Debbie Herbert - Unmasking The Shadow Man

“Think that’s our flashlight man—or woman?” she asked.

“If it is, he’s definitely up to no good.”

“Or she,” Harper remarked. “I’m an equal-opportunity crime theorist.”

“Fine. You go home and theorize up a storm. Can you see well enough to make it back?”

“Sure. I left the porch light on.”

“Great. I’m going to investigate.”

She’d said she could see the way home, but not that she’d obey. “Be careful,” she answered, turning around and taking a few steps. Once Liam was out of sight, she stopped and waited. Better to be here and learn what he’d found firsthand than to sit at home waiting and wondering. And no doubt every tiny rustle in the house would set her imagination down a fearful path she was sick of traveling.

Headlights beamed from far off, appearing for an instant and then vanishing along the winding county road out of town.

Harper shivered and wished she’d thought to grab a jacket from the porch. Liam moved quickly through the marsh, the flashlight beam set on high and shining in an arc over the wetland field. Whatever was out there, she hoped it wasn’t dangerous. She wished they would return to her house and call for backup—in case of trouble.

A hoot owl screeched, and chills bristled her skin. According to legend, the night’s predatory raptor had cried a message of death.

There. He’d almost stepped on the prone body lying facedown in the boggy soil. Liam shone his light on the victim, automatically categorizing details—Caucasian male, approximately six feet tall, long brown hair, wearing jeans, army boots and a flannel jacket shredded in the back upper torso area. Beneath the jagged slits, blood oozed from multiple lacerations.

It fit the pattern.

As he’d told Harper, this had been going on for years. Whoever the murderer was, he was smart enough to space the crimes out. The choice of victims was calculated, too. Usually, the homeless had cut ties with their families, and no one would report them missing for years—if ever. It was entirely possible that his missing uncle Teddy had met a similarly violent end in the backwoods of some small town. Perhaps even this one. Liam shook off the speculation to focus on his duty. Before he called out a team, he wanted to take a good look at the scene for himself. He knelt and searched the ground near the body for small clues—a button, a gum wrapper, anything the killer might have left behind unnoticed.

But there was nothing incriminating to be found.

Not only was the killer smart, but he was as cowardly as he was vicious. Each victim had been attacked from behind and stabbed multiple times. Liam pulled out his cell phone, hit the dispatcher contact button and quickly explained the situation.

A limb snapped nearby. “Officer?” a deep voice called out from the darkness. “That you, Officer Andrews?”

A group of about half a dozen men approached, in various states of dishevelment and sporting long hair and beards. Liam recognized a few of their faces.

One of the men stepped forward while the others lingered in the dark. “It’s Gunner, sir. We out here lookin’ for our buddy—Larry.”

“When did you last see him?”

“It were morning time. He gathered up our spare change and offered to go into town to buy us a few veggies for our stew tonight. Nobody seen him since.”

“Does your friend have long brown hair? Dressed in a flannel jacket?”

“Yes, sir. You seen him?”

“Unfortunately, I believe I have.” Liam waved him over. “Brace yourself. It’s not a pretty sight.”

Liam turned the flashlight on the body for a brief second. “That look like him?”

Gunner sank to his knees, gagging.

Liam gave him a moment, then asked, “Did you see anyone roaming around here minutes ago?”

“We saw a light and headed right over in the general direction.”

“Larry have a beef with anyone in town that you know of?”

“No, sir. He ain’t been in Baysville but a week or two.”

That was often their way. Ride the rails, then jump track to stay in a town for a bit until the urge hit to travel again. It made tracking someone damn difficult. Easy to get lost in this counterculture. Years ago they were referred to as hobos, a word probably derived from poor migrant workers who traveled from town to town toting knapsacks and a hoe for working the fields.

Baysville had once been a boomtown for them. Plenty of work in the old tobacco and corn fields. During the off-season, they could sometimes find jobs in the pork-processing factories. But these days, Baysville’s largest industry was tourism, and those farm and factory jobs for transients had almost dried up.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like you and your friends to stick around a bit longer. Might have a few more questions for y’all after forensics arrive and we search the area.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gunner clearly would rather slink away than face a group of cops, but Liam figured he knew better than to take off.

Looked like he’d be here awhile as well. Might be best to call Harper and explain the situation. After they were through here, it’d be too late to stop by her house. There was no reason to return, anyway, except to leave her flashlight on the porch and retrieve his car from the driveway. He’d checked her home and found no cause for alarm.

He ran a hand through his hair. Damn if the night didn’t feel a little colder and lonelier. He called Harper’s number but got no answer. Maybe she was getting ready for bed. Liam left a voice message that he’d found a body and would be tied up the rest of the evening.

Blue lights strobed on King Street at the same moment his phone rang. Liam held the flashlight straight up in the air as a beacon and verbally guided the officers to his precise location.

“What’s happening? What did you find?”

He whirled around at the familiar voice. “Thought you’d gone back to the house.”

“Fat chance,” Harper said, looking around the scene.

He knew the exact moment she spotted the body. She inhaled sharply. “Is he…is he—”

“Dead,” he confirmed. “We have the situation covered.” He briefly pressed her small, trembling hand. “Go on back,” he urged.

The police car bumped along the field and parked close by. A detective and the forensics examiner exited the vehicle and immediately set to work taking pictures and putting the body in a bag while Liam filled them in on what he knew. A siren sounded in the distance, and another cop car pulled up by the small crowd. Liam frowned when he recognized the driver.

Bryce Fairfax strode over, hands on hips as he surveyed the scene. His eyes widened at the sight of Harper. “What are you doing out here?”

“We saw a light in the marsh, and Liam… Officer Andrews…wanted to check it out.”

Bryce shot him a stern look. “Civilians don’t need to be at a crime scene—unless they’ve witnessed a crime, of course.”

Liam clamped his jaw tight to prevent an angry defense. His boss never failed to find something to criticize in his work. It had been like that almost since he’d transferred to the Baysville PD five months ago.

“It’s not his fault,” Harper said quickly. “He told me not to come out here, but I did anyway.”

“So I see.”

Bryce shot him another look that promised he’d speak with him later about this matter. What a jerk.

“I’ll go on home,” Harper said, giving Liam an apologetic smile before handing him her flashlight. “I won’t need this now.”

“I’ll have you escorted,” Chief Fairfax said, motioning to one of the responding officers.

For the next hour, they took statements and searched for forensic evidence. Bryce questioned the homeless men. His condescension was evident in his smirk and sharp, pointed questions. Bryce released them with a warning not to leave town. Liam predicted they’d be hopping the next train that passed through. Bryce had to realize that as well, which meant another unsolved vagrant murder.