Beverly Connor - The Night Killer

“Well, son of a bitch,” she said.

“What?” Deputy Conrad was standing next to her just outside the vehicle. “Something wrong?”

“They drained my gas tank.” Diane didn’t know why she was surprised, but she was. The sheer effrontery.

Conrad shook his head. “Slick’s got a bad habit of siphoning folks’ gas. I’ve talked to him about it more than once. Look, it’d be best not to make him give it back. He’d doctor it with sugar before he gave it to you. I’ve got some in a can in my Jeep.”

“Well, hell,” she whispered to herself as the deputy went back to his Jeep.

She looked over to the passenger side. The contents of her purse had been dumped into the seat. Fortunately, there wasn’t much in it for them to take. The really important things she always kept on her person. Her lipstick was gone, as was a small mirror. So was her small Swiss army knife and first-aid kit she carried in her purse. She stuffed the contents back into the purse and opened her glove compartment. It was empty except for papers. No flashlight, tire gauge, or seat-belt knife. All the small change was gone out of her ashtray.

“Jeez, these people are rats,” she whispered.

“Wha’d you say?”

Diane looked up into the face of Slick Massey leaning into the car. She was pissed off enough that when she looked at him again she didn’t have the fearful response that she assumed she would.

“Nothing for your ears,” said Diane. “Where are the contents of my purse and glove compartment?”

“Whataya talking about?” he said.

“She’s accusin’ us of stealing from her.” It was a hard-edged female voice that Diane guessed to be the girlfriend’s.

“Folks, let the woman get out of her vehicle.”

Diane was glad to hear Deputy Conrad’s voice.

Slick stepped back and Diane got out. It was starting to feel like a replay of a few hours ago. The only light they had was from her dome light she’d switched on and the deputy’s Jeep lights. Everything was in high contrast and rather surreal.

“That’s the thanks we get for trying to help,” said the female.

“This is Tammy Taylor,” said Deputy Conrad, nodding in the direction of a woman still in shadows. “I put a couple-three gallons in your tank. That should get you to a gas station.”

“Thank you,” said Diane.

Diane eyed Slick. He sported a black eye, and it took Diane a second to realize that she was the one who gave it to him. It gave her some mild satisfaction. The rest of Slick was not much to look at either. He had grubby clothes, torn, dirty jeans that, Diane realized, could have been purchased that way some places for a lot of money. His short-sleeved plaid shirt was half tucked in and half out, and only a couple of buttons were buttoned, revealing a bare chest with sparse hair and a bad tattoo of some sort of animal. He had shoulder-length, stringy blond hair with dark roots, and his straight teeth looked a brilliant white in the light. Diane assumed they were dentures.

“She’s saying we stole her stuff,” said Tammy. She walked into the light and glared at Diane. “That’s the thanks we get for tryin’ to save your skinny ass.”

Tammy took a drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke in Diane’s face. Diane waved it away and stepped back.

Tammy wore black, tight capri pants and a black tank top decorated with rhinestones. Her hair was light brown, shoulder length, and frizzy. She had long, polished fingernails. All the better to scratch your eyes out , thought Diane. Tammy could have been in her thirties, forties, or pushing fifty, for all Diane could tell. Her face was lined with light wrinkles that looked like they came from too much time in the sun.

“Miss Fallon says Slick attacked her,” said Conrad. “What about it, Slick? Did you attack her?”

“Now, Travis, you know that ain’t true,” said Slick. “I was trying to help the woman. A tree fell on her ride here and she was all shook up.” He chuckled. “All shook up. Anyways, when I tried to see if she needed help, she slugged me and ran-and stole my flashlight, damn it. She stole my flashlight.”

“Slick tried to find her with the dogs,” said Tammy. “I told him not to bother. If the bitch was so stupid as to run into the woods in a thunderstorm, then she deserves to get her ass drowned.” She waved her hand in the air, holding the cigarette between her fingers. “But you know Slick-what a tender heart he has. He had to go out in the rain and try to find her. Got soakin’ wet. I’ll bet he catches his death.”

“What’s goin’ on? Is somethin’ goin’ on?” A high-pitched, plaintive voice came from the porch.

Diane looked over and saw a woman with a walker standing backlit in the doorway of the run-down house.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Norma, honey. You just go back in and I’ll make you some hot cocoa when I come in. Go back in. You don’t need to be out here after a storm. The air’s too wet.”

They all watched as the woman disappeared from the doorway. Tammy stood with one arm across her midriff and the other holding her cigarette up near her face. She flicked ashes off the end of the cigarette and resumed her stance.

“That’s my cousin Norma, visiting from Indiana. Poor thing’s not in good health. She came down here to try and recuperate. She don’t need this kind of excitement.” Tammy took another puff on her cigarette. This time she blew the smoke out the corner of her mouth.

“Miss Fallon says a skeleton landed on the hood of her vehicle,” said Deputy Conrad. He was leaning against the fender of Diane’s SUV, touching the top where it had been bent by the falling tree. “What do you have to say ’bout that?”

“Ain’t true,” said Slick. “Sho’ ’nuff ain’t true.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” answered Tammy. “I’ll show you what she saw.”

Tammy marched them over to the side of the road where they had pulled the tree. Among the branches was a crude plastic skeleton.

“We hung it in that old tree last Halloween. Forgot about it. That’s what she saw. That’s what she got hysterical over,” said Tammy, grinning.

“I don’t get hysterical over skeletons,” said Diane. “I’m fascinated by them. I’m a forensic anthropologist. I analyze skeletons for a living. I can tell bones from plastic.”

“Well, ain’t you fuckin’ special,” said Tammy. “Looky here, Slick, we got ourselves a fuckin’ forensic anthropologist. Well, I’ll bet you’re real embarrassed about thinking ol’ bloody bones here was real. Yeah, real embarrassed.” She took a puff on her cigarette and smirked at Diane. “Your word against ours, doll. Out here you don’t mean squat.”

“Tammy,” said Deputy Conrad, shaking his head.

“It’s true,” Tammy said. “Do you see real bones here?”

“Unfortunately,” said Travis Conrad, “with no body, so to speak, there’s nothing I can do.”

Tammy’s smirk grew broader. Diane focused on the memory of the skull. Well-closed sutures, angular orbits, narrowish face, small triangular nasal opening, slight jawline, graceful brow ridge, bad teeth. Diane looked at the tree and detritus around it. Of course, it was hollow and had been cemented up. The body was inside the tree. Completely skeletonized. This was Georgia. Even in the mountains, bodies could skeletonize quickly. It was held together when it fell, but broke apart easily. Held together by what tendons it had left. Then there was the healed fracture. Diane was surprised her memory was so good at this point. Must have been the water and candy bar that Travis gave her.

“Of course,” Diane said to the deputy. “I understand. However, if a report comes across your desk of a white adult woman who’s been missing from about three to twelve months ago, who has bad teeth, and has been beaten about the face or been in a car accident that broke her cheek and nasal area-then you need to come back and take a look around.”