No Family For Cannibals - Episode One Read online

  "I have a gun," Heather said. "Just so you know."

  "So do I," said Roach.

  She turned and gave him a scowl.

  He peered straight ahead, and when she no longer looked at him, the corners of his mouth arched with a slight smile.

  "Funny," she said. "Are you from Arkansas?"

  "No."

  A clicking sound popped every few seconds as the tires ran over cracks in the road filled with a thick layer of tar.

  "Then where are you from?"

  "Up north."

  "I don’t detect a far-northern accent. You mean north of Arkansas—Missouri?"

  "No."

  "Look, James—Roach—whatever. In the news business vague means evasive and evasiveness is suspicious."

  "What do you suspect?"

  "Oh, I don’t know. Let’s see. A good-looking guy shows up after a double homicide. You tell us there will be more killings and that only you can solve the crimes. See any red flags there?"

  "You think I'm good looking?"

  "What? No. I didn’t say that."

  He sat taller in the seat.

  "I am only the observer."

  "You didn't kill or harm any of the victims?"

  "Do I look like someone who could do those things?"

  "It's a yes or no question."

  He glanced at her and she at him—both quickly snapped their gaze back at the road when their eyes met.

  "No. I did not kill or harm any of the vics."

  She loosened her grip on the wheel. Roach noticed the reduction in her tension and the corners of his mouth once again feigned a smile.

  "This team of yours, that nobody else can meet. How do we know one of your posse didn’t slaughter the Kellermans and the Talbots?" Her voice trailed off and she mumbled, "Though I am still not convinced those murders are linked."

  "Listen, Heather, we are all on the same side here. Steve and Amy and Michael and Debbie are dead. It is over for them, but they had kids. A son and two daughters between them who have to try and make it through life picturing what that maniac did to their parents. They are possibly wondering if he is coming back for them."

  "Well, it is still suspicious. Not saying where you are fro—"

  "Montana."

  She looked at him—longer than before—and then back at the road.

  "I am from Montana," he said.

  "See, that wasn’t so tough now was it?"

  "But it seems odd to suspend your suspicions of me due to a revelation that could be a lie."

  "You say some creepy shit, Roach. Why do you have to do that?"

  "It was just an observation."

  "Oh yeah?" she asked. "Then what do you observe about me?"

  Without hesitation or analysis.

  "You are beautiful."

  The car stopped.

  "Wait here. I am going to talk to my cousin. I’ll be back in a minute."

  Heather got out of the car, and when her back was turned, her armored facade vanished—replaced by a flattered grin.

  The Hillside County Sheriff’s Department was built studio-style with an open floor plan. Along the walls were four small detention cells, a lounge area, an interrogation room-slash-conference room, and the two offices belonging to the Captain and the Sheriff, who were rarely present. Their jobs were mostly political.

  In the middle of the station were the deputies’ desks. The majority of the deputies were patrol officers. A few, specially trained and promoted over time, acted as detectives on behalf of the county for the state. Hillside was a small town, but Hillside County was vast, which required a powerful law enforcement presence.

  Heather was a regular face popular among the deputies, including the women on the force. She flashed her country smile and walked past the dispatch receptionist without signing in on the clipboard. She waded through the desks and tables—occasionally nodding to a deputy if they made eye contact.

  The deputies called the big, open room The Floor. A reference to the New York Stock Exchange floor where it is static quiet before trading starts, yet the moment the bell rings the uproar is instant and intense. Likewise, the station is usually silent—the main scanner squawks as officers communicate on patrol—then, when an emergency call comes in through dispatch, The Floor explodes.

  Heather came to stand next to Sergeant Deputy Detective Eric Lake, a senior officer and the only deputy in Hillside County with a criminal law degree. As third in command, his desk was next to the Captain's office like a teacher's pet. He wore his tan uniform shirt with dark brown accents a little too tight, showing his bulky chest and muscular arms. His black hair was brushed back with a pair of shiny silver sunglasses resting on top of his head.

  He looked up from his computer screen.

  "Hey Cuz," he said. "What brings you down here?"

  She plopped her butt on the corner of his desk.

  "Well, Eric, I have a question about the Kellerman case for an article I’m writing. I was hoping you could confirm one, itty bitty detail for me."

  Heather held her finger and thumb apart a quarter inch to illustrate just how itty-bitty the detail was.

  Eric sat back in his chair, the old springs whined for oil.

  "Depends on what it is. You know that."

  "In the preliminary report you guys gave the paper, you didn’t mention specifically how Debbie Kellerman died."

  "Cause of death was exsanguination. I put that in the summary."

  "I know she bled out, but how? You didn't say what caused the hemorrhage or where the injury was located on her body."

  "No, I didn’t. Not ready to release that."

  "Can you tell me? Pretty please?"

  "No-can-do. Captain’s orders."

  "Can you confirm what and where it wasn't?"

  "She wasn't hit by a car in Hollywood."

  He laughed at his own joke.

  She rolled her eyes and asked, "Will you confirm the information that I have is not true? Rule it out for me."

  "Again, maybe." He chewed on the end of his pen. "Just depends. Whatchya got?"

  "This is going to sound stupid and disturbed, but did the killer stick a fork in Debbie's vag and leave a body part inside her?"

  Eric sat up quickly. His chair screeched back to a vertical position.

  He said in a whisper, "Who have you been talking to?"

  Heather’s face grew from playful to worried.

  "Jesus, girl, only five people have that info. I don't think four of them would talk to a reporter about this and the other one is the sick bastard that killed her. If you have a source, I need to know who it is and where they are right now."

  Eric stood up and peered down at Heather, his hands resting on his thick leather gun belt.

  "He is here, with me," she said.

  "Here!" Eric looked at the front of the station, one hand on his gun. "Where?"

  "Out in my car."

  "What the hell? Who is this guy? Why is he in your car?"

  "He came to The Metro today. Told us he was from out of town and that he could help solve the crime. Claims he has a team of criminologists at an apartment he rented here in Hillside." Heather’s eyes filled with tears, pooled-up and glossy. "He had a lot of detail about Debbie. He said the perp wore gloves and ripped her up pretty bad with a fork."

  "My god, Heather. You drove a stranger in your car for thirty minutes on remote roads after he gave you intimate details of an unsolved double homicide. Did he tell you his name?"

  "I knew he was too good to be true. Parsons talked me into—"

  "What's his name, Heather?"

  "James Roach. Said he's from Montana."

  Eric clapped his hands over his head with a loud smack.

  "Hey guys! Listen up."

  The other deputies turned to face their superior.

  "My cousin here," he pointed at her with his whole hand, "says a man out in her car has information about the Kellerman murders that I didn’t release in the press packet. This might be nothing, but he might be the MF that killed two Hillsiders. I need to talk to him and I want some backup to get this guy out of the car safely. Jackson and Dean, go around back. Miles and Wagner, go outside ahead of me. Stay out of sight."

  The Floor earned its name. Deputies turned urban soldier and dispersed per the Sergeant's orders.

  Eric took Heather by the shoulders and sat her down in his chair.

  "Stay here, Cuz," he said. "I don't want you hurt."

  He walked out into the parking lot, lowered his sunglasses in front of his eyes and caught a quick glimpse of Heather’s car parked on the side of the station.

  The other deputies were already in position.

  Eric approached the passenger-side door and knocked on the glass. He motioned Roach to step out of the vehicle and Roach obliged.

  "You James Roach?" Eric asked.

  "Yes, Deputy Lake. I am."

  "You can read a name badge," Eric said, looking at the strip of letters above his pocket. "Very observant of you. My cousin tells me you have some information about a crime committed here in Hillside."

  Roach stood with his hands to his side. The cool Arkansas wind brushed his face. Eric stood with his hands to his side as well, ready if necessary to subdue Roach. The two men were of the same height. Eric was thicker overall, but Roach was cut. It would be a difficult fight.

  "Answer my question," said Eric.

  "Ask one," said Roach.

  Roach closed his blue eyes and let the sunlight warm his face.

  "Do you have information about the Kellerman murders?"

  Roach opened his eyes and they made contact with Eric's through the chrome sunglasses.

  "Yes."

  "Where did you get this information?"

  "I observed it."

  "I would like to ask you some questions about what you observed. Maybe you can shed some light on the case for me. Come into the station and lets talk about it."

  Roach turned and reached for his backpack in the floorboard of the car, but Eric slammed the door.

  "Get it later," Eric said. "Let's just talk for now."

  Roach looked at the car door for a moment, preparing himself to be without his backpack. With a sigh, he turned and walked with the deputy. Eric put his hand on Roach’s back to guide him to the front door—an illusion of control that works either way, depending on who is deceived. The other deputies emerged from their crouched positions and followed the two men.

  When they entered the building, Eric led Roach to a conference room. Before he entered the tiny room, Roach scanned the station for Heather. She had sunk into Eric’s chair and hid behind his clunky computer monitor.

  "Have a seat in there."

  Eric nodded towards a chair next to the table in the middle of the room.

  Roach sat in the chair as instructed, his back to the front of the room where he could be observed through a plate window decorated with open mini-blinds on the outside of the room.

  Eric sat in a chair on the opposite side of the table, facing the door they just entered. He took a notebook out of his shirt pocket along with a pen, licked a finger and flicked through the sheets to find a blank page.

  "Your name is James Roach. J-A-M-E-S-R-O-A-C-H, correct?’

  Roach nodded and said, "Yes."

  Eric wrote in his book.

  "Heather told me you are from—"

  "Montana," Roach interrupted.

  "Montana. Yes. Where bouts in Montana?"

  "Helena."

  Eric wrote in his notebook.

  "Beautiful country up there, or so I've heard. What brings you down this way?"

  "I read about two murders on The Metro's website and wanted to see if I could help."

  "Two murders. Debbie and Michael Kellerman?"

  "No. Steve and Amy Talbot. I was already here researching the Talbot murder before the Kellermans died."

  "I remember the Talbots. A few weeks ago in Manor."

  "Yes," said Roach. "The man who killed them also murdered the Kellermans."

  "Interesting," Eric said. "I will get in touch with the Manor police and investigate the crossover. Did you know the Kellermans?"

  "No, but I know them now."

  "How do you know them now?"

  "I observed them."

  "While they were alive?"

  "No."

  "Did you see them when they were dead?"

  "I imagined them alive and dead. I observed the reports, the reporting, and the reporters. I have been to the Kellerman's house. I have seen their possessions. Felt their lives in dormancy."

  Eric raised his eyebrows.

  "You have been inside the Kellerman’s home?"

  "Yes. Inside and out."

  "When were you first in their home?"

  "The night after they were murdered and again this morning to follow-up on some observations."

  Eric's mouth opened and his eyes widened—a stunned reaction to Roach's candor—but he quickly hid his shock, or at least tried to hide it. Then he wrote in his notebook before asking his next question.

  "Heather told me you have some information about how Mrs. Kellerman died. Is that true?"

  "Yes. And since I am sitting here, Heather already told you what I said, or some watered-down version of it, and the information is accurate. Yes?"

  "James—"

  "Call me Roach, please."

  "Mr. Roach—"

  "Just Roach."

  Eric said, "Think about this from my position for just one—"

  "I have."

  "You have what?"

  "I have thought, or rather observed, my interview from your perspective. You want to know how I could acquire my information without being the killer. Since you cannot imagine a scenario where it is possible for me to know something was jammed up inside Debbie Kellerman without examining her body or reading your full report, you have determined that I am—or that I must know—the man who committed these monstrous crimes."

  "Are you? Do you?"

  "I am not and I do not. But I will."

  "You will what?"

  "I will know this goddamn predator."

  "Do you know what we found inside Mrs. Kellerman?"

  "I do not know for certain. I observed the bloodstains on the mattress that the police swabbed and photographed but did not remove from the room. Am I under arrest?"

  "No, you are not under arrest. But trust me, we are going to keep a close watch on you. I am personally going to keep a close watch—"

  Roach stood up and Eric quickly followed suit.

  "It has been nice meeting you, Deputy Lake."

  Roach held out his hand and Eric reluctantly shook it. Roach turned and walked out of the room. A group of officers had gathered next to the window to watch the interview—the first time in a while it was not a meth-head. Heather stood behind the deputies awaiting Eric's evaluation of Roach.

  Eric followed Roach out of the room, still at-the-ready, but not alarmed.

  "I will drive you to your apartment," Eric said.

  "Heather is driving me," said Roach.

  "I don’t know what to think of you yet," Eric said, "and until I do, I don’t want you around my cousin."

  "I understand. But I decline your offer. I prefer to walk. I am not a fan of police cars."

  "Oh," said Heather as she came into view between the officers. "You have been in a police car before?"

  "Always with the snappy questions," Roach said. "Yes. When I was a kid I was in a police car, but I was not guilty then and I am not guilty now. You can put that out of your mind. Will you get my backpack, please?"

  Eric began to speak, but Roach interrupted before he could get a word out of his mouth.

  "Like I said, Eric, I don’t know for certain, but I can assume what you found inserted inside Debbie Kellerman. If I guess correctly will you let me see the case files?"

  "Only the Captain can authorize that."

  "Will you do your best to convince him to let me see the case files?"

  "You have my word."

  Heather tossed a glance at Eric, and Eric returned the glance.

  "If my team’s analysis of my observations is correct, the unsub used an eating utensil, most likely the fork found at the scene, to insert a severed body part inside Debbie. The piece was not from either of the victims. It took Debbie more than five hours to die. Her daughter found her lying there, eyes open. Thick blood coagulated in her pubic hair. Full prolapse. Veined organs hung from the woman like a stillborn fetus. The swelling kept the foreign tissue inside Debbie, otherwise it would have oozed out with her uterus."

  Eric’s face sank.

  Heather turned her head and vomited in the trashcan next to a deputy’s desk. An officer eagerly assisted her, while the others stood guard behind Eric.

  Roach said, "You may not have the stomach for crime beat, Heather."

  "How could you know this information if you are not the killer?" asked Eric.

  "May I see the case files?"

  "Answer my question or you will be under arrest. Even if you didn’t do it, I’ll get you for obstruction."

  "Insight is not obstruction."

  "You were in the Kellerman's home. I can get you for tresp—"

  "Prove I was there."

  Eric moved forward as if to grab Roach, but Roach took a step back.

  "It’s okay," Roach said. "I will tell you. I do not want you wasting your time on me while this guy is still out there. I get a bit edgy around cops, but I know you are just doing your job. I will show you how I do mine."

  Roach closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. Mentally, he no longer stood in the Hillside County Sheriff's Department. The station disappeared brick by brick. His body zoomed through the streets and trees until he was once again at the scene, able to recall his observations in perfect detail.

  "I am standing in the Kellerman’s bedroom," Roach said. "When I breathe in, I can smell Debbie. Her scent is in the room. Even though she was freshly showered, her aroma matches the trace she left over the years in other rooms of the house. I can smell Michael too, and the kids. But I observe another odor foreign to the residence. It is signature of the killer."