by Amy Glamos
“Ma’am, we’d really appreciate it if you’d pull over up ahead,” the man said through the open window of the unmarked black Escalade.
“There’s no way in hell I’m pulling over,” I replied. I had heard some lame pick-up lines before, but this scheme was ludicrous. A couple of guys throw on a suit and some aviators and suddenly they’re police? I don’t think so. The one beckoning to me on the passenger side had to be in his twenties, right around my age, with an enticing southern drawl.
“This isn’t a scam, I assure you. It’s in your best interest to pull over.” He pulled his shades down on his nose and gave me a stern look.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve actually seen a horror movie that started out exactly like this,” I said, preparing for the light to change. I looked around at the deserted intersection and wondered why I had to pick up the 3-3 shift this week at the hospital.
“Ma’am, please,” he said, glancing at the stoplight. “It’s about the Green River Killer.” The driver next to him shot him a warning look before returning his gaze to me.
Headlines from the last two weeks flashed in my mind. Three women missing. Three bodies found. All within the same three mile stretch of land near the Green River. He was still out there somewhere, waiting to strike again.
That did the trick. After insisting, despite the green light, that he show me his badge, I pulled over and the two men signaled me to follow them to a government building a couple blocks down.
“So what the hell does all this have to do with me?” I asked as I was escorted to an empty office and sat down.
“Miss Meyer, we believe we have the identity of the Green River Killer, but we can’t seem to locate him,” the driver of the Escalade said. He was much older than the other and his slumped shoulders and creased forehead gave him a look of permanent exhaustion. “We think you have some information that may help us with our investigation.”
The younger agent came and sat next to me. “We need to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Daniel Roades,” he said, watching my face for a reaction.
Danny. My last boyfriend. Great in bed, but not so great at picking up the damn phone. I hadn’t talked to him since I ended things with him about a month ago. It took me a moment to figure out why they would want to know about my relationship with him.
“You think Danny is the Green River Killer?” I asked, trying to hold back laughter. He may have been a little unstable, but he was much too sweet to hurt anybody. “Is this some kind of prank or something?”
The two agents exchanged looks and the older nodded to the younger. He pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and slid it across the desk to me.
I opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of surveillance photos. I recognized the Ford pickup in the photo, its rusted tailgate hanging open. I remembered nagging Danny to get the thing fixed about a million times. In the bed of the truck was a large bag that looked like it was about to fall out. The next photo was a close-up and Danny was standing next to the bag, reaching in to push it back in the bed. He had his Billings Bulls hat on backwards as usual. The next photo was an extreme close-up on the top of the bag and it was hard to make out. There was something hanging out. I squinted and held it close to my face and it became clear.
It was a hand. A human hand.