“Bill!”
Bill looked up over the top of the jam.
His face was the stretched face of a haunted, demented clown. Melinda made herself walk to the jam. She looked over. Katie lay on the creek bank. Her neck, face, and chest were covered with gaping wounds. Blood covered her clothes and body like a slick coating of dark, nearly black oil. Her eyes were open to the sky, but she was beyond seeing. Her red hair was matted in dried gore.
Melinda dropped to the bank in the sand, her knees instantly soaked. She threw back her head and screamed.
“We have to call the police!” said Josh. Bill had loaded the semiautomatic target pistols and was filling his pockets with clips.
“We’ve got to call the police!” Josh repeated. “Bill, are you listening?”
Melinda stood, holding on to the branch of an oak, the remains of her breakfast spattered on the toes of her shoes.
“We’re the law now,” Bill said. His voice cracked, broke.
“Bill, I’ll drive,” said Josh. “There’s no phone reception here but a few miles down the road, yes. Come on. Let’s call the police and let them find the murderer!”
“We’re the flicking law,” said Bill, his words barely audible. He turned and pointed the pistol at Josh and Melinda. “These uncivilized people don’t know the law.”
“Don’t point the gun at us,” said Josh.
Bill licked his lips. “I’m sorry.” He held the gun down. “You’re my friends. Help me.”
“Bill,” said Josh. “We’ll help you. Let us drive you out of here and find help. The sooner, the better.”
“Help?” screamed Bill. “She’s dead! What do you mean the sooner the better? I have to go find that guy now! No one else cares! No one else will care! I’ve seen how it fucking works! Help me, please!”
“We’ll help you,” said Melinda, and Josh glanced at her, shocked. But she knew Bill was right. She knew if they didn’t find the murderer, no one would. Gillian was un-avenged. Katie couldn’t be left the same way.
“Melinda!” said Josh.
“You know I’m right,” she said. “Bill, too. It’s now or never, Josh.”
“We catch him, then what?”
“Drive him to town. Citizen’s arrest.”
Josh bared his clenched teeth, shook his head.
Bill winked, a mad, appreciative move in Melinda’s direction. “Thanks,” he said.
“Give us the other guns,” Melinda said. Bill handed her a pistol and clip; she loaded it and held it out. Josh hesitated, then picked up the third gun and jammed in a clip.
“Bless you guys,” Bill said. He sobbed once and wiped his hand beneath his eyes, leaving a long, dark streak of soot. He turned then, and led the other two on foot up the dirt path toward the road.
The murderer had not gone far. He was sitting, blood smearing his jeans, on a boulder just across the road from where the van had almost hit him. He was eating a sandwich from his tackle box; his fishing pole and ax were propped against his foot. The ax had dried blood on the blade.
He looked up as the three approached him. He raised one hand as if in greeting. His mouth was lopsided.
Fucking shit, he’s retarded, Melinda thought.
And before the reality of the situation could register on the man’s face, Bill was on him.
It took very little for the three friends to subdue him and drag the man and ax back to the campsite, his legs kicking, his sandwich forgotten in the dirt.
“Time for court,” Bill whispered to the man before he had jammed a handkerchief into the screaming mouth. Yes, thought Melinda. Let justice be done this time.
The man doubled over with the blows of Bill’s boot. Then Bill lifted the man and threw him against the sycamore tree. His new strength was astonishing, and Melinda stared with wonder.
“Help me!” Bill called to Josh. Josh held the man up on the tree, seeming not to want to look at the man’s face, as Bill cut a length of nylon rope. Then he lashed the man to the trunk with a rope around his neck, waist, and knees. The man coughed and opened his eyes. They were red and wet and wild.
“Caught me an uncivilized asshole murderer! Caught a redneck Fisherman Joe!” shouted Bill. He balled his fist and drove it into the man’s jaw. There was a crack. The man cried out. Bill swung his boot out and caught the man squarely in the crotch. The man screamed.
Melinda drew her hands into her pockets. Her heart thundered. Her breaths were jagged, shallow. Let this be done quickly, she thought. Justice can be swift, I heard somewhere.
“You like this, don’t ya, Fisherman Joe?” said Bill. He leaned in to the man on the tree and pulled the wadded handkerchief from the man’s mouth. Bill’s teeth clacked together; he was beyond anything but the job at hand. “You like this? I’m a creative son of a bitch, more creative than you were with Katie. You haven’t seen the first of it!”
“Bill,” said Josh. “Please. That’s enough now. Reconsider. You’ve caught him now; he’s tied up. The police won’t have to go looking. We can drive him in to the station, for Christ’s sake.”
“Got to do the justice ourselves,” Bill said. “Got to be judge and jury. There’s no justice in the justice system.”
Melinda felt Josh’s eyes turn on her. She didn’t look back but said, “Bill’s right. He’ll be free in a few years. Katie will never be free now. But Bill, please, do it quickly.”
Justice can be swift. Justice should be swift.
Fisherman Joe struggled violently, back and forth against the nylon rope. At last he spoke. “Please don’t! What you doin’ this for?”
“Katie said that, I bet!” laughed Bill, ignoring Melinda. “No, Katie yelled it, I bet. She screamed it, begging for her very life, I bet! ‘No, don’t! What you doin’ this for?’ Did it make you hard, you flicking redneck bastard?” Bill stepped up to Fisherman Joe and almost pressed his lips against those of the bound man. “Did you get hard when you cut my wife into ribbons?”
“I didn’t do nothin’!”
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth!” Bill cried. He picked up a stick and slashed it across Fisherman Joe’s mouth. The skin split apart on contact, leaving the man with a wide, bloody grin-like wound. Joe sobbed.
“Now,” said Bill. He began to pace back and forth before the tree, rubbing his chin.
“Let me see if I can recreate this little scene for you. Stop me if I leave out any important details. You found Katie building a campfire, and she looked like a good piece of ass. Yes?”
Joe, blubbering, shook his head. Tears, blood, and spit ran down his face to his shirt:
I thought so,” said Bill. “Good-looking piece of ass that would have nothing to do with an uncivilized thug from the backwoods. So you throw down your fishing pole and go for her. Hey, pussy tastes better than trout any day, doesn’t it!”
“I never even seen her!” screamed Joe. “I killed…”
Bill hurled his fist into the man’s face. Fisherman Joe coughed and sputtered.
Bill strode to the campfire. He felt around inside the utensil bag until he found long handled barbecue tongs. From the fire he fished a glowing, bright red piece of wood. He went back to the sycamore tree. “Open his mouth,” he said to Josh.
Josh said, “Bill, good Lord, would you let the law—!”
“Open his mouth, Josh! Let’s have it done!”
“No!” cried the man on the tree. “Stop it! I killed–”
“I fucking know you did!” screamed Bill. He slapped Joe’s bloody, drooling mouth.
Josh went to the tree and pried Fisherman Joe’s jaws apart. The man gasped and gurgled, tossing his head back and forth. Bill shoved the burning coal into the mouth. The cries covered the sounds of sizzling, although Melinda could see steam rising from between the lips and out both sides of the bloody gash.