Gregg Olsen - Heart of ice

Millers Marsh Pond, outside of Cherrystone, Washington

Hauling a dead body around isnt easy. How could it be? Theres always the possibility that something can go wrong. An earnest young cop could flash his heart-racing blue lights, signal the figure behind the wheel to pull over, and step up to the drivers side window. He sees a hand dangling from the neatly bound package. In such a situation, a handgun on the passenger seat can be the perfect solution.

And then, one body might become two.

A couple of teenagers without a place to go or even the money for a motel might choose the wrong spot to have sex. They select a place for its very seclusion, the same reasoning a body dumper would employ when choosing his locale. They see the man with a corpse but its too late to leave. Pulled from their steamed-up car, they scramble, crying and begging for their lives, to a gulley.

Pop. Pop . Skulls are pierced by the bullets from a practiced shot. Sweet .

And then, one body might become three.

The risk is always there, but at least one man knew, just then, that it also had its benefits. It brought a rush. Such jeopardy produced a kind of euphoria that was as real as the high he felt when the life oozed from the womans body. It was almost the same kind of charge that came when the light in the victims terror-filled eyes went flat and dead like the buttons on an old overcoat.

He looked to the west toward the pond, sheathed in ice. It looked like sheet metal in the light of a cloud-shrouded sky. The wind nipped at his face. If hed remembered how hard it was to lug a dead body, hed have moved his vehicle closer to the waters edge. Dead weight had new meaning, for sure.

A car sped by on the highway. Even though it was a half mile away, he crouched slightly and watched as its beams gashed through wisps of fog. Ghost fog, he imagined, as he caught a glimpse of the swirling motion of heavy, cold air.

Hed packed up the womans body in a blue down-filled sleeping bag. A nice one. The killing had been done in haste, which of course was never a good idea. That didnt bother him just then. He had more pragmatic concerns and they made him wince. He hated that hed wasted a perfectly good sleeping bag when a ratty old blanket would have been just as serviceable. It had gotten to that point. The whole thingthe murder, the body dump, the return to where it had all played out. All to make sure that nothing, no clueshair, blood, fiberscould tie him to what hed done.

It was all about convenience.

It was as if he was that Starbucks barista hed seen absent-mindedly pushing the buttons to make a latte for some woman who babbled incessantly about her busy life (Im not just a mom, Im a lawyer, too) and how she needed a boost to make it through the day. He no longer had any doubts about what hed done or why hed done it.

Im addicted, you know, said the woman who reeked of coffee and baby wipes.

He smiled faintly, the cold air biting his handsome face. Pushing buttons. Killing a woman. So easy. He was addicted, too.

He shook off the memory.

He widened his stance and braced himself; his feet slipped a little on the icy mud as he lifted her body from the back of his truck. As he heaved and flung her over his shoulder, he let out a soft groan. Shed seemed so much lighter in life. Wispy hair. Tiny hands with pretty pink nails with carefully applied white tips. Her ankles were so thin that he was sure they could wear the rings from a shower curtain.

A shower curtain would have been cheaper , he thought.

He moved toward the frozen waters edge. A fortress of weather-ravaged cattails guarded the flat plain of ice, with the exception of the point of entry that hed selected for what he had to do.

Shed left him no choice. It was that simple.

He flopped the heavy bag onto the hard ground and spoke. He was quiet, but his words cut through the chill of the night.

Jeesh, bitch, couldnt you have worked out some? Skipped the mochas? Called Jenny Craig?

Considering her condition, she wasnt even that fat. She was just dead. She was doing nothing to help him and that made him angry. He tried to roll her; however, the leather cord from the bag snagged a log.

Damn it! You make nothing easy, do you?