Heinous by Debra Webb

retire her few and favorite suits, like this brown one, until post pregnancy.
    Shopping couldn’t be ignored forever.
    As soon as she got caught up, she had to make that happen.
    By then she might be naked.
     
    South Houston Street, Scottsboro, 12:35 p.m.
    Eli Mooney, Caucasian, sixty-seven, and his girlfriend, Marla Skelton, Caucasian, sixty-two, had been dead at least twenty-four hours. Their home was a small cottage style house with generous porches on the front and back. The yard was a little overgrown and, at the moment, cluttered with official vehicles.
    Inside there was lots of wood paneling and vinyl flooring throughout. Gun racks and mounted deer heads hung on the walls of the living room. A survey of the kitchen revealed a generous supply of beer in the fridge and a freezer packed with venison. A good hunter was proud of his kill and never wasted the animal. According to one of the deputies, Mooney was an experienced hunter as well as a skilled taxidermist.
    The tables had turned at some point yesterday, and Mooney and his girlfriend had become the prey.
    Fully clothed in jeans and a tank top, his girlfriend, Skelton, had a single gunshot wound to the back of the head, execution style, up close with a small caliber weapon. Probably a .22. She lay face down on the kitchen floor.
    The smell of blood and feces was intense. Dressed in cut-off shorts and a T-shirt, Mooney was seated at the table. His right arm was braced on the tabletop with a beer in his hand. Blood had sprayed across the table and pooled on the floor around his chair.
    The killer had painstakingly sutured Mooney’s lips, and then with a single deep stroke of a blade, opened his throat from one carotid artery to the other.
    Foster had kept the evidence techs out until Jess arrived. Hayes was videoing the scene with his cell phone while Jess studied the killer’s work.
    “Looks like the murder weapon in the sink.”
    Jess had a look at the bloody hunting knife lying against the stained white porcelain. “I’ll bet he didn’t leave us any prints.”
    Hayes chuckled. “I’d say that’s a given.”
    Jess returned to the table and checked the victim’s hand clutching the can of beer. “His fingers were glued to ensure they stayed in place.” The same method used on the reverend’s hands.
    Since retiring as the high school janitor, Mooney supplemented his income as a taxidermist with most of his business from local hunters. Lately, people had started bringing their deceased pets to him as well, opening up a new market and source of revenue.
    Jess needed to see if there was anything in his mouth. For that, she needed the coroner. “Sheriff, can you call the coroner? I’d like him to remove these sutures so we can see if there’s anything inside Mr. Mooney’s mouth.”
    “Adams just rolled up, Chief. I’ll have one of my deputies get him on in here for you.”
    “Thank you, Sheriff.”
    While Foster gave the order via his radio, Jess studied the victim. Like Henshaw, Mooney’s mouth had been sewn shut while he was still alive. The blood trail down his chin and throat left no question. The can of beer, a Bud Light likely from the twelve pack in the fridge, was unopened.
    “Where did Mr. Mooney do his taxidermy work?” Jess asked when Foster had tucked his radio away. If he had a shop at a different location, Jess wanted to have a look there as well.
    “There’s a workshop out back. My deputies are checking it out now.” Foster shook his head. “Other than a few barroom brawls and the occasional traffic violation, Mooney was never in any kind of trouble. I can’t figure out how he got mixed up in whatever the hell this is.”
    Jess wished she knew the answer to that one as well.
    Foster’s radio crackled. He pulled it free of his utility belt. “Did you find something, Woods?”
    “You better come on out here and see this for yourself, Sheriff,” came the deputy’s response. “Bring those Birmingham cops, too. This is crazy,