Fracture by Aliyah Burke

Chapter One
    “Copy that, dispatch. I’m slowing down to check it
out now.” Vicki Boshay ended the call and slowed her cop car to
make the easy turn into the park. She loved her job. The full moon
shone above, but what was odd was the fog, thicker than normal. Her
headlights struggled to cut a clear path through it.
    Even so, they highlighted a darkened truck as her
turn swung them over the vehicle. “All’s quiet from outward
appearances,” she informed Tim, who was running dispatch tonight.
Pulling up behind the rusted beater, she scanned around her while
inputting the license plate number in her computer.
    “Daniel Ellery? That’s not making sense; Dan’s been
dead for five years now.” She ran it again to make sure she’d not
made a mistake. Same reply came up on the screen. “Now, that’s just
weird. Tim?”
    “Yes, Vicki?”
    “This vehicle is registered to Daniel Ellery. I’m
going to check it out and before you ask, yes, I ran it twice.
Everything is up to date on it, and we both know Daniel’s been dead
and buried for a few years now.”
    “Be careful, Vicki. I’ll let the sheriff know.”
    “Will do.”
    Clouds began to cover the moon, and the fog grew
thicker than pea soup. Opening her door, she stepped out. She
clicked on her MagLite, the LED cutting easily through the
gathering fog.
    “Hello?” she called out, approaching slowly. “Is
anyone there? CFPD.”
    Behind her, the red and blue lights from her car
faded a bit. She checked the bed. Rusted holes on the wheel wells
and a few spots by the tailgate were the only things she found,
along with a pair of relatively new boots. Stepping up to the
driver’s door, she shone the light in the rolled up window. Nobody
was there, and other than remnants of fast food eating, nothing
else jumped out at her.
    She made her way around to the hood and checked it
for heat. Cool to the touch, so it had been there a while. This
park was the farthest from Cottonwood Falls, a good thirty miles
out, but her department still patrolled it. Reaching up for the
mike on her shoulder, she informed Tim of what she’d discovered, or
lack of.
    Vicki widened her search just a bit and did a few
laps around the truck, calling out to see if anyone was there.
After her unsuccessful attempts, she strode back to her patrol car
and slipped behind the wheel.
    “Heading back in, Tim.”
    “See you in a few.”
    She put the car in gear and drove on. Small town
life fit her perfectly. She’d done the larger city living and had
hated it with a passion she still wasn’t able to put into words.
Her headlights gave her a five-foot view from the hood of her car.
Even so, when she saw the silhouette, the shock of seeing someone
before her hit her .
    “What the hell is someone doing walking out here?
And at this time of night?” Two in the morning was typically the
time when nothing went on.
    She hit her cherry bar lights, and the figure
slowed, angling toward the road. Male. Six-four, about
two-thirty-five. A large pack was slung over his left shoulder. His
face was hidden by a ball cap he’d pulled down over his eyes. What
she could see of him was harsh, a firm mouth that didn’t appear to
have smiled in ages.
    She lowered the window and pulled up next to him.
“Can I help you? Offer you a ride into town?”
    “No, thanks.” His low voice plucked at her like a
guitarist picks his strings. Deliberate.
    He turned away and resumed walking.
    She edged along, as well. “I’m not done talking to
you yet. May I see some identification, please? Is that your truck
back there in the parking lot of Tourin Park?”
    Everything about him went rigid, and she settled her
hand on her service weapon, ensuring not to change her
expression.
    “Yes, it’s my truck.” He reached into his pocket and
withdrew a small rectangle of plastic. His movements slow as if he
knew she was jumpy. Or he knew the routine.
    She maneuvered ahead of him and got off the road.
Light in hand and the other