Lover’s Cross Part IV
My name is Sunny Alexander. And I’m Henry James and we’re writers for Dark Sides of the Truth magazine.
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Conclusion
With photos of a very dead and very crucified Daryl in hand we drove over to the parking lot of Lover’s point in Rockburn Illinois and began the slow walk up the trail.
It wasn’t a difficult chore even for a certain old boned creature. The trail had been widened and seemed well maintained.
As we crested the top we noticed a couple of park benches on either side of the clearing staged in a way people could sit and view the valley below.
Sunny’s initial observation had been spot on. The better part of the town was ringed with hills. Our guess was this plateau would be perfect for star crossed lovers staring at the lights of the city beneath them as they held hands or swapped fluids.
Today however, neither of us were interested in gazing at the stars or the city below.
“Okay, what are we looking for?”
“Whatever jumps out at us. Let me see the photos again Sunny.”
“What time do you think these photo’s were taken?”
“Hard to say, but the sun was behind whoever took the shots.”
“And you know this how?”
“Check out the line against the tops of the trees, and the shadow behind Daryl.
“Right. The sun line is lower and the shadow of the cross seems stretched almost to the tree line.”
“My guess is it was closer to dusk. So here’s a question Sunny. Remember what the kid at the front desk said? About the locals hanging out on Friday and Saturday nights?”
“Yeah, so you’re thinking whoever did this staged Daryl sometime during the week, took the shots then took him down?”
“Right. Another question she who knows a lot of doctor shit. With the kinds of wounds inflicted in Daryl’s hands and feet how long before he bled out?”
“Well the wounds were pretty savage, but it would have taken him a bit. However, he was upright so his heart was pumping blood out at a pretty quick rate. I’m guessing at least five maybe six hours, maybe a bit longer, before exsanguination.”
“Exsangu what?”
“Exsanguination. It’s the point where the body loses about forty percent of its blood or fluid supply. At that point everything begins to shut down.”
“So whoever did this, tied his ass to the cross, drove stakes through his hands and feet, then sat back and watched him die?”
“Looks that way.”
“Damn, that must have been one really pissed off person.”
“Or totally crazy Henry. I’m talking sociopath crazy. Where are you going?”
“In the photograph neither of the benches were in the picture. I want to see something. Try to stand in the approximate place where Daryl was. I’m going to go back down the trail a piece.”
“I’ve got a better idea. You stand up here and let me go down the trail. You’re taller than me so I’m guessing I’ll at least see the top of your head.”
“Fine, but make it quick will you?”
“Chill old man. You missing out on your nap or something?”
“Just do it Alexander.”
While Sunny went down the trail I tried to find the spot closest to where I believed Daryl had been posed. It was a really strange situation when Sunny popped back into view. She could tell by my expression I’d found something. I could tell by hers she had too.
“You go first Henry.”
“Look down at my feet. Notice the depression?”
We both bent and began clawing at the ground. The soil, covered with grass and leaves from nearby trees was loose, the hole round and deep.
“X marks the spot Sunny.”
“Yeah but this isn’t buried treasure we’re talking about Henry.”
“So what did you find?”
“You were right. There’s a place down the trail where the park benches disappear. I framed the shot and I was able to see the top of your head. I was about to come back up when I found this.”
“A receipt? You found a receipt? Great detective work Sunny. Wow case solved.”
“You are such an asshole at times you know that?”
“Fine, what’s the big deal?”
“This receipt is from a lumber yard Henry. It’s pretty smudged because of the weather, but I made out the name. Monument Lumberyard.”
“So big deal. Somebody bought some lumber. What’s your point?”
“Henry where’s your phone?”
“Why, you need to call in a life line?”
“No idiot, where do you keep your phone?”
“Back pocket, same as always.”
“Well I do too, and I’m betting whoever killed Daryl had their phone in their back pocket. The phone wasn’t the only thing in their back pocket Henry. When they pulled out the phone the receipt fell out.”
“I’m still not following you.”
“God you are as slow as you are old. Think man. The cross. What was the cross made of?”
“Ah shit. Wood.”
“Exactly. We find who bought wood recently, we probably have a good shot at finding the killer.”
“Okay, let’s get back to the motel and see what we can turn up. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. I was able to find a couple of diners where we can chow down this evening. I’m thinking…”
“Oh hell no James. I’m not going to eat at another freaking greasy spoon. There’s a nice restaurant just down the street from the motel. We’re going to clean up, and go have us a real meal tonight.”
“Have it your way princess, but you’re picking up the tab on your expense report not mine.”
After making it back to motel, we parted ways with an agreement to meet up around seven thirty for dinner. As we always do when we work together, each of us lays down our perspectives of what we’d done, what we’d seen and our take on the story.
We also knew after working together for awhile each of us would be furiously hitting the internet to be the first one to find the lumber yard. It was always a grand day when we could wave victory in each other’s face.
It’s how we rolled.
A maître d’ wearing white and black, resembling a tall penguin seated us at a table draped in fresh linen, complete with empty wine glasses alongside bone china dishes and gleaming silverware.
After offering us the wine list and giving one of us a rather lengthy and somewhat disdainful inspection of a certain someone’s clothing choice he left us to make our choices.
At least one of us hadn’t worn a sweat stained Browning baseball cap into the place.
“You want a glass of wine?”
“Sure.”
“Cabernet, Merlot, Chardonnay what?”
“I don’t care what box it comes out of.”
“Really Henry?”
“Henry? Earth to Henry.”
When she walked up we both lapsed into silence. Her ginger hair was down and perfectly coiffed, her makeup accenting the smooth angles of her porcelain face. The green one piece dress she wore hugged her body in all the places it should, providing a sensuous view of body dynamics but tastefully allowing the onlooker only imagination of what was hidden beneath. Long legs stretched from the hemline of her skirt which hugged her thighs. The four inch black patent stilettos she wore gave cause to the hardened muscles rippling her calves. She smiled, her emerald green eyes sultry in the shadows, but dancing mischievously in the candle light from the table.
“Hello you two. So we meet again.”
“Hello Captain Layne. I’m guessing you’re not on duty?”
“Evidently Ms. Alexander. Sunny right?”
“You meeting someone tonight?”
“No Mister James. It’s just me.”
“Would you like to join us?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“We’re kinda…”
“What’s Sunny’s saying is we’re kind of hoping you would.”
“Fantastic. Why thank you for pulling out my chair Henry. You must be one of those true Southern gentlemen I always heard about.”
“He’s truly something that’s for sure.”
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