Chapter 13
1081 Words
After perusing the paintings that Daphine had set aside, Sara chose nothing. “Maybe it"s not time to buy. I need to get some furniture in there first.”
Daphine unwrapped the newspaper and spread it on the countertop and gasped. “Another one,” she said, sounding exasperated.
Sara looked over Daphine"s shoulder. A photo of men digging in the ground sat center front under the bold headline:
Another Victim of Serial Killer
Another Victim of Serial Killer“What do you know about this?”
“Don"t you listen to the news?” Daphine asked as they continued to read.
A wetlands ecologist counting birds near Stone Lake South, northeast of Courtland below the Hood-Franklin Road, discovered another human skeleton buried with animal bones.
A wetlands ecologist counting birds near Stone Lake South, northeast of Courtland below the Hood-Franklin Road, discovered another human skeleton buried with animal bones.Sara didn"t remember reading anything on the Internet about remains being found that far south of the Sacramento metropolitan area. Her thoughts ran rampant. Her face heated. “Stone Lake South? That"s less than two miles behind my house—just over the old railroad grade.”
“Some rancher leased the land and lived out there before it was turned over to the Wetlands people.” Daphine nudged her. “Look what it says.”
Sara paced. She didn"t want to read. “Tell me about these… these…,.” She waved her hand across the paper. “How many?”
“Says here, this one makes twenty-eight. The first to be found outside of the major Sacramento area.”
“So, the i***t didn"t go away.”
“Serial killers never quit.”
“I read about that killer on the Net,” Sara said. “Now they find remains out by my place?” It was no wonder people claimed Talbot House was haunted.
“Maybe he relocated to the Delta. Says here the body was found in what used to be a cow pasture.” Daphine leaned down placing her elbows on the newspaper, still reading. “Says that as water levels in the lake rose and fell, it must have washed away the hard pack that cows trampled over the body.” She straightened up from the paper. “Said this ecologist guy saw the skull sticking up like a dome in the dirt in the field.”
“Gruesome!”
“You know these fields have been worked to death,” Daphine said. “Most of the Delta from Courtland all the way down to Union Island west of Lathrop sits as low as seventeen feet below sea level.”
“We"re sinking?”
“No, compacted, maybe. From farming and such.” Daphine shrugged. “Not up by your house though.” She smirked again like she was making light of the situation. “Yet.”
“What"s that got to do with these bodies?”
“The soil is wearing away. Says here they think that"s how the remains got uncovered.” Daphine stared out toward the front windows and shook her head. “They"ve already reclaimed some of the lowest Delta islands for water storage. Who knows how many more bodies lay in the mud at the bottom of those lakes?”
“So why haven"t they caught this person?” Sara dared to look at the article.
“The people who work up killers" profiles,” Daphine said. “They say this perpetrator is meticulously clean about his kills. He buries all the belongings with the bodies. Leaves no telltale evidence above ground.”
“The killer doesn"t bother to hide who the victims are?”
Daphine smiled facetiously. “Oh, yeah, he does. He buries "em deep.” She reached back and turned down the volume of the radio. “One other thing.” She pressed a thumb and forefinger against her throat and felt around. “You know this bone in here. The hyoid bone?” Daphine would know about that, having studied anatomy in art classes. “They always find it broken. Every one of these people was strangled.”
hyoidAn old pickup passed on the narrow street, and the sound of its muffler rumbled off the buildings.
“That"s all they know? No forensic evidence?”
“Absolutely nothing. The only thing they can do is bag any remnants of the victims and take lots of photographs,” Daphine said. Evidently, clues were few or non-existent if the cold case detectives hadn"t solved any of the murders. Some of the bodies had been in the ground so long, the only items found to help identify the person were their larger bones and teeth and credit cards fragments, maybe jewelry. Bugs had eaten any paper or clothing.
“I hope they take a good look at the rancher who owned that property,” Sara said. A serial murder victim found close to her dream home was unsettling. “The profilers can"t point a finger at anyone?”
Daphine shrugged. “Someone else owned that property and leased it out. Doesn"t point a finger directly at the rancher.” She only glanced at the other headlines as she turned pages. “Just when they think they"ve got someone nailed, there"s a new twist, and something else jumps up and bites.”
“Sounds like trying to hold a snake still with one hand.”
The comment must have stirred Daphine"s memory. “They caught a vagrant once,” Daphine said. “He was wringing a cat"s neck.”
“Ugh!” Sara said as she cringed.
“They thought they had their man because he fit the image the profilers once drew up. White, stronger than he looked, maybe a homeless person,” she said. “But he proved that he lived in Nevada till after the first skeletons began showing up.”
“Maybe he visited here from time to time to do his dirty work. Nevada"s not that far.” She wondered how much police kept track of suspected perpetrators. “The cat, why would he kill a cat?”
“He was homeless. Said he would cook it over a bonfire and eat it.”
“Ha! They ought to take a closer look at that guy too.” He lived close enough to travel in and out of the California area with no suspicion. She also thought they should take a look at Fredrik"s preoccupation.
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