The Blood Cries Out
by Karl Bjorn Erickson
We are delighted to welcome author Karl Bjorn Erickson to Omnimystery News today.
Karl's debut mystery is The Blood Cries Out (Light Switch Press; July 2014 trade paperback and ebook formats) and we are pleased to introduce you to it with an excerpt from Chapter 11.
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DAVID PUT UP THE PHONE — remembering to turn off the ringer — and felt surprisingly alone in the San Juan Island woods. It was a strange feeling for a city detective to be off in the forests and working alone. He took a final sip of his drink and returned it to the car's cup-holder. He eased the car door shut, hit the lock button on the key, and walked northwest into the tall trees, wearing his small pack on his right shoulder. After fifty feet of tall grass, brush, and sword ferns, a trail emerged. It wasn't much of a path, nearly vanishing in places, but he would take advantage of whatever was available. He paused to admire a particularly beautiful madrona. Its red branches twisted upwards against the sky. The needle-covered trail muffled his footfalls, and he made nearly no sound as he crept through the island's woods.
The collection of Garry oaks and pines became a little less thick when he reached the base of a gently sloping hill. He stopped to listen to the sounds around him, but all was silent. Neither the ocean surf nor traffic noise penetrated these woods. Keeping north by compass, he left the trail to climb the hilltop, where he dropped to his stomach just beyond a "No Trespassing" sign, and trained his binoculars on the scene below. While the rambling two-story brick home below was not exactly a mansion, it certainly bore the trademarks of an expensive piece of real estate. He was approaching the house from the back, its south side, but what caught his attention first was the number of vehicles. Parked on the south side, completely screened from the entry driveway, were half a dozen cars and two additional black Chevrolet Suburbans. He scanned the area with his binoculars, but no one seemed to be about. David strained to read the license plates, but they were obscured by distance and blowing grass along the fence line. From what he could make out, however, the plates were not all from Washington State.
David carefully snapped several photos with a digital camera and then took a few additional shots with his iPhone. He noticed there was a one-story outbuilding just to the northwest of the home, directly above its private dock. He thought he caught a flash of motion down below, but whatever it was disappeared. Voices now could be made out in the distance. He caught a glint of something gold moving in the tall swaying grass between his vantage point and the house. He looked again and spotted a woman crawling up the hillside towards him. Her blond hair was cut short, and she wore a gold blouse and white shorts. Unaware of David, she was crawling desperately through the grass. Even twenty feet away in the grass, he could tell she was terrified. Jaw set, she kept looking over her shoulder. David noticed some kind of commotion towards the house. There were agitated voices, but they didn't seem to be drawing nearer. The woman had stopped crawling and seemed to listen. Since windows and French doors were closed and draped, David suspected searchers were checking the yard. He caught a glint of gold when the woman moved again. He inched back through the grass and glanced down the other side of the hill to check the escape route; it was clear.
He whistled softly. She looked around frantically before seeing him. She stiffened and made as if to retreat. Instead, she continued up the rise, but veered away from his position. Keeping as low as possible, David ran along the top of the hill to intercept her. She stopped crawling again, intently watching him. They watched each other silently for a few seconds, each sizing up the other. He gestured for her to come up, putting a finger over his mouth to warn her to be quiet. She continued up the grassy hillside, crawling more slowly now. When she finally emerged from the tall grass, David was taken aback by her striking brown eyes and blond hair. She was visibly shaken. He offered his arm, but she pulled away violently. She was shaking badly.
"My name is David. What's wrong? What can I do to help you?"
"Just get me away from here. Please help me!" she whispered.
"Follow me," he directed. "My car isn't too far away."
Once they were about halfway down the other side of the hill, he caught the sound of barking. While it was still far off, it was definitely getting louder. They hurried down the slope and back into the trees. Her running was labored. She tripped over a branch, and David stooped down to help her to her feet. He paused to listen more carefully. The barking seemed to be closer still. It was disorienting to be heading back at such a different pace than he had entered the woods, but they kept on the winding trail. He recognized the large madrona he had stopped earlier to admire, and he hesitated until he spotted the Charger through the trees. The barking was definitely growing nearer.
"What's your name?" David whispered. He suspected he already knew.
"Molly," she gasped.
Even though there was no doubt that he had the firepower to defend the two of them, any encounter could certainly jeopardize the case. His heart sank. The front left tire was flat. He unlocked the Charger, saw that Molly was safely buckling herself into the front passenger seat, and he quickly checked the rear. The back tires looked fine. He jumped in and gunned the Dodge, backing it up a few feet, before inching forward again as he cranked the wheel to the right, then repeating the process one more time to get the car successfully turned around. He cursed his laziness for not parking the car facing the opposite direction as he usually did, but the coast remained clear by the time he got the car moving forward. Looking back, he caught a glimpse in the rear view mirror of several hounds emerging from the trees, but there was no sign yet of their handlers. He did notice in passing that there was a second set of tire treads tracks in the mud, but there was no time to investigate the new tracks further. He gunned the car as fast as he could safely maneuver down the dirt road until arriving at the main route back to Roche Harbor. Molly had been examining the car nervously.
"You a cop?" she questioned, pointing a finger towards the siren's toggle switches.
"Yes, I'm a detective with the Seattle Police Department. I'm Detective Lightholer."
"You're a little out of your area, aren't you?"
"Yeah, that's true. We go where we need to. Are you Molly Kovacs?"
She smiled faintly. "You are a detective!"
"Thanks … I think. Is that a yes, then?"
"Yeah, I'm Molly Kovacs. Thank you," she said, closing her eyes. "I didn't think I was going to be able to get away. You saved my life, guy." In a couple minutes, she was asleep. David glanced at her and was struck with how young she looked there in the seat. Asleep, she reminded him of a child wearing a grown-up's ill-fitting gold blouse. There was dirt under her fingernails, and a few blades of grass in her blond hair, showing dark at the roots. There were dark circles under her eyes and some bruising on her arms.
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Photo provided courtesy of
Karl Bjorn Erickson
Karl Bjorn Erickson has called Salem home since 1996. He lives on the south side with his wife, two children, and an ever-growing Newfoundland puppy named Chester. While he's been state employee for nearly two decades, he identifies himself primarily in the role of an author and essayist. He's the writer of two lighthearted children's books, illustrated by his wife, Kimberly Erickson. Besides writing fiction, his articles have appeared in a wide variety of publications — from America, The National Catholic Weekly and Seattle Pacific University's Response to a guest opinion writer for both the Portland Tribune and Statesman Journal.
For more information about the author, please visit his website at KarlErickson.com or find him on Facebook and Twitter.
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The Blood Cries Out
Karl Bjorn Erickson
A David Lightholler Mystery
Seattle Police Homicide Detective David Lightholler finds himself on a case unlike any he's faced before.
In the midst of working the darkest double homicide of his career, he unearths violent secrets of his family's past that promise to haunt him for many years unless he can bring redemption and meaning out of the evil of the past — and present.
Mac
