Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set) Blake Banner (love books to read .TXT) 📖

at seven, we drove out to Holmes, found Camp Road, and wound our way through woodlands to the lake at Camp Kaufmann.

We got there at shortly after eight. Most of the trees were tall and spindly, naked against the frozen gray sky. The water looked black and icy, and the ground was muddy from the relentless rain and drizzle. There was a patch of grass surrounded by huts, with a few canoes scattered here and there, and a long, wooden jetty reaching out into the water. The whole thing was enclosed by trees. I could see why Zak would have favored a place like this.

Dehan walked out onto the jetty and stood staring at the trees and the obsidian water. I watched her from the shore. Now that we were here, I wasn’t sure what to do. After a moment I joined her, and we both turned to look back at the collection of huts. Dehan wiped the drizzle from her eyes and said, “She’s here, isn’t she?”

I could visualize the bikes. How many? Maybe thirty, forty, fifty of them. And a hundred Angels with their ladies. There would have been crates of beer, whiskey, tequila. There would have been music, mainly old music, evocative of the golden age, Van Morrison, Zeppelin, The Eagles. And there would have been a lot of weed and coke. And once Hank left, there would have been Lynda, sentenced to death and not knowing it. I said, “Probably.”

“Where did he do it? Right here? Or did he take her away, into the woods?”

I pointed to a long spit that curled out into the lake and opened up into a patch of grass maybe thirty or forty feet across. “He did it right there, while they all watched.”

We walked back and followed the long tongue of land out into the black water. There would have been a big fire burning on the bank. They would all have followed him down, a hundred black silhouettes against the flames, standing, watching, laughing, probably not knowing yet how it was going to end. And Zak would have performed his rough and ready ritual, as he had with Hank. I pointed to the left.

“The lake provides the water in the west.”

I walked up to the northernmost point. It was still there. I hunkered down and Dehan came and joined me. It was a crude circle of rocks that had been filled in with earth. As I gently moved away the sand, the remains of a yellow candle appeared, burned down and melted into the earth for the last twelve years. “Earth in the north.”

I turned and Dehan stood. “In that case,” she said, “there should be something back there, in the south. Red, fire, right?”

I followed her back. There was another circle of rocks, three or four feet across, blackened by fire, neglected for over a decade.

“And in the east?”

“The air. And probably a blue candle.”

“It must have been cold!”

I shrugged. “Part of the ordeal? Too drunk and stoned to notice? Who knows? But he had sex with her right there, in the center, and then probably stabbed her in the heart. What would he do then?”

We both stared at the lake. She pushed her wet hair out of her face. “Weighted down with rocks? They couldn’t have got her very deep—the water would have been icy. It would have made more sense to bury her.”

“Maybe they did both. What’s that?” I walked to the center of the area where Zak had made his temple. “The pentagram represents the head of a goat. The two horns would be there and there.” I pointed northeast and northwest. “Its beard would be behind me in the south. That rock is dead center, between the horns, and if I’m not mistaken, there is something painted on it.”

The rock was half in the water, balanced on a slope where the bank dipped down to the lake. It was about three feet across and roughly spherical. As we approached, we saw that it had, indeed, a faded cross painted on it. But the cross was upside-down. I felt a sudden rush of irrational urgency, like I needed to get Lynda out of that place, that it was somehow important. I dropped on my knees and began to dig. Dehan ran, but I ignored her.

After a couple of minutes she came back, carrying two canoe paddles. Between us, we levered away the rock, wiping the water from our eyes, until suddenly it gave and rolled into the lake with a big splash. Then we used the paddles as spades and began to dig. It wasn’t a deep grave. They were too drunk, cold, and probably wet to make the effort. She was only about two feet down. The damp earth had not preserved her. It had encouraged the bacteria and she was now just a skeleton, curled into the fetal position. She was unrecognizable, but I had no doubt in my mind it was her. And she was in possession of both her arms.

Fifteen

We spent the rest of the morning with the sheriff. He didn’t seem very amused that we’d been pursuing an investigation on his patch without his knowledge. When I explained that we were just passing through, decided to have a look at the place, and noticed the stone, he was somewhat placated, but not much.

“Passing through? You’re a hundred and fifty miles off course, Detective. That may be passing through in New York, but not here. Next time you want to go digging up bodies in Duchess County, you call me first. Are we clear?”

“We are clear, Sheriff.”

Jurisdiction was an issue, but I was happy to let it slide, and by midday Dehan and I were in the Jag and headed back toward New York.

“Whether it’s Boston PD, Connecticut, or New York, that case will end