The Killing Room (Richard Montanari) - By Richard Montanari Page 0,85

and over a ridge.

Jessica looked at Byrne. As he pulled in, scraping the sides of the sedan against the dried bushes, she finished her coffee, and willed herself awake.

There was no way of knowing what they were going to find over this ridge.

The house sat atop a low rise, at the end of a 200-foot driveway. The closer they got to the structure, the more Jessica began to wonder what kept it standing. It was a three-room shack, with a roof so patched and tar-papered it looked to be in danger of blowing off any second. The ridge of the roof was so bowed it looked ready to snap. There was a crumbling chimney to the left, one at the back. Smoke poured from the larger of the two. In the fields surrounding the shack were the rusted remnants of old trucks, stoves, car parts. A well pump stuck out of the ground at the end of a trampled trail through the weeds.

Jessica and Byrne got out of the car, walked to the house. The sun was still out, but a frigid breeze blew over the hill. They stepped cautiously onto the swayback porch. Jessica knocked. From inside they heard a dog bark. It was a high-pitched sound, which was good news. No one, outside of postal carriers, had more of a love/hate relationship with dogs than police officers. This did not sound like a big dog – Rottweiler, shepherd, or even an old redbone hound. This was a beagle at best.

The door opened, but there was no one there. Jessica looked down. There, standing in front of them, was a boy of five. He had light blond hair shorn so close to his head that there were red, abraded patches on his scalp. He wore dirty jeans, at least two sizes too large. They were rolled up almost to his scabby knees. He was barefoot, even though the temperature had to be hovering around twenty degrees.

‘Hi,’ Jessica said.

Instead of answering, the boy barked. Loudly. At first, Jessica thought the boy might have yelled for an adult to come to the door, but when he did it a second time, there could be no doubt in her mind. The boy was imitating a dog. At least she hoped it was an imitation.

There was no dog. The sound they heard had been the boy.

‘Is your mom or dad home?’ Jessica asked.

The boy studied them for a moment, then turned and ran. He disappeared out the back door. A few seconds later they heard: ‘Well, come if you’re comin’. Stove’s alight. Shake off the chill.’

Jessica and Byrne stepped inside. The main room was relatively uncluttered and organized, considering the home’s exterior. To the right was a long table, along with a wood-burning stove. Next to that was a sewing machine.

As they stepped further into the room, Jessica saw the woman sitting in a rocking chair. She was somewhere between thirty and fifty, had graying hair pulled back into a ponytail, held an embroidery hoop in her hands. Her right foot was in a cast.

‘Are you Ida-Rae Munson?’ Jessica asked.

‘I am in fact.’

Jessica produced her ID. ‘My name is Jessica Balzano. I’m with the Philadelphia Police Department.’

‘Philadelphia?’

Jessica heard a sound behind her. She turned to see the dog-boy crouched in the corner watching them, little terrier eyes studying them from the midday shadow. When had he come back inside? Jessica turned her attention back to the woman. ‘We had quite a hard time finding your place.’

‘House ain’t moved in thirty years,’ the woman said.

‘I guess what I meant is that it’s a bit sparsely populated in this area,’ Jessica said, for some reason feeling the need to explain herself, and do so with proper grammar, which was far from one of her strengths.

The woman shrugged, ran a hand across her chin. ‘There just ain’t no more jobs, that’s the simple answer. Not in the mines, not loggin’, not pulpwoodin’. Nothin’, nowhere. Everwho had some sense packed and gone.’

Jessica and Byrne just listened. Jessica figured everwho meant whoever.

The woman waved a hand absently at the area behind the house. ‘We used to grow everything we needed, ’cept the ground got used up. All’s we used to go into town for was boots and nails. Coffee, some. Still ain’t no public water out here. When I heard y’all pull up I figured you was with the county, out to give me another shuffle.’

‘We just need to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right?’