The Cupid Killer

By Bobbie Salvador

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Between the riverbank and the woods, Detective Phoebe Bowyer stood with her shadow falling across the inert body of a handsome young man in his twenties. The victim lay on the leafy sand with his arms along his sides and his eyes closed. A crimson ring surrounded the protruding arrow’s tip, staining the victim’s white dress shirt. The sight of the young man’s face shot her with an unexpected pang of sadness. Her shoulder muscles tensed, and she bit her lip to keep it from quivering. There was simply too much pain in this world. The victim’s dark hair and adorable dimples reminded her of the reason she had fled the city to become a cop. She blinked back a tear and lifted her gaze from the corpse. 

Wisps of white, steamy mist rose from the water’s murky surface. On the land, Spanish moss dripped tendrils of gray from nearby oak trees, and the breeze carried the mucky smell of decaying roots her way. She wrinkled her nose. Closer to the water’s edge, an alligator slipped from a massive boulder and disappeared below the surface with a splash. The leathery predators infested this part of the river, so she and Detective Uriah Thewy were lucky to find the victim’s body still intact. 

She loved being near the water, and because it gently calmed her, she had originally considered buying an apartment with access to a dock where she could have kept a canoe, but she had decided against being too close to the water because her heart would be broken if an alligator ever caught Felix, her cat and her best friend. Felix was the only one she let share her life since she said goodbye to her last boyfriend. 

She took a sip of caffeine from her thermos. Early mornings sucked.

Uriah’s shoes crunched the leaves under his feet as he approached. He stood closer to her than he needed to, so close that she could feel his body heat and recognize that he had changed his cologne. Her pulse increased, but after a few seconds, he stepped around to the other side of the body and spit a brown squirt of tobacco juice out the side of his mouth. 

“Another corpse.” He shook his head, with his shoulders back and his thumbs hooked in his beltloops. “One every two weeks. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a bona fide serial killer, darling.”

When had he started calling her darling? She looked down, studying the body, but she couldn’t stop herself from shifting her gaze from the arrow’s shaft to Uriah. The giant teddy bear stood a head taller than she did and outweighed her by a good eighty pounds. He was proud of his outlandishly bushy beard. She smiled, wondering what he would look like if he shaved. He had wavy hair, but he always needed a haircut. She shook her head. It wasn’t the moment to dwell upon Uriah’s appearance. He had taught her everything she knew about policework, and she thanked him silently each day. She had worked with him for two years now. He was a good cop, but they worked together, so she needed to table her foolish thoughts. Uriah was kind and smart. They just came from different places. He was country through and through with a singing southern accent. She took a deep breath and shifted her focus back to the arrow’s shaft. The arrow had penetrated the chest with expertise.  

“The perpetrator shot him square in the heart,” she said. 

“Yep, our serial boy hit the bull’s eye just like last time.” 

Uriah let out another stream of tobacco juice, and she wrinkled her nose. 

“Why do you chew that nasty stuff?”

He grinned from bushy sideburn to bushy sideburn. “It’s good stuff. Want some, darling?”

She shivered. “I would never ever put such a disgusting substance inside my mouth. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Maybe I do.” He winked at her.

He knelt next to the body, one knee on the ground. “It’s a clean shot. Looks like our boy knows how to handle a bow and arrow.”

She nodded. “I think you’re right.” She tilted her head to the side, shifting her gaze from Uriah to the dead man. “It’s almost as if he were hunting.” 

Uriah examined the arrow. “Shaft’s smooth, unlike any I’ve seen in these parts before. Couldn’t find it in an Army Navy Store around here.” He pointed to the arrow. “I’d say it’s handmade. The shaft’s sanded smooth and varnished.” He squinted at the fletching. “Looks like he uses black goose feathers.”

“Crow,” she said. “They are crow feathers.”

He looked up at her with his brow furrowed. “How do you know they’re crow feathers?”

“Aren’t you able to tell the difference between a goose and a crow feather? I thought you were a big he-man hunter.” 

He snorted and stood up, slapping the sandy dirt off his trousers and towering over her.

“You know dang well that when I go deer hunting, I use my rifle. It’s cleaner, more humane. When I shoot, the animal drops. Dead. No suffering. Guns are cleaner than bows. Get what I’m talking about?” He let a stream of tobacco juice flow in the direction of her feet.

She hopped backwards just in time. “The archer used a bow, and it was a clean shot.” She pointed to the entry wound. “You said so yourself.”

She raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t mess with my guns. They’re sacred, and guns are cleaner than arrows. They kill quicker.” He patted the service gun in his holster, squinting his eyes in her direction.

Sometimes, he got on her nerves because he always thought that he knew more than everyone else did. The arrow hadn’t made the man bleed out, and it was evident that he died instantly. She counted to three under her breath. Uriah wasn’t going to get under her skin today.

Ignoring her, he turned around and examined the ground in the vicinity near the corpse. “No footprints anywhere, and no drag marks either.” He faced her. “Looks like the body was shot right here.”

“You’re probably right. It appears that our perp takes care not to leave any tracks.”

When they had gotten out of the car and walked from the road and through the woods towards the crime scene, she had focused her eyes on the ground the whole way, checking for footprints or any other telltale sign left behind. The only footprints she had spotted belonged to the victim.

“Maybe the perp was in a helicopter,” she suggested.

“Wrong angle.” Uriah took the camera, which was dangling around his neck, and started snapping photos.

He said, “Bet there’s no DNA—just like the others.”

“That would be logical, but the medical examiner and the crime lab will doublecheck for us.”

“Yep.” He clicked another photo and then stepped back for a better angle, approaching her to within touching distance.

She gave him a sideways glance and ambled down closer towards the water. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him grinning. He started whistling, and she increased her pace. Once on the water’s edge, she glanced over her shoulder, Uriah continued snapping pictures as if he had never invaded her space. In front of her, a green snake lay sunning on the log closest to the river. The snake was a delicate, little thing, a useful member of the ecosystem. Nevertheless, she knew that mice and frogs feared the slight creature. All of a sudden, a movement in the sky snatched her attention, a bald eagle extended its talons and grabbed the sleepy snake, killing the killer. She shivered. The hunter quickly disappeared out of view. Gone. Free to hunt another day. She rubbed her arm and then took another swig of coffee, glancing over her shoulder at Uriah.

He snapped one last shot and turned towards her. “The poor bastard never had a chance. Everything’s as clean as the last crime scene, except this murder took place out here in these woods.” 

He looked at her as if she could give him an explanation, but she gazed off in the direction the eagle had flown. He raised his camera and snapped her picture.

“Hey! Don’t do that!”

He grinned. “Too late.” 

He cleared his throat. “Our boy shot the last victim straight through his apartment window. It was as if the victim had a bull’s eye drawn right over his heart. He was a bigshot lawyer fellow, but this guy here was just a local bartender,” he said, staring down at the victim. “Nothing special about the other two either. Just a shoe salesman and a male nurse.” 

“The victims are all men,” she said, walking over to stand beside him.

“Right, they were all men. Some married, some single, but all had different professions and moved in different circles. What’s the connection?” 

She considered the question.

“Motive?” 

She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing his expression.

He shrugged. “Of course it’s motive, but what’s the motive?”

After a few more pictures, Uriah glanced her way. “Wallet’s full, so no smell of robbery. There’s only the entry wound. Doesn’t really look like a passion killing neither.” He let a stream of brown juice fly off to the side. “The fourth in two months—all with the arrow point lodged in the heart.” 

“An arrow in the heart sounds like a passion killing to me. You know Valentine’s Day, hearts, and passion? We need to consider that the perp is a jealous boyfriend or husband.”

“No. A passion killing would be more violent. This is almost bloodless. It’s cold. It’s calculated.” He stroked his beard. “A paid assassin, you think?”

She looked down at the arrow shaft sticking out of the heart. “Whoever it is is a good shot.” 

Back at the station, Uriah stomped out of the sergeant’s office, swearing under his breath. There was something manly about him when he was frustrated. the edge of her mouth tilted up. He swaggered towards her desk, his face twisted.

“Sarge’s angry?” she asked.

Uriah scowled. “The mayor’s passing crudballs.”

“Really? Crudballs?”

“You know what I mean. The usual. He wants our boy found yesterday—last month. He’s as mad as a heifer that needs milking. The press’s having a heyday with the story, and Sarge’s phone’s nagging him more than his wife does. He says he doesn’t want a serial killer in his town.”

“Who does?” She straightened the paperweight with her name and title on it. “Did they find any incriminating DNA?”

“Body’s clean as a bluejay’s whistle.” He shook his head. “We’ve got nothing. Not a single clue except that our boy makes his own arrows and uses crow feathers.”

She raised an eyebrow.

A week later, she exited her Jeep and fast-walked through the parking lot towards the crime scene, wind howling and rain trickling off her trench coat. At least her umbrella kept her hair dry. The streetlamp barely illuminated the area, so she pulled her flashlight out of her pocket. 

The corpse lay slumped in the driver’s seat of the vehicle. The lifeless victim had rammed his SUV into two of the parked cars. Fortunately, no one other than the victim was hurt. The driver’s window was open, and she could already see the arrow’s fletching. There was no doubt that the arrow had, once again, found its target.

Uriah emerged with his flashlight from behind a red Dodge RAM. Rainwater trickled off his raincoat’s hood and dripped onto his beard. She flashed her light towards his face, and he scowled at her.

“Did you find anything in the parking lot?” she asked lightly.  

She wasn’t in the mood for him to growl.

“No!”

She shined her light inside the victim’s silver Porsche Macan. Blood from the entrance wound seeped into the wet cloth around the arrow’s shaft. 

“This one follows the same pattern as for the previous victims; there is one arrow shot straight into the heart,” she said and turned to face Uriah. “There is no sign of a struggle.”

Bags hung under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in a month, poor thing. 

“The bastard didn’t even wait two weeks,” he grumbled.

She bit her lip. Uriah didn’t deserve this much stress. He really was a kind person and was doing his best to protect the local citizens. Unfortunately for Uriah, the mayor would be passing crudballs again and phoning the sergeant, who would definitely vent his fury on Uriah. Uriah might be a country bumkin with an ego as big as the Empire State building was tall, but under all the gruff, Uriah was a good man, one of few.

He stood by her side, close enough for her to enjoy his cologne, and scanned the parking lot, then locked eyes with hers. “You know they’re calling him the Cupid Killer.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Really?”

“Yep. There’s even a trending video with a caped archer.”

She chuckled under her breath. 

He huffed and turned back towards the dead man.

Later that night, Phoebe stroked Felix and sipped the last of her hot tea in front of her computer screen. She perused the men’s names on the dating site. Felix strutted across her keyboard with his tail in the air. He purred and headbutted her on the chin. 

“Don’t be so jealous.” She gently flicked his nose and caressed his soft fur. “I always come home to you, don’t I?”

She gave him a kiss on the head and set him on the floor. He loped off as if he were the one who had made the decision to leave her.

Ignoring his feline antics, she compared the men’s names to posts of heartbroken women who frequented the dating site and had been painfully spurned by men. 

“Time to go,” she said.

She turned off her computer and then grabbed her bow and quiver. 

She yanked the door open but stopped cold.

Uriah was standing there. 

“Crow feathers?” she asked. 

He nodded towards her quiver. “Crow feathers, darling.”