Bleeding Green by Anne James Page A

for a frozen moment in time. Blood had pooled all around her.
    He took two gigantic steps in and fell to his knees. Resting his callused, huge hand on her right shoulder, he gave her a gentle squeeze. Bending close to her pale face he said her name. She didn’t respond. He settled his rump back on the heels of his boots scanning the narrow closet.
    The park radio was duct tapped to the huge hot water heater. Not knowing whether to mar the scene by moving her, he was momentarily gripped by indecision. The faint movement of her chest got the best of him. He dug out his cell phone from his front pants pocket. With trembling hands he managed to get the camera app on his phone. Without changing his position, he took several pictures of her. Tears were filling his eyes as he grabbed the pocket knife out of his other front pocket.
    A shadow blocked the light from the bare swinging 65 watt bulb. He snapped his head around. Relief surged through him. The park manager, Boyd Warner, stood about three feet from him. Bill watched Boyd’s face blanch as all the blood drained from his skin.
    Boyd leaned his left hand on the gigantic water heater and swallowed with difficulty. A wave of nausea swept through him. “Jesus Christ!” These words were whispered in horror. “Is she breathing?”
    Bill nodded yes and held up his four-inch pocket knife. He choked on the words, as he said, “Shall I cut her free?”
    “You call 911?” Boyd saw the cell phone in Bill’s left hand.
    “No, sir, I took pictures before I moved her.”
    Boyd grabbed the Nextel off his waist and dialed 911. After relating the specifics to the dispatcher, he placed a call to the district bureau chief, John Staley. He kept the conversation brief and precise. John was on his way to the scene. Making one more call in terse half-sentences, he related the scene to Lieutenant Carolyn Meer, their DEP law enforcement. Carolyn said she would be there in fifteen minutes. Laurel was a dear friend of hers. Those fifteen minutes were shaved from the normal 30-minute drive where she was on the northern property of the park.
    “Go ahead, Bill. Cut her loose.” Unnecessary as it was, he added, “Be careful with her.” As fast as the queasiness hit, the feeling was pushed away by a white, hot anger. He could feel his face flushing as his heart hammered surging the blood through his veins. He slammed his fist into the water heater. Pain shot up his arm.
    Bill twisted his head in alarm at the sound. “Boyd?”
    “God dammit, god dammit, god dammit!” Boyd pounded the water heater with his forearm.
    Lifting his left arm, Bill wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve, attempting to clear his vision as the tears coursed down his cheeks. Tucking the phone back into his pocket, he cradled his right arm around Laurel’s chest while he sliced the gray tape. Her black shoes plopped on the floor with a soft thump as her torso sagged into his strong right arm.
    Boyd leaned over Bill’s shoulder stretching out his arm to help, but the gesture was useless. The closet was so narrow that it was hard to move.
    Bill pointed a shaking finger at Laurel’s wrists that were pulled through the belt and bound with tape behind her back. In a horror-struck voice, he said, “Look! That son-of-a-bitch! I’m going to kill him.” He felt Boyd squeeze his right shoulder.
    In a voice as calm as death, Boyd said, “Cut the tape. Can you carry her outside? I can’t help you. This hell hole is too narrow.” He was tempted to yank Laurel’s radio loose from the water heater but realized it was part of the crime scene so he left it.
    “Got her, Boss.”
    Unbinding Laurel, he scooped her up in his arms, in the same way he picked up one of his small daughters.
    Side-stepping out of the chase, Bill reached the sunlight. He laid her body on the concrete sidewalk as if laying a newborn baby in a cradle. The dappled sunlight played over her body, revealing her bruised face and sliced chin that had clotted with