Before the standoff could turn into a prolonged stalemate, the sheriff spoke up, breaking the silence with an offhanded announcement. “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”
He slowly rocked the old desk chair forward on the complaining springs, and then leaned to the left and tugged open a drawer. Without further pomp or comment, he reached in, withdrew a sealing-wax-dipped bottle of bourbon, and settled it on the desk blotter. He followed that by extracting two short tumblers from the depths of the drawer and placing them next to the fifth of booze.
Carmichael shoved the drawer closed with a thump, then unscrewed the cap on the bottle, tipped it up, and carefully poured a measure of the dark amber liquor into one of the glasses. When he finished, he gave Constance a questioning look and nodded toward the empty tumbler.
“What the hell… Yeah…” she muttered, pushing away from the doorframe and stepping over to the straight-backed chair opposite him. She draped her coat over the back then parked herself.
“If you want ice, you’ll have to check the break room,” Skip told her as he filled the second glass and then spun the cap back onto the bottle. He pushed the three fingers of booze across the desk to her before picking up his own tumbler. He took a healthy sip then cradled it in his hands as he allowed his creaking chair to rock back once again.
Constance emulated the latter two actions: sipping, and then using the bulk of her coat as a cushion for the hard back of her chair as she leaned against it. She stared at her hands, contemplating the bourbon for a moment, and then finally she sighed and looked up across the desk at the sheriff.
“I just came back from Highland County Hospital in Mais,” she said.
“Yeah…” Skip nodded. “Not surprised. I figured you might decide to talk to Edgar after all.”
“He had some interesting things to say about December twenty-fifth, nineteen seventy-five.”
He snorted, but there was no derision, just sullen acceptance. With a shake of his head he added, “I’m sure he did.”
“Should I assume he was telling me the truth?”
“Guess that depends on how much sense he was making at the time.”
“What if he wasn’t making any sense?”
“Him, or what he told you?” he asked in return. “There’s a difference.”
“Yes… I suppose there is.” Constance sipped the whiskey again and let its smooth burn run down the back of her throat, spreading warmth in its wake. Then she asked, “Okay, then; why the lies, Skip?”
“Like I said this morning, you wouldn’t have believed me until you saw it for yourself. Just like you wouldn’t have believed Edgar if he’d told you his story yesterday instead of today.”
“But what about the rest of it? You could have filled me in this morning. Especially after what you showed me at the crime scene.”
He shook his head. “Neither of us was in any shape for that and you know it. That’s why I came by the Greenleaf this evening. I figured once you and I had both had some sleep we could talk about it and you wouldn’t think I was completely insane.”
“Fair enough,” she agreed. “Well… I’m here now, and I’ve had that sleep. I assume you have too?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’d like to hear your version,” she said. “I think you may be able to fill in some of the blanks Edgar left.”
“Yeah…” he said. “You know, you’ll be the first since Agent Graham, and he thought I was crazy.”
She nodded. “I know.”
Skip looked at the tumbler in his hands, then brought it to his lips, tipped it up and drained it in a single gulp. Rocking back forward, he refilled the glass with another healthy measure of the amber alcohol and then carefully brushed his mustache, apparently pondering his words. After a long pause, he pursed his lips and sighed, then settled back in the chair once again and swallowed hard. His eyes were vacant and fixed. He was no longer staring at Constance, he was staring through her; looking thirty-five years into the past as if it were happening before him right now.
He cleared his throat and began, “Everything I’ve already told you about the abduction and finding Merrie is true; I think you’ve already seen that… It’s just some of the things since that have been altered a bit…to protect the innocent, as they say…”
“Yes,” she agreed softly. “And there are the things you left out.”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “That’s the part I’ve been trying my damnedest to forget for thirty-five years.”
“Go on…” Constance urged.
He drew in a deep breath and continued. “Our first concern that morning was Merrie, of course. She needed immediate attention, so I actually didn’t join the search for Colson right away… Fact is, I went with her to the hospital and stayed until her parents arrived. By the time I got back, Sheriff Morton, and Edgar, and everyone else had canvassed several blocks and found the house on Evergreen.”
“Why didn’t they just follow Merrie’s tracks back to it?” Constance asked.
He stifled a thoughtful snort. “Edgar didn’t tell you? There weren’t any.” He took a swig from his drink and contemplated the tumbler for a moment before continuing. “Well, anyway, I arrived to a crime scene crawling with Missouri Highway Patrol and Feds, as well as just about everyone from our department. Sheriff Morton was waiting for me when I got there, and the first thing he asked was if I was absolutely positive the little girl I’d picked up was Merrie. I told him yes, and he just asked me the same question again. I was starting to think the old man had lost it because he had seen her before we left for the hospital… He knew damn well it was her…but…then he took me inside.
“Well… You know what it looked like in that basement. You saw it this morning yourself. Not exactly how you want to introduce a green cop in a small town to a murder investigation, that’s for sure, but I held my coffee down, which was more than I can say for some of the State guys.”
Skip paused, falling silent once again. He continued to stare through her as he had been at the outset. His face masked with grief, he was obviously playing it all out in his mind in vivid color, just as he probably had for an untold number of times throughout the years. Constance couldn’t help but feel compassion for him.
“But there was more than just the brutality of Colson’s death,” she prompted.
“Yeah… There was…” he mused quietly. “Colson wasn’t…” he began, then stopped and tossed his head back, breathing deeply. He closed his eyes, and a fugitive tear rolled from the corner to trace across his cheek. After a trio of labored breaths, he rolled his head back down and spoke again. “Sorry… I live this… Especially this time of year… I can’t get away from it…but… I haven’t actually talked about it with anyone in a long time.”
“I understand,” Constance told him.
“Well…” he huffed, obviously forcing himself to continue. “I’m sure Edgar already told you. Colson’s body wasn’t the only one they found. Merrie’s was there in the basement too.”
“So Merrie Callahan was deceased,” she stated more than asked.
“Yeah. According to the autopsy she succumbed to her injuries and to exposure. They found her body behind the furnace, which was inoperable at that time, of course, since the house was abandoned. It looked like she was probably trying to hide from that bastard. After everything he’d done to her, he had kept her locked in that basement with no heat and just what was left of her school uniform. We found her coat upstairs. She didn’t have a chance.”
“But you had already found her standing in the middle of the street several blocks away,” Constance said. “And John Colson had been killed and dismembered. Were they certain it was her body?”
“No doubt about it,” he replied. “They made Tom and Elizabeth identify the body.”
“Who did?”
“Your people,” he spat. “The Feds.”
“Dear God…” she mumbled.
“Yeah, well you know my thoughts on that… Either
way, they also pulled some fingerprints from Merrie’s things at home and they matched. They even checked dental records just to be sure.”
“What about the girl you found?”
“That’s just it; they matched her too.” He swallowed hard and shook his head. “If that wasn’t enough to make everyone question their sanity, there was also the fact that the autopsy estimated Merrie’s death at as much as a day prior to my finding her. But Colson…well, what was left of him anyway…he was still warm when they arrived on the scene.”
“What happened after that?” she pressed.
“Good question,” he replied. “The Feds took over at that point. They marched in with court orders, and we were pretty much cut out of the loop. So was the MHP. Everyone was interviewed and told that we were mistaken about what had transpired. Merrie’s remains mysteriously disappeared, as did Colson’s. And as I’m sure you noticed, our files were redacted…sanitized, really. The autopsy reports disappeared. The case reports definitely aren’t the ones we filed originally. I know that for a fact because I wrote one of them myself.”
Constance would have discounted the claim out of hand had it not been for the gaping holes in the case file she had been given by the SAC at the outset. That fact in itself made his story that much more believable, even if it did sound like a plot from a blockbuster conspiracy thriller.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She really couldn’t imagine what else to say.
“Yeah, me too…” Skip grunted. “Wasn’t long after that I left Hulis. Kathy and I got married, then headed for KC to follow my dream of being a big city cop.”
“I have a confession,” Constance said. “I ran a background check on you, so I already know about your career and the predators you took down.”
He nodded. “Would’ve been disappointed in you if you hadn’t. I figured you for a good cop, even if you are a Fed.”
She took a sip of her drink instead of replying. She wasn’t offended by the latter comment. She was actually used to taking grief from other branches of law enforcement. Ben even referred to bureau agents as the Feebs. He always said it was short for Feeble Bumbling Incompetents. Then he would be quick to add, “Present company excluded, of course.”
She waited a moment, then spoke up to bring the story full-circle. “And then you came back to Hulis…”
“Yeah, and that’s when I found out the rest of it.”
Constance perked an eyebrow as the verbal bomb landed squarely between them. She was under the impression that she knew where the story went from there, surreal and unbelievable as it was. She canted her head, looking at Carmichael with fiery curiosity clear in her eyes.
“The rest of it?” she asked.
“Yeah… Shortly after it all happened, Tom and Elizabeth sort of dropped out of life. Folks didn’t see them much around town. Tom went to work, came home, and that was about it except when they needed groceries and the like. Then you’d see one or the other out for a bit, but only as long as necessary. Even stopped going to the church over in Mais and started home schooling Rebecca. Other than that they kept completely to themselves.
“It wasn’t that folks didn’t try, mind you. People would call, and even drop by, but they usually wouldn’t answer the phone or the door. When they did, they’d just send whoever it was away as fast as they could.
“Whenever someone would run into one of them around town they would ask about Merrie, of course.” He shrugged. “They would just say she was doing fine and then excuse themselves. It was peculiar, but everyone pretty much chalked it up to them just losing trust in the world. Not all that hard to imagine, after…well…you know.”
“Anyway, didn’t hear much detail about their lives until they had that scare when they thought Merrie was going to die.” He paused, then let out a harrumph. “I guess that sounds kinda odd after everything I’ve just told you.”
“I remember mentioning that,” Constance offered.
“Yeah…well… The truth came out after they were killed in that car crash.”
“What do you mean truth?”
“Seems Elizabeth had been keeping journals. Almost daily as a matter of fact.”
“About what?”
“Merrie,” he explained. “Or Rebecca. Depends on the day.”
“I still don’t follow.”
Carmichael blew out a loud sigh through his nose, then absently brushed his mustache. After a weighty pause he continued. “Right around the time Merrie’s remains mysteriously disappeared, so did the little girl I picked up from the middle of the street.”
Constance stared back at him. Finally she said, “Are you saying what I think you are?”
He nodded. “Some days Rebecca was Rebecca. Other days, she was Merrie. The wounds would even show up on her body. Then later, of course, they were scars. But like stigmata, they were there.
“Doctors tried to treat it like some sort of multiple personality illness, but that didn’t work, obviously. Apparently they almost killed her in the process, which would have meant Tom and Elizabeth would have lost both their daughters.
“But she survived,” he breathed. “And she tried to make a life for herself. Even made it through college. Not without a few bumps, of course, but she did it.”
“So you’re saying Rebecca Callahan is the woman living in Holly-Oak now?”
“I guess it depends on how you look at it, Constance,” he sighed. “Not long after Tom and Elizabeth died, she started getting worse. She was Merrie more often than Rebecca. Folks here in town looked after her, but it wasn’t easy. By the time I moved back and ran for sheriff, she had become Merrie full time. She hasn’t been Rebecca since.”
CHAPTER 31
10:56 A.M. – December 26, 2010
Sheriff’s Department
Hulis Township – Northern Missouri
“DECIDED what to put in your report yet, Special Agent Mandalay?” Sheriff Carmichael asked.
“No, sir,” Constance replied. “I haven’t.”
He cleared his throat, then nodded, looking down at the ground. “Yeah…that’s pretty much what I figured. I was kinda hoping you’d say something different though.”
“I know what I saw, and I know what you’ve told me. However, I’m not sure any of it would stay in the file if that’s what I submitted,” she offered. “I get the feeling it would disappear like previous accounts.”
“True…” he said with a nod. “Of course, you know the whole story. The rest of them don’t. Well, except for Agent Graham.”
“I know,” she replied, then bit her lip. “I’m going to try to change that, but I can’t make any guarantees.”
“Yeah, I know. Not sure what good it would do anyway. I doubt it would change anything.” He paused, visibly weighing his next comment before saying it aloud. Finally, he offered, “You know it’s not just the face, don’t you? If you run it, that ten-print card for the victim is gonna match John Horace Colson’s fingerprints.”
She nodded, “I assumed as much.”
“But you and I both know that can’t be who was in that basement.”
“Under any other circumstances I’d agree, Skip,” Constance replied. “But after all this… Well…I’m not so sure.”
“So…maybe you get it now.”
“I’ll admit, I think I now have an intimately better understanding of why the bureau file on this case is incomplete.”
He snorted. “Yeah. I’m sure you do...”
“I didn’t say it was right,” she added. “I just understand the ‘why’.”
“Yeah… I guess I do too.” Changing the subject, he nodded toward her feet. “So… I see you’re wearin’ those stilts again.”
Constance looked down at her shoes and let out a shallow laugh. “Merrie liked them the other day, and I stopped by to see her this morning, so…”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Martha?”
“Yep.”
“I assumed she would call you.” Constance shrugged. “I gu
ess the dressing up is a carryover from my own childhood—visiting family for the holidays and such. Mom always wanted us to look our best.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Although, I’ll be honest,” she added. “I was a bit worried about the visit. I wasn’t sure if Martha would even let me in the door, much less in to see Merrie. I was a little surprised that I didn’t meet with any resistance when I arrived. In fact, she was actually very pleasant to me.”
“She was expecting you,” he replied.
“That’s what she said. Did you have anything to do with that?”
“Maybe…” He allowed the word to dangle in the air for a moment.
Constance could sense that there was more to the story. She waited, but when nothing else was forthcoming, it became apparent that he was fishing, so she decided to chum the waters a bit more. “You know, I almost called you first before going over there. I was really expecting somewhat of a repeat of the first meeting, even though this time all I wanted to do was see how she was doing. I had honestly figured Merrie wouldn’t even remember me, since everything seems to reset for her.”
Based on his response, she had apparently used the correct bait.
“She did though, didn’t she,” Skip offered the words as a statement, not as a question.
She answered anyway. “Yes. Oddly enough, she did. I was surprised, to say the least.”
“She always does,” he explained. There was something palpable in his tone that made him sound somewhat relieved by her response. “Don’t know why. Everything else is always wiped clean, but she remembers the visits from you Feds. For a while, anyway.”
“A mystery within a mystery within a…” she let her voice trail off.
He nodded.
After a lengthy pause, he cleared his throat and said, “Since we’re being honest, that’s another one of the reasons you didn’t get a very warm reception when you first arrived in town.”
“Oh? After our talk last night, I just assumed it was the way the bureau handled things thirty-five years ago that made me a pariah.”
In The Bleak Midwinter: A Special Agent Constance Mandalay Novel Page 29