Read Online Don’t Talk to Strangers: A Novel by Amanda Kyle Williams - Free Book Online Page B

carports, or basements. I’m emailing you the particulars.”
    “Great. Everything okay at the office?”
    “You’ve been gone three hours, Kiwi. I think we’re okay.” Neil used the nickname he’d
     hung around my neck a few weeks ago when he discovered my middle name was Lei and
     rhymed with my first name, Keye. Together they sounded to him like, well, Kiwi. “Be
     careful down there. Lot of history. Weird stuff.”
    “Like what?”
    “For starters, and this should give you an idea of the vibe, the Koasati tribe had
     a word for that area.
At-pasha-shilha
. Know what it is?”
    “How would I know that? I didn’t even know there was a Koasati tribe.” I trudged through
     leaves up the hill and tried to keep my footing. The path was clear now that we were
     deep into the woods. No thickets to maneuver through, just tall trees and leaves piled
     on a pine straw bed.
    “How can you grow up Chinese and be so totally clueless about other cultures?” Neil
     huffed.
    “I didn’t grow up Chinese. I grew up southern.”
    “It means ‘mean people,’ Keye. You’re in the mean people county. Spooky, huh?”
    “Yeah. It is. Look, I gotta run.” I disconnected, and jogged to catch up with the
     sheriff. He heard me and waited.
    “We found the bodies just up there,” he said when I got closer.
    We topped the hill. I could hear the creek. “How do you remember the spot?” I asked.
    “When you come straight up from the old dock and top this hill, you’re looking right
     at those two old oaks growing together. It’s thirty yards north from there. When you
     come in from the road, there’s a big poplar wrapped in dead vines about the size of
     my arm where the path veers down to the lake. You go east and climb up the hill from
     there. I spent a lot of time hiking in Colorado. You learn to remember natural landmarks.”
    And so do killers
, I thought, and snapped some pictures as we walked, including the double oak tree
     the sheriff used as a guidepost. We approached the edge of a slope. The dry dead leaves
     crinkled under our boots. I gazed down at a twenty-foot drop, a natural indentation
     in the earth that looked something like a sinkhole. I thought about the photographs—Melinda
     on her side stopped by a rock, Tracy’s remains below her at the bottom. “Can you come
     in from any other direction?” I asked Meltzer.
    “It wouldn’t be easy. Farmhouses and dogs, private property. The distance would be
     greater. Nowhere to leave your transportation. And he’d have to cross the creek. I
     don’t see that happening.”
    I looked back down at the drop-off and thought again about the scene photos. He’d
     removed their clothes. Was it MO, something to defeat efforts at evidence collection?
     Or was it signature, something that fulfilled a psychological need, something unnecessary
     to the commission of the crime? Perhaps it reinforced his dominance over the victims.
     Had he kept their clothes? “Those girls were alive when they got here,” I told the
     sheriff. “He walked them out here, made them strip and turn their backs to him. He’s
     carrying something he can use to dispose of their clothing, something that wouldn’t
     look suspicious if he ran into someone in the woods. A backpack, maybe. He dropped
     Melinda’s blouse accidentally on his way out.” I backed up a few feet from the edge,
     turned, and pointed toward the creek. “He was close to the creek when he lost it or
     else it would have either washed down the slope to the lake or ended up in the depression
     where he disposed of the bodies. And he’d want them back far enough so he could hit
     them hard without knocking them off. He’d want tocheck their vitals. He’s careful. He has to make sure they’re not breathing.” I backed
     up a couple more feet. “So he stands about here and swings his weapon.” I glanced
     up at the sheriff. His wide brown eyes were fixed on me. “This isn’t just a disposal
     site, Sheriff;