Weirdbook 39

HORROR AROUND THE BEND, by Franklyn Searight-1

HORROR AROUND THE BEND, by Franklyn Searight“Whooee,” exclaimed Howard Preston, a celebrated presence in the world of architecture. He slackened his speed coming to the bottom of the slope, swept around the bend, and applied the brakes to his hybrid bicycle. Seconds later, he slowed to a stop next to a heap of brush accumulated at the side of the trail.

“What’s up, Whiz Kid,” asked his wife, Karen, also coming to a rest. “Collecting firewood for tonight’s campfire?”

“Not a bad idea, Hon, but we’re too far away from our tent—unless you want to carry the wood back with you.”

“Nothing doing, Boyfriend; we’ll find all we need closer to our site. But how come we’re stopping? You need to rest? I’m peddling too fast for you?”

“That’ll be the day,” returned Howard with a grin, laying his bicycle on the ground by the brush pile, well aware she was a state champion bicyclist, and he could not, even on his best day, maintain her pace unless she held back.

“But, no. Look at that, Hon.”

He pointed downward with his finger to indicate what had caused him to halt their ride.

“So, it’s an old shoe. Heel worn down; small hole in the sole. So what?”

She rolled her road bike over to a nearby picnic table and leaned it against the bench.

“Take another look,” said Howard, studying it critically. “That’s not an empty shoe; there’s a leg in it.”

“Oh, muh gosh!” Karen exclaimed, seeing an inch of argyle sock extending from the leather, the rest of it being concealed by the brambles. ”You’re right.”

She was about to nudge it when Howard stopped her.

“I wouldn’t touch it, Sweet One. This might develop into a crime scene, and the police would not be pleased.”

“Howie, you’re teasing me. A crime scene? Surely you don’t think this is a…a…”

“Not sure what it is yet, Dear One, but the shoe might be attached to a foot, and the foot to leg connected to a body.”

“A body? You mean a…a…a dead person?”

Howard moved a slab of wood away from the sock to reveal the cuff on a pair of trousers. “Not positive, but, yes, that’s just what it might be.”

He removed his cell phone from a pocket, dialed 911, and seconds later was talking to an operator who put him through to the Gainesville Park superintendent. He told him what they had found, what they suspected, and how to locate them. He listened for a minute, responded to questions, then flipped the lid and returned the phone to his pocket.

“Someone will be here in a few minutes,” he told Karen. “He wants us to stay around here for a while.”

Howard stretched his slender, muscular frame, and rolled his shoulders to relax the kinks developed during his ride.

“How long do you suppose it will be?” Karen wondered. “It’ll be dark in a few hours. We still haven’t had lunch, and need to set up the tent and gather wood for a fire.”

“Can’t be helped. Shouldn’t be too long. As good citizens, we’re obliged to at least stick around and show them where the body is.”

“If it is a body.”

“Yeah, we don’t know for certain what they’ll find beneath the pile of refuse. So we stay here until someone comes to investigate.”

“You must have excellent vision to have spotted thee shoe, Howie, speeding along as we were.”

“Nothing special. My eyes were just drawn to it—looked sort of funny, being out here all by itself, and all—and I wanted to take a closer look.”

“I still think you’re quite observant.

“Another thing: why would someone hide a body here, instead of deep in the woods where no one is likely to find it? And, after concealing the body, if it is one, why didn’t he cover the shoe, also?”

“Good questions. As for the last one, maybe he did, but something came along and dislodged it—possibly an animal. But why it’s hidden almost right on top of the bike trail, I have no idea.”

As much as Howard and Karen wanted to leave, and avoid being involved in a police matter, they had been urged to stay around and make themselves available to answer any questions asked by the park ranger who was, even now, on his way.

Fifteen minutes passed before a car, with an official-looking crest on its side door, slowly cruised along the lane running parallel to the bike trail. It pulled off the road close by the heap of wood. Out of it stepped an angular man of medium height, clad in the pale olive-green colors of the park patrol, and wearing a spiffy cap matching his uniform in color, indicating his official status.

Karen waved him over to the picnic table where they were sitting.

“You the folks who called us?” he asked.

“We are,” answered Howard. “See the pile of brush you just passed? Beneath it is the reason we called.”

The park ranger walked back, briefly surveying the scene. He studied the exposed shoe and sock for a few seconds, removed a few more sticks to get a better look, and then made a phone call to his office to report his findings, loudly enough for the couple to hear. He joined Howard and Karen at the table, and the three of them sat waiting for the superintendent himself to arrive.

A few minutes passed before another vehicle came along and stopped. Two more men stepped out, both well-built and darkly tanned, one with a graying mustache clinging tightly above his lips, the other with clean-cut facial features.

“Hmmm,” said the older one, after identifying himself as the superintendent. He walked over to the heap, followed by his partner, and brushed aside more of the leaves and twigs, slowly shaking his head as more of the leg came into view.

His assistant bent down and extended his hand toward it.

“Careful, Matt,” cautioned the super. “If that’s what it appears to be, the police will raise holy hell if we mess with it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Thought I’d clear away more of these branches to get a better look-see.” He moved enough of the covering aside to reveal more of what was concealed.

From where they were sitting, several yards away, Howard and Karen whispered to each other as more of the leg was revealed. Matt removed another handful of branches, exposing a thigh, poked at it to determine its texture, and looked up at his manager.

“It’s a body, all right,” he confirmed, stating the obvious.

“I’ll phone dispatch and we’ll let the big boys handle it,” stated the man in charge.

He looked over at the bikers who were continuing to watch them closely. “Looks like you’ve found something serious here, folks. I’ll call this in, and we can expect a team of detectives to show up.”

Within the half hour, the first contingent of law men began to arrive in a nondescript car. Out from the passenger side stepped an elderly, stubby man wearing a pin-striped outfit badly in need of a press. He ran a comb through white, grizzled hair as Howard wondered if he should have been retired from the force a few years earlier. Then again, he reconsidered, maybe the constant strain and anxiety of police work had taken a heavy toll on his appearance. A younger man stepped from the driver’s side wearing a dark blue business suit. The pair paid no attention to the couple, but walked over to the ranger, standing by the brush, nodded to him and proceeded to examine what had been found. The taller man cringed, and then took a second look, hardly able to believe what he was seeing.

“Gruesome,” he said.

“Gainesville Park will never be the same,” the park supervisor commented.

“Who turned this in?”

The ranger indicated the couple with a motion of his head. “Folks over at the table.”

Chief Inspector Randolph, as the detective identified himself, removed more of the debris, allowing an even better look at the victim lying amid the branches. He stayed for a more exacting examination while the older one made his way to where the bikers were sitting at the picnic table.

“Hiya,” he said in greeting, identifying himself. “You the people who discovered that poor guy?”

“We are,” Howard conceded. “’Bout half an hour ago, while we were biking back to our camp site.”

“I see. Thanks for calling it in. Some people would have discovered it and gone on, not wanting to become involved.

“Just how much of the wood pile did you touch?”

“Not very much, at all,” answered Howard. “We saw what appeared to be an old shoe with two inches of patterned sock showing, looking as though there might be a foot inside of it. We moved a couple of branches and saw the hem of pants, and more debris maybe covering a leg. We’d seen enough to know it was time for you fellows to take over, so we didn’t uncover more of it.”

Karen spoke up, saying, “There might have been nothing to our suspicions, at all, but we couldn’t be sure. After seeing the sock with the leg coming out of it, we didn’t look further.”

“Didn’t expose any more of it,” contended Howard.

“Did you put the litter back where you found it?” asked Randolph.

“Nope. Left everything where it was.”

“You did right. And that’s when you called our department?”

“No, that’s when we called the park office. We didn’t want to report a body if there wasn’t one there.”

“Quite right. Doesn’t sound as though you messed up the crime scene more than was necessary. See anyone else around here?”

“No, sir. No one,” Howard assured him.

“Any cars stop? Bicycles?”

“Few cars passed by; didn’t stop,” the biker informed him. “Couple of cyclists, too, but they whizzed on by, and paid no attention to us.”

“Everything is just as we found it,” stated Karen. “If the scene is badly tainted, it must have been the park ranger who did it.”

“It doesn’t seem to be. Do either of you recognize him?” asked the inspector.

“No, sir,” responded Howard, his tone decisive, but somber. “Haven’t seen him yet. As we said, we didn’t move the brush away to see who it was.”

“Good thing you didn’t. Most of the guy’s head is gone, along with his other leg.” An audible intake of air came from the couple. They looked at each other, astonished by the revelation.

“Ooh,” Karen exclaimed. “Such a ghoulish thought. I’m glad we never had a chance to see it.”

“That’s not information for the rest of the public, folks. I’m only telling you because of your involvement. Don’t repeat it to the other campers, or any reporters who come flocking around once they’ve learn of this.”

As they talked, the inspector’s partner partitioned off the crime scene, separating it from the rest of the terrain with yellow tape, warning unauthorized people not to enter the area. Randolph questioned the two further, learning what little he could, jotting down their phone numbers, landline and cell, and the address of their home residence. He also wanted to know where their camping site was located in the event more questions needed to be asked.

“You can stay a little longer if you’d like,” he told them. “You’ve been a part of this since the beginning, but stay away from the cadaver, and don’t bother my detectives or get in their way.”

Just as their interrogation ended, Ezra Carter, the Chief of Police, who seemed to believe the occasion might profit from his expertise, arrived. He was accompanied by four or five additional detectives, and Grover Nixon, the city’s medical examiner, who appeared rather distressed at having been called from his luncheon at what he regarded as a most inopportune time. His initial examination of the body was brief, taking little more than five minutes. He stood up and walked over to Chief Carter and the other detectives.

“Well?” asked Carter, lifting his hat by the visor, removing it and scratching his thinning hair, “what killed him?”

“What killed him?” retorted the MA. “Can’t tell you ‘til we’re back at the lab, and I’ve got him on the gurney. And even then, I might not be sure. Maybe the loss of part of his head had something to do with it, and half his torso being gnawed away might also be a causative factor.”