The River

The leafless branches of the wild pear tree carved a delicate filigree against the soft glow of the moonlight. Together with the gentle murmur of the river and the soft whisper of the breeze, it was an undeniably romantic backdrop to the scene taking place on the ground below. A man and a girl, standing close together, her face up-tilted, him looking lovingly down at her. His hands caressing her cheeks, then slid gently downwards.

There was no scream. His strong hands cut off her airway before she had the chance, crushing the soft tissues of her neck without mercy. The tender smile never left his face. Her eyes bulged and she clawed without avail at the iron hands strangling her. Her body went limp, but the pressure continued unabated, until he was sure she was gone. Picking her up and cradling her close, he tenderly and carefully carried her to the riverbank. There he used a small, sharp stone to scrape away any evidence from underneath her fingernails before gently placing her body into the cool waters. He gave it a slight push that sent it gliding towards the centre of the river. He stood, gazing after her while the body continued moving almost gracefully downstream on the current. Another one, free. Afterwards he retraced their steps to where his car waited, over a kilometre back down the track. The shoes he was wearing would be discarded on his way home, somewhere they could not be found and connected to the crime scene.

When he arrived home, he checked on his sleeping mother, reassuring himself that she was okay. Her breathing was quiet tonight, which was a blessing. Too many nights she laboured and struggled to get air into her lungs as the disease that was slowly killing her took hold. Tonight, however, she slept well. He continued on into his room, locking the door behind him in unnecessary security. From his desk drawer he retrieved the scrap book. He knew it was clichéd, but he couldn’t resist the urge to collect and compile the reports of his ventures. The girls’ faces stared at him in black and white, and his fingertips trailed over the newsprint photos as he recalled each one. There was no blurring of one girl into another; each one was special, and he remembered clearly the exquisite details of each individual encounter.

At another desk, Juliet stared down at her own scrapbook. The desk lamp gave off a lonely circle of light, illuminating Juliet’s face in the quiet room. With soft brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, the casual observer could have supposed she was sixteen, rather than thirty-two and recently promoted to the homicide division. Her fellow officers were long gone, and Juliet herself knew that she should be home. Her four-year-old son was sleeping at her mother’s tonight, so it was the need for a proper meal and sleep that called her home rather than her child. Instead, she kept reading and re-reading the reports and articles in front of her, studying the crime scene photos and the autopsy findings. The River Killer, they called him – somewhat unimaginatively – as his strangled victims were all discovered floating in the river, weeks after their death with any evidence gently, persistently, and thoughtlessly washed away by the flowing water.

Her supervisor, an older man whose fatherly exterior concealed a core of steel, had admonished her on his way out, insisting that she needed a break. Juliet smiled to herself. She was sure he would be delighted to know that she was going on a date the following night, but she kept that information to herself. Neither had she told David’s parents, who would be looking after their grandson that night. Though it had been over two years since David had died, she wasn’t sure what they would think of his widow, their former daughter-in-law, dating another man.

She’d met Richard only once, and literally by accident. She had been on an early morning jog in a relatively isolated area near her house, taking advantage of a morning when Judah was sleeping at her mother’s house. The trail was narrow, and trees often obscured the next bend. Her mind had been elsewhere when she ran directly into a man coming the opposite direction. She went sprawling into the dirt, and he bent over her apologetically, anxiously asking if she was hurt and offering his hand to help her up. When she had collected herself and looked up at him, she saw friendly and warm brown eyes, set above a straight nose and shapely but firm lips, capped by a well-defined jaw with just a hint of stubble. In summary, she was looking at one of the most good-looking men she had ever encountered. She let him help her up, stumbling over an apology for running into him. He gracefully brushed it aside, insisting that he was at fault, and then further insisting that he make it up to her by taking her out for breakfast. While she had refused, citing work, she had let him talk her into meeting him later that week.

Juliet sighed and pushed the papers aside. She unfolded her aching body from the chair, stretching as she stood. She wasn’t accomplishing anything, and sleep beckoned. The cleaner’s vacuum hummed in the background as she switched off her lamp, collected her bag and made her way out.

The next morning John left for work, trying to conceal his simmering excitement. Tonight, as Richard, he would see Juliet. From the moment he had laid eyes on her, he knew she was special. He’d watched her for weeks as she went about her day; going to work, playing with her son, shopping. He’d seen her bedroom light burning late at night when most people were asleep. When she had left home early and headed out to the trails, it was the perfect opportunity to make himself known. Running into her was a trick he had used many times before, to meet his chosen girl without any inconvenient witnesses. Up close, she was more perfect than ever; her creamy skin, full lips and clear green eyes making all the girls before seem faded and uninspired by comparison.

He frowned as he went past his mother’s bedroom, seeing her carer for the day moving about. He hadn’t been happy with this particular woman’s care of his mother, and it was past time he did something about it. Now, however, he would rather dwell on Juliet and what the evening might bring. They were meeting in a quiet park he knew, ostentatiously for a picnic, but before they ate he would suggest going for a walk together. Then he would see where his whim took him. Usually he spent weeks with the girl, slowly leading up to the pivotal moment and delaying his gratification for as long as he possibly could. But the thought of his hands on Juliet’s throat made him quiver with such excitement that he wasn’t sure he could hold back once alone with her.

The winter weather was giving way to spring, and an almost balmy breeze was sighing around the park trees. John stood when he saw her coming. He smiled broadly, fully aware of the effect his looks usually had upon women. She smiled in return and quickened her pace to meet him. He watched her, admiring her lithe movements and the effortless grace she portrayed as she moved. Stepping forwards to meet her, he held out his hands and took hers, giving them a brief squeeze of greeting before letting go. The wicker picnic basket sat behind him; a bottle of wine set out with two glasses.

He poured a glass for himself and for Juliet, and they sipped wine as they talked generally of work, family, and other things. He spoke to her of his terminally ill mother, and he saw the warmth in her eyes as she heard of his sacrifice for her care. He frowned briefly on learning that she was a police officer; she wore no uniform in the morning as she left for work, and he had never followed her as far as her workplace. He didn’t like the thought of this beautiful, willowy woman subjecting herself to the violence and crudity of crime. It made him even more determined to act tonight, to relieve her of that burden.

Finally, John suggested that they go for a walk, to enjoy the sunset before their picnic. Mellowed by wine and reassured by his demeanour, Juliet agreed. But when he tried to slip his arm around her waist, Juliet deterred him. She didn’t want him to notice, concealed under her clothes, the unregistered handgun. An odd choice for a police officer, it had come from her father; after losing his first daughter and Juliet’s older sister to homicide, he had insisted that she always take it going into strange situations, and she was faithful to his request. Although he seemed near-perfect, she didn’t know Richard. After all, she had only met him once before today, and a certain hard-headed common sense prevented her from being swept away by a good-looking man with an appealing life story.

They walked away from the park side-by-side, arms gently brushing against each other. Little electric shocks moved through Juliet at each subtle touch. They must have been more than a kilometre from their meeting place in the park when they finally stopped, the murmuring of the river giving Juliet an unexpected feeling of peace. John looked at her. Her cheeks were pink from walking, and she glowed with beauty and vitality. His hands trembled with near uncontrollable need, and he led her down to the riverbank.

John was standing very close to her, and Juliet’s heart started beating faster. His hand came up to stroke her cheek, and Juliet threw caution to the wind and, closing her eyes, lifted her face for the kiss she felt sure was coming. Instead, she felt his strong fingers on her neck, where they lingered, caressing her throat. His breathing was ragged, and Juliet started to feel uneasy. Suddenly his hands closed on her throat and tightened. Her eyes flew open in shock, and she saw John’s face before her, twisted with an intense and frightening excitement. Realisation and fear flooded her body in equal amounts as she recognised who this man was.

Instinctively she started to reach up, to try to drag John’s hands away from her throat. It was with difficulty that she forced herself to stay calm and reach under her clothes for the gun. Every moment it was getting harder to think rationally as her mind began to feel the effects of the oxygen deprivation, but she managed to pull out the gun and release the safety. The click made her flinch, but John didn’t appear to hear it. It was only when Juliet had the cold metal of the muzzle pressed against the side of his head that he seemed to register what she was doing. The comprehension barely had time to flash into his eyes before Juliet pulled the trigger and he crumpled to the ground.

Juliet looked down at the River Killer, then at the water in which he had disposed of his many victims. With some effort, she dragged the body to the river’s edge and rolled him in, watching as the current took hold and pulled him away from the bank. Then she cleaned her fingerprints off the gun and threw it into the centre of the river, watching it sink from sight. She would need to attend the picnic, she knew; get rid of her fingerprints on the glass and any other evidence that she was there.

Soon her colleagues would notice that the River Killer had gone quiet, and when Richard’s body was found she could gently nudge someone towards the thought of a connection. Right now, she needed a drink.