The Axe, page 1
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Linda Griffin and…
The Axe
Copyright
Dedication
Author's Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing
“Don’t you want to know if I killed them?” she asked.
He hadn’t expected that. “I want to know whatever you want to tell me.”
She made real eye contact for the first time. “Coward. You were afraid to ask.”
“I thought I knew the answer. Did you?” He tried to say it lightly.
“Yes,” she said in an odd, dreamy tone. “I remember…the axe… It was very sharp. It went in so easily…like slicing butter.”
“Desi! God!” He leaned over, hands flat on the table, shaken to the core.
“See, you didn’t know me after all.”
“Did you tell the police this?” He dropped into the chair across from her.
“I don’t remember.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t remember if you told the police you killed two people?”
“Oh, they already knew. I don’t remember if I told them about the axe. I think I just remembered it now. I thought there would be more blood. Their brains were oozing out. The axe was very heavy.”
He had thought his life had been blown apart before—now the pieces were too small to gather up. He would have to call the lawyer and ask if they should plead guilty to manslaughter. No, manslaughter meant you didn’t mean to kill them. Can you sink an axe into the back of a man’s head, hard enough to make brain tissue ooze out, and not mean to kill him? What other course did they have? Self-defense? Justifiable homicide? Diminished capacity?
Praise for Linda Griffin and…
The Rebound Effect:
“I’m pretty sure this is the shortest review that I’ve ever written but I’m limited to what I can say because I don’t want to spoil anything. Just go pick up a copy and find out for yourself why this book is one of a kind.” ~ Long and Short Reviews
Guilty Knowledge:
“Griffin has a gift for romantic suspense…An involving mystery elevated by vivid characterizations.” ~ Kirkus Reviews
“The story was gripping and a brilliant mystery.” ~ N.N. Light’s Book Heaven
“Guilty Knowledge is an intriguing story…a compelling tale of murder, secrets, and love.” ~ InD’Tale Magazine
Reluctant Hearts:
“Griffin’s comfortable at moments of high drama and at the mundanities of life.” ~ BookLife
The Axe
by
Linda Griffin
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Axe
COPYRIGHT © 2023 by Linda Griffin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Jennifer Greeff
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Edition, 2023
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-5198-8
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To editor Morena Stamm for taking a chance on a challenging project
Author’s Note: Although the violence doesn’t take place on the page, the victim's description of events and other characters’ well-meaning statements to her may be triggering to some.
Chapter One
“Lunchtime?” Desi asked. They were coming up the hill toward the cabin after a leisurely hike to the spring-swollen river, comfortably hand in hand. It was a beautiful blue-sky day, promising a whole weekend of Southern California sunshine.
“Definitely,” Eric said, smiling at her. He smiled a lot these days. She was not the sort of girl he had always thought he would marry—she was simply the girl he was going to marry. She was only twenty-three and appeared younger, maybe because of the way she wore her long dark hair in a single braid. She wore stone-washed jeans, a red sleeveless blouse, and scuffed red sneakers, and her lightly tanned skin was like honey.
Ahead of them rose a murmur of voices and the familiar thunk of an axe. “It sounds like it’s on the property,” he said, frowning. Plenty of fallen branches lay around his uncle’s cabin, and nobody would object to other area residents cutting them up for firewood, but none of the locals would do so without first asking permission.
“There’s a truck up there,” Desi said, pointing. The pickup was barely visible through the trees.
“Go on up to the cabin,” he said. “I’m going to tell them to ask next time.”
She didn’t let go of his hand. “Don’t start a fight,” she said.
“I never start fights,” he said. “I’ll be polite.”
She stayed close as they climbed toward the truck. Desi never followed instructions unless she wanted to. She just ignored them.
The pickup was a very old, battered Dodge with California plates. Beyond it were two bearded men in plaid flannel shirts. The one with the axe was about forty, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired. The other one was tall, scruffy, a little younger, and had red hair. They both turned toward the approaching couple. The red-haired one stared at Desi in a way Eric didn’t like, but the other man smiled genially and said, “Howdy, folks. Pretty day, ain’t it?”
And then he swung the axe.
****
Eric woke up in the dark with a splitting headache. It took him a minute to orient himself enough to know he was lying on his side with his hands tied together. The darkness was not absolute, and he could tell he was in a small, closed space. It smelled faintly of motor oil, and a rough carpet lay under his cheek. He was in the trunk of a car. When he stirred, the pain in his head made him want to throw up. His feet were tied together, too, and a piece of duct tape was stretched across his mouth.
Where is Desi? Trunk releases in newer cars were designed to glow in the dark, but this one didn’t. He kicked ineffectually against the door, or where he thought the door was. Nothing happened.
“Eric?” Desi’s voice was unmistakable but thickened as if she had been crying. She was outside somewhere, moving around, calling out his name. “Eric?” Something else was wrong—she wasn’t quite getting the r—or maybe his ears were ringing.
He tried to yell, making only a muffled sound, and kicked hard at the door.
“Eric?”
He kicked again, as hard as he could.
“Eric!” She was closer now.
He kicked again and could hear her fumbling at the latch.
Light flooded in, blinding him momentarily. Desi, exclaiming in concern and relief, tugged on the knots at his feet. He could only see her outline, and then she disappeared. A car door opened and closed. He recognized the sound. He had been imprisoned in his own car’s trunk. When she came back, sunlight glinted off something he recognized as the survival tool from the glove compartment. She used the blade intended for cutting a seatbelt to saw ineffectually at the rope around his feet. He tried again to say something, and she dropped the tool and tugged the tape off his mouth. “My hands,” he said.
She understood and worked on that rope, leaning over him. His eyes had adjusted to the light enough to see that her hair was disheveled, her braid half undone. Her face was oddly lopsided, one cheek and eye swollen. She was on her knees inside the trunk, using only one hand on the rope, the other hugged against her chest.
“What happened?” he asked.
“He hit you with the axe,” she said. Her words were slurred. “I thought he killed you.”
“What happened to you?” he clarified.
“Nothing.”
The rope parted, freeing his hands, and he made quick work of the one binding his feet. He looked up at her, shielding his eyes with one hand. Her blouse was dirty and torn. As she backed up to let him climb out of the trunk, he saw that she wore nothing at all below the waist. Blood was smeared on her legs.
“Oh, God, Desi!” His hand went to his mouth.
She was pale and trembling. “We need to go,” she urged. “You have a head injury. I’ll drive.” She moved toward the driver’s side.
“I think I’m okay,” he said. He brushed at his clothes and stretched his cramped legs. “Is your arm broken? You can’t drive—”
“Get in the car,” she said fiercely.
“Let’s go to the cabin,” he said.
“No! I’m not going in there.”
“Then I’ll go—at least get you some clothes.”
“No! Don’t go in there. Get in the car.” She opened the driver’s side door. He supposed he knew how she felt, and anyway the cabin was a crime scene and shouldn’t be disturbed.
“Wait,” he said. He took off his shirt and tied it around her waist.
She shuddered when he touched her.
She started to protest, but after a glance toward the cabin she circled around to get into the passenger seat.
“They won’t come back,” he said. “Did you see where they went?” He started the car.
“No.” She sat awkwardly with her good hand braced against the dashboard even though she was wearing her seatbelt. She had a rope burn, worse than his, on her wrist. “Let’s go,” she said.
He eased away from the cabin, scouting the trees for any sign of the two men. The Dodge pickup was gone.
He drove toward Nickels, where he had seen a small hospital and they would be able to call the police—there was no cell phone service near the cabin. The silence inside the car was deafening. He wanted to say something, but everything he considered seemed wrong. He wanted to ask a million questions, but it didn’t look as if she would answer them. He was filled with a desperate energy that had no acceptable outlet. Finally, he said, “I love you.”
She didn’t answer and stared out the window.
The Nickels hospital boasted a state-of-the-art x-ray machine. A doctor peered into Eric’s eyes with a small flashlight and checked his reflexes and said he would probably be fine. “A mild concussion—don’t drive if you feel dizzy.” Eric showed his health insurance card at the desk, paid his co-pay in cash, and sat in the chilly waiting room in his undershirt, his head throbbing. Desi’s purse was back in the cabin, so he would pay her bill too.
Another doctor came out to talk to him, while a nurse helped Desi get dressed. “She has a broken clavicle and cheekbone,” he said. “Both simple fractures which should heal with no problem. She might have to eat with a straw for a while.” He sat beside Eric and leaned closer to continue. “She wouldn’t let me call the police or do a rape kit. You need to persuade her to see her own doctor as soon as possible. She shouldn’t bathe first. She should be tested for AIDS and STIs and ask about the morning-after pill, and it should be reported to the police, of course.”
Desi emerged wearing his shirt, now with blood on it, a cloth drape wrapped around her waist as a skirt, and flimsy paper booties on her feet. Her right arm was in a sling, and an adhesive bandage covered the cut on her cheek. Eric reached for her left hand, and she put it behind her. He leaned in to kiss her undamaged left cheek, and she dodged back from him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Outside the emergency room, he asked, “Do you want to go to the police first or buy you something to wear? Or have lunch?” He glanced at his watch. It was three-thirty, long past lunchtime. How long had he been unconscious?
She shook her head. “Let’s go home.” Her mouth was stiff and swollen, and he could barely understand her.
“We have to talk to the police here,” he said. “It’s their jurisdiction.”
“Eric.” She looked him in the eye for the first time. “Nothing happened.”
“You have broken bones, Desirée. Something happened.”
“I fell. Let’s go home.” She got in the car.
Standing beside the driver’s door, he dialed 911, which put him in direct contact with the Nickels police. He gave the dispatcher directions to the cabin and descriptions of the two men. “We’ll come back tomorrow and give statements or look at pictures or whatever,” he promised. “I just want to get her home now.”
They went home to Carroll City. He made a few attempts at starting a conversation, but she wouldn’t respond.
Outside the apartment she had recently begun to share with him, he said, “I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but you have to take care of this.”
“Nothing happened,” she said fiercely.
“Okay, you’re in denial or something. But you were raped, and we need to go to your OB-GYN and make sure you’re okay. You like her. You won’t be afraid—”
“I’m not afraid.” She got out of the car. “You don’t know what happened,” she said. “You weren’t there.” The words sounded like an accusation. She slammed the door.
Eric rested his head on the steering wheel. The bump still throbbed, but it was the least of his pain. Should he have gone to the cabin with her and let her start lunch before he confronted the trespassers? Should he have somehow foreseen the attack and—what? Dodged the blow? Run? He’d had no weapon with which to fight back. Should he have let it go? They were only taking firewood, which his uncle wouldn’t even begrudge.
He realized Desi didn’t have her key and hurried to follow her. She was waiting outside the door with her head lowered. He let her in, and she headed straight into the bathroom and locked the door. “Desi?” he called. “Don’t—” The pipes banged as the water went on. “Don’t take a shower,” he said, shouting to be heard above the sound of rushing water. “I’ll call Dr. Hadley. Maybe she’ll even come here. She has to do a rape kit.” No answer. He remembered her broken collarbone, the sling, and his long-sleeved shirt. “Open the door, and I’ll help you get undressed,” he offered.
Still no answer. She stayed in the shower for twenty minutes, and he waited outside the door the whole time. His head hurt, and the ringing in his ears was getting worse. When she came out, she had the sling back on, but twisted a little, and wore the flower-patterned duster she kept on the hook behind the door. It closed with snaps—easier than buttons. Her face was pink and damp, and her eye was starting to turn purple. “Well,” he said. “You just washed away the evidence, but you still need to see Dr. Hadley. There’s AIDS and other diseases. And pregnancy. Even if he used a condom—”
Desi gave him a fierce scowl. “I. Was. Not. Raped,” she said. She dodged him and went into the kitchen.
He waited a minute, struggling to get control of himself, before he followed.
She was trying to make a sandwich with one hand. “What kind do you want?” she asked.
“I don’t think you can eat that,” he said and took over from her. “Sit down. I’ll make you a smoothie.”
She didn’t sit. Before he started the smoothie, he found the small icepack he had used when he had his wisdom teeth pulled, filled it, and handed it to her. She held the bag awkwardly against her face and closed her eyes.
“Are you going to talk to me at all?” he asked. “About any of it?”
She shook her head.
“Do you blame me for what happened?”
She opened her eyes. “No!” she said and added grimly, “Nothing happened.”
“That’s your story, and you’re sticking to it?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Tell me what I can do to help.” He took almond milk and blueberries out of the refrigerator and let her think about it.
She was silent.
And then she said, “Don’t blame me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied evenly. He did blame her for not talking to him, though. He shouldn’t, but he had thought they could say anything to each other. He started the blender to cover the silence.
Chapter Two
At the end of a mostly sleepless night, Eric was drowsing uncomfortably on the couch when the doorbell rang. The ringing in his ears was better, but his head still hurt. He put on his robe and ran a hand through his hair before he opened the door. Two men stood on the porch. Neither was in uniform, but he had no doubt who they were. They politely introduced themselves—Detective Colton of the Carroll City Police Department and Deputy Devane of the James County Sheriff’s Department. He stepped aside to let them into the apartment.
“Mr. Leed—” Detective Colton began.
“Leidheldt,” he said, stressing the long “I” sound most people missed.
“Leidheldt,” the detective repeated.
“We were going to go to Nickels today,” Eric said to Devane. Was “we” the right word? “I’m sorry you had to come all this way.” He wasn’t sure why a city cop was involved, although their department was the only one big enough to have a crime lab.
“You were going to Nickels to say what?” Colton asked. “Let’s make this simple. We’ve narrowed it down to two suspects. You want to help us out with that?”
“You have the suspects? I’m pretty sure we could identify them, yes.”
