Lover’s Bridge, Pt. 01

2:30 pm, March 11, 2022:

The young woman thrashed about on the bed as the man above her continued pounding into her, groaning and muttering something in French. She had no idea what he was saying, but she understood the hard cock skewering her most intimate place.

She had never felt anything so hard… and so big in her entire life. Not even her loving husband of eight years made her feel this way. But Phillipe was different in many ways — strong, handsome, refined, and rich. She loved how he spoke in his heavily-accented voice, and just hearing him speak French made her wet.

And he certainly knew how to make a woman feel… loved. Or at least appreciated. This was their seventh tryst, and it was just as magnificent as the previous six. She had never experienced so many orgasms in one night as she did with Phillipe.

The fact that he was married meant nothing to the woman — she was married as well. But her dull, boring husband would rather spend his time out hunting than doing anything else. He was a good provider and husband and would be an excellent father to the children they would have one day. But he was a dud in bed. And he always smelled like something he had just skinned.

But her boss Phillipe was so different. Not only was he French, but he was also suave and self-confident. And he had a cock that never seemed to go soft. She didn’t love him but loved what he did to her. And the fact that he paid her very well helped.

Just before this “liaison,” as he called it, he took her to a tattoo parlor, where she had a fleur-de-lis placed just above her ass. It was what the younger kids called a “tramp stamp,” and included a number — 47. She had no idea what the number meant and really didn’t care.

All she knew was that it would give her husband fits when he saw it. She snickered at that. Suddenly, Phillipe stiffened, and she thought that perhaps he was having an orgasm, but the look of shock on his face and the way he squawked told her otherwise. He twitched, then fell on top of her, and the woman saw the angry face above them.

“Ah tol’ ya what would happen if ah ever caught ya cheating on me,” the angry man growled in his deep Texas accent.

“Please, it’s not what it looks like. I only love you, and it was only one time. You have to believe me. Please…” She never finished her sentence as the man placed the taser against her neck and pressed the trigger…

…

7:30 am, September 20, 2022:

It was a brisk September morning when Sheriff Ryan Caldwell entered the Boardwalk Coffee House and Cafe for his usual cup of coffee. Sally Richards, the owner of this little slice of heaven, smiled as she handed him a large steaming cup of coffee fixed just the way he liked it.

“You’re spoiling me, you know that, Sally?” Ryan asked with a smile.

“That’s what I’m here for, Sheriff,” Sally replied. “You sure you don’t want some biscuits and gravy to go with that coffee?”

“I’d love some, but you know how Bev loads me up for breakfast every morning,” Ryan shot back. Sally laughed at that.

“I reckon some things never change, do they?” she asked.

“Reckon not,” Ryan answered. He left the shop and returned to the Sheriff’s Department, tipping his hat as he greeted the others on the boardwalk. It had been just about a year since the murder of Commissioner Higgins, and things were just about back to normal.

He stopped at the spot where John Hastings, the old Vietnam War vet known to everyone as “Sarge,” customarily parked. He wasn’t there this morning, and Ryan thought the spot looked… abandoned… without his presence. Ryan knew John was in the hospital for a respiratory illness and made a mental note to stop in and see him.

Ryan reached the Sheriff’s Department and stopped to light up a cigarette. Looking around the town and the people, he realized how blessed he was to be here. He loved his job and, to a degree, loved the people here. Since he had become sheriff, he saw them all as part of an extended family, one which he was sent to protect.

Finishing his cigarette, Ryan walked into the office and greeted everyone he saw.

“Good morning, Sheriff,” Sgt. Elaine Bledsoe said as she handed him the OAR — the Overnight Activity Reports.

“Morning, Elaine,” Ryan replied. “Anything interesting going on?”

“Not yet, but the day’s still young,” she said. Ryan returned to his office, closed the door, and reviewed the reports. It had been a reasonably quiet night, which made Ryan happy. An hour after he arrived, there was a knock at his door.

“Enter,” Ryan called out. Elaine popped her head into the office.

“Sheriff, I just got a call from Sheriff Hanes. He’d like you to meet him over on Eastland Bridge,” Elaine said. Darnell Hanes had been the sheriff of the adjoining county for over ten years. Ryan met him several times and found him to be a good man.

“Oh? Did he say what for?” Ryan asked.

“He says he needs your assistance in a case. A body was found there this morning.”

“A body, huh? Wonderful,” Ryan sighed. “All right. I’ll head on out. Might as well dispatch Ron and Detective Hale. Have them meet me out there.” He shook his head. “I jinxed myself.”

“Yes, sir,” Elaine said before leaving. Ryan grabbed his hat and coffee, then went, wondering why Darnell couldn’t handle this case alone. The county line ran through the middle of the bridge, known locally as “Lover’s Bridge.”

It was called that because a young couple once committed suicide by jumping off the bridge which spanned a deep ravine. These days, the road was rarely used except by local ranchers. The old bridge had been there for years, and there had been talk that it would soon be replaced with something safer.

Ryan arrived and saw flashing lights at the midpoint of the bridge. He pulled his truck over and walked the rest of the way. Darnell, a sizeable beefy man with something of a gut, met him, and the two shook hands.

“Thanks for coming out, Sheriff,” Darnell said.

“No problem, Sheriff,” Ryan said. “What’ve you got here?” he asked, looking at the folded blue tarp on the bridge. He could tell there was a body underneath.

“Two bodies, Sheriff.”

“Two? I only see one here,” Ryan stated, looking at the folded tarp. Darnell shook his head.

“Nope. There’s two. Placed right on the county line. You might want to brace yourself. This is pretty gruesome.” He pulled back the folded tarp with a gloved hand, and Ryan was shocked at what lay before him. He had seen a lot during his years as a mercenary, but nothing quite like this.

There were, indeed, two bodies in the tarp. Or, to be more precise, halves of two bodies. The top half was definitely male but appeared to have been mutilated. His eyes were missing, and Ryan could see from how his abdomen lay that he had been disemboweled. A thin red line around his neck suggested he had either been garroted or someone did a thorough job slitting his throat.

From the exposed genitalia shaved bare, Ryan could see the lower half once belonged to a female. The legs were dark and well-toned, and the feet looked cared for and manicured. She was probably a beautiful woman, Ryan thought. He looked up at Darnell, who seemed to have trouble keeping his breakfast down.

“Sheriff, I’d be much obliged if you could take the lead on this,” Darnell whispered. “After the last round of budget cuts, I just don’t have the resources to handle this, and the county commissioners have auditors all over my ass. Hell, I can’t even take a shit without reporting the toilet paper I use. Of course, I’ll give you whatever support I can.”

“Why not just call the state on this?” Ryan asked. Darnell snorted at that.

“That’d be all I need. Bad enough, I have auditors crawling in and out of my ass all day.”

“All right, Sheriff,” Ryan said. “I’ll start the preliminaries on this, but God alone knows where it will go from there.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Darnell said. “I appreciate the hell out of this.”

“When were these bodies found?” Ryan asked.

“Farmer Johnson noticed the tarp this morning about two hours ago and called the office.” Ryan nodded, then looked to see Detective Hale and Ron’s forensics van arrive at the bridge. He waved them over, and Ron drove the van to the center point of the bridge.

Two sheriff’s cruisers had accompanied them, along with a small group of reporters. Terrific, Ryan thought. He got up, walked to the cruisers, and met Deputy Sanders.

“Keep those jackals outta here,” Ryan ordered.

“Got it, Sheriff,” Sanders replied. Ryan returned to the scene and saw Detective Hale looking over the bodies.

“You ever see anything like this, Ray?” Ryan asked the big black man, who came to Hard Rock from the Big Apple, where he had served as a detective in the NYPD.

“Not in real life,” Ray said.

“What do you mean?” Ryan asked, confused.

“You know how I like to binge-watch cop shows online. I’ve seen this type of thing in a few of those programs. Never thought I’d see anything like it in real life,” Ray said. Ryan looked at Ron, who was now examining the two sets of remains.

“Well?” Ryan asked.

“The man’s fingerprints have been burned with acid, so I doubt if I’ll be able to identify him that way. His right forefinger is also missing. The victim’s teeth have all been removed, so we can forget dental records. Hopefully, there’s a DNA record somewhere that can be used to identify him.”

“Any idea how long he’s been dead?” Ryan asked.

“None. See the blemishes on the skin?”

“Yeah, I saw that on both of them. Frozen?”

“I see you’ve been listening, Sheriff,” Ron smiled. “I can’t say how long they’ve been frozen, but I might be able to give you a ballpark once I get them back to the lab. I’ll also try to lift some fingerprints off this tarp, but something tells me I won’t find any.” Ray looked up at Darnell.

“You say a local farmer reported this?”

“Yes, Abel Johnson. Has a place just over that ridge,” Darnell said. “He was running his dog and found… this. He was more than a little shaken.

I sent him home with a deputy to get a statement.”

“I’d like to speak with him,” Ray said.

“Sure. You can follow me if you want.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.” Ray turned back to Ryan. “I’ll go see this Abel Johnson, then I’ll be back.”

“I get the feeling you’re going to need some help with this,” Ryan said. “I’ll assign Deputy Sanders to you for the duration.”

“Thanks, Sheriff, that’ll be a big help. He can start by going through all of our missing persons reports for the last eight months,” Ray said.

“All right. You have this, Ron?” Ryan asked.

“Got it, boss.”

“I guess I’d better go tell the press something,” Ryan hissed before standing up.

“I really appreciate you taking lead on this, Sheriff,” Darnell repeated as the two men shook hands.

“No problem, Darnell,” Ryan said. “We’ll be in touch.” With a sigh, Ryan walked to the police tape at the end of the bridge, where the reporters stood waiting. He stopped when he reached Sanders. “I want you to work with Detective Hale on this, Deputy. Start by reviewing all the missing persons’ reports for the last twelve months. Might have to go back longer; they appear to have been frozen. Now I got to talk to reporters. The least favorite part of this job. And hope that the other halves of those bodies don’t show up in too public a place,” he sighed.

“Got it, Sheriff,” Sanders said.

“Sheriff! What can you tell us?” one of the reporters shouted. Ryan walked to the police tape and faced the reporters.

“Right now, there’s not much I can report to you,” Ryan said. “We have found what appears to be the remains of two unidentified individuals. They are being taken to our forensic lab now for further processing. When I have more to share with you, I will. That’s all.”

“But Sheriff! Can’t you tell us more than that?” the reporter yelled as Ryan walked away. He turned, shook his head no, then climbed into his truck and followed Darnell and Ray to the Johnson ranch hoping to glean some information. Unfortunately, the old man wasn’t much help and looked like he could use a stiff drink… or three. Ryan cautioned him not to speak to the press, and they left.

…

“How was your day, sweetheart?” Beverly asked when Ryan sat at the dinner table that evening, eyeing the meatloaf she had just taken out of the oven.

“It was a day,” Ryan said with an exasperated tone. He didn’t like bringing his work home, but he had always found that talking with his wife always seemed to help put things into perspective.

“That bad, huh?” Beverly asked. Ryan sighed as he took a hunk of his wife’s meatloaf. He loved her meatloaf, especially when she added bits of jalapeno pepper and jack cheese.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“You know, I’ve seen some God-awful things in my life, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like this,” he finally said.

“Is it about what I heard on the news about Eastland Bridge?” Beverly asked. Ryan nodded his head.

“What did you hear?” he asked warily.

“Oh, just that a body was found out there,” she replied as she took a bit of her meatloaf.

“Not one, but two,” Ryan said. “Whoever did it must’ve been really mad about something.”

“Pretty gross, huh?”

“You could say that,” Ryan told her in a tone that made her shake her head.

“I remember one time, years ago, when we had cattle,” Beverly said. “One of our cows was pregnant and about ready to give birth. Horace and I went into the corral one night to check up on her. We were about ready to call the vet. We were too late, though. I’ll never forget what I saw.”

“What was that?” Ryan asked.

“The heifer gave birth all right. But in the process, she got turned inside out. I’ve never seen such a mess in my whole life. The calf survived, but I ended up bottle-feeding it. I swear it thought I was its mother or something.” Ryan chuckled at the mental image of his willowy blonde bride bottle-feeding a baby calf. “Was it that gross?” Ryan said nothing briefly as he tried to imagine what Beverly had experienced.

“Yeah, I think it was,” he finally told her.

“It must’ve been pretty bad, then. You know I’m here for you, though, right? If you want to talk, or…”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Ryan said with a smile. “Yes, it was, and I’ve seen some pretty bad things in my day. But knowing you’re here makes it much better.”

“That’s because I love you, Ryan Caldwell,” Beverly said.

“And I love you more, Beverly Caldwell,” Ryan smiled. That night, Beverly did her best to make Ryan forget his troubles — and she succeeded marvelously.

…

8:15 am, September 21, 2022:

Ryan and Ray met with Ron to learn what he had gleaned from the remains recovered from the bridge.

“I can tell you that both victims had been frozen for at least six months,” Ron began. “In fact, part of the woman’s legs were still frozen. I got DNA samples from both victims and sent them out for analysis and possible identification.

“From the wound on his neck, I’d say the male victim appears to have been garroted, possibly with something thin, like a piano wire. Additionally, his body was completely eviscerated. All of his internal organs have been removed. Well, all of them except for his brain, which, I’m happy to say, appeared normal for a man in his forties.”

“Anything else?” Ray asked.

“Yes, I found marks on the man’s body that look like they were made with one of those hand-held tasers,” Ron said, turning the male torso to give Ryan and Ray a good look. “I found several of these marks on the male but none on the female. But, I did find this,” Ron added, turning the female torso over to show that a patch of skin the size of a mason jar lid had been shaved off above her buttocks.

“Identifying mark removed?” Ray asked, looking closer.

“That would be my guess,” Ron said. “I took a photo and enlarged it for you. Based on traces of ink still in the flesh, I’m guessing it was a tattoo. From the location, I’d say it’s what the kids refer to as a ‘tramp stamp.’ Don’t ask me to tell you what it was. I have no idea. At any rate, this seems to have been removed shortly after her death,” Ron said. “Rather than after being frozen.”

“There are two tattoo shops in town,” Ryan said. “At least that’s something. Maybe one of them will remember this tattoo.”

“Maybe, if she got it in town,” Ray said.

“You up for a field trip?” Ryan asked.

“Why not?” Ray replied.

“How long before we get something back from the lab?” Ryan asked.

“I put a rush on it, which means it’ll probably take about two or three weeks,” Ron said.

“Two or three weeks. Wonderful,” Ryan sarcastically hissed. “We’d better get going if we’re gonna find our killer,” he added, taking the photo from Ron.

The first tattoo shop was a bust, but Ray and Ryan struck pay-dirt when they visited the second shop, which just happened to be in the same strip mall as the adult store they raided a year ago in connection with Bertram’s murder.

“Is it just me, or is there something about this particular strip mall?” Ray asked when they parked. Ryan chuckled at that.

“Who knows? Hopefully, they didn’t build it over some old burial ground, cemetery, or something,” Ryan responded. They entered the shop and saw a tall, well-built woman with long dark hair caring for a customer at the counter. After the customer left, she looked at Ryan and Ray.

“And what may I do for you fine young men?” she asked with a smile that lit up her face.

“I’m Sheriff Ryan Caldwell, and this is Detective Ray Hale,” Ryan said as Ray held out his credentials.

“Well, you can call me Leah,” the woman said in a sultry voice. Ryan and Ray took inventory of the woman before them. She was what could be considered “goth,” her long dark hair hanging straight over her shoulders, her curvaceous body covered with leathery material that clung to her like a second skin. What skin was exposed by her outfit was covered with brilliantly-colored tattoos.

“Leah, we’d like to ask you about a tattoo we believe you may have done about six months ago.”

“Six months? That’s a long time ago, Sheriff. I’m not sure I remember back that far,” the woman said.

“She had a tattoo above her buttocks. I’m told it’s called a ‘tramp stamp’,” Ray said.

“Well, that’s different,” Leah said. “Most women around here think it’s daring enough just to get a tattoo, and it’s usually a little rose or kitten on an ankle or someplace only a really close friend will see if you catch my meaning.” Ryan nodded noncommittally, and she continued. “I certainly remember that one.” She pointed to one of the hundreds of designs on the wall, an ornate Fleur-de-lis.

“Do you have any records of that?” Ray asked.

“The man who ordered the tattoo gave me the design and paid with cash. And he wanted an addition. As I recall, he gave me a handsome tip for my… discretion.”

“Did he give you a name?” Ray asked.

“No, he didn’t, as I recall. But he had a very distinctive French accent,” Leah said. And he insisted that it be placed precisely like he showed me and exactly where,” she replied. “It was on his wife. I assumed they were married since they both wore wedding rings.”

“And where was this tattoo placed, exactly?”

“Right here,” Leah said, pointing to a spot just above her heart-shaped ass. “You could call it a ‘tramp stamp,’ but it was the strangest one I had ever seen — or done.”

“What else can you tell us about it?” Ryan asked.

“He wanted the number 47 tattooed around it. Really fancy, and I do good work. I have no idea what it meant, and I didn’t ask.”

“How long ago was this done?” Ray asked.

“I think it was about six months ago or thereabouts. I’d have to dig through my receipts to verify that, though,” Leah told him.

“Could you do that, please?” Ryan asked.

“Sure,” she said, pulling a book from under the counter. She spent a few minutes looking through it before showing them a copy of the receipt. Sure enough, the tattoo was paid for in cash. Ray and Ryan took note of the date — March 11, 2022. There was no name on the receipt.

“Can you give us a copy of that, please?” Ray asked.

“Of course. I’ll be happy to,” Leah said as she walked to her small copy machine. “Anything else?” she asked as she handed the receipt to Ray.

“What can you tell us about the woman?” Ray asked. Leah thought for a few moments before responding.

“I can tell you she was a looker. About my height, a little skinnier than me. I’d say she wore a really skimpy B-cup bra. Very nicely put together. Hell, I’d do her in a heartbeat,” Leah chuckled. “But I hadn’t seen her around here before. Him either. I guessed they were just traveling through and decided to do it on a whim.” Ryan ignored the side comment and honed in on the description.

“Would you be willing to see a sketch artist, maybe help us get a good description of her?” Ryan asked.

“I’ll do one better than that,” Leah said. “I’ve got video from my surveillance system. And I keep all of my videos for two years — just in case. You never know when some asshole will try to sue you these days. And I take a picture of every finished tattoo. I’m sure I have it.”

“That would be perfect,” Ray said with a bright smile. Breaks like this didn’t happen every day.

“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get you a copy,” Leah said. “Would you care to step into my office?”

“Of course,” Ray said. The two men followed Leah, taking note of her swaying ass as she walked. They entered her small office and watched her rifling through a row of DVDs on a shelf.

“Here it is,” she said, pulling one from the shelf. She put the disk into her computer and brought up the video, fast-forwarding it to the point where the two customers entered the shop. They could clearly see the faces of both the man and the woman. Leah fast-forwarded it to the point where the two left the shop.

“Can you make a copy of that entire encounter?” Ray asked. “Starting from right before they come into the shop?”

“Sure,” Leah said. She handed them a DVD a few mouse clicks after confirming the video had been copied. “By the way, the system captures audio as well as video. Can’t be too careful, you know.”

She pulled up an image gallery, clicked some more, and finally, a picture of the tattoo showed on the screen — a Fleur-de-lis nestled in numerals 4 and 7. She tapped again, and the printer whirred and spit out a sheet. “Here you go.”

“No, you certainly can’t be too careful these days. Thank you for your cooperation,” Ray said.

“You’re welcome,” Leah said. “This woman — did she do something? Is she missing or something?”

“Only half of her is missing,” Ray said, causing Leah to blanch. To him, that was a sign that she wasn’t deeper involved in this case as a random merchant. From her talk, she might have been in a ménage a trois with her customers but didn’t want to admit it. It was hard to fake that pasty expression, so she probably hadn’t met up with them later. He would listen closely to the audio. “And I would appreciate it if you didn’t spread that around or talk to the press.”

“Oh my God,” she breathed.

“Tell me, was there anything strange about either of them? Did she seem uncomfortable or scared to you?” Ryan asked. Leah thought for a moment before answering, then shook her head.

“No, as I recall, they seemed quite comfortable. Happy, even. Like two lovers,” Leah said. “Wait a minute,” she said, her face lighting up as she remembered something.

“What?” Ray asked.

“I remembered something else. It’ll be on the video. As you know, the law requires that a person be 18 or older to get a tattoo without parental consent. I remember the woman looked to be pretty young, and I wanted to verify her age — just to cover myself. I verified she was over 18, but I remember her name didn’t seem French to me. Holden or something like that. The guy she was with had a very strong French accent.”

“Are you sure about the accent?” Ray asked.

“Absolutely. I spent five years in Paris. I know a French accent when I hear one.”

“Holder?” Ryan asked.

“Yes, that was it. Holder,” Leah said. “I know it’s not much, but…”

“That’s perfect, miss,” Ryan said. “You’ve been a great help. Thank you very much.” They left the shop and got into Ryan’s truck.

“You’re friends with some of the Holders, aren’t you?” Ray asked.

“Yeah, I’ve been out hunting with Don several times. It’s a pretty large clan. Old Ma and Pa Holder had nine kids — three girls and six boys.”

“Damn,” Ray exclaimed, shaking his head.

“I’ve met several of them, and they all seem like good people. One of Don’s younger brothers, Dan, was in the service. Last I heard, he was coming home, but that was about eight or nine months ago. I’ve never heard anything more about him.”

“You think our victim may have been married to him?” Ray asked.

“Don’t know. Could be. Don’s probably at work right now. Wanna go talk to him?”

“Sure, why not? Then I’d like to look that video over.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ryan said. He drove to the county maintenance yard, where Don works as a mechanic. He parked, and they climbed out of the truck.

“Hey, Sheriff! What can I do ya for?” Bill Hanson, the shop foreman, asked when Ray and Ryan walked in.

“Hey, Bill. I’d like to speak with Don Holder. Is he in today?” Ryan asked.

“Sure, let me just call him in. Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I just have a couple of questions. I won’t keep him long,” Ryan promised. Bill called for Don over the intercom, and the three men saw Don amble to the office.

“Hey, Sheriff! Detective Hale! How y’all doin’?” Don asked as he wiped his hands with a red cloth.

“Doing okay, Don,” Ryan said. “Mind if we talk to ya for a minute or two?”

“Not at all. Let’s step into my office,” Don said with a grin. Ray and Ryan followed Don into a small conference room, and Don closed the door after they were inside. “What’s going on?” he asked, suddenly nervous.

“Don, I was just curious about something,” Ryan began. “Have you heard from your brother Dan lately?” Don’s face fell as he tried to answer. Ryan and Ray both sensed his reluctance to say anything.

“It’s okay,” Ray said, hoping to encourage Don to speak.

“Well, tell ya the truth, I haven’t spoken to him in a while. Maybe two months. We was supposed to go coyote hunting this weekend. I stopped at the pawn shop to see if they had any new rifles in, and saw a couple I knew Dan had.”

“Oh?” Ryan asked. “I know Dan was in the service. What’s he doing these days?”

“He works for the railroad, and he could be anywhere between San Antone and San Diego. But he usually says something if he’s going to be gone for more than a week or so,” Don said.

“These rifles… what did you do about those?” Ray asked.

“I paid to get ’em outta hock. I know Dan loved those guns. I figured he must’ve needed the money for bills or something.”

“He hunts about as much as you do, doesn’t he?” Ryan asked.

“Oh, he loves to go hunting,” Don said with a wide smile.

“Pretty good at field dressing and such?” Ryan pressed.

“That boy can field dress and case a coyote in no time flat,” Don bragged. Ryan and Ray looked at each other, eyebrows raised, and each knew what the other was thinking.

“He’s married, isn’t he?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah, he is. Good-looking woman, too. Met her in California. The whole family loves her,” Don said.

“Have you seen her lately?” Ray asked.

“Come to think of it, no, I haven’t. Reckon it’s been about five or six months since anyone’s seen her,” Don said. “You think she’s in trouble or something?”

“We don’t know,” Ryan said. “That’s what we’re trying to find out. Do you have a picture of her?”

“Sure do,” Don said, pulling out his phone. He scrolled through his pictures until he found one of Dan and his wife, then showed it to Ray and Ryan. The woman in the photo looked much like the woman they saw in the video at Leah’s tattoo shop.

“Could you send that picture to me, please?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah, hang on here. I’m still learning this newfangled gadget,” Don said.

“Let me,” Ray offered. Don handed the phone to Ray, who quickly sent the photo to Ryan and himself using the phone’s Bluetooth connection. He handed the phone back after verifying the transfer was successful. “Thank you,” Ray said.

“These darn gadgets get me so frustrated sometimes,” Don said with a nervous smile. Ray and Ryan chuckled at that.

“I know how you feel,” Ryan said. “Don, can you give us Dan’s address? We’d like to go see if he or his wife is there.”

“Sure, I’ll write it down. He’s got a doublewide on five acres out there on Sunset Ridge.” Don wrote the address on the back of a small card and handed it to Ryan.

“What’s his wife’s name?” Ryan followed up.

“Uh, Carmelita, I believe. Something Hispanic like that. Dan introduced her to the family when they returned from California, but she hasn’t been by much since then. Dan told us she’s kinda shy,” Don said. Ryan and Ray found it interesting that Don couldn’t recall his sister-in-law’s name. They had said the whole family loved her but seldom, if ever, saw her, but neither one said anything.

“Do you know if she had any tattoos?” Ray asked.

“None that I saw, Detective,” Don said. “If she did, they were hidden.”

“Do you think she was prone to, you know, run around? Maybe go bar-hopping or something?” Ray asked, following up on his previous question.

“No idea, Detective. Like I said, I never did get to know her very well. None of us did.”

“Don’t you find that to be a little odd? Given how close y’all are?” Ryan asked.

“Actually, yes, I did find it strange,” Don said. “But, I reckon to each his own, right? Live and let live and all that stuff? Isn’t that what they say on all them television shows?” Ryan sensed Don’s increasing nervousness and simply nodded his head.

“Reckon so,” Ryan said quietly.

“Well, is there anything else I can do for you fellers? I really need to get back to work,” Don said, shifting from one foot to another. Ray and Ryan looked at each other before answering.

“Not right now, Don, but we may have some questions later,” Ryan said quietly.

“Of course, Sheriff. Any time,” Don said.

“Thank you, Mr. Holder,” Ray said, extending a hand. Don nodded as he shook Ray’s hand, then left the room as quickly as he could.

“I think we need to go visit Casa del Holder right away, don’t you, Ray?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah,” the big black man replied quietly. They climbed into Ryan’s official truck and headed for Dan Holder’s residence.

“Is it just me, or did Holder seem a little… nervous?” Ray asked as Ryan drove.

“He did, and more than a little,” Ryan replied. “I’ve known Don Holder for years, and I’ve never seen him like this before. Kinda like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

“You think he knows more than he’s saying?”

“Possibly. But I’ve never known Don to lie. It’s just not in him.” They reached Dan Holder’s residence, a five-acre plot of land on the outskirts of town. A doublewide mobile home sat in the middle of the property. Ryan parked in front of the house, and the two men exited the vehicle.

“Sheriff’s Department! Open up,” Ryan shouted as he banged on the front door. There was no answer, and neither heard any activity in the house nor a barking dog. Ryan pounded on the door a second time but received no response.

“Maybe he’s out back,” Ray said. “There’s an outbuilding behind the house.”

“Could be,” Ryan agreed. “Let’s check it out.” They walked around the mobile home to the shabby building made from poles and corrugated metal sheets.

“Mr. Holder?” Ryan called as he cautiously entered the already-open door of the shop. There was no response, and Ryan looked around the shop’s interior as his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside. They walked inside and took inventory of the place.

The floor was concrete, but dirt ran through cracks throughout the shop. A large table in the middle of the shop held a bandsaw — the kind used by butchers. A metal cabinet stood against one wall, and a padlock secured the doors. A long freezer sat against an opposite wall, a padlock securing the door.

“Does that look like blood to you?” Ryan asked rhetorically. He had seen enough dried blood to know what it looked like. And this certainly looked — and smelled — like it. Ray looked where Ryan indicated and slowly nodded in agreement.

“Sure does. But it could be animal blood, you know,” Ray offered. “If you have some bolt cutters, we could take a look inside. We do have reasonable cause.”

“Reckon so,” Ryan said quietly. “Just the same, I’d feel better if we got a search warrant.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Ray offered.

“Thanks,” Ryan said. “While you’re at it, have Elaine dispatch the forensics people. Just in case…”

“On it,” Ray said as he left the shop. While Ray took care of the warrant and the forensics team, Ryan looked around the shop. Standing before the metal cabinet, he caught a whiff of… something. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t pleasant.

Then he remembered Ron’s words when he examined the man’s hands on the bridge. Something about fingertips burned with acid. He left the shop and saw Ray, microphone in hand, at his truck.

“Have them send a hazmat crew as well,” Ryan called out. Ray nodded his head in acknowledgment and relayed the request to Elaine.

“Done,” Ray said when he replaced the radio’s microphone.

“Good. Now we wait,” Ryan said.

…

Forty-five minutes later, two vans — one from the hazmat unit and Ron’s forensics lab — and three patrol cars pulled onto the property. The hazmat unit and the forensics team went to the shed as two deputies placed crime scene tape across the driveway.

“Let the hazmat folks secure that shed first,” Ryan instructed his deputies.

“Here’s your warrant, Detective,” Deputy Sanders said, handing Ray a folded paper. “Covers the whole property, inside and out. Even includes ground-penetrating radar if you need it. Walked it through myself so it wouldn’t get sidetracked.”

“Thank you, Deputy,” Ray replied approvingly, reviewing the paperwork. “Nice job.”

“Sanders, why don’t you and a couple of deputies take a look through the house,” Ryan said. “You know what to look for.”

“Got it, Sheriff,” Sanders said, tipping his hat. Turning, he pointed to two deputies. “You two, with me,” he instructed. “Get yer gloves and evidence bags.” Ryan watched Sanders with a smile.

“That boy’s gonna make one helluva sergeant,” he told Ray. Ryan had been considering Sanders for promotion for some time. An hour later, the fully-suited hazmat crew came out of the shed, wheeling blue plastic drums, which they staged at different spots for pick-up.

“Good thing you called us out, Sheriff,” Ben Fry, the hazmat supervisor, said as he removed his mask.

“Oh? What did you find in there?” Ryan asked.

“Some pretty nasty stuff,” Ben said darkly. “Whoever had it obviously didn’t know how to store it properly. Could’ve been catastrophic.”

“What was it?” Ray asked.

“Pretty much all the makings of a meth lab,” Ben said. “And enough ingredients to make some pretty nasty bombs.”

“Bombs?” a shocked Ray asked.

“Yes, Detective,” Ben said. “We didn’t find any detonators, though.”

“That’s a relief,” Ryan said. “Is it safe for my deputies to go in there?”

“Unless there’s something toxic in that freezer, yes,” Ben said. “We didn’t see anything else in there. All the same, I’d feel better if y’all wore masks in there. We brought plenty. If you’ll excuse me, I need to arrange transport for this stuff, Sheriff. I’ll get you a detailed inventory when I get back to the office.”

“Thanks, Ben,” Ryan said. “Maybe one or two of your guys should stay for a while until we’re finished.”

“Good idea, Sheriff,” Ben said. “I’ll see to it.” Ryan and Ray grabbed a mask from Ben, put them on, and entered the shed. A deputy followed them inside, carrying a pair of bolt cutters.

“Cut that lock off,” Ryan instructed. The deputy cut the lock, placing it inside an evidence bag. “Let’s verify this freezer isn’t booby-trapped before we open it.” Ray, Ryan, and the deputy examined the freezer closely but found no evidence that it had been wired.

Satisfied that it was probably safe but mindful of the word ‘bombs,’ they slowly opened the door with an extended length of rope from behind the table. The door opened without incident, so they breathed easier, then went and looked inside.

The top of the freezer contained packages of meat wrapped in butcher’s paper. After pulling the top layer out, they saw two large bundles underneath. One was in the shape of a human torso, and the other looked long enough to be the lower half of a male body. They stepped outside, and Ryan called for Ron and his crew to retrieve the body parts.

Wearing masks and protective clothing, Ron and three forensics technicians went into the shed.

As Ron and his techs worked in the shed, Ray contacted Elaine, instructing her to issue a “be on the lookout,” or BOLO, on Dan Holder, and asked her to arrange an arrest warrant. Ray and Ryan’s attention were directed back to the shed when Ron called out.

“Sheriff! Y’all need to see this,” Ron called from the door of the small outbuilding.

The two men walked to the shed, donning their masks before entering. They saw the two frozen body halves on a tarp laid out on the floor by Ron’s technicians and noticed a large bag in Ron’s hand.

“What’s that?” Ryan asked.

“Well, off-hand, I’d say it’s a left female foot,” Ron said, holding the bag so Ray and Ryan could see its contents.

“So there’s a third victim somewhere,” Ryan observed, looking at the frozen foot. He didn’t need Ron to tell him the foot had been frozen for a long time — he could tell that from the freezer burn and the discoloration. The press was going to have a field day with this.

“Sure looks that way, Sheriff,” Ron said. “Check this out.” He turned the bag so Ray and Ryan could see a tattoo on the outer side of the ankle — a fleur-de-lis, just like the one on the female victim’s torso. Except this one had a star above it with the number “1” inside the star. Ryan looked at the smooth cut of the ankle and glanced at the bandsaw.

“You think that saw was used to cut this off the body?” he asked Ron.

“Maybe,” Ron replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “But I can tell you this was frozen a long time ago.”

“What else can you tell me?” Ryan asked.

“Right now, not much. But I’ll bet these were a succulent set of piggies once upon a time,” Ron quipped with a smile.

“That’s disgusting. You really scare me sometimes, Ron,” Ryan hissed as he shook his head, as his stomach churned a bit. Ron chuckled at that.

“I’m just saying, Sheriff. Whoever did this probably has quite the foot fetish.”

“What can you tell us about those?” Ryan asked, pointing at the two body halves on the floor.

“One is the upper torso of a female, and the other is the lower half of a male. Minus his manhood,” Ron stated in a neutral tone. He pulled the wrapping paper from the female half to reveal the frozen face of the same woman in the video Leah provided. Ryan saw the thin red line around her neck, just like the one they saw on the man’s neck. And the burn marks of a taser set on ‘high,’ just like the man’s torso.

“Looks like we got us a serial killer on the loose,” Ryan said as he looked at the woman’s face. “No telling how many more bodies are out there.”

“We’ll do a search of the entire property,” Ray said. “He might have more bodies buried out there.” He winced. “We might need that ground-penetrating radar after all.”

“Reckon so,” Ryan replied. “Let me go check up on Sanders. Keep at it, Ron.” Ryan left the shed and went into the mobile home, where he met with Deputy Sanders. Other deputies were busy dusting the place for fingerprints. “What have you got, Deputy?”

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for a while, Sheriff,” Sanders said. “Most of the stuff in the refrigerator is out of date. Gun cabinet is empty, but we did find this,” he added, holding up a plastic bag with a hand-held taser. “We pulled some fingerprints off of it.”

“Don said he picked up some of his brother’s rifles at the pawn shop,” Ryan said. “Anything else?”

“We confiscated a desktop computer and boxed up his files,” Sanders said. “Might be something there. Other than that, we found nothing.”

“All right, Deputy. After you finish up in here, why don’t you help Ron and Detective Hale search the rest of the property?”

“Think there might be more bodies?” Sanders asked.

“Possibly,” Ryan replied as his phone buzzed. He answered the call, seeing it was from Elaine.

“Sheriff, I’m just reminding you about your appointment with Commissioner Barnes this afternoon,” she said. Ryan almost forgot about the appointment. Frank Barnes, elected after Bertram’s murder a year ago, was called a “fiscal conservative” by local politicos — meaning he was a tightwad. One of his pet peeves was the budget of the Sheriff’s Department.

“Thanks, Elaine,” Ryan said. “I almost forgot.”

“He’ll be here in about a half hour and you know how he feels about punctuality.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ryan said. “All right, I’m heading out now. Thanks for calling.”

“Any time, Sheriff,” Elaine said before they ended the call. Ryan put the phone back in his pocket and went to see Ray.

“I need to head back. Got a meeting with Commissioner Barnes,” Ryan told his chief detective.

“The old skinflint, huh? Sure, no problem. I’ll stay here and get a ride back with Sanders,” Ray replied. After saying farewells, Ryan climbed into his truck and returned to the office.

…

Dan Holder sat in the front seat of his pickup, his body shaking from fear. After positioning the two bodies as instructed, he continued to the designated rendezvous point, stopping only when he was nearly out of gas.

He pulled into a little-used gas station, filled his tank, paid with cash as instructed, then continued. When he reached the rest stop, he pulled in and parked behind a copse of trees so no one could see him from the road.

He lit a cigarette and tried to calm down, but he was still scared beyond anything he had ever experienced. If only Carmelita hadn’t gotten involved with that damn Frenchman, he thought, she would still be alive, and they would still be happy.

But Dan realized it would probably be someone else if it weren’t Dupont. He took a deep drag of his cigarette and thought back over the events of the last several months.

Carmelita took the job Phillipe Dupont offered while he was working on the railroad, and he learned about it only when he returned. He wasn’t happy about it — hell, he made enough money to care for them both.

According to her, Dupont ran a newly-opened local office of a global import and export company and needed an office manager. It helped that she was bilingual, as much of his work would take him south of the border.

Moreover, she told Dan she needed adult companionship when he was working. So he gave in to her. Of course, it helped that she was naked and riding his cock wildly when she told him. A month after she told him this, Dan caught her screwing the bastard in their marital bed and laid down the law after running the bastard out of the house.

“If I ever catch you with another man, so help me God, I’ll gut you like a fish,” he snarled as she cowered in the corner.

A month later, his life got turned upside-down. Two hard-looking men with foreign accents entered the cafe and sat across from him as he ate breakfast. They didn’t even introduce themselves.

“Bonjour, monsieur.” one of the men said.

“Morning,” Dan replied. “What can I do for you two fellers?” The man who spoke first smiled. Dan was reminded of an actor he had seen in a movie but couldn’t place the name.

“I hate being the bearer of bad news, especially at breakfast, but your wife is still screwing Phillipe Dupont,” the man said as he dropped some explicit timestamped photos on the table. “And she’s not the only one.”

“Thanks,” Dan snarled, glancing at the pictures of his wife fucking her boss and wrinkling his face in disgust. He noticed the dates were relatively recent. “Reckon I’ll be seeing a lawyer, then.”

“No, you won’t,” the second man said in a thick French accent.

“Well, I’m not going to sit here and let her disrespect me like this,” Dan he had told the two men. They looked at each other, nodded, and then returned to him.

“Of course not, m’sieur,” the first man said. “You will help us… solve a problem instead. And in doing so, we will help you. You’re familiar with your country’s history, no?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dan replied, wondering what the Frenchman was getting at.

“The French and the Americans have helped each other for years, no? It was our General Rochambeau who helped your General Washington defeat the British, was it not?” the second man asked.

“Yeah, reckon so,” Dan admitted. “And as I recall, it was our General Eisenhower who helped you fellers kick the Nazis out of France.”

“Yes, it was,” the first man replied.

“What has that got to do with me?” Dan asked.

“We have a mutual problem, m’sieur,” the second man stated. “We would like your help, and in return, we will help you deal with your… problem.”

“What do y’all have in mind?”

“Not here, monsieur. Meet us here in one hour,” the first man said as he wrote something on the back of a business card. Dan looked at the card and saw the men wanting to meet him at the Sunset Motel on the edge of town.

“And what do I call y’all?” Dan asked, placing the card in his pocket.

“You may call me Jean-Pierre,” the first man said. “And this is Thierry,” he added, pointing to the second man. “One hour, monsieur. We will be waiting.”

“I’ll be there,” Dan replied as the two men stood. They left without another word. Dan finished his breakfast, then met the two men, curious to know what they had in mind.

“Do we understand each other, monsieur?” Jean-Pierre asked after they explained their plan. Shocked at their stated plans, Dan simply nodded his head. He had a bad feeling about this and knew they would probably kill him if he backed out.

“Good,” Thierry replied. “You will get the first half when they are dealt with. The second half will come after you follow our directions. You understand that you will wait until you receive our message?”

“Yes, I understand,” Dan stated.

“And you understand the need for silence?” Jean-Pierre added.

“Of course,” Dan replied.

“Go about your day as normal,” Thierry said. “We will inform you when it is time.”

Three days later, Dan got the text he had dreaded: “It is time. Your place. Now.” Dan told his foreman he had an emergency at home and needed to take the day off. He had plenty of comp time, so his foreman let him go.

Dan drove home as quickly as possible and found a strange car in his driveway. Another vehicle pulled in behind him, and the two Frenchmen got out. Jean-Pierre handed him a small taser.

“Place this end on the skin, then press the trigger,” he told Dan. He led them to his front door, which was unlocked, and found his wife being skewered by her boss. He pressed the taser against Phillipe’s neck and squeezed the trigger. After the large man slumped down, Dan turned his attention to Carmelita.

“Ah tol’ ya what would happen if ah ever caught ya cheating on me,” he growled.

“Please, it’s not what it looks like. I only love you,” Carmelita begged. “It was only the one time. You have to believe me. Please…” Angry beyond words, Dan silenced her in mid-sentence with the taser. The rest of the afternoon was spent in Dan’s shed. Only Dan, Jean-Pierre, and Thierry walked out when it was all over.

“Remember, wait for our message, and follow our directions to the letter,” Thierry said. “It may take some time, so be patient. You will be paid the balance once you have completed our instructions. Use this time to clean up. If anyone asks, say that your wife is traveling with her boss on business. Understand?”

“Yes,” Dan said quietly, barely holding his stomach in check. He had seen a lot during his time in the service, but nothing could compare to the nightmare he had witnessed in his shed. After cleaning himself, he turned to his shop. There was so much blood…

The next several months were hell for Dan. He slept on the couch, not wanting to use the bed his wife defiled with Phillipe. But his sleep was filled with nightmares, most of them of Carmelita begging him to release her from the freezer.

He barely made it through the days and distanced himself from his family, much to the chagrin of his brother. He never returned to his shop but could tell someone had been there from the footprints in the dirt.

About six months after that horrible day, Dan got a text from Jean-Pierre: “Do it. Early in the morning. Then meet us at the rendezvous point.” He sent a “thumbs-up” emoji to tell them he understood.

He started at midnight, placing the two body halves on a tarp in his truck’s bed. Tears fell down his face as he placed Carmelita’s lower half on the tarp.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. He drove to Eastland bridge, positioned the body parts as instructed, then continued down the road. He seriously considered going in the opposite direction but remembered the stern warning Jean-Pierre gave him.

He shuddered as he recalled how the two Frenchmen dispatched Carmelita and Phillipe. It was as if they enjoyed what they were doing — a little too much. Dan’s reverie was broken by a sharp rapping on the window.

“Bonjour, monsieur,” Thierry said when Dan rolled the window down.

“I did as you asked,” Dan said.

“Oui. Yes, you did.”

“So, can we conclude our business?” Dan asked. Thierry nodded his head.

“Of course,” the Frenchman said. Dan ground his cigarette out, then felt something slide across his throat.

“Oh, shit,” he thought before everything went black…

…

To be continued…