just saw them yesterday at the Waffle House,” he said. “He was all happy about someone from the museum in Rosewood coming to look at his arrowheads.” He looked over at Diane. “I guess that’d be you.”

“Yes,” she said. “That was me.”

Deputy Conrad rubbed his hands over his face. “Aw, God.” He looked over at Diane. “You know, you’ve had a hard night. Maybe you’re delirious, maybe you-”

“Imagined it?” said Diane. “I wish I had. I hope when we get to their house you find them safe in bed and you can yell at me for scaring you.”

He took his foot off the brake and pressed the accelerator. The tires spun and the Jeep slid sideways toward the ditch before it found traction. Diane heard the mud spattering on the sides and under the vehicle. She sat back in the seat, wet, cold, tired, and depressed.