4:49 P.M. – December 22, 2010
Greenleaf Motel
Hulis Township – Northern Missouri
Constance pushed aside the sad remains of what was supposed to have been a Cobb salad. She’d picked it up from That Place on her way to the motel since it had been rapidly approaching dinnertime, and she wasn’t really interested in venturing out once she’d managed to get settled. The salad was edible, but it had been devoid of avocado, shredded Colby had taken the place of the Roquefort cheese, and the only dressing they had was prepackaged pouches of ranch. In reality, Faux Chef Salad would have been a more apt label for it. Hindsight being what it was, she concluded that the meatloaf might have been a better choice.
Stella, the waitress from earlier in the day had handled her order. She’d been courteous enough but never managed to achieve a state that could be construed as friendly. Constance had also experienced much the same reaction from the desk clerk when checking in to her room. Other than Merrie, no one seemed particularly happy about her presence here in Hulis. Even Clovis at the sheriff’s office had been aloof around her, and she still wasn’t quite sure what to make of Carmichael himself.
After digging through her computer case twice, she finally managed to locate an old network cable buried in one of the inner pockets. The motel had boasted Internet access, however, as it turned out it was hardwired only. Apparently the concept of Wi-Fi hadn’t taken hold in this small town just yet. Based on everything else she had seen thus far, she wasn’t overly surprised.
Still, she hoped the cable would work. Actually finding it in the bag was only the first hurdle. She couldn’t remember the last time she had used it and was sure it had been quite some time since it had even seen the light of day. Given the severe crimps in the cable’s length, its condition was definitely suspect.
She crawled around on the floor and located the network receptacle, then plugged in. The connector immediately popped out and fell to the floor. It took three tries before she realized the locking tab on the plastic rectangle, while still hanging on, was severely cracked. She turned the cable around, pushed in the other end, and heard it click. She gave it a slight tug to be sure and let out a sigh when it remained solidly in place. That was the second hurdle. She figured maybe she could just hold the broken end in on the computer while she worked, assuming there was nothing else wrong with it. Backing out from beneath the desk, feeling a bit frustrated with all of these gyrations, she misjudged the distance and banged her head on the underside as she came up.
“Oww,” she yelped, then mumbled, “Dammit…”
Constance stood up, then while rubbing the back of her head with one hand, she pushed the damaged end of the blue cord into the jack on her notebook with the other. It stayed for a half heartbeat then popped out, much as she’d expected. She picked it up and jammed the clear connector back into the side of the computer once again and held it there.
She gave it a thoughtful frown. Working like this was going to be awkward, especially if she had to type anything of length. Hunting and pecking with her left hand wasn’t going to be terribly efficient. She considered walking over to the motel office to see if they had a cable she could borrow, but something told her it would be unlikely. Besides, she didn’t even want to think about putting shoes back on right now, heels or otherwise.
After staring at the problem for a moment she let out a quiet “hmph,” then let go of the connector. She heard it click against the desk as it fell out again, but her attention was elsewhere as she ambled over to the nightstand and opened the top drawer. Fortunately, the Gideons were on top of their game, even in Hulis. She pulled out the hardbound Bible, sauntered back to the small desk, then shoved the cord back into the socket and plopped the heavy book on top of the wire, pushing it up against the back edge of the clear plastic connector. This time it stayed firmly in place, so she pointed at it and mumbled, “don’t even think about moving,” then she carefully pressed the power button on the notebook.
While the computer whirred through its start-up sequence, she parked herself in a straight-backed chair that was so uncomfortable she was firmly convinced it had to be from the same matched set as the one sitting in the sheriff’s office. She shifted around, trying to find a less miserable position, but finally gave up. Obviously this just wasn’t going to be her day. Snatching up her cell phone from the desk, she leaned back and thumbed through the screens to see if there were any text messages or voice mails she might possibly have missed.
Nothing.
She stared at the device and pursed her lips, then frowned. It was almost 5:00. Not exactly late, but that made it better than four hours since she’d left the message for Agent Drew. Of course, it was the holidays, after all. He might be with family, if he had any. Or, he could just be avoiding her. She wasn’t really sure which was most likely. Truth is, she wasn’t really sure about anything where Drew was concerned, other than they’d had no choice but to work together on occasion and that they had a noticeable clash personality-wise.
She considered ringing him again but stopped short of actually pulling up his number on the screen. Maybe she needed to try calling one of the other agents who had been assigned. With a little luck she might actually reach one of them instead of a machine.
Leaning over toward the foot of the bed and stretching her arm out, she snagged the case file envelope from the folio she had tucked into the outer pocket of the computer satchel. After sitting back, she dumped the contents out on her lap. Flipping her way through the documentation, sparse as it was, she located a recent case report. She eyeballed the Kansas City based number on the attached business card and thumbed it into her cell.
The phone trilled twice and a woman’s voice answered. “Kimball…”
“Hi, Agent Kimball?” Constance asked.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“SA Mandalay, Saint Louis headquarters. I was trying to reach Agent Keene?”
“You must have an old file,” Kimball said, “He transferred to the Seattle field office over a year ago.”
Constance replied, “Oh, sorry. Listen, I hate to ask, but I’m in the field right now. Would you happen to have his new number?”
“Sure, hang on a second.”
Less than a minute later she had stabbed in the new number and thumbed TALK. After a trio of rings, a voice issued from the speaker. “This is Keene…”
“Keene, hi, you may not remember me, but this is Special Agent Mandalay from the Saint Louis headquarters,” Constance announced.
“Mandalay… Mandalay…” he mused. “Brown hair, worked violent crimes. We met at a close-quarters defense demo, right?”
“Right. I wasn’t sure you’d remember. It’s been several years.”
“Hard to forget. You’re the one who kicked Joe Lanting’s ass in that demo, right?”
She allowed herself a small chuckle at the reference. “The same.”
“Broke his nose as I recall.”
“He had it coming, the way I remember it.”
“That he did. So, yeah, I definitely remember you. I bet Joe does too. So…how are you doing? Didn’t I hear that you took a couple of rounds a while back?”
Constance reached for the scars on her chest out of unconscious reflex. The shooting had occurred during a sting to apprehend an elusive and somewhat prolific serial killer who had decompensated into a rapid cascade of violence. As the killer’s mental state degenerated further, the woman had engaged in a bloody spree, leaving a horrific trail in her wake, all in an attempt to get to a high profile consultant who was directly involved in the case.
Constance had led the team responsible for taking her down, but in the process had come close to becoming another of the victims herself. Her vest had stopped one of the bullets, but the other had struck at an unfortunate angle, allowing it to slip in behind the Kevlar barrier and penetrate her upper chest. The pain had been unlike any other she’d felt in her life. She didn’t remember much about it after that. Not until she woke up in the hospital ICU, anyway.
Last week had marked the fifth anniversary of the incident.
“Actually…” she hesitated as the faded memory tried to bloom anew. “It’s…been quite awhile ago.”
“Really?”
“Yeah…” she replied, an uncomfortable disquiet in her voice. “I’m good. Fully recovered. Thanks for asking.”
“Glad to hear it,” he told her. “Sorry to bring up an old…”
She hurried to end the topic before it could gain a foothold in her thoughts. “That’s okay. Like I said, I’m all good.”
“Yeah…” he returned, breathed an apologetic sigh, then asked, “So, what can I do for you, Mandalay?”
“Actually, I was hoping you might be able to answer a few questions about a case that you worked a couple of years ago.”
“If I can help, sure; no problem. Which one?”
“The Christmas Butcher.”
There was a sudden and obvious silence at the other end of the line.
“Agent Keene? Are you still there?”
Keene cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m here. Exactly where are you calling from, SA Mandalay?”
“I’m actually in Hulis, Missouri at the moment. I was assigned to the case. Do you remember it?”
“Yeah,” he replied, his tone shifting from warm camaraderie to a businesslike chill. “Hard to forget. So that’s still open…”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I guess I’m not surprised.”
“Why is that?”
“Just a gut feeling,” he replied, then quickly shifted the subject. “Godawful what happened to that little girl.”
“Definitely,” she agreed. “So, I was wondering if you could help me out. I’ve been going over the file and it seems incomplete.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. For one thing, there was no mention of Sheriff Carmichael’s connection to the original abduction case back in seventy-five, nor to John Horace Colson’s murder investigation. Also, there was no background on the parents and the sister, Rebecca Callahan.”
“Have you checked with archives?” he asked. “I’m sure I mentioned in my report that we’d been unable to locate the sister.”
“No offense, Agent Keene, but there wasn’t much detail to your report.”
“My SSA and the SAC signed off on it, right?”
“Yes, but…”
He cut her off. “I’m afraid I can’t really help you, SA Mandalay. Like I said, maybe you can check with archives if you feel like something is missing from the file.”
“I plan to do that,” she said. She was feeling somewhat perplexed by his sudden stonewalling but pressed forward. “Still, since you worked the case I’d appreciate it if you could fill me in on-”
“Have you spoken to the girl?” he asked, interrupting her yet again.
“Merrie Callahan? Yes, I talked to her this afternoon.”
“So then you know about her mental state.”
“Yes, but that’s not-”
“Do you plan to see this through?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Unless something has changed, then you have a murder that’s about to occur, correct?”
“As I understand it, yes. I believe that’s why I’m here.”
“Then perhaps you should focus on that instead of the past,” he instructed.
Now Constance had moved from perplexed and straight into annoyed. “Excuse me, Agent Keene, but I’m trying to prevent the murder. If I can figu-”
“Try me after Christmas, SA Mandalay,” he said, heavily stressing the after.
“What do you mean after Christmas?”
“Exactly that. If you still think I can help you after Christmas Day, then give me a call. But honestly, I don’t expect to hear from you again. Not about this, anyway.” His words were followed by a rustle and then dull silence.
“What do you- Agent Keene… Agent Keene?”
Constance pulled the cell away from her ear and stared at it before mumbling, “Bastard.”
She waited a long moment, still fuming over the verbal bum’s rush she’d just received from a colleague. However, based on what he’d said and the way he’d gone cold at the mention of the case, she was definitely beginning to wonder if maybe Ben was correct when he suggested the possibility of a cover-up. It wasn’t an idea she relished considering, but something was going on and it definitely didn’t fit with standard procedure.
Once her flare of temper had mellowed a bit, she thumbed through the phone book on her cell, highlighted a number, then pressed the button to dial.
For the second time today she heard five rings, followed by a recorded voice announcing no more than a curt, “Leave a message.”
“Drew, it’s Mandalay again,” she announced in the wake of the start tone. “This is my second message, and I need for you- Scratch that… Look, I’m sorry if I sound a bit frustrated, but I just had a really bizarre conversation with Agent Keene. He was assigned to the Christmas Butcher case prior to you, but if I had to guess I think you already know that. Listen… I know you and I have had some differences in the past, but the case always came first, even when we disagreed. Something really strange is going on with this… I could use your input. Just call me back, okay? This number. Thanks.”
She stabbed the END button with her thumb then ran the fingers of her free hand through her hair as she blew out a heavy sigh. This case was starting to make her head hurt, literally. Of course, maybe it wasn’t the case as much as the lack of sleep combined with the frustration she was feeling about her uncooperative colleagues. However, since they and the sleep deprivation were both a direct result of the assignment, why not just go ahead and let it take the blame? It seemed like as good a scapegoat as any.
After another sigh Constance shook her head in resignation then stood up from the chair and padded across the room. She rummaged around in her suitcase, dug out a bottle of ibuprofen and tossed back a couple of the pills with the remains of the diet cola she’d purchased with her dinner.
She wandered over to the door and double-checked the deadbolt, then swung the small security bar into place out of habit. Pushing the drapes aside, she glanced out the window into the night. There was little to see other than the parking lot and the dim glow of the exterior lights mounted next to each of the room doors. Even so, while she stood staring into the darkness, the earlier chill made a resurgence along her spine, and she felt herself shiver as it crawled insect-like around the back of her neck.
She allowed the drapes to fall back into place, then wandered over to the bed and crawled onto it atop the thin comforter. Lying diagonally across the mattress, she yanked a pillow from beneath the covers and tucked it behind her head, then tried to relax. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. The room smelled of old furniture polish and stale air, the latter issuing on a warm draft from the heating unit on the exterior wall. If the parking lot could be taken at face value, she was the only guest staying at the motel tonight. If the odors were any indication, she may well be the only guest they’d had for quite some time.
She slowly opened her eyes, then lifted her hand, which was still wrapped around her cell. As she did so, she allowed her thumb to punch in a speed dial code via little more than muscle memory.
The speaker trilled into her ear twice, then was replaced by a voice.
“Hey…” Ben said.
“Hey,” Constance replied, her voice soft and audibly tired.
“Bad day?” he asked.
“I’ve had better.”
“Yeah, ain’t we all…” Ben agreed.
Through the phone Constance could hear noise in the background, ranging from voices to music to the unidentifiable. “Where are you?”
“Double D’s,” he told her. “Grabbin’ a pizza and some beers with a coupl’a other coppers.”
“Oh… I’m sorry… I should probably let you go then…”
“No, no…” he objected. “Just hang on a sec.”
There was some rustling, a few muted voices, and then more rustling. A minute later, his voice came back on the line without the added soundtrack behind it.
“There…” he said. “That’s better.”
“What is?” she asked.
“Just stepped outside ta’ get away from all the noise. So… You want me ta’ talk dirty to ya’ or somethin’?”
“Not tonight.”
“Okay, so ya’ wanna talk dirty ta’ me instead? I’m good with that…”
“Ben…”
“Hey… Just tryin’ ta’ help ya’ feel better, hon.”
“I know…” she sighed.
“So? What’s up? I’m listenin’…”
“I’m not really sure to be honest,” she told him. “This case is a fucking trainwreck.”
“Whoa…” Ben replied. “If it’s gettin’ an f-bomb outta you then I’d say so…”
“Sorry…”
“S’okay. It’s kinda sexy.”
She half-snorted. “Only you would think that.”
“I dunno,” he replied. “There’re guys out there that’d pay for it. But that’s a whole ‘nother story… So, really… What’s goin’ on now?”
“Remember I was telling you about the holes in the case file this morning?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, they aren’t filling in. In fact, they’re getting bigger.”
“How so?”
“Well, for one thing I finally managed to get in touch with one of the prior assigned agents. Everything was fine until I told him I was calling about this particular case, and then he just completely blew me off.”
Ben grunted out a low harrumph, paused, and then said, “I know ya’ don’t wanna hear it, but like I said earlier, sounds like a dirty cop in there somewhere. Somebody’s coverin’ up somethin’.”
“I know,” Constance answered with a resigned sigh. “Unfortunately, I think you’re probably right, but I don’t know what or why. This whole thing is peculiar enough as it is without a conspiracy thrown in on top of it.”
“Get anything outta the interview today?” he prodded.
“Just more questions, I’m afraid,” she replied. “Merrie Callahan is older than me chronologically, but in her mind she’s still a ten-year-old girl living in nineteen seventy-five.”
“That’s kinda fucked up.”
“I know. And it gets worse. Apparently, she falls into a catatonic state every year on the anniversary of her abduction. She comes out of it a few days later, on the anniversary of her escape, and it’s as if her clock has reset and she starts living the year over again.”
“Jeezus…” Ben breathed. “That’s a little off the charts. Maybe ya’ oughta call Helen an’ get her input on this.”
Helen Storm was Ben’s older sister. She was also an accomplished psychologist who occasionally consulted on criminal cases. Constance had actually worked with her a number of times before. It never hurt to have a network of contacts outside the bureau just in case you needed a fresh perspective on something.
“Yeah…” she agreed. “I’ve been thinking that myself.”
After making the comment she fell quiet, simply listening to him breathe on the other end of the line. She hadn’t really been expecting him to have any answers when she called. In fact, she wasn’t even certain that she’d really dialed him up to be her sounding board at all. Right now, she just needed to know he was there.
After what seemed like a solid minute had passed with neither of them saying a word, Ben broke the silence. “Somethin’ else is botherin’ you, I can tell. What is it?”
“It’s really nothing,” she told him.
“You’re lyin’.”
She was. She thought about it for a moment then sighed heavily. “You’re right… I am… But it’s just kind of silly.”
“Yeah, so tell me anyway.”
“Okay… We went by the crime scene late this afternoon… It’s this old, abandoned house at the end of a street out on the edge of town.”
“Yeah…” he said. “Find anything helpful, or just more questions again?”
“That’s just it,” she explained. “We never even went in. There’s no electricity and it was late. We were getting ready and the sheriff’s flashlight was dead.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So…” she answered, then paused.
“What is it?” Ben pressed.
“We had another flashlight, but I called it off and decided not to go in.”
“Why?”
“Honestly? I was spooked.”
“You, spooked? I find that one hard ta’ believe.”
“I’m serious, Ben,” she told him. “It was a weird feeling… I don’t know for sure exactly what…but it really did spook me. I felt like a rookie agent… See… I told you it was silly.”
“Not really,” he suggested. “Maybe there’s somethin’ to it.”
“I don’t know,” she grumbled. “Maybe I’m just overtired. The SAC called me in too early for words this morning. I haven’t actually had much sleep.”
“Yeah, well ya’ do sound like you’re draggin’.”
“I am. Maybe I should let you go and turn in early. The sheriff is coming by to pick me up in the morning, so we can go back out to the scene. Hopefully I won’t freeze up this time.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “But don’t ignore your gut.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m not kiddin’, Constance.”
“I know you aren’t.”
“Okay… Talk to ya’ tomorrow?”
“Probably,” she said. “I’ll call when I get a chance.”
“Okay. Sleep tight.”
“Enjoy your pizza.”
Constance stabbed the END button to terminate the call. The ibuprofen hadn’t had a chance to kick in just yet, so her head was still aching, but at least it wasn’t unbearable. She held the phone
up to check the time. The digits on the screen showed that it was pushing 5:30.
As she started to lower her hand she caught a dim flash and focused on it. Her pearlescent pink nails were shining in the light from the small lamp on the side table. Laying the cell phone aside, she held up both hands and splayed out her fingers. As she gazed at the retro manicure she felt herself smile, but only for a brief instant before the corners of her mouth bent into a deep frown.
Given what Sheriff Carmichael had told her earlier, Merrie Callahan had fallen into catatonia by now. Constance couldn’t help but imagine the abject fear that was likely going through her tortured mind at this very moment, and it turned her stomach sour. As she lay there in silence, unable to think of anything else, she could taste the acrid tang of bile on the back of her tongue.