Murder at Willow Slough Read Online Free PDF Page B

bodies. Sometimes it took months before someone discovered them, then even longer to figure out who they were. Police can’t solve a murder when the victim’s name is Doe.
    Did the Strangler’s success at concealing bodies mean he was from around here? Some people, locals, thought so; they didn’t take into account that he’d been equally successful in five other counties. To Jamie it meant that the guy spent his spare time scouting out dumping grounds, like Schmidgall and his sugar daddy had, taking poor Sammy Barlow to the abandoned farmhouse and hacking him to death. Jamie made a fist and pounded repeatedly on the steering wheel.
    This was getting him nowhere. He punched the Accel button on his cruise control, and the Acura sucked in fuel and air. He didn’t let up till the dial hit 80.
    If he got busted for speeding here, he’d just hand over Bulldog’s business card: “Prosecutor’s Investigator, Quincy County, Ohio.” He might get a ticket anyway, but none of the cops would fuck with him. They’d all heard about that Gay reporter and them thar homicides.
    Today of all days, he wanted out of here.
    The sun was in his eyes now. He reached for neon yellow shades and put them on. In his rearview mirror he saw a blue Miata convertible gaining on him. Grimacing, he mashed Accel another 10 mph. The blue car didn’t compete, not that this gave him much satisfaction.
    He didn’t slow down till he reached the Indiana line. Over the eastbound lanes, Ohio had a big steel arch advertising the governor’s name at taxpayers’ expense. Indiana had got rid of that nonsense; its modest westbound sign read merely, “The People of Indiana Welcome You.” No politicians. As a native Hoosier, he took a little pride in that.
    The change of venue calmed him a little, but the highway turned bumpier. He eased the cruise control down to 65. The Miata soon whizzed by.
    He switched on the radio, country music out of Richmond, Indiana. He couldn’t stand country music; it had nothing to do with where he was from. He jammed the seek button, finally landed on WOWO out of Fort Wayne. Stopped there and didn’t know why.
    A DJ and a newswoman were talking about festivals, restaurants, a nearby lake, outings for the holiday weekend. It was a real conversation, not the usual radiobabble between commercials. Jamie didn’t recognize any of the places they were talking about. It was hopelessly smalltown.
    He liked it.
    He turned the sound down and pictured his mother. Thelma was going into the hospital for an aneurysm operation and Jamie volunteered to be the Hallmark card. His older brother Stone lived in southern Indiana, but no one thought of him to stay with their mother. Stone hadn’t spoken to Jamie in twelve years, since Jamie came out as Gay. Big Bro Danny had long ago fled to Denver; he was more than willing to fly back east, but Jamie could drive to West Lafayette in four hours.
    Besides, he was good at cheering the sick. Experienced too. On the tenth it would be six months since Rick died. He didn’t let himself follow that thought, trying to prevent an anxiety attack.
    The land turned hilly; he wasn’t sure why. But the valleys made a nice contrast to the prairie. He drove on, past the turnoff to New Castle and the Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame. Its billboard had a giant pair of black hi-tops in 3-D. A smile cracked his lips. What other state has a monument to high school hoops?
    College practice would start next month; how would Purdue do this year? He remembered Coach Reed’s postgame interview on the radio after the ten-point loss at home to North Carolina, what, four years ago already? He said bluntly, “We’ve got to recruit us some guys who can play.” Then he went out and got himself a big dog.
    Ah, Carolina and the freezing rain at Christmastime. After the game and a forty-degree temperature drop, Jamie chased through unexpected sleet to get the car for Rick so he wouldn’t have to brave the ice in his