In The Bleak Midwinter: A Special Agent Constance Mandalay Novel

by M. R. Sellars

  “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 aro
und 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 bu
t 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.

  CHAPTER 14

  7:32 A.M. – December 23, 2010

  Greenleaf Motel

  Hulis Township – Northern Missouri

  CONSTANCE finished threading her holster onto her belt and then worked the end of the flat strap through the remaining loops on her blue jeans. As she pulled the leather tight to buckle it, the corner of her P226’s slide momentarily jabbed into her side and she winced. What little sleep she’d finally managed in the early hours of the morning had apparently been spent rolled over on top of her cell phone. Between the hard plastic rectangle and the unforgiving mattress, she now had a tender spot in exactly the wrong place, given that she preferred a high-ride FLETCH holster for her sidearm. She lifted her layered shirts and had another look. The partial outline of the phone was still visible on her skin, and it was definitely going to bruise.

  “Oh well,” she muttered aloud as she pulled the garments back down and straightened them. “I’ve had worse.”

  Her voice sounded rough, even to her own ears.

  She twisted slowly at the waist, stretching. Halfway through the motion her back popped in a way she wasn’t entirely sure it was supposed to. A massage was definitely going to be in order once she was back home. Probably professional, because whenever she let Ben do it, things tended to take a radically different course. The detour was certainly therapeutic in its own way, but not what she was after at the moment.

  Of course, that could always change.

  Constance walked to the back of the room and inspected herself in the streaked mirror over the sink. She had actually applied a little more makeup than usual in an attempt to hide the bags under her eyes. Judging from the face staring back at her, the attempt had failed miserably, but she didn’t feel up to taking another run at it. She would just have to look as tired as she felt.

  A quick glance at her watch told her that Sheriff Carmichael wasn’t due for another twenty minutes or so. She pondered whether she should just park herself in a chair or take a walk up to the motel office in search of caffeine. Since there was no coffeepot in the room, she’d started her day with a severely travel-worn packet of instant decaf that she had found in her suitcase and prepared with lukewarm water from the tap. As expected, it definitely wasn’t cutting it in the waking up department.