Chapter 3: The Stalker
Splurging on fancy coffee and newspapers was a rare, but deserved luxury. Joe had pulled an all-nighter finishing that draft proposal for Professor Kane. With the timeline she proposed, Joe would have to begin research immediately. Which was why she was sitting in a coffee shop with all the local newspapers from the last week spread in a large chaotic display on the table. Sipping on the oat milk cappucino, she made pages and pages of notes on her computer.
So the found body was actually just half a body, so far only identified as Jane Doe. The half they found was the lower half, so no positive ID yet. It was not the usual case of animals tearing apart a corpse of a lost hiker. The part was intact, whereas animals usually scattered remains over several acres. No clothing, no gear, no gnaw marks.
Just half a body, naked.
No ID, no suspects, no cause of death...well, apart from the hemicorporectomy. That would definitely kill someone. Interestingly, this was a method from Medieval France used to kill alleged werewolves. Like stake to a heart for vampires. Probably a coincidence, but noteworthy all the same.
The newspapers contained several quotes from Sheriff Stilinski. He claimed they had devoted the entire Beacon County Sheriff's department to the case, only assisted by the State Troopers. So when several police cars and an ambulance passed the coffee shop, Joe perked up. They were enroute to the station and hospital. The ambulance meant they had found the other half. The police cars could mean they had arrested someone.
The station was just a few blocks down...
She stuffed everything into her bag, waved goodbye to the owner and followed the vehicles. It was not like she was trying to solve the case, her interest was purely academical. In the private of her mind, she had to admit it intrigued her. Was it another hiker unprepared for the wilderness? Or was it actually murder? So far there was evidence to support both.
She turned the corner in time to see a couple of deputies extract someone from the back of a police car. Joe froze on the spot, almost tripping over her own feet. That was not just any someone! It was the creep from the house! In handcuffs!
"Holy shit!" she yelped and the guy turned his head in her direction as if he'd heard her from almost fifty yards away. Joe darted back behind the corner, clutching at the coarse brickword. Her head reeled at the fact that she had been close enough to smell an actual murderer! Holy shit! What kind of mess had Scott gotten himself into? She was gonna kill him!
She waited several minutes before she peeked out again, but the deputies and the guy were long gone. The Sheriff stood outside and talked to a local reporter a few feet outside the main entrance. Joe sidled up to them, hoping to catch some of their conversation.
"Joe McCall," said Sheriff Stilinski as the reporter wrapped up. That was not her name. A lot of people in Beacon Hills called her that because they knew she was Melissa McCall's niece. They usually did not know that Melissa had never gone back to her maiden name. Joe had stopped correcting people.
The two men nodded at each other before the reporter flipped his notepad shut and went back to his car. This left Joe alone in the attentive gaze of the Sheriff, who grimaced. "How's your degree coming?"
"Gradually," said Joe with a polite smile. Unfortunately, most of her encounters with the Sheriff had been via her father. "So, uh, have you arrested someone for the murd-"
"We have a person of interest in custody, yes." The Sheriff gave her a tired look. "You know I can't release anything else."
"Have you ID'd the body yet?"
Another tired look, almost disappointed. "Joe..."
"Sorry," Joe said and tried to smile disarmingly. "There's a lot of controversy with this case, and I'm kind of making it a case study for a paper I'm doing on public reaction to unexplainable murders."
She waited while the Sheriff digested this. "What's that you're getting your degree in again?" Sheriff Stilinski squinted at her.
"Social Anthropology, specializing in psychological symbollics in history and culture," Joe said quickly and watched the grimace staying put on the Sheriff's face.
"All right," he said eventually, probably in lack of anything else, and nodded. She could watch the gears turn in his head as he tried to change the subjects. "Suppose I'll see you at the game tonight?"
Joe had almost forgotten Scott's lacrosse match later today. Usually she abhorred sports. It mattered to both Aunt Mel and Scott now that he was actually playing, so she guessed she had no choice. "Yup."
"Great," said the Sheriff and sounded horibly insincere.
Unfortunately Scott was not home when she got back to the house. Joe would have to berate him for having any sort of association with a murderer later. Stiles called their landline several times to request his whereabouts, each time more agitated than the last. Joe figured Scott was with that girl he talked about. She could not get over the feeling that the murderer had been in Scott's bedroom the other night. It was the exact same smell. Joe had taken a tour of Scott's toiletries and nothing smelled like that guy had.
"Bundle up, it's gonna be cold," Aunt Melissa instructed when they were getting ready to leave. Scott hadn't been home at all, but at least Stiles had stopped calling. Joe plopped a beanie over her wild curls and draped a huge scarf around her neck. Their Spanish ancestry did not approve of the cold in any way or form, and Joe was not taking any chances. They drove Melissa's car to the school and tried to find decent seats on the bleachers.
"Oh, there he is!" Aunt Mel said and pointed to one of the lacrosse-players who all looked identical with all the protection gear and helmet. At least the name "McCall" on the back should indicate this was the right one and Joe waved in his general direction. Joe hadn't gone to high school in Beacon Hills, and was several years older than Scott anyway. This meant she did not recognize anyone except from Stiles, who was still on the bench. The Sheriff was there too, in plain clothes, and chatting with his son.
"Wow, this is much more exciting now that he's actually on the field!" Aunt Mel exclaimed and gave Joe a big smile. Joe had to agree. Sitting an hour on a cold bench watching her cousin sitting on another bench had been the very definition of torture. Still, she had turned up to the games out of solidarity, because Aunt Mel often had to work. Joe's dad never showed up to any of her school stuff. Not even when she joined the soccer team just to appease him in hopes he preferred sports over debate teams. So she figured Scott should at least have one friendly face in the bleachers at their home-games.
"I'll go get us some coffees," Joe said, using any excuse to move around a bit to avoid getting frostbite. The students running the kiosk took her order for two coffees and two hot cinnamon buns. With only two hands, she precariously balanced the buns ontop of the cups. The frosting began to melt and drip into the coffee.
"You need some help with that?" a middle-aged man behind her in line asked with a friendly smile. His accent was more east coast, like the faded remains of Joe's own, and she was sure she had never seen him in town before.
"No, I got it, I got it," she said and moved deftly around him. She gave him a smile over her shoulder to show she appreciated the offer. "Used to work at a coffee shop. Thanks though."
Whatever he answered got lost in the wind. Joe decided to go behind the bleachers to avoid the crowd and risk dropping her precious cargo. "Shit." Here she had to avoid stumbling across large extension chords and wayward lacrosse equipment instead. Her breath came in a white fog out her mouth, it was definitely sub-twenty degrees out.
The field bordered to the great pine woods, ending where it began. Joe stopped solid with one foot still elevated when she thought she heard something. Like a rustle in the leaves. It was really dark behind here, and darker still where the grass gave away to trees a stone throw away. It did not help that she had spent the last few days reading about animal attacks - or murders - in those very forests. There was no way someone - or something - would attack her here, now, with all these people around. Right?
A slight breeze shifted some of her unruly curls and carried with it a whiff of scent. The scent.
"There is no way..." she murmured. It was that same indescribable musky smell, no doubt about it, but he was locked up! She'd seen him get escorted inside the station. Could he have been released? Person of interest, the Sheriff had called him, not suspect. In custody, not charged. Shit. He might already be out.
"Hello?" she called out, feeling stupid and helpless with the two cinnamon buns balanced on each coffee cup. What was she expecting as an answer? What was she supposed to do if she got an answer?
Shuddering, as if trying to shake the feeling of being watched away, she hastily made her way to the other side of the bleachers where Aunt Melissa sat.
"There you are, I was afraid you'd miss the face-off," Aunt Mel said and gratefully took one of the cups from Joe's hands. She gave Joe a concerned look. "You okay? You look a little pale."
"Yeah, just..." Joe said and burned herself on the tongue when trying to take a large gulp of coffee. "Just cold."
And freaked out, for absolutely no logical reason.
She was spared any more conversation when the first quarter of the match started. Each quarter started with a face-off between the Beacon High's team-captain, whose name she could not recall at the moment, and the captain of the opposing team Mount Fair High. It was hard to keep trach of whoever had the ball - it was seriously tiny if you were used to basketball or soccer - so Joe tended to follow the cheering and groaning of the crowd. However it was clear to even her that Scott was nowhere near the ball.
The team-captain scored and Beacon Hills cheered, although rather desolately in the case of Joe and Melissa.
A couple of girls had made a sign for someone named Jackson - who might be the team-captain in fact, now when she thought of it. Unfortunately, they did not have much use for it, because the rival team quickly took control of the game. The score was 5-3 to the away team by the last quarter.
"Well, he's at least closer to playing now than last year," Joe commented and clapped politely when a few other began cheering.
"This is ridiculous, the others are actively locking him out of the game," Melissa said and began getting up from her seat. "I'm gonna go talk to the Coach."
"Oh my God, no!" Joe said and latched onto her arm. "It's already bad, no need to make it catastrophic!"
"What, I'm just gonna tell him that-"
Whatever Aunt Mel was going to tell the Coach was lost as they both watched Scott finally net his first ball of the game. Aunt Mel began cheering immediately, while the rest of the crowd could only gape as Scott not only got the ball, but he did some weird acrobatic stunt to avoid getting tackled, dodged all the opposing players and scored!
"WOOOOO!" Joe howled and jumped up and down with Aunt Melissa who was shouting herself hoarse.
5-4 now, but that goal triggered a change in the field dynamics. It did not take long before Scott got his second ball, somehow passed to him from the other team, and he scored again! 5-5!
"Holy shit!" Joe exclaimed and stuffed her mittens in her mouth when Aunt Mel gave her a disproving glare. "I mean, oh my God!"
"You can do it, Scott!" Aunt Mel shouted, but it was lost in the din of the rest of the bleachers, all cheering on number 11. The clock was ticking, though, could he make it? Another face-off, and yet again, Scott snatched the ball and made his way to the goal. Maybe the pressure was getting to him, because he was moving weird, almost like he had spasms or tics.
"What is he doing?" Joe mumbled to no-one in particular when Scott seemed to freeze up. The defense of the other team did not seem to want to tackle him, but he was still not trying to shoot. "Come on, Scott, what are you doing?"
Each second ticked away on the board in slow motion.
"Oh no," Aunt Mel whispered, as she had also realized that he only had less than five seconds left.
4...
3...
With no warning, Scott snapped out of whatever daze he was in and sent the ball flying into the net.
The score: 6-5, to Beacon Hills. The clock ticked out, the game was over. The bleachers exploded!
"Whoa, I did not know Scott had such a sense of drama!" Joe said and clutched her hand in front of her chest, where her heart had just started beating again. She and Aunt Mel hugged fiercely, before they joined the rest of the Beacon Hills-crowd to congratulate the players.
"Where'd he go?" Aunt Melissa asked, scanning the field for number 11. Joe searched too, but came up empty. He was gone.
"Maybe the pressure got to him?"
"Oh God, I hope he has his inhaler," Aunt Melissa murmured. She tried to find Stiles instead, to go check on Scott if he had retreated to the locker rooms, but the youngest Stilinski was nowhere to be seen.
Joe tried not to think about the dark forest, and the scent of the suspected killer lingering in the air. Too many people, no way he could have tried something tonight. Joe spun around to scan the forestline, and bumped into the man from the coffee-line.
"Sorry," he said distractedly and scanned the crowd much like Joe and Melissa was doing. "Allison?"
Three kids now missing? What the hell? Joe watched the man pry apart the team-captain and a redhead who was making out, apparently asking them if they'd seen his daughter. Relief quickly passed over his face when he apparently spotted this Allison, who was approaching from the direction of the locker rooms with a badly hidden smile on her face.
Oh.
Okay, not kidnapping or murder then. Joe looked away from the uncomfortable scene of the man chastising his daughter, and dragged Melissa off the field to go wait by the car. She explained shortly her theory and Melissa smiled knowingly. She promised not to make a scene, but tried to sneak a peek at this Allison before they left the game.
Aunt Melissa knocked on Joe's door early the next day.
"Ugh," Joe grunted from underneath the covers.
Aunt Mel poked her head in. "Sorry," she said in a tiny voice. "I'm leaving for work now. There was a package at the door for you, I'll leave it on your desk."
Joe's desk was right by the door and Aunt Mel did indeed set down a large stuffed envelope before she retreated. Who would deliver a package before dawn on a Sunday? She hadn't ordered anything, that's for sure. Seeing as the clock was not even seven, Joe pulled her covers closer around her and went back to sleep.
When she awoke again at noon, she tore open the envelope on her way to the kitchen to get coffee. It felt like paperwork, and she hastily racked her brain if she had missed any assignments she should have picked up and graded. It was no such thing. Someone had, in the middle of the night, left her a dossier of all the police files related to the body found in the preserve.
"What in the actual hell?" Joe breathed and put down her cup of coffee. They were obviously photocopies, not the originals, but still! Pictures, interview records, maps...No note to indicate who had sent it, only a post-it with the letters "FYI" on them. For your information. "Jesus."
She first suspected Professor Kane, but it made no sense. Even if that woman somehow could get her hands on these sorts of things, they weren't really relevant to Joe's paper. It was not the case itself that was interesting.
Except that it was, in a purely non-academic way. Coffee forgotten, she poured over the files, soaking up the content. The body was no other than Laura Hale, a name Joe recognized as it had been referenced a few times related to this old housefire case. Joe almost gasped when she saw the pictures of the severed body, in stark contrast of the family photo of the same girl in the same folder.
"Holy shit!" Joe swore when she opened the next folder, a familar glaring face staring straight at her from a small polaroid picture. Derek Hale - as in Laura Hale's little brother, and suspected killer. Except that according to these records, Laura's death was determined to actually have been an animal attack. The report stated that Derek Hale was released last night.
Which meant he could have been at the game.
A hunch based solely on the notion that Joe thought she could smell him.
Shaking that thought away, she went back over the notes. Even if it was ruled as an animal attack, there were some indications of a 'strange crime scene', where even the word Satanism was used. This was standard, at least, where the regular cop would deem anything slightly out of the ordinary as Satanistic. From pentagrams to tricelions. No pictures and no further explanation of what strangeness this crime scene held, just markings on a map of where the body had been found.
It was less than fifty yards from the Hale House, and almost two miles from where the other half of the body was found.
How could an animal leave behind a strange crime scene with Satanistic elements? Could Derek Hale have trained an animal to attack for him? No wonder the online geeks were cramming out article upon article about an alleged werewolf-attack in Beacon Hills. If this had happened in the 1700s, Derek Hale would have been accused and convicted of either witchcraft or something similar ages ago.
Joe took a sip of coffee - and let it dribble back into the cup as it was cold now. Ugh. She prepared a small thermos instead and got dressed for a little field excursion. It was just to get into the mindset of the police, she told herself, to fully understand how regular people reacted to these kind of attacks.
In truth, she was deathly curious to what had actually happened. Laura Hale hadn't even lived in Beacon Hills for ages, according to the police files, and neither had Derek Hale. And now they both show up at the same time, whereas one of them dies in a mysterious way almost instantly? Super weird.
She followed the map to the location of the Hale House - or at least the burnt out ruins of what used to be the Hale House. The front was mostly intact though, so the fire must have originated from the back. Must have been some fire, though, the house was more accurately described as a mansion. Ten people had died, almost eradicating the entire bloodline, and the county had claimed the property.
It gave of a really creepy vibe and Joe tried to avoid looking at it as she instead followed the map to the marked location. The remains of police tape still scattered in the wind and Joe found herself staring down into what definitely was a grave. Okay, sure, some animals buried or tried to hide their leftover prey, but not like this. This was deep enough as to avoid any animal interference. And the dirt was scattered with purple flowers.
Strange yes, but not Satanistic...Joe sat down on her haunches, careful to stay at a respectful distance. Maybe there had been some kind of artefacts here...No, then the police would have taken pictures. It was just a grave. With flowers.
"What are you doing here?"
"UAA!" Joe shrieked, lost balance and toppled forward. She would have tumbled right into the open grave, if someone hadn't grabbed hold of her upper arm and hoisted her back onto the ground. Joe's heart pumped so hard she could not hear her own thoughts. "Jesus Christ!"
She followed the hand still on her arm, along the leather jacket and up to the stubbled and disapproving face of Derek Hale, suspected killer. Joe wanted to swear, loudly, but her mouth was on lockdown and she could only stare. His hand seemed to radiate this intense heat, even through the fabric of her own duffel coat, and being this close to him meant that every breath was filled with him, that scent, the one she could sense from a respectable distance.
His nostrils flared, but he released her arm as if it took some effort to do so. He took a step back, and Joe did the same.
"Are you-" He darted forwards and grabbed her again. "-serious?"
She stared wide-eyed, halfway aware she had almost tripped backwards into the grave again, and whatever relief she felt when he released her arm evaporated when he touched her again. Derek Hale spun her around, so her back was against the house rather than the open ground.
"You," Joe said, unsure of why she did it and tore her arm free from his grip. Derek Hale's glare faltered in uncertainty, but he did not exactly look happy. Joe swallowed, wondering where all her speaking abilities had gone, and wondered how he had moved so fast and would he catch her if she made a dash for her car.
She jumped back when he made a grab for her, but he only snatched the map from her hands. "Where did you get this?"
It had the logo of the Beacon County Sheriff's Department on it. "Uh..."
"This is private property," Derek Hale snarled and crumpled the photocopied map into a ball. "You need to leave."
"Yeah, well, then I guess we're even when it comes to trespassing," Joe mumbled and bent down to retrieve the map again. The location might hold some other kind of significance. She had every intention of leaving now - in fact, leaving the scene alive was number one priority. Not acknowledging the fuming man fully focused on her, she turned to her car.
"Don't come back here," he demanded almost as soon as she'd turned her back to him. "The woods aren't safe."
Joe squinted at him where he was outlined against the midday sunlight. His hands were hidden from view inside the jacket and he stood with his feet spread wide, like a soldier at ease. In fact, relaxed nonchalance permeated his entire posture. His words might be threatening on their own, but she did not get the feeling she was supposed to be scared of him.
"Did you bury her?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them. It was the first question of many she wanted - needed - answers to. His face blanked, the relaxation gone in an instant. "I mean, they say an animal killed her - but animals don't bury their prey like that. Not like a brother might bury his sister."
His jaw tightened, even if he managed to keep the rest of his face neutral. "Go home, McCall."
"That's not my name," Joe muttered, but climbed in her car anyway. His lack of reaction was telling. He might not have killed her, but he definitely buried her. What was she supposed to do with that information? She had no idea.
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