The Alvarez & Pescoli Series. Lisa Jackson

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      Look at them!

      Police officers crawling over the “crime scene” like ants on an anthill. Hurrying this way, scurrying that. Not having a clue that I’m here, in the warmth of the bar, sipping a drink of fine Kentucky whiskey as I blend in with the rest of the patrons, the men and women who have stopped in for a drink after work to share conversation, even laughter, and shake off the bitter cold of winter, here in the lower part of the town, in a century-old building overlooking the river.

      As one, we stare at the old television mounted over the colored bottles glistening in front of the mirror.

      The bar is glossy wood, reflecting the lights overhead, holding up a half dozen sets of elbows of men who’ve come inside after a day’s labor. There are women, too, but most of them are seated at the tables near the fire, where real logs are blazing in a massive stone fireplace that was built over a hundred years earlier, when miners and loggers in cork boots trod on these old plank floors. From the kitchen, the scents of grilled onions and burgers seep through the open doorway, accompanied by the sizzle of the deep-fat fryer.

      I, like the other customers, am shaking my head at the senseless horror playing out on the screen.

      “I can’t believe it could happen here. Right outside Grizzly Falls,” one sawmill worker says. While he stares up at the images on the flickering television screen, some faint Christmas carol can be heard over the buzz of the patrons. What is it? Oh yeah. “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”

      As if that’s possible in Grizzly Falls tonight.

      The guy next to me isn’t small. In fact, his belly is so big it swings up to the bar, seemingly independent of him, as he settles onto a stool. Grease shows around his fingernails, bits of sawdust cling to the long hairs that grow from the back of his neck, hairs that should have been shaved away from his unruly beard.

      “The world’s changed,” I say, frowning as if I, too, am aghast at the horror being shown to us via the airwaves. The simpleton thinks I’m agreeing.

      “This used to be a safe place.”

      “Didn’t it?”

      “No more, I guess. Hey!” Crooking one fat finger, he signals to Nadine, the barkeep.

      “The usual, Dell?” she asks, sliding a coaster to him and pretending that his ordering her around doesn’t bother her. But she slides me a glance. We both know Dell Blight’s a pig.

      “Yeah. A Bud.”

      She’s already got a chilled glass under the spigot of a hidden keg. “This is just so horrible. What kind of monster would leave those women out in the forest?” Nadine asks, and looks at my near-empty shot glass. “Another?” She lifts her gaze a bit and our eyes hold for the briefest of seconds.

      I nod, return her smile, pretend I don’t really understand what she’s offering.

      “You’d think the sheriff could nail this fucker,” Big Belly Blight says with a knowing nod. He believes if he were the sheriff, he’d have “the fucker” behind bars already. “What the hell do we elect him for?”

      “Grayson’s doing a good job. And they might just catch the guy.” Nadine obviously isn’t in the mood to take any crap from the likes of Dell Blight. “This woman”—she hooks her thumb toward the television—“she didn’t die.”

      What? Every muscle in my body freezes. “Is that so?” I ask, as if I’m really concerned. Nadine must have her information wrong. The woman is dead. Hannah is dead. She has to be!

      “That’s what they’re sayin’,” Nadine assures both me and Dell. “I’d turn up the sound, but, you know, Farley, he likes the volume down so we can enjoy the music.” She makes a sour face. “It’s Christmas, y’know.”

      I nod, grinning, but deep down I feel not only fear but a little spark of anger. Nadine has to be wrong. Dead wrong. Calm down. Take control. I lift my glass to my lips, as if to sip, but instead take a deep breath, tamp down my fear.

      “I heard about the latest victim surviving. A bit ago, when I was out back on my break. It was all over the radio,” Nadine assures us with the eager anticipation of one imparting fresh gossip. “They found two women today. One’s dead, but this one, the one the news crew located, she’s alive. In some kind of coma, but alive.”

      “Will she make it?” I ask, feigning concern for the stupid bitch who was supposed to expire. What the hell was wrong with her? I left her to succumb to the elements, but, obviously Hannah is stronger than she looks. Fool. Damned superior fool. You let your ego get the better of your good sense.

      “Who knows if she’ll survive?” Nadine touches my hand then. A caress, where her thumb trails down the back of mine.

      “Two women? They found two? Holy cripes!” Beer Belly Dell shakes his balding head and the scent of fresh sawdust wafts my way. “I don’t get how this guy gets off. They say the women haven’t been raped. No sexual activity whatsoever. The guy’s probably a queer.”

      I smile, as if I agree, but the man’s an idiot. Of course an imbecile like Dell Blight can’t understand. His brain is probably the size of a walnut.

      But still I’m bothered. Is it possible? Is Hannah alive? Her living would make things difficult.

      “Nah,” Ole Olson, the round little guy in the dirty baseball cap sitting next to Dell, pipes up. “He ain’t no queer. If he was, he’d be haulin’ men up there and tyin’ ’em up and doin’ weird shit to ’em. More’n likely he got no balls at all.”

      “What do y’mean, no balls? Like a woman?”

      “Like no balls. He’s been neutered, he’s…he’s one of them…them…” Ole snaps his thick fingers. “One of them U-nuts.”

      “U-nuts?” Dell repeats with a snort, then takes a long drink. “You mean like U-bolts?”

      “I think he means eunuch,” I say, then wish I hadn’t even opened my mouth. What would these cretins know?

      “What the hell is a fuckin’ U-nick?” Dell’s face is screwed up like he’d just smelled week-old dead fish.

      “That’s СКАЧАТЬ