Follow Me

The dirt slope down to the reservoir was baked, each step kicking up dust that settled on his newly polished black shoes. Already he could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead and under his arms. The sun had barely been up an hour; the air still hot from the day before. The man had died right at the water’s edge. Died sprawled on his back, his legs dangling in the lake. The water here was black, and it had traveled upward along his grey sweatpants in dark tendrils. Inky roots snaking up from the depths. Like a dead body wasn’t unnerving enough. Yellow tape was strung up around the scene. A young officer stood next to it, about as far away from the victim as he could get. Some folks just couldn’t handle death. Joe knew this, had seen it in other officers time and time again. In their expressions, in their reluctance to engage. He’d seen it in their sick days and their shift trades, and every time he did he wondered why they chose to work in a place like Cooper. A second man was crouched over the body. Rolled-up sleeves and purple gloves, a flash of light and a camera’s whine. “Morning, Bob,” Joe said. Bob swiveled round, his eyes crinkling against the sun. He smiled warmly and stood up. “Morning. Dispatch said Fields was on today.” “Fields went on a bit of a bender last night, asked me to trade shifts.” “Lucky Fields. Come to meet my new friend here?” “We’ve not been properly introduced.” “Ah, well, that’s because I don’t know his name yet.” Joe nodded, peering closer at the body. There was a thin trickle of blood, now dried, leading down the left side of the man’s chest from the edge of the knife protruding from it. A line of red running across his off-white T-shirt. “What can you tell me?” Joe asked. “Well, in my considered professional judgment, he died from a stab wound,” Bob said. Then added, “Look, I got here a whole ten minutes before you did.” “And in those ten minutes, did you happen to work out how long he’s been here for?” “Rigor is pretty well set in, so I’d say sometime in the last four hours, maybe eight. Difficult to tell in this heat, though. Speeds up the process.” “There isn’t much blood for a stab wound.” Bob shrugged, stretching a little, letting the camera swing on its strap around his neck. “Judging by the trauma site, I’d say he probably died from a pneumothorax. But I’ll need to get a proper look at him.” Joe wiped at his brow. “Get him back to the station as soon as you can,” he said. “Sun’s going to cook him.” “Lucky I skipped breakfast this morning.” “Whose vehicle is that?” Bob’s gaze followed where Joe was looking. A rusted, maroon SUV sat a little farther along the bank of the reservoir. Beyond it stood another officer. He was talking to a woman. “Vehicle belong to her, you think?” Joe asked. “I don’t know.” “Know who she is?” “First witness on the scene. Out camping with her boyfriend, came across the body this morning. They had to drive a mile and a half into town to find a working payphone.” “Alright. Finish the victim. I’ll check in with you later.” Joe moved away toward the yellow tape and the nervous young officer. His uniform looked near-enough brand-new, his collar buttoned tight around his neck. His name badge read Gennero. “What can you tell me about that SUV?” Joe asked him. “It was here when we arrived, detective.” “You boys run the plate?” “Not yet.” “Uh-huh. Where’s your cruiser parked? Up the path there?” “Yessir.” “Good. I want you to run the plate back at the station, alright? Find me the owner.” “Oh, I can pull the owner’s name from my car.” “I know you can. But I don’t just want their name. I want their picture. Can’t do that in your car. Run the plate back at the station and see if it belongs to our John Doe here. If it’s a woman’s, find out if she’s married. Might be her husband, or her brother. Find me our victim’s name.” The officer nodded vigorously. Happy to help; happier still to get away from the reservoir. Joe turned and started walking back the way he’d come. Into the brush and up the slope toward his car. Already he was lost in the cool shade, climbing the dry verge back to the main road. Truth be told, he couldn’t blame Officer Gennero for being jumpy around this place. Joe’s memories of the lake were special, sure, but special didn’t always mean good. Didn’t always mean nice. He wasn’t exactly shocked to have found a dead man washed up on its shore. Something about this place had always given Joe the creeps. Since he was a kid, a nervousness rooted deep in the back of his mind. The way the morning light sank into the dark water, maybe. Like the lake was feeding off it, off everything around it. There were times he forgot all about his sixteenth birthday. Forgot about the way his hands had shaken as he undid his belt, his eyes glued to the image of Holly Williams shedding her clothes, casually, like it was no big thing. Her pale skin made paler by the moonlight as she sank slowly beneath the surface. There were times he forgot he’d ever swam in that lake, and there were times he wished he’d never emerged.