“McCoy always thought the guy worked at the slaughterhouse. You know, right under our noses. Those girls were butchered like a side of beef.”
Pain creeps up my nose, but I resist the urge to touch it. “Call J.R. Purdue over at Honey Cut Meat and get a list of employees. People who work in the slaughterhouse as well as the office. I want you to sit down with Glock and cross-reference with the people who were at the Brass Rail on Saturday night.”
For the first time Pickles looks excited. Like an old dog that had been replaced by a new puppy finally getting to play with his ball again. Opening his coat, he hikes his trousers, exposing his sidearm. “I’ll get right on it.”
I touch his shoulder. “Thanks, Pickles.”
“Where you gonna be, Chief?”
“City hall. Probably getting my ass raked over the coals.”
Pickles gives me a grumpy old man frown. “Give ’em hell.”
As I head toward the Explorer, I suspect I’m going to be on the receiving end of any bureaucratic brimstone and fire.
CHAPTER 13
Ronnie Stedt woke with one thing on his mind: losing his virginity. Today was the day. After seventeen years he would finally know the secret of the universe. His girlfriend, Jess, wasn’t a virgin. She’d confessed to having done it with Mike Sassenhagen last year when she was a sophomore. She claimed they’d only done it once, but Robbie didn’t believe her. Word around Painters Mill High was that Jess and Sassenhagen had been fucking like a couple of rabbits on speed.
Ronnie didn’t care. He didn’t care that his mom didn’t like her or that his dad thought she was a loose woman. He didn’t care about Jess’s reputation. He didn’t even care that he would miss a chemistry test today. He was in love with her, and being with her was all that mattered.
Instead of catching the bus to school, Ronnie had arranged to borrow his brother’s truck so he could pick up Jess at her house. From there they would drive out to the old Huffman place on Thigpen Road. They were going to make love, then go to the mall in Millersburg to hang out and catch the matinee.
Ronnie rushed through his morning chores. Feeding the horses and cows and slopping the hogs. He showered, being generous with his father’s Polo aftershave, and put on his best shirt and jeans. He picked up Jess at eight-fifteen. She was wearing the jeans he liked. The ones that rode low on her hips. He knew if he raised her sweater the gold hoop in her belly button would wink at him.
She climbed into the truck, the familiar smells of Obsession and cigarettes tantalizing him. “Hey.”
“God, you smell good,” he said.
She grinned. “Have any problems getting away?”
“Piece of cake.” Leaning close, he kissed her, using his tongue. “What about you?”
“Nope.” She extricated her mouth from his. “You bring beer?”
“A joint, too.” He dug the pot from his pocket, checked the rearview mirror and pulled away from the curb.
“This is going to be great,” she said, and produced a lighter.
They were midway through the joint when he turned the pickup into the driveway of the Huffman farm. The house had been vacant since the old man died a year ago. There was no electricity. No running water. No one around for miles. The perfect place for a Tuesday morning tryst.
Parking at the back of the house, Ronnie gathered the blanket and heater and climbed out. Jess grabbed the beer and radio, and slid from the seat. “You sure no one will bother us?”
“Are you kidding?” He took her hand. “Look at this place.”
They took the concrete steps to the back door and let themselves inside. The kitchen offered dingy white walls, chipped tile counters and a peeling linoleum floor. A rusty hot water heater squatted in the corner.
“No wonder nobody comes here,” Jess said. “This place is spooky.” Flipping on the radio, she popped the tab on a beer and walked into the living room. Tall windows dressed in dirty lace looked out over a bleak and snowy landscape. “What’s that smell?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
Ronnie came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “Not me, babe. I showered.” He nibbled her earlobe. “C’mere.”
Turning, Jess raised her mouth to his. Ronnie kissed her deeply. Fever rose in his body. Working his hand beneath her coat, he squeezed her breast. All he could think was that there were too many layers of clothing separating them.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” he whispered.
They crossed the living room to the hall. Ronnie wondered if he should tell her he loved her before or afterward. He wondered if she’d think he was an idiot, or if she’d say the same words . . .
Four doors with old-fashioned knobs lined the narrow hall. The stench was worse here. “Smells like a dead rat,” Ronnie said.
“Or a dead skunk.” Jess chugged her beer.