Somewhat reluctantly but with great care, Constance reached out with her gloved hand and carefully rolled the head up to fully reveal the face. The victim’s expression was flaccid, mouth open, eyes half-lidded and staring lifelessly back into hers. Blood bathed the chin and most of the face, as well as the ragged portion of the neck that was still attached. A deep gash ran from the cheekbone just below his left eye, down across the jaw, revealing raw muscle and crushed bone. It had apparently been a wild strike from the blade of the axe—not unexpected given the circumstances.
However, even with the severe marring and excessive blood, the features were intact and distinct. The image of a mug shot filled Constance’s already overtaxed brain.
After a prolonged hush, with the petite federal agent motionless and staring at the severed head, Skip cleared his throat.
“Recognize him at all?” he finally asked.
A heartbeat later Constance replied, her voice flat and soft but clearly audible in the still basement. “It’s John Horace Colson…”
“Yeah,” Skip grunted. “The sonofabitch hasn’t changed a bit. Not bad for a guy that’s been dead for thirty-five years.”
CHAPTER 29
7:53 P.M. – December 25, 2010
Highland County Regional Hospital
Psychiatric Wing
Mais – Northern Missouri
TWINKLING lights chased each other in a tightening upward spiral with ever-increasing speed, dancing briefly on the tips of lightly flocked green plastic branches. The miniature glimmers of color reflected wildly from glass ornaments that dangled as shiny obstacles in their paths. Finally, the racing points of brilliance reached an ornate silver-trimmed starburst at the top, and its own hidden cluster of tiny bulbs sprang to life in a radiating display of commercialized holiday cheer.
Constance quietly watched the flickering decorations on the Christmas tree as the strands of lights rolled through a half-dozen differing patterns before going dark for a moment and then starting the sequence from the beginning once again. As the chase began anew, she turned her face away from the animated distraction, lazily uncrossed her legs, and then leaned forward in the molded plastic waiting room chair. She pursed her lips then arched them into a hard frown as she hunched over and rested her forearms atop her knees. Staring downward, she thumbed a button to illuminate the screen of the cell phone she held cradled in her hands. She’d been sitting here waiting for almost twenty-five minutes now. Any other time she would already be well on her way to annoyed, but not this evening. She was willing to wait as long as necessary.
Somewhat more than twelve hours ago, sleep had finally come screaming at her with the throttle wide open and no brakes to speak of. She had seen it coming and her only course of action at that point had been to brace herself and let it happen, so that was exactly what she did. No sooner had she returned to her motel room from the crime scene than the exhaustion struck head on and the pillow came rushing into her face like a deploying airbag. Fortunately, she had just enough time to extract herself from the Kevlar and get undressed before impact.
After that she didn’t remember much of anything. All she knew was that according to the clock, she had spent slightly more than nine hours horizontal and for a change, she’d been blissfully unconscious and devoid of the terrors that had been plaguing her previous attempts at sleep. Beneficial as that was, it still simply wasn’t enough. While the restful slumber had definitely taken the edge off, she needed much more.
Unfortunately, she was well aware that more sleep wouldn’t fix the other problem at hand. She could have sacked out for three days straight and still would have awakened to the realization that none of what had transpired in the early hours of the morning was a dream. It was most definitely a nightmare—of that much she was certain—but it wasn’t the kind that went away when you opened your eyes. That point was driven firmly home when she awoke to find a text message impatiently waiting on her chirping cell phone.
And now, here she was in Mais, hoping to fit a few more pieces of the puzzle into place.
She yawned, then allowed herself a tired sigh and closed her eyes. Even though she kept herself in excellent shape, she had dealt out some serious self-abuse over the past few days. On top of that, no matter how much training you did, you could never truly prepare your body for what a serious dose of adrenalin and a sudden fight would do to cold, stiff muscles. She had felt those effects the moment she rolled out of the bed, and she knew she’d be paying the price for at least another day or so. She didn’t think there was any serious damage, but she was definitely sore, wearing a couple of new bruises, and had aches on top of aches. She was fairly certain that meant the pains were procreating. However, she had dulled them as best she could with a pair of ibuprofen caplets and would take some time to whine about it later. Right now, she was chasing answers—or so she hoped. The way things had been working out since this all started, she wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that she was really chasing yet another impossible question.
Constance fluttered her eyes open and saw that the cell phone screen had timed out, winking itself into dormant darkness. She thumbed a random button to wake it up. She had been waiting almost a full half-hour now. No big deal. She had time.
She scrolled to the text folder then pulled the message back into view and read it for the thousandth time. Then she read it again just for good measure.
It hadn’t disappeared, and it hadn’t changed—not that she expected it would, but in a way she wished it had. Something of that sort happening would be much easier to fathom than most anything else regarding this case so far.
Across the room there finally came a sharp click, followed by the whooshing sound of a door. Constance looked up expecting the nurse, but was greeted instead by a new face.
“Good,” she thought. Though unexpected, it was exactly what she wanted. She slipped the cell phone into the pocket of her coat on the chair next to her and stood.
“Good evening,” the man said as he approached. “I’m Doctor Poe.”
His voice was cautious, as was his expression. However, there was a hint of curiosity showing in his eyes. Constance reached into her blazer and withdrew her badge case, displaying it with an easy flip of her wrist as she returned, “Special Agent Mandalay, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Doctor Poe settled a pair of readers onto the end of his nose and inspected the credentials, then gave her a nod as he returned his gaze to her face. “I was told you want to speak with a patient?”
“Yes, Doctor,” she replied, stowing the leather badge case back inside the folds of her jacket. “Edgar Virgil Reese. I’m given to understand he checked himself into this facility for observation yesterday afternoon.”
“Well, I’m afraid that it goes against policy to allow visitors during a seventy-two hour observation period, not to mention that it’s rather late…”
“I understand that,” she said, cutting him off. “The nurse already told me the same thing.”
“Good, then you are aware of our policy.”
“Yes, Doctor, I’m well aware, but as I told her, I can’t accept that.”
“She was just doing her job, Miz Mandalay.”
“Special Agent Mandalay, Doctor,” she corrected. “And I understand her position. That is why I’m now talking to you instead.”
He nodded and replied with a guarded, “I see.”
Constance couldn’t help but think about the fact that if Ben were here he would be cracking a joke about the psychiatrist’s stereotypical choice of words. She’d heard the detective rib his own sister over such things. Fortunately, Helen Storm was very good-humored where that was concerned. Something told her, however, that Doctor Poe didn’t share that trait.
This wasn’t her first go around with someone like him. She suspected that he was already profiling her as an insecure woman who was overcompensating because of her rampant penis envy. She’d been told something very similar once before by a psychiatrist who had stood between her a
nd the resolution of a case. He hadn’t stood there much longer after that.
But right now she didn’t care. Doctor Poe could think whatever he wanted. The truth is, she had already profiled him as a mid-level administrator with a God complex, so technically they were even.
He fell silent and simply stared at her on the heels of his two-word commentary, seemingly sure that he had the upper hand. Constance mirrored his gaze and kept her own mouth shut. She had played this version of chicken before and with people far better at it than him. Psychiatrist or not, he was actually the one at a disadvantage in this stare-down test of wills. She had paid close attention to his face when she’d flashed her badge. Federal credentials almost always made people nervous, even when they were innocent, and he was no exception to that rule. He may not realize it yet, but he had already blinked before they ever started.
Silence filled the waiting room as an unseen second hand swept around a figurative clock. A minute passed, then a minute plus one-half. It never made it as far as two.
Doctor Poe shifted in place then cleared his throat and followed with a nervous-sounding cough. “May I ask why you want to speak with Mister Reese, Special Agent Mandalay?”
“It’s simply part of an ongoing investigation,” she replied.
“Is he a suspect in this investigation?”
“More like a person of interest.”
The doctor seemed unsatisfied with the answer. “I need to know if he poses a danger to the other patients.”
“Wouldn’t you be the one to answer that question?” she replied.
He appeared to ponder her return quip for a moment, then began to object, “Special Agent Mand–”
Before he could finish, Constance interjected, “I just want to ask him some questions, Doctor, that’s all.”
“Mister Reese is here for a seventy-two hour observation and evaluation.”
He regurgitated the same line she’d already heard a dozen times since her arrival here. Obviously he wasn’t going to easily give up his attempt to stonewall.
“Voluntary,” Constance added. “You and I both know that the Missouri revised statutes guarantee him the right to visitors unless you have good cause to deny such. Do you?”
“I believe it also states, at reasonable times,” he added.
“Hospital visiting hours don’t end until nine, Doctor,” she replied. “It’s only eight.”
“Those are general hours. The psychiatric wing hours end at eight.”
“I was here at seven-fifteen and you kept me waiting,” she countered.
“I’m very busy.”
“I’m sure, as am I.” Constance nodded then tried to relax her posture slightly, making a slightly conciliatory appeal. “Listen, Doctor Poe, I understand your situation, not to mention that it’s Christmas. Believe me, I’ve been away from home since the twenty-second. I’d rather not be here either, but with a little cooperation this can be relatively painless.”
“I’m sorry,” he replied, shaking his head. “Visiting hours are still at our discretion.”
“This is official, Doctor.”
“My hands are tied, Special Agent.”
“Okay, then,” Constance huffed as she reached down and retrieved her cell phone from her coat pocket. “Let me see if I can untie them for you. I’ll make a call and get a court order.”
“If you could do that you would have already had a court order in hand,” he rebuked.
She replied, “Do you really want to take that chance?”
He stared at her again, and she held his gaze, thumb hovering over the keypad of the cell. Finally, she keyed in a speed dial code and placed the device up to her ear. After a trio of rings it was answered at the other end.
“Yes, SSA Greene, this is Mandalay… Yes sir, Merry Christmas to you too… Yes, sir… Yes, that’s where I am right now, and it’s actually why I’m calling. I’m very sorry to be bothering you at home, but I’m meeting some resistance from Doctor Poe here at the hospital. Yes, sir… Yes, exactly… Yes, I think we might need to obtain a court order… Yes, sir… Yes, I’ve tried… Yes, sir, I know… All right, just a second…”
She lowered the cell for a moment. “What is your full name, Doctor Poe? The judge is going to want it for the warrant.”
“Wh-wh-why my name?”
“It’s just procedure,” she told him. “We like to have a paper trail in case there are any significant turns in the investigation, you understand.”
Doctor Poe quickly waved his hands and instead of answering said, “Slow down… Just… Let’s back up…”
Constance raised an eyebrow then pushed the phone back up to her ear and said, “I’m sorry, sir, could you hold for another minute? Thanks…”
She lowered the device again and stared questioningly back at the doctor.
He huffed out an exasperated sigh and said, “We don’t even know if Mister Reese is willing to take a visitor.”
“Why don’t you start with asking him?” she said.
He regarded her quietly for a moment before finally huffing again and all but spitting her title as if it were poison to his tongue. “All right, Special Agent Mandalay, we’ll do it your way. You don’t need to get a court order. But if Mister Reese refuses to speak with you, that isn’t my fault.”
“I understand. Thank you,” she replied, then pressed the phone back to her ear. “I’m sorry about that, sir… No, it actually appears that I bothered you for nothing. Doctor Poe has changed his mind. Yes, sir… Yes, sir… I will. You too… And Merry Christmas to your family… Sorry again for bothering you… Goodbye.”
Constance thumbed off the phone and breathed an inner sigh of relief. Given that she’d just carried on a one-sided conversation with her own answering machine at home, she was thankful the doctor hadn’t called her bluff.
“Follow me,” Poe said, turning to lead her toward the door from which he’d entered earlier. “I still want you to understand that this is highly irregular.”
She answered immediately while gathering up her coat, and mimicked his earlier tone of distaste with her title. “That’s okay, Doctor, this is a highly irregular investigation.”
CHAPTER 30
11:43 P.M. – December 25, 2010
Sheriff’s Department
Hulis Township – Northern Missouri
“EITHER two thousand-seven best director… That make sense to you?” Sheriff Carmichael asked aloud, not looking up from the crossword puzzle on his desk. “Four letters… Starts with C.”
“Coen,” Constance replied, her voice cold and flat. “C-O-E-N. Joel and Ethan. They’re brothers and they shared the award in oh-seven for No Country For Old Men.”
Still not tearing his gaze away from the puzzle, he asked, “Good movie?”
“I liked it.”
“Hmmph,” he grunted, and then muttered to himself as he ticked off the letters in the small boxes. “C… Down… Yeah… It works… Never saw that movie. Guess I should take Kathy out a little more often.”
Constance watched quietly from the doorway as he filled in the blanks, then purposefully scratched through the clue in a column off to the side of the puzzle. He scanned the crossword box while reaching up and absently combing through his mustache with his fingers. After a languid pause, he laid the paper to the side then tossed the stub of a pencil on top of it before rocking back in his chair and locking gazes with her.
“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to come in and sit down?” he finally asked.
“I think I’ll just go ahead and stand this time, Sheriff,” she replied.
She was leaning to the side with her shoulder against the doorframe and her coat carefully draped over her arm. Her eyes were hard beneath a creased brow and her lips were a tight, thin line. Other than that, her face was a tired, emotionless mask.
Skip waited a beat, never taking his eyes off her, then drew in a deep breath and exhaled a heavy “Suit yourself, Special Agent.”
“I have
to admit,” she said after her own short pause. “I was surprised to see your cruiser parked out front when I passed by. I wasn’t expecting to have this conversation with you until tomorrow.”
“Been waiting,” he grunted. “I was hoping you’d show up.”
Constance cocked her head to the side. “Were you really?”
“Sugar, I could be home in bed right now. Hell, if you were anything like your predecessors, I damn well would be, because none of them ever bothered to stick around this long.”
“How did you know I didn’t just go ahead and leave like the others?”
“I didn’t, for sure…but I had you pegged as different from the day you showed up, so I had my hopes.”
“More of your uncanny powers of observation?”
He shrugged. “Actually, more like a gut feeling on that one. Oh, believe me, I had a moment of self-doubt when I drove by the Greenleaf earlier and saw your car was gone. But I checked with Artie and he said you hadn’t officially checked out, and the desk clerk said you weren’t carrying any bags when you left.”
“Do you have any idea how creepy it is that you people spy on everyone like that?” she asked.
“Small town, Constance. That’s just how it is. Most of the time everybody knows your business and you know theirs. Hard to keep a secret in Hulis, trust me.”
“It almost makes me wonder if there’s a hidden camera in my shower too,” she quipped, sarcasm so heavy in the words it double-underscored the comment.
Skip replied, “Depends. Which room did they put you in?”
She raised an eyebrow and glared, but said nothing.
“Kidding, sugar. I was just kidding.”
“I’m not really in the mood for jokes right now, Skip.”
“Yeah…” he grunted. “I guess you wouldn’t be, would you.”
Thick silence fell between them. The staring contest continued, but unlike the doctor in Mais, Constance didn’t see Carmichael as the type to cave because she made him nervous. She knew better than that. She also had a feeling he was thinking the same thing about her.
In The Bleak Midwinter: A Special Agent Constance Mandalay Novel Page 28