The Night Killer

property adjoined. The Barres’ property was very large, about fifty thousand acres, Diane had heard. That might cause a lot of friction. Many people fought over land ownership and property- line disputes.
    In a few minutes Deputy Travis came out and sat down. He put his head in his hands.
    “Jesus, lady, I was hoping you were crazy,” he said.
    “Me too,” said Diane.
    “I got to get more deputies out here.” He jumped up and rushed behind a large tree. Diane heard him retching. He came back, wiping his mouth with a bandanna.
    “Shit. Daddy’ll never let me live this down,” he said.
    “Leland Conrad is your father?” asked Diane.
    “Yeah. That’d be him,” he said. “He’s out of town. Put me in charge. What a time to be in charge.”
    He went to the Jeep. Diane heard him calling on the police radio.
    “Jason, you and Bob get up here to Roy Barre’s place right now.” There was a pause and static. “I don’t give a shit if it does leave the office empty. Call Shirley and tell her to get her fat ass out of bed and come answer the phone. Get over here, now. Both of you, and I mean now.” There was another short pause. “No, it’s not about the skeleton in the tree. It’s something else. Now get over here.”
    He came back to the steps and sat down next to Diane. “We’ll have to wait for them to come. I don’t want to leave the house unguarded. When they get here, I’ll take you to get your car. While we wait, you want to tell me the story about the skeleton?”
    Diane explained about the tree falling in the rain and the human skeleton slamming against her windshield. She told him about the man grabbing her.
    “That sounds like Slick Massey,” he said. “He’s usually harmless. Lives in that run-down house with his girlfriend. Raises huntin’ dogs. Walker hounds, I think.”
    Diane showed him her scratched arm. “This happened when I was trying to get out of his grasp,” she said.
    “Damn, that looks sore. I’ll have a talk with him. But I have to tell you, I don’t know about a skeleton in a tree. That just sounds crazy. Are you sure?”
    “I’m a forensic anthropologist,” she said.
    “Yeah, I know, but . . . Anyway, we’ll see what ol’ Slick has to say for himself.”
    Diane told him about the trek through the woods and about meeting the stranger. Deputy Conrad’s attention perked up.
    “There’s some stranger running around in the woods, taking pictures, you say?”
    “He said he was camping in the national forest. I think he was the one who called you. I asked him to. He offered to take me to the sheriff, but I declined.”
    “That was probably wise. So, do you think this guy could have been the killer?” he asked.
    “I don’t know. He was helpful. Gave me this rain gear,” she said, indicating the poncho. “He took my jacket to try to fool the dogs. He knew they were Walker hounds. He said his uncle raised them. He said he recognized the voices.”
    “They do have a twang to their bark, that’s for sure,” he said.
    When the other deputies drove up, Deputy Conrad stood up to meet them. Two men got out of a Jeep that looked much like Conrad’s. He introduced them as Jason and Bob. Jason was a slender man and, although he looked to be in his mid-twenties, had severely thinning hair. Bob, older by ten or fifteen years, had a thick head of dark hair, was cadaverously thin, and had a slight kyphosis of the spine that gave him a permanent slouch. Diane wondered if his hair was a wig.
    “What’s this about, Travis?” asked Jason.
    “Roy and his wife’s been murdered,” said Conrad.
    “What? Murdered? No. We just saw him. You and me, at the Waffle House, yesterday.”
    Bob looked over at the house. “Murdered? Here? The two of them?”
    “Look, I want the two of you to guard the house until I get back. I’m taking Miss Fallon to get her car and find out what’s up with Slick Massey,” said Deputy Conrad.
    “You want us to guard the house?” said Bob. “From what?”
    “Trespassers, murderers, raccoons—anything. We don’t want anybody coming in. We especially don’t want Roy Jr. to decide to pay his folks a midnight visit and find them. Now do what I say. And don’t you go sitting in their den watching TV while they’re sitting at the dining room table with their throats cut,” said Conrad.
    “We wouldn’t do that,” said Jason, looking hurt.
    “Throats cut?” said Bob. “Somebody’s done cut their throats? I don’t know, Travis.