Here is a short story I wrote that takes place in New Mexico. I don't know about you, but I love that state. Enjoy.
State Highway 70
Rafe Fernandez of
the New Mexico State Police walked carefully around the corpse. Like the others before her, this woman was
laid out on her back. Her head was to
the north, her feet to the south. Her
arms pointed directly east and west. The
autopsy would find the cause of death to be strangulation by the red ribbon
tied tightly around her neck. A kachina
rested face up on her breastbone – an Apache Crown Dancer.
Like the others,
she was young, appearing to be in her 20s, red-haired, and pretty. Rafe sighed.
This killer followed the same pattern with each murder.
“Lieutenant, are
you through with the crime scene?” Eddie
Wilson with the FDMI waited beside the body.
“Yeah, go ahead,”
said Rafe. “It doesn’t look like there’s
anything different with this one.”
“How many is it
now?”
“She’s number
eleven.” He shook his head. “There is never any forensic evidence, no
fibers or foreign DNA on the body.” He
looked around the area. “And they’ve all
been laid out the same way in a busy area.
Any tracks he left are either covered by the shifting sand or all mixed
in with those of the tourists.”
“I wonder what
this guy has against red heads?” Eddie
carefully set out a body bag.
“I’ll ask him when
I find him.” Rafe walked back to his
car. He would have a long report to
compile. After eleven months of these
murders, he knew the drill.
August
The sunset turned
the road to fire reflected off the gypsum sand as she drove west, headed back
to Las Cruces
in the gathering twilight. Sarah pulled
down her visor and squinted to see the highway ahead. “What the hell is that?” Something loomed in front of her speeding car. She slowed the car, only to slam on the
brakes when she realized a huge shape blocked her path.
‘Omigod, I’m going
to hit him!” The car stopped three feet from the
figure. Sarah put her hand to her chest
and breathed deeply to slow her heartbeat from stampede mode.
The
man, if that’s what it was, did not move.
Sarah watched him. “What is he
doing out here, dressed like that?” She
looked around and could see no other vehicles.
The figure before her stood in the regalia of an Apache Crown Dancer,
complete with a black hood which obliterated his face. This close, he wasn’t above average height. The white-painted headdress he wore added a
couple of feet to his stature.
“What do you think
you’re doing, scaring me like that? I
ought to…” Sarah shut her mouth with a
pop. The figure moved inexorably to her
driver’s side window. She put the window
up all the way and locked the door, frightened by his intense deliberate
movement. He stalked her like a wild
predator. She glanced quickly at her
surroundings. It grew darker, with no
one else in sight in the desolate country.
He stood beside
her door and brandished a tire iron in an arc toward her window.
Sarah did not
hesitate. She pushed the accelerator to
the floor and took off with tires that squealed in protest at their treatment. In the rear view mirror, she could see the
man spin and regain his footing. He focused
his attention on her as she sped away to safety.
She didn’t slow
down until she reached Las Cruces. Back in civilization, she walked gratefully
into the well-lit hotel. Sarah nodded to
the young woman behind the front desk and hurried to her room. Once inside, she locked the door, turned the
deadbolt, and flipped the safety bar for good measure.
She tossed her
notebook and purse on the bed. The man
hadn’t followed her that she could see.
But some instinct told her he would not give up. She knew the next time she would not escape
him. Safely in her room, her skin twitched
with anxiety, as if hungry desert ants crawled all over her body. She crept to the window and peered out from
behind the curtains. The parking lot
appeared harmless, normal. There was no
one out there, no sign of an Apache Crown Dancer.
Sarah remained in
her room all night, did not call for room service. Better to be safe, even if her stomach angrily
growled. She wedged a chair under the doorknob. The blaring television kept her company
during her fitful sleep.
In the morning,
the sunlight helped her regain her natural confidence. “I was worn out last night. That’s why I overreacted.” The man’s car probably broke down.
He wanted a ride
back to town, that’s all. There was so
little traffic on that road at that time of day. No wonder he was insistent. “Poor guy, I hope he found a ride.”
Part of her
treacherous mind reminded her that there were no other vehicles in sight along
the route. Stranded motorists would not wield
a tire iron.
“Shut up and
forget it!” Sarah admonished her image
in the mirror. She dressed quickly,
anxious to get out, eat a good breakfast, finish her interviews in town today,
and leave Las Cruces
in the dust behind her.
Sarah glanced
around the room to make sure she had everything she needed for the interviews. Satisfied, she opened the door. Something rested on the patterned carpet in
front of her door. It was a carved
figure about a foot tall.
Sarah trembled as
she picked it up. It was a kachina doll,
an Apache Crown Dancer. The black hooded
head mocked her with its soulless slits for eyes. She gulped down her scream. “He found me!”
Her quaking knees
gave way and she sank to the floor. She
could not withhold her screams any longer.
Once started, she could not stop.
* * *
“Miss
Quinlan? I’m Lieutenant Rafael Fernandez
of the New Mexico State Police.” He
showed her his badge, his dark eyes looked concerned. “Do you feel up to telling me about what
happened?”
She nodded and
sipped the bottled water the hotel manager had given her. “I don’t know where to start.” She looked up at him. “I’m afraid you won’t believe me.”
He pulled up a
chair and sat facing her. “Why don’t you
tell me about it?”
He did not interrupt her until she
finished.
“You only saw the
man on Highway 70, is that right?’
“Yes. I was alone on the road, no other cars. It was a couple of miles past the park
entrance. He just appeared in the
distance.”
“What were you
doing out there?”
“I went to Alamogordo to interview
Aaron Sorenson. His father was one of
the physicists on the original atom bomb project at Los
Alamos.”
“Yes, I know Mr.
Sorenson,” said Rafe. “He’s lived out
there most of his life. Why did you want
to see him?”
Sarah
shrugged. “I’m a writer. I’m working on a story about the history of
nuclear research in New Mexico. If the story sells, it could turn into a
series.” She looked at him with a wobbly
smile. “I thought it would be so easy,
just interview the family members and get the true story.”
She looked away. “I didn’t count on getting the fright of my
life.” Still shaking, she tried to
stand. Her legs didn’t hold her and she
sat down hard on the chair.
“Miss Quinlan,
please slow down. You’re not ready to
get up yet. We’ve got a lot to talk
about.”
“But I didn’t see
anything really. I can’t identify
him. Please, I just want to get out of
here.” Sarah grabbed the arm of the chair
and stood. “There, you see? I’m fine.
I’ve got other interviews scheduled today.”
He stood and
towered over her. “I can’t let you
leave. It isn’t safe. Besides, as a material witness we can hold
you against your will.”
Sarah started for
the door. “But you can’t do that. I don’t know more than what I’ve told
you. I want to leave now.”
“Miss Quinlan,” he
said, taking her arm. “I’ve seen eleven
other kachina dolls like this one.”
He looked directly
into her eyes. “Each one of the dolls
was on the body of a murdered woman found out at White Sands, once a month for
the last year. He’s major news in this
area. The press calls him the Kachina Killer. His victims have all had red hair.”
Rafe guided Sarah
back to the chair.
“It’s time for him
to kill again. I think you saw him last
night. Worse yet, it looks like he’s
picked you to be number twelve.”
Sarah sank back
down on the chair. Though her mouth hung
open, she could not speak.
* * *
Hours later Rafe
returned to headquarters and Sarah Quinlan.
“I drove out to see Mr. Sorenson.
He verified your visit yesterday,” he said as he sat down.
He pulled the
evidence bag out of his pocket and put it on the table. The red ribbon looked like a trail of blood
under the fluorescent lights.
“What’s that?” Sarah
whispered.
“It’s the killer’s
favorite weapon. All eleven victims were
strangled with a length of ribbon, red like this one.” He watched Sarah. “I found it on the side of the road about
where you stopped yesterday.”
She put her head
in her hands, visibly shaking. “He’ll
find me.” She looked up at Rafe. “There’s no place for me to go, is there?”
“You’ll be fine
with us. We want to catch this guy. With your assistance, we just might do
that.” He took her hand. “I promise we’ll keep you safe.”
Sarah nodded and
wiped the tears on her cheeks. “Thank
you.”
“There’s an
officer guarding the door to this room.
Try to relax. No one can get to
you while you’re in the building.” He
stood. “Is there anything you need,
anything I can get for you?”
Sarah shook her
head.
“Just call out if
there’s a problem.” Rafe left the room
with its forlorn occupant. He walked to
Sergeant O’Hara’s desk.
“Did you learn
anything from Sorenson?”
“She was there
yesterday and left like she told us. He
wanted to talk more about his Earth Warriors, that group he formed, wouldn’t
shut up about them.”
“How did you get
away?”
Rafe grinned. “I walked out on him. What about you? Did you learn anything from
the hotel security tape?”
“A man got out of the elevator and left the
doll in front of her door. He wore a cap
and kept his head down. He appears to be
six feet, medium build, no distinguishing features that we could see, plain
denim jacket, white t-shirt, and jeans.”
Rafe’s cell phone
buzzed. “I need to take this.” After a brief conversation, he clicked off
the phone and grinned at O’Hara.
“Forensics found a GPS tracker on Miss Quinlan’s car. I bet it was put on in the hotel lot last night. That gives me an idea.”
* * *
The man was
dressed all in black, hidden by the darkness in which he waited. His face was covered by a black hood with
only slits for eyes. He followed the
red-haired woman to a little house on Margaret
Street.
Fernandez rode with her. The
detective let her into the house and moved through it to check for
intruders. The man watched from outside
as Fernandez and the woman went from room to room, turning on the lights.
When they came
back to the front door, a police cruiser pulled up to the house.
He moved into the
shadows made by the garage roof, confident he was invisible in the gloom.
“You’ll be safe
here,” said the detective. “Nobody knows
about this place. I’ll only be gone a
few minutes. Lock the door after
me.” Fernandez waited as she shut the
door and locked it. Then he got into the
waiting car.
The man watched as
the cruiser disappeared around the corner.
He crept around the outside again, checking the doors and windows. In the back, a door opened when he tried
it. He glanced around and saw no one in view. Getting in was easy despite the detective.
Slinking down the
hallway, he came to the room in which he’d seen the woman, from the outside through
the sheer drapes. He could see the back
of her head above a wing chair as she sat watching television. He reached into
the backpack he wore and withdrew a length of ribbon. He wrapped it around his hands and prepared to
strike.
Suddenly, the
overhead light turned on. “Don’t take
another step.”
Rafe stood in the
doorway holding his Glock 20 on the culprit.
“Officer Mason, you can get up now.”
The red-haired police
woman stood. She held her weapon pointed
at the intruder. “Don’t move.”
The man let the ribbon
fall onto the floor. “Sarah is not here.” The man’s voice was muffled by the hood.
“No, she isn’t. She’s in a secure location.” Rafe moved to the figure and ripped off the hood.
Aaron Sorenson
looked back at him, a superior smile on his face, his pale eyes blinking in the
light. He did not resist while Rafe
cuffed him and recited his rights.
When they arrived
at District 4 headquarters, Sorenson was taken in for interrogation. He still had the smile on his face, as if it
was all a game that he won.
Rafe sat across
from his prisoner. “Why did you follow
us to the house tonight? “
Sorenson shook his
head. “Too late, Detective, you didn’t
want to talk this afternoon. I don’t want to talk now. I’d like to see my attorney, please.”
Disgusted, Rafe
walked back to his office while Sorenson called his attorney.
Sergeant O’Hara
followed him. “I printed this off the
Earth Warriors’ website. It’s their
manifesto.”
Rafe took the page
and read it aloud. “We will avenge the
atrocities committed against our Mother Earth.
We will do what we must in retribution for each bomb and each missile
that poisoned our beautiful Mother and left her pristine sand in piles of
radioactive glass. Atonement must be
made. The Mountain Spirits have decreed
it.”
“How many tests
have they made at White Sands?” asked O’Hara.
“I don’t know,
over the years it could be dozens, a hundred maybe.” He looked at O’Hara.
“How many members
do they have? We could have more than
one killer.”
* * *
The dark man sat
in his parked car. He watched the hotel
where the chosen woman had been brought.
In the stillness of the night, undisturbed by the sounds of nearby interstate
traffic, he could wait and watch. The
black hood was on the seat beside him. Everything
else he needed was on the backseat.
He would strike
when the woman was vulnerable. If he failed, another would complete the ritual
sacrifice. The Mountain Spirits had spoken.
