The Bones She Buried: A completely gripping, heart-stopping crime thriller(71)

She put the sprinkler head back where she’d gotten it and sprinted toward the door, using the key to unlock it. The house was dim and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Her heart raced as she took in the scene before her. Immediately to the right was what Josie assumed was a living room although now it looked like a tornado had blown through. Furniture was upended; lamps broken and tossed to the floor; magazines and mail torn and discarded; a television with a cracked screen lay on the living room carpet. Beyond that was a dining room, judging by the table and chairs, although the table was askew, two of the chairs had been overturned and what looked like a large china cabinet had fallen on its face.

The faint sound Josie thought she had heard outside came again, making her jump. Her service weapon was in her hand, her eyes searching everywhere. “Mr. Butler,” she called.

This time, she registered it as a man’s raspy voice, trying to call out. Her feet carried her deeper into the dining room and that was when she saw a pair of feet covered in tan moccasin slippers protruding from beneath the china cabinet. “Mr. Butler!” she cried.

Holstering her gun she bent at the knees and cupped her palms beneath the edge of one side. It was heavy, far heavier than she had anticipated. Josie was sure she wouldn’t be able to lift it by herself. But then came the sound of that pitiful gasping voice, begging her for help. Adrenaline shot through her, and a cry tore from her throat as she lifted the china cabinet from the ground. The sound of glass breaking shattered the silence of the house as Earl’s dinnerware scattered across the floor. Once Josie righted the large piece of furniture, she looked down to see him on his back, wearing a pair of khaki pants and a flannel shirt. His hair was gray and thinning and white stubble dotted his ashen face. His lips were almost blue. Josie knelt beside him and felt his pulse while she took out her phone and dialed 911.

“Mr. Butler,” she said. “My name is Josie Quinn. I’m a detective from Denton. I’m going to get you help. Just hang in there.”





Fifty





An hour later, Josie sat by Earl Butler’s bed in the Emergency department of a nearby hospital. On the other side sat a sheriff’s deputy from Lenore County. Since the attack on Butler had taken place there, it was out of her jurisdiction, but because she was trying to solve a string of murders and she had saved Butler, she was allowed to sit in on the interview. An oxygen tank whirred in the corner of the room, and Earl strained to talk over it. Some color had come back into his face. A lifetime of wrinkles jostled when he spoke, and the nasal cannula bobbed on his upper lip.

“This man came yesterday. Said he wanted to talk about my old friend, Craig Bridges. We were in Vietnam together, me and Craig. Real close. We used to be roommates, but then Craig disappeared. Police thought maybe he killed himself but I knew better. So this guy shows up. It’s been almost thirty years. I thought… I thought this is it, I’ll find out what happened to Craig. So I let him in.”

He sucked in several breaths before continuing, “He was stocky and muscular and bald. Shaved head, not bald from genetics. He was probably in his sixties but real fit. He just attacked me. Knocked me down, got on top of me, put his hands over my mouth and nose. I knew he was trying to kill me so eventually I stopped fighting. I went real still. I was betting he wouldn’t check my pulse and he didn’t.”

“But he knocked over the cabinet,” Josie said.

Earl nodded. “Pinned my legs. I couldn’t get out. I heard him going through the house like he was looking for something. I didn’t dare try to move in case he wanted to finish the job. Then he left. I heard the police come this morning and tried to call out, but I couldn’t. Thank God you came. I’m not as young as I used to be. Have a lot of trouble getting around.”

Josie smiled at him. She glanced at the sheriff’s deputy and he nodded at her, giving her permission to ask her questions. “Mr. Butler, I want to show you a photo.” She took out her phone and found the photo of the belt buckle to show him. “Do you recognize this?”

He fidgeted with the nasal cannula, pressing his lips together and puckering them, pressing and puckering. Finally, he spoke, his voice husky. “That was Craig’s. Where did you get that? He loved that thing. You know, he struggled when he came back from ‘Nam. We all did. But he told me joining the shooting league helped him. He was good at it, and he said it was nice to shoot targets and not the enemy.”

“Did he wear it all the time?” Josie asked.

Earl nodded.

“Was he wearing it the day he disappeared?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Butler, I’ve read the police file in connection with his disappearance. Can you tell me what you think happened?”

Earl nodded again. He looked away from her, straight ahead, as though he was staring into the past. “I think they got him. He always said they would.”

Josie’s spine straightened. “They who?”

“When we came home from the war, I went back to Maryland, and Craig went home to Pennsylvania. He was real depressed, didn’t do much with himself at first. Then he started at the shooting league, met some friends there. One of ‘em got him a job at a quarry. Good money.”

“Wait,” Josie said. “A quarry? The Sutton quarry?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. He liked working there. Was just a laborer but it was work. He was getting his life together. Then something happened. I asked him, cause it was in all the papers back then, if he was there when they had the big accident.”