Dunston Falls Read online

  Peck stood behind the priest, waited and watched.

  Regan removed a bible, rosary beads and a sacred vestment from his jacket pocket. He placed the vestment around his neck, opened the bible and began to pray.

  While the priest administered last rites to the body of Doris White, Peck entered the kitchen and used his flashlight to look around. The room was a mess, an absolute disaster. Damage from the tree had crushed or thrown everything in it to the floor.

  As Peck rummaged through the rubble, Regan appeared in the doorway.

  “I’ve finished,” Regan said. “May God rest and keep her soul.”

  “Ask Bender to step in here,” Peck said. “Then take the van back to town. People at the church will need you. And don’t say anything to anybody just yet.”

  The priest nodded to Peck, turned and slowly exited the trailer.

  Peck was turning the small, kitchen table right side up when Bender appeared in the doorway. “They’re leaving,” Bender said.

  “We’ll take our snowmobiles back to town,” Peck said. “Right now, I want to search this place. Leave nothing unturned.”

  “Leave nothing unturned? Dave, the whole fucking house fell down.”

  Peck gave Bender an unsympathetic look and the deputy nodded his head.

  “You take the kitchen,” Peck said.

  “Right,” Bender said, shining his flashlight around the rubble.

  Peck entered the bedroom and shown his flashlight on the floor and walls. The room was such a mess; it would be next to impossible to find any clues or evidence of use. He ran the flashlight across the body of Doris White, searching for something, anything that would provide a clue.

  There was nothing.

  He was not the FBI, not by a long shot, Peck admitted to himself. He could search the house for a month and not accomplish what an FBI forensics team could in a single day.

  Then he noticed a set of pajamas on the floor, tucked under the bed. He reached for them. They were button top, flannels. There was not a tear or a drop of blood on them. In fact, there was not anything to indicate Doris White ever put them on. So why hide them under the bed?

  Had she removed them willingly? That was a possibility, though remote.

  He made her strip for him so he could watch was the more likely scenario.

  From the kitchen, Bender called out to him. “Dave, found something.”

  Peck rushed to the kitchen where Bender was squatting down over a pile of rubble. In Bender’s hand was a large, bloody, kitchen knife, part of a set.

  “At least we know he didn’t bring his own knife to the party,” Bender said.

  In the hospital lounge, Peck held a meeting with Kranston, McCoy and Bender. A fresh pot of coffee rested centered on the table. Peck poured a cup, lit a cigarette and spoke first.

  “Tom, a body will last how in your freezer?

  “Indefinitely. Even running the generator at intervals, it won’t thaw much. It will keep until the state police can move it for autopsy.”

  Peck looked at Kranston. “Have you reached the state police?”

  Kranston’s eyes shifted to McCoy before he settled on Peck and finally answered. “They said it would be at least a week before they can send a man. They’re stretched pretty thin.”

  Peck nodded, understanding that the two hundred mile trip from Augusta was impossible until the storm finally broke.

  “There’s something else,” Kranston said. He looked at McCoy. “The doctor and I have been talking and we agree that it’s best not to inform the town about this incident …...just yet.”

  Peck was incredulous. “Not inform the town?”

  “At least until the state police arrive.”

  “We’re not talking about portable toilets here, Ed. We’re talking about a murdered woman.”

  “No. We’re talking about preventing a wide spread panic by hundreds of people forced to live in close quarters as it is,” Kranston said.

  “We don’t want people in the church or hospital thinking the guy next to them is a murderer,” McCoy said. “It could start a riot.”

  “What if the guy next to them is a murderer?” Peck said. “Don’t they have the right to know that?”

  Kranston folded his hands on the table and spoke softly to Peck. “I understand how you feel, Dave. All those years as a homicide cop, it is hard to sit back and do nothing. However, for all we know the man responsible is a drifter? A bum who could be two counties over by now.”

  “You believe that?” Peck said.

  “I don’t disbelieve it,” Kranston argued.

  Peck took a sip of coffee and puffed on his cigarette before answering. “Look, Ed. We know from Tom’s examination that Doris White has only been dead less than eighteen hours. In this storm, how far do you think the murderer has gotten?”

  “I don’t know, Dave,” Kranston said. “And neither do you.”

  McCoy looked at Peck. “It benefits no one to cause a widespread panic.”

  “It benefits the next victim,” Peck said.

  “You don’t know that there will be a next victim,” Kranston said, raising his voice.

  “And you don’t know that there won’t be,” Peck said, calmly.

  Kranston sat back in his chair and the heat seemed to melt out of him. He paused to fish out a stick of gum and when he spoke, it was in a softer, less angry tone of voice. “Once the storm has broken and people are back in their homes, they will less likely panic at the news. A week is not going to matter much considering we do not have the equipment Augusta has. Will it?”

  Peck turned to Bender. “You haven’t said anything, Jay. What do you think?”

  Bender shrugged his shoulders at Peck. “I know these people a lot longer than you, Dave. Ed is right when he says they will panic. Seeing as how we don’t have anything to do anything with…...” Bender paused to shrug his shoulders again. “And it won’t matter much to Doris White one way or the other.”

  Peck looked at Kranston. “We’ll do it your way, Ed. Just so long as you don’t object to me quietly poking around on my own.”

  Kranston nodded. “Quietly.”

  Peck stood up and left the lounge. Bender glanced at McCoy and Kranston, and then followed Peck outside.

  Peck and Bender entered Deb’s Diner just after sunrise. There was just one free table by the window. They took a seat and were surprised when Deb arrived to pour them coffee.

  “Don’t you two look like something the cat dragged in,” Deb commented.

  “It was a long night,” Peck said. “You sleep over?”

  I stayed over, but who could sleep with trees falling every fifteen minutes,” Deb said.

  “Can I get some eggs?” Bender asked.

  “Today, you can. Tomorrow, I would say probably not.”

  “Are supplies that low?” Peck said.

  “You’d be amazed at how much people can eat when they think it’s free.”

  “What else you got?” Peck said.

  “Oatmeal, toast, juice, muffins and not much else.”

  “I guess oatmeal it is,” Peck said, looking at Bender.

  “I hate oatmeal,” Bender said, but sadly nodded his agreement.

  Deb walked away and Bender shook his head. “We’re not going to make it. Not unless we get a delivery of food.”

  “That isn’t going to happen. Not for at least another week.”

  “Talk about a panic,” Bender said. “You ain’t seen nothing until you’ve seen a Maine hick with an empty stomach and no liquor to drink.”

  “Hey,” Peck said. “I seem to remember you went deer hunting last November.”

  “Oh, no,” Bender said. “I have twelve steaks left in my freezer and I ain’t parting with them unless…..”

  “I don’t mean that,” Peck said.

  “What then?”

  “Half the men in this town just love to go shooting things in the woods. Talk to your hunting buddies and see who would be willing to go out hunting. Deer, wil
d turkey, whatever is around you can shoot. I’d bet they’d love the chance to do some poaching.”

  Bender smiled. “Son of a bitch, I want to be just like Dave when I grow up.”

  Deb returned with two large bowls of oatmeal. “I doubt you’ll ever grow up, Jay.” She set the bowls on the table. “It isn’t good, but it will fill your stomach.”

  Bender shook his head, picked up the sugar bowl, and tossed several spoonfuls onto the oatmeal. He added four pats of butter, then stirred it up and took a quick taste. Not satisfied, he reached for the bottle of maple syrup and added an ounce to the mixture, then tried it again. “Better.”

  “For God’s sake,” Deb said and turned away.

  Bender looked at Peck. “What?”

  Peck tried his oatmeal. It was bland, but as Deb said, it would fill his stomach.

  “Are we going back out today?” Bender said as he spooned maple colored oatmeal into his mouth.

  Peck shook his head. “People are sleeping in shifts as it is. The church and hospital can’t hold anymore.”

  Bender ate some more, then looked at Peck and smiled. “They don’t have to.”

  “They don’t have to what?”

  “Sleep in shifts.”

  “Why?”

  “Before I became your deputy, you remember I worked for the paper company. They have an old logging camp about seven miles west of Main Street off a dirt road. It’s been abandoned since Korea.”

  “What’s there?”

  “A dozen cabins, a main hall, it will hold forty eight people.”

  “Any generators?”

  Bender shook his head. “No, but there’s a woodstove in each cabin and a large fireplace in the main hall.”

  “It’s not on the map.”

  “That map is new. It’s been closed seven years now.”

  “Check it out. If it’s safe, we’ll use it.”

  Deb returned with a fresh pot of coffee. “I sent Paco home to get some sleep.”

  “You want a ride to your house?” Peck said.

  “Later, maybe. Around six if I can get away.”

  Peck nodded. “If I’m asleep, wake me up.”

  Bender ate another spoonful of oatmeal and looked at Deb. “Maybe I can get some toast?”

  Peck lay on the cot in his office and listened to the mixture of sounds of wind and the ice plinking against the window against the backdrop of a soft crackle from the woodstove. Except for the faint light escaping from the woodstove, the room was completely dark.

  Exhausted, sleep came easy and he drifted off in a matter of minutes.

  An hour or so later, Peck opened his eyes when a headache radiated across his forehead and settled between his eyes. He stood up from the cot and lit a candle on his desk for light. Opening a desk drawer, Peck found a bottle of aspirin and poured three tablets into his hand. He crossed the room to the water cooler, filled a paper cup and swallowed the three aspirins in one gulp.

  Turning toward the cot, Peck took several steps when a bolt of lightning struck him between the eyes. Stunned, Peck froze in his tracks, and then dropped to one knee and gasped for air. Momentarily, his vision dimmed.

  As quickly as the pain struck, it vanished.

  Peck stood up, walked several more steps, dropped to the floor when the pain struck a second time, rolled to his side, and gasped for air. He ripped at his tee shirt as the searing; white heat inside his head all but blinded him.

  Then, seconds later, the pain was completely gone. His vision returned to normal and his breathing was fine.

  Slowly, Peck worked his way to one knee before he finally stood up and tested his legs. He went to his desk, opened the drawer, poured two fingers of scotch into a plastic cup, and downed it in two swallows. The liquor went down hard and radiated heat in his stomach.

  As the lone candle flickered, casting an eerie, yellow light across the desk, Peck wiped sweat from his face and stared at the tiny flame. Never in his life had he experienced such a headache. Maybe it was the dry air from the constant use of the woodstove, which dried out his sinus’s and triggered the attack.

  Whatever the cause, the pain was gone. Peck stood up and cracked the window to allow fresh air to circulate the room, and then returned to the cot. Before he fell asleep, he made a mental note to see Doctor McCoy for something stronger than aspirin.

  When Peck woke for the second time that day, it was already dark outside the office window. He dressed quickly, went outside and crossed the street to the hospital. He found McCoy in the lounge where a fresh pot of coffee rested on a burner.

  “I want a coffee, a cigarette and a hot shower,” Peck told McCoy.

  “Sure,” McCoy said. “The generators on, the water’s hot.”

  “And after that, I want a check up.”

  “A checkup? What for?”

  Peck filled a mug with coffee, and then looked at McCoy. “A headache.”

  Shirtless after his first shower in days, Peck sat on the edge of an examination table and watched McCoy scribble notes on a chart. “And just like that the pain went away?” McCoy said, glancing at Peck.

  “Just like that, gone. What do you think?”

  “Your blood pressure is 120 over 70. It doesn’t get much better than that without being dead,” McCoy said. “Resting pulse is 80, lungs are clear, eyes are tip top.”

  “I didn’t imagine being knocked on my ass, Tom.”

  “I didn’t say you did,” McCoy said setting the chart aside. “Exhaustion, too much coffee, too much stress, lack of sleep, pick one, pick them all and you’ve got a migraine.”

  Peck reached for his shirt and slipped it on. “I thought migraines lasted for hours.”

  “Not necessarily. Not if it’s what is known as a cluster headache,” McCoy said. “They strike suddenly, knock you for a loop, and vanish just as suddenly. They come and go in bunches, or clusters. They can last seconds, minutes or hours. They can be brutal.”

  “Why all of a sudden?”

  “Who says that it is? They could have been brewing below the surface for years and decided now was the right time to take a peek at the world,” McCoy said. “Or it could just be an isolated incident from dry sinus passages. Either way, I can’t find a damn thing wrong with you.”

  Peck tucked his shirt into his pants and looked at McCoy. “Anything you can give me? For next time, if there is a next time.”

  McCoy looked at Peck and hesitated several seconds before he answered. “Sure, but only use it if you have another headache. Okay?”

  Peck nodded. “What else would I do with it?”

  “And get some moisture in the office,” McCoy said. “Put a pot of water on the woodstove like in the old days.”

  Peck adjusted his utility belt, feeling the weight of his heavy revolver on his right hip. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, come into my office. I keep the good stuff locked up,” McCoy said. “Then, lets’ get something to eat. Sometimes, an empty stomach can cause severe headaches.”

  Deb was behind the counter when Peck and McCoy entered the diner. It was another full house, but they managed to grab a table vacated by two of her waitresses returning from break.

  Deb approached the table with a pot of coffee. “Paco’s working the night, sheriff. I’d appreciate that ride home and so do my feet.”

  Peck held out his coffee cup while Deb poured. “The ice seems to be letting up a bit. It should be no problem.”

  “Good. What will you have?”

  “What are our choices?’ McCoy asked.

  “Fried chicken with mashed potatoes.”

  “Or?” McCoy said.

  “Fried chicken with mashed potatoes.”

  Peck took a sip of his coffee. “I guess I’ll have that.”

  McCoy shrugged. “Me, too.”

  Peck glided the snowmobile to a gentle stop directly in front of the stairs that lead to Deb Robertson’s front door. She climbed off and looked at her dark house. “It must be freezing in there,” she said. �
��Maybe you could help me build a fire?”

  Peck looked at the pitch-black windows and immediately thought of Doris White. “Alright,” he said.

  They climbed the stairs and Deb unlocked her door with a key. They stepped inside and the temperature wasn’t much warmer than outside, maybe in the low forties.

  “Start on the fire,” Deb said. “I’m going to crank the generator before ice cycles start growing off the ceiling.”

  Peck used his flashlight to guide them across the living room where Deb lit several candles on the coffee table. She took hold of Peck’s flashlight. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  There was a firewood box near the woodstove. Peck loaded the stove with kindling from the box and ignited it with a foot long match and old newspapers. As the kindling took hold, Peck heard the hum of the generator in the background.

  Deb appeared in the doorway of the living room. “There. It will only take a few minutes for the heat to come on. Feel like some fresh coffee.”

  “That sounds good,” Peck said as he toyed with the kindling.

  Deb smiled at him and entered the kitchen. At fifty-three, the schoolboy jitters he felt at being alone with an attractive woman should have left him, long ago, but they hadn’t. In the back of his mind, Peck felt that something besides the woodstove was heating up inside the house.

  When the kindling was burning hot enough, Peck added a few, heavy logs. In a matter of minutes, the fire was roaring, warming the entire room.

  Deb entered with a serving tray of coffee and cups. She lowered the tray to the coffee table and poured two cups, then took a seat on the sofa. Peck walked to the sofa, sat down and picked up his cup. Deb looked at him.

  “You’re a mysterious man, sheriff,” Deb said.

  “In what way?”

  “You’ve been here eighteen months and hardly anyone knows anything about you. Why is that?”

  “There’s nothing to know,” Peck said, sipping from the cup. “I’m a pretty boring, middle aged guy with nothing to tell.”

  “Then you won’t mind me being nosy and asking some questions.”