The Woman Who Couldn't Scream

  Kateri sighed. “I only wish I could.”

  General, subdued laughter across the site.

  Moen bent down and picked something up and examined it.

  Kateri prepared to make the hike down the hill. “Pardon me, gentlemen, I’m going to call Garik and fill him in on this one, then we’re going to hold a press conference if anybody would like to stand behind me for support.”

  General head shaking.

  “Bergen, you stand behind me on the right. Moen, you stand behind me on the left.”

  “No, Sheriff Kwinault.”

  Kateri turned to Moen. “What?”

  Moen advanced toward Mike Sun and offered him something from the palm of his hand.

  Sun let out a huff of air, dug in his bag, pulled out a pair of tweezers and lifted the little black piece of—“It’s a piece of skin. It’s a fingertip. I think we can pull a print off this. Sonofabitch, Moen, you just saved the case!”

  “Good for me.” Moen wiped his hand on his trousers. “I’m done with law enforcement. I thought I could do it. And I can. I can drive and fill out reports and arrest citizens for drunk driving. I can handle accidental shootings and bar fights and traffic deaths. But I can’t do”—he gestured at the body bag—“this.”

  The officers got quiet. They understood the difference, nobody better.

  Kateri asked, “What are you going to do, Moen?”

  “I’m going to school, get better at graphics, get some kind of job in the field. Maybe go to Japan. I’ve been studying the language. I want to get my graphic novels published.” Moen looked at his palm and wiped his hand again. “No matter what, I’m done with police work.”

  Bergen handed him a wet-wipe pack. “What about your father?”

  “He’ll have to be disappointed in me.” Moen cleaned his hand, and cleaned, and cleaned. “I’m done. Sheriff, can I leave or do you want me to work my two weeks’ notice?”

  Kateri almost gave him a pass and said he could go. Then she remembered—slashings, John Terrance, the Fourth of July … “Moen. If you would stay for the two weeks. We’ll make sure you stick with traffic violations and intoxication and littering. I’ll get someone else to stand behind me at the press conference.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.” Moen took off his hat and held it, and looked at Kateri. “It’s been a privilege to work with you, ma’am, and I was wrong when I said you were too old to be interested in sex.” He put on his hat and started down the hill.

  The officers who were left fought back grins.

  Kateri sighed. “He was doing so well. Then he had to add that last bit.”

  Bergen sobered. “I hate to see him go. But we always knew he didn’t have the stomach for it.”

  “Smart kid,” Chippen said. “He’s getting out while he can.”

  That was the trouble with crimes like these—they took the heart out of the whole department. Kateri asked, “Knowles, about the press conference, would you stand behind me on the left side?”

  “Sure, Sheriff.” Knowles touched his hat brim. “When the citizens start lobbing the tomatoes, I’ll even throw them back.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  “Sheriff. Kateri!”

  Kateri lifted her head off her desk and blinked at Bergen.

  He pointed at the blinking light on her phone. “Call for you from Garik Jacobsen.”

  “Right.” She looked at the time. Just after midnight. She cleared her throat, picked up the phone and said, “Tell me again we don’t have an unusual spike of slashings in the U.S.”

  Garik’s voice sounded grim. “Virtue Falls has always been an overachiever. The photos you sent…”

  “I know.” She had tried not to look at the pictures of the faceless corpse, but a few glimpses would suffice to give her nightmares forever … and strengthened her determination to catch this sadistic bastard.

  “The FBI will send someone to coordinate with your law enforcement.”

  “You?”

  “I’ve requested to be sent.”

  “How soon?”

  “Tomorrow.” He must have checked the time. “Today.”

  “Are Elizabeth and the baby coming down?”

  “Tomorrow Elizabeth has to give a seminar on tsunamis. Because, you know, she took the Virtue Falls tsunami video right after the earthquake and since then, she is the geological expert for the area.” He exhaled as if he had explained this far too many times. “Kateri, the baby is five—”

  “Good Lord.” Kateri couldn’t believe it. “Since when?”

  “We took Bella to the flight museum one time and now she loves airplanes. That baby can tell me what kind of plane is overhead, and if I watch a war movie she calls out the name, the class, the … whatever. Bella will be a pilot.”

  Kateri remembered how much Merry Byrd had wanted to fly, the way her face used to shine when she talked about soaring toward the heavens, and she imagined little Bella wearing that expression, too. “Smart kid. You must be proud.”

  “I am. I didn’t think I’d be her dumb ol’ dad until she was a teenager, but it appears I was wrong.”

  Kateri laughed, then sobered. “You didn’t want her to be an expert in serial killers, did you?”

  “No. God. No. I’m putting my bag in the car right now.”

  “We’ll be here.”

  “You sound like you need some sleep.”

  “I think I just got some.”

  “Get more. See you later.” He hung up.

  Bergen lingered by the door. She filled him in. “I’m glad he’s coming. He’s probably the one person who can reassure the citizens and get Venegra off my back.”

  The press conference had not gone well. Neither had her meeting with the city council.

  Bergen said, “You really ought to go home.”

  She looked at him.

  “I know. Paperwork. I’m going to go sleep on the love seat in the break room. It’s uncomfortable enough that I can’t sleep long.”

  “I’ll wake you if we need you.”

  “I know you will.” He staggered a little as he left.

  She had been asleep long enough for her screen saver to be activated, but not long enough for everything to automatically shut down. She watched the series of cute baby animals roll across the screen—after today, she needed to see cute baby animals—and contemplated the interview she had done for the Virtue Falls Herald. It probably needed a final read before she pressed Send. She probably needed to add some warm fuzzy assurances to the frightened public. She would have already done it, but right now, she didn’t have any warm fuzzy assurances in her arsenal. She was as frightened as anybody; Virtue Falls had a monster in their midst and if—when—he killed again, it would be her fault. She was in charge. The buck stopped only one place. Here.

  She located the cursor and typed a few words, deleted, typed, deleted. She needed to figure this out …

  She wasn’t surprised when she dreamed. After today, she expected one nightmare after another. Not to find herself in Rainbow’s hospital room.

  * * *

  Dr. Watchman was a friend, a veterinarian, a Native American, a wise woman. She stood beside the bed, eyes closed, breathing deeply, holding Rainbow’s hand. In a faraway voice, she said, “Her soul is wandering in a far, cold place, and the further she goes, the harder it is for her to find her way back.”

  Kateri moved to the side of the bed. “Maybe she doesn’t want to come back.”

  Dr. Watchman’s eyes snapped open. “If she didn’t want to come back, Kateri Kwinault, she would already be gone from the home that has nurtured her.”

  Kateri picked up Rainbow’s other hand and cradled it in both of hers. “She’s gone so far I can’t see her.”

  “I can.”

  “I don’t know what to do, how to bring her back.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re afraid.”

  Now Kateri closed her eyes.

  “What do you want to live with your whole life, Kateri Kwinault? Your failure to rescu
e your friend or your cowardice and failure to try?”

  Kateri gave a dry, hard sob.

  “Make up your mind. And take action now. Time is running out.”

  * * *

  Kateri’s eyes snapped open. She lifted her head from her desk. She stood and walked into the break room.

  Bergen woke with that wide-eyed, I’m alert! expression. “What’s happening?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Damn it.”

  “That being the case, do you think law enforcement can do without me tonight?”

  It took a moment for him to assimilate her question, work himself into an upright position and examine her as if she’d lost her mind. “Sleep deprivation getting to you?”

  “Even worse. I’m going to talk to the frog god.”

  A startled moment of silence, then Bergen laughed aloud. “I wish you wouldn’t joke about that. It scares the hell out of us Scandinavian boys.”

  If you only knew … “You scare easy. So you’ll cover for me?”

  Bergen’s voice sobered. “The only thing that we’ll call you for is if we spot John Terrance or … or whoever is killing the women.”

  “I’m headed to Grenouille Beach.” The beach where she had been born. “I’m going to dump my phone for the night. If you want me, send someone. Otherwise … talk to you in the morning.” As she turned away, she muttered, “If I’m alive, still have a mind and am in one piece…” She turned back. “Oh! Can I borrow your car?”

  For this ceremony, Kateri thought she should be wearing the garments of an Indian warrior maiden, fringed buckskin and beading. But she didn’t own the outfit—among her coastal tribe, it had never existed—so she dressed in the outfit she felt most at home in: jeans, T-shirt and flip-flops. She needed a gift, an offering … she headed to the Gem Lounge. It was, predictably, crowded, and as she wended her way through the small tables she was glad she’d come in. Press conferences were official; this was her moment to speak to locals and tourists, one-on-one, reinforce her request that no one walk home alone, reassure them that law enforcement was out there and get a little reassurance herself. They looked to her for protection, and they hadn’t given up on her yet. By the time she got to the bar, that terrible feeling of failure had faded, leaving her with merely the abject fear of what she was doing next.

  Bertha sat on a stool against the back wall, holding her sawed-off shotgun and telling handsome young Jeffrey Jerome Porter how to mix drinks.

  Kateri quelled the urge to ask JJ for his ID. He didn’t look old enough to be in a bar, much less to be learning the trade. But Kateri had noticed that for every day she got older, twenty-one-year-olds looked more youthful.

  “Honey! Sheriff. Good to see you here.” Bertha grinned at her. “The usual?”

  “I don’t think so. If I drink a hot chocolate, I’ll throw up.” Kateri leaned across the bar and said quietly, “I’m going to see the frog god.”

  Bertha nodded. “’Bout time.”

  “Can I get your best bottle of ruby port? For no reason I know, I think the frog god would like port.”

  “You bet. JJ, reach up there on the top shelf and get me the Bella Terra Nonna Ruby Port.”

  While he climbed up on the ladder, all the women in the bar turned for the view.

  Bertha said to Kateri, “That’s why I hired him. So I could watch him climb that ladder. Makes me wish I kept more stuff up top.” She tapped her hip. “See how good I am about staying off my feet?”

  “I’m impressed.” Kateri was; as busy as Bertha liked to be, she imagined sitting and watching must be killing her. “What does the doctor say about that hip?”

  “It’s healing good. With any luck, I’ll avoid surgery. Any word of John Terrance?”

  “Not a peep.”

  Bertha rubbed the barrel of her sawed-off shotgun. “When I fill a man’s ass with buckshot, it stays filled.” She looked at the deep gash on her bar top where Terrance’s machete had landed. “I hope he dies a miserable, festering death in the wild.”

  “It would be impolitic for me to agree,” Kateri said.

  “But you do. Thank you, JJ.” Bertha used her sleeve to dust the bottle. “I’ve been saving this for a special occasion. I guess we just found that occasion.”

  “How much do I owe you?” Kateri asked.

  “If I can help with Rainbow’s recovery, that’s the payment I’m looking for. Hell, if I thought it would do any good, I’d get up on the bar and do a frog god dance for her.” Bertha threw Kateri a kiss. “You take care.”

  “I will.” Which was absolutely not true. No sensible person would do what she was doing. But sometimes sensible took a backseat to love and gratitude.

  As she drove the winding highway, the stars twinkled, indifferent, cold and white in the black night sky. As she got close to Grenouille Beach, she slowed way down and still almost missed it. She made a late turn, drove down the narrow paved road, parked in the deserted lot and took a fortifying breath. Stashed her pistol, her radio and her cell phone under the seat. She got out and took another deep breath: the air filled her lungs with salt and the memory of cutting through the storm with a Coast Guard vessel beneath her.

  How she had loved that sensation of freedom from earthly concerns, of flying without wings! The blessed freedom was what drew her to the ocean, to a career in the Coast Guard. She knew there was danger in the violence of the waves. Of course. She had thought of drowning. It was, after all, the single most common fate of unlucky sailors everywhere. But she’d had no fear. She had considered how she would swim to shore or to another vessel, if that was possible, and if not, she would breathe in the salt water and make a swift, brave end of it.

  How could she ever have imagined the earthquake, the tsunami, the duty that drove her and the horror that broke her?

  Kateri Kwinault, the child who used to play in the waves, run on the sand, sing mocking songs to the legendary gods … now trembled with fear.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Bottle in her fist, Kateri took the path to the beach. A kind of weird twilight lit her way on a twisting, turning path over the dunes to the frigid ocean. The wind blew off the Pacific, rearranging the dunes like a fussy housekeeper. The long beach was eerily empty. She hustled to get settled before dawn arrived and work consumed her once more. At that line where the land turned to sand, she removed her flip-flops and walked barefoot. There, where at high tide the waves met the shore, she seated herself, crossed her legs, made her hands loose, closed her eyes and tried to find her way into the frog god’s presence.

  At the sound of the first wave crashing and rolling, her fear roiled within her, her eyes sprang open and she couldn’t not look.

  When she remembered how much she used to love this place, knowing that here Rainbow and her mother had labored to bring her into the world, knowing that she had drawn her first breath here, she wanted to weep.

  For so long, she had avoided contact with this beach—any beach—sand, waves, ocean. Frankly, a dense fog gave her the creeps. If she had wanted to speak to the frog god, to demand answers, she did so from the highest cliff away from any immediate danger … but always she had known if the frog god wanted her, he could crack the earth open and take her.

  He had taken her once before; he tore her from the wheelhouse of her cutter, broke her every bone and joint and sucked her into the deep. There she came face-to-face with a legend of power and terror … the frog god. Mottled, slimy, slick skin; a pleased green smile; fronds of seaweed for his cushion; large, black, glassy eyes and long green fingers that plucked her up, examined her, thrust her into his mouth and swallowed her.

  After that, there was only terror and pain, struggling and being unwillingly bound to a will and a strength that were not her own. Then rebirth into a new Kateri. She had been broken and rebuilt by pain, struggle and anguish. Now she shared his powers.

  She could make the earth shake.

  She could make the waters rise.

  She didn’t want those p
owers; when she used them, she became less human, and each time she didn’t know if she could find her way back to humanity. But knowing she could change the course of events, right wrongs, serve justice—that was a constant temptation, and she knew her resistance displeased the frog god.

  Now she went to him in abject supplication to wholeheartedly offer herself.

  As she gazed across the midnight sea, the full moon rose in all its splendor and laid a white path across the roiled waters leading her to eternity.

  It was a sight she’d never seen before … because she faced west across the Pacific, and the moon did not rise in the west. “Oh.” She was on a metaphysical beach. Or maybe metaphorical. Whatever it was, the frog god had brought her here so they could speak. She lifted the bottle. She spoke. “I have a gift for you. I think you’ll like it.”

  The wave rolled to her knees and retreated, rolled to her knees, paused and retreated. She placed the bottle in the sand. The wave rolled to her knees, captured the bottle and sucked it into the depths.

  He was listening. Foolish of her to doubt it.

  “I come in supplication. I wish to bring life to my friend Rainbow. You remember her. She delivered me. She has stood by me steadfastly through many trials. She always loved nature, loved the sea, and she believed me when I said you had taken me. She believed me. That counts for something, doesn’t it? She was hurt because of me, and she deserves life. I would give my own life for hers.” Kateri stretched out her arms to the ocean and waited.

  The waves kept rolling, in and out, ceaseless and uncaring.

  “Rainbow is dying. There have been times in the past when you let me bring someone back from the brink. Lacey. You let me save Lacey. I thank you for that gift. She is dear and wonderful. This time, with Rainbow, the situation is more delicate and I need—”

  A wave rose high, crashed hard, rolled up the beach to touch her toes. And retreated.

  “Okay. You know why I need help. I know for this large favor, I owe a sacrifice beyond even a bottle of port. Really good port. Expensive port. Bertha said so and you know Bertha knows her liquors.”

  The ocean sloshed and somehow managed to look bored.