Coming of Winter

by Tom Threadgill

  Jeremy thumbed through the stack of file folders on his desk. “Got it. Like I said, give me some time. I’ve got a few other cases going, but I’ll make a phone call, maybe even take a drive over myself. Get out of the office for a day.”

  “Great. Thanks again, man. And listen, seriously, how’re you making it? You know, since Afghanistan?”

  “Better. It gets better.” Most days.

  “Yeah. It does.” A few seconds of silence. “So, I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  Jeremy nodded. “Yep. I’ll be in touch. Hang tight, Randy. Bye.”

  Hang tight? Do people even say that anymore? Maggie would be calling any second now. She’s the language expert. Maybe she’ll know.

  Her ability to mangle phrases was becoming legendary within the Bureau. Just last week, she’d lectured a room packed with new recruits and told them you can lead a horse to water, but you don’t look him in the mouth. Not that most people would call her on it. At least not more than once. He was an exception.

  She allowed him to tease her because she believed in “respecting her elders.” Uh-huh. Like the not-quite-ten-year age difference was such a big deal. Besides, his love of country music left her plenty of opportunities to retaliate.

  The cell phone vibrated, and he glanced at the caller ID. The hairs on his arms stood and he closed his eyes, picturing the woman on the other end of the line. No anger issues here, and nobody could adjust his attitude like she could. He spun his chair and faced away from the clock.

  “Hey, Maggie.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jeremy parked his government-issued Taurus and stepped out into the early February dullness of southwestern Indiana. The frigid air stung his cheeks and he clapped his hands together while checking out Catherine Mae Blackston’s house. No sidewalks or driveway. Parallel ruts in the yard beelined up a gentle slope to the squat one-story home. The houses on either side had large trees screening them, but not Miss Blackston’s. No landscaping of any kind. A barren yard surrounded a faded yellow brick house topped with mismatched shingles.

  A white Huntingburg police car pulled up behind him and a cop stepped out. Big guy. Six foot two, around two twenty-five, and on the short side of thirty. Stocky build with a round boyish face and short brown hair. The man straightened his dark blue uniform shirt, adjusted his badge a millimeter to the left, and brushed a hand against his service pistol before hustling over to Jeremy.

  “Officer Troy Obion,” he said as he extended his hand.

  “Special Agent Jeremy Winter. Pleasure.”

  The policeman ran his hand along the hood of the FBI vehicle. “Nice car. Didn’t know you guys got the Interceptor version. Last year’s model?”

  “Yeah. It doesn’t have all the upgrades, but it’s got enough to do what I need it to.” Which lately isn’t much. He nodded toward the house. “Does she own the place?”

  “Rented. I picked up the key from the landlord so we can go inside. I went in a couple of days ago when we first got the call, but maybe you’ll see something I didn’t.” The policeman shrugged. “She’s got a lot of nice stuff in there. Doesn’t make sense that she’d up and leave it all, but people do some strange things.”

  “Yeah, they do. Job security for us, I suppose. Although I could do without most of it.”

  Officer Obion shuffled his feet and licked his lips. “Yes, sir. I bet you’ve seen a few pretty intense situations.”

  Jeremy peered closer at the cop. “How long you been on the force?”

  “Going on my third year now.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been in a few tough spots. People will surprise you, Officer Obion. Sometimes in a good way. Usually not.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Her rent paid up?”

  “Yeah. She was actually a month ahead. The property owner loves her. Says he’s never had any problems. Had to fix her stove a couple of times, but other than that, he never heard a peep. The rent check showed up on time, and the neighbors don’t complain.”

  “She got a job?”

  Officer Obion pointed down the street. “You passed it on the way in. A furniture factory. She works, um, worked in one of the assembly rooms. Several friends there, but no one close. No boyfriend as far as we know.”

  Jeremy nodded, shoved his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, and headed for the front door. “Let’s take a look inside.”

  The two stood on the cracked concrete slab that served as the front porch while the officer dug the key from his jacket. A thick brown doormat with Home Sweet Home printed on it welcomed visitors, though from the newish look of the mat, not many guests ever stopped by.

  The policeman pointed toward Jeremy’s left leg. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but you get injured in the line of duty?”

  Good eye for detail. Most people didn’t notice the limp. It’d been part of him since Afghanistan. One he’d worked hard to hide. Never failed, though. Every time he thought he’d tamed the angry scar that circled from his inner thigh to outer calf, somebody would show up to tell him otherwise. “The limp? Yeah.”

  “Man, you guys see a lot of action, don’t you? Sometimes I think I should transfer to a bigger city. You know, test myself. See if I’ve got what it takes.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open, motioning for the FBI agent to enter first.

  “Test yourself, huh? Tests are easy. You know the information. Have time to study. It’s the pop quizzes that’ll kill you.” Jeremy stepped into the small living room and waited, giving his eyes time to adjust to the dimmer environment.

  The cop stood next to him, stamped his feet on a small oval entry rug, and swung the door closed. “So, did you pass or fail? Your pop quiz, I mean.”

  Good question. “Depends on how you’re grading. I’m here, so yeah, I guess I passed. But realistically? Not sure.”

  Officer Obion raised his eyebrows but kept silent.

  Jeremy took another step into the room. “Has anything been disturbed since the last time you were here?”

  “Not as far as I can tell. Got some pictures on my cell if you want to take a look, but doesn’t seem like anything’s out of place.”

  “No, that’s okay. Let’s get through the house first.”

  He held up his phone. “No problem. If you want to see the pictures later, I’ll email them over. These things are amazing, you know? The photos are backed up automatically, and I can look at them from any—”

  “What about her mail?”

  The officer gestured toward the front of the home. “Her mailbox is across the street. The thing was crammed full, and I figured the mailman gave up on trying to get more in there, so I caught him a few streets over. Sure enough, he had a pile of stuff for her. Said he couldn’t give it to me, but I talked him into driving back over and filling her mailbox again. He’d stuff the box and I’d empty it. Did it three times before I got it all. Mostly junk and a few bills. I put everything on that coffee table if you want to go through it.”

  “Later.” Jeremy moved into the kitchen. A few pinkish plastic plates rested in the dish rack that sat on the green-speckled white laminate counter. Nothing in the sink. No crumbs. Trashcan nearly empty. “She kept a clean home.”

  “The house is a little dusty now, but the whole place is like this. Bed’s made, bathroom’s spotless. Do you think if she was going to up and leave, she’d bother to keep it like this?”

  “Possibly,” Jeremy said. “Maybe she didn’t want the landlord to have to do much before renting it out again. Not burn any bridges, just in case. Could be someone else cleaned up the place, though.” He moved to the refrigerator. Nature photos, mostly of trees, lakes, and birds, covered the white appliance. He slipped on a glove and lifted one of the pictures so he could see the back. “Printed at CVS. She probably took these herself. Recognize any of these locations?”

  The officer scanned the photos quickly. “Could be most anywhere around here. If I had to guess though, I’d say she took them over in the park. Lots of folks in these
parts like to spend time there.”

  “The park?”

  “Yeah. Hoosier National Forest. Couple of hundred thousand acres spread across the state. It’d take someone better than me to pinpoint the location more than that.”

  “Probably won’t be necessary. Any other photos like these?”

  The policeman led him into the bedroom and pointed over the dresser. “She had this one blown up, I guess.”

  The framed picture was a winter scene with sunlight peeking through bare tree branches covered in ice. Snow covered the ground in a pristine blanket, and a deep-blue sky outlined the trees. In the background, a gray- blue lake spread to the photo’s edges.

  “Any idea where she took this one?”

  “Gotta be over in the park for sure,” Officer Obion said. “No other place around here with a lake that big. The picture’s not recent, though. No snow that deep for the last couple of years.”

  “Uh-huh. Is her camera here?”

  “I don’t remember seeing it but wasn’t really looking for one.” He reached for a dresser drawer, and Jeremy grabbed his arm.

  “I’d prefer we treated this as a crime scene until we know otherwise.”

  The policeman’s face reddened. “Sorry. I’ve got a pair of gloves in the car. I’ll go get them.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll finish up in here. Look, I know this isn’t my jurisdiction, but what are the odds of your department searching Hoosier National Forest for her car? Parking lots, back roads, maintenance sheds, all of it.”

  The officer’s eyes widened, and he ran a hand across the top of his head. “That’s two hundred thousand acres. It’ll take an awful long time to cover that much ground. There’s only two Forest Service officers. A few of the county sheriffs help out when they can, but still ...”

  “Understood. But based on what we’ve seen in here, where do you suppose our best chance of finding her would be? If she’s even really missing, that is.”

  The officer shifted from one foot to the other. “Yeah. I’ll talk to Chief Bowers, but I can tell you what he’s going to say. There’s no evidence of a crime. If something changes, then we’ll take the time to go looking. We’re a small department, Agent Winter. Lots of jurisdictions would need to get involved in a search that big. No offense, but this is a local matter anyway. At least as far as we know right now.”

  Jeremy breathed deeply. “Of course. I don’t want to step on any toes here. I told a friend I’d check into it for him, and I did. If you don’t mind, I’ll finish looking around the house and then be on my way back to Saint Louis.”

  Officer Obion smiled and nodded. “No problem. I appreciate you understanding.”

  “We’re all on the same team here, right? Plenty of real investigating to do without making work for ourselves. I’m sure Miss Blackston will turn up soon enough.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to do more. I do. It’s just that—”

  Jeremy placed his hand on the policeman’s shoulder. “I understand. Really. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll get another chance.”

  “Another chance?”

  “To get involved in something like this. Missing woman. No clue what happened to her.” He motioned to the photo on the wall. “Wondering if she’s there. Waiting to be found.”

  They both stared at the picture for a few seconds.

  “Eh,” Jeremy said. “What am I saying? She’s probably living the good life in the Bahamas with a new boyfriend. Let’s wrap it up here. I can get back to Missouri in time for dinner.”

  “I know what you’re doing, Agent Winter.”

  Jeremy arched his brows and cut his eyes toward the officer. “Is it working?”

  The policeman smiled. “I’ll let you know after I tell the chief we need to search the park.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Six hours later, Jeremy stood on a small rise in Hoosier National Forest. In front of him was Denbo Cemetery, its meandering rows of timeworn gravesites tucked into a corner of the clearing. The trees surrounding the sacred ground stood vigilant in the gusting wind, silent and unmoving. Tombstones, most broken or eroded by age, poked above the frozen earth, reminders of the skeletons sleeping below. Through bare branches, the brown fairway of a golf course was evident, every bit as empty and abandoned as the graveyard.

  “That didn’t take long,” he said. “Her car looks like it’s been here for a while. Wonder why no one called it in?”

  Officer Obion shrugged. “Who knows? Not a lot of activity in this part of the park, especially this time of year. No reason to come back here. Once we put the word out about the missing vehicle, didn’t take any time to find it. Not like it was hidden or anything. Wish we’d looked sooner.”

  “You followed procedures. Nothing to regret there.”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s okay to break regulations, don’t you think?”

  “I’m probably not the best guy to ask.” Wispy vapor clouds punctuated Jeremy’s words as his warm breath clashed with the freezing air. “It’s beautiful out here.”

  “Think so? Seems kind of gray and depressing. Could just be the cemetery, though. Me, I prefer autumn. For the colors mainly. But I don’t get out this way much. I’m more of a fishing guy.”

  Jeremy tilted his head back toward the parking lot. “They find anything in Miss Blackston’s car?”

  “Not yet. No purse or ID, but there is a padded black bag with a big zoom lens in it. The camera’s not there, though. Doors were locked. No sign of a struggle. We’re going to tow the vehicle in and let the guys from Indy come down and take a look at it.”

  “Good. This place get many visitors?”

  “Not according to the Park Service. It’s at the end of the road, so unless you’re intentionally coming here, you’re not going to find it. Kind of an odd place to take pictures, though. Especially this time of year.”

  Jeremy turned toward the officer. “Different strokes for different folks, I suppose.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, sorry. Dating myself again. Just meant that this place might be pretty interesting to some people. Gravesites back to the early 1800s. No other people around to bother you. Seems to me there’s a sort of, I don’t know, peace? Maybe solitude’s a better word. I could see spending some time here.”

  The policeman raised his eyebrows. “If you say so.”

  Jeremy leaned his head back and let the sun warm his face. His lips and cheeks burned, chapped by the wind. He sniffled and touched the back of his hand to his septum, shooting pinpricks of pain through his nose to now watery eyes. Have to pick up some Vicks on the way home.

  Slamming vehicle doors broke his reverie. Several voices intermingled and blew across the field, giving notice that the search team had arrived.

  Jeremy extended his hand. “Thank you for your help. I’m heading back to Saint Louis.”

  The policeman’s forehead creased. “You’re not staying while we do the grid search?”

  “Nope. I’d only be in the way. You’ll let me know if you find anything else?”

  Officer Obion scratched his chin and squinted. “You don’t think we’re going to find her, do you?”

  “You might, but I doubt it. If she came here, it was to take photos. Can’t think of any other reason to be out here this time of year.”

  “And?”

  “And where’s her purse? If she was only going to snap a few photos, why bring her purse? Why not leave it in the car? No one else around. Lock the door and put the keys in your pocket. One less thing to carry. I might be wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time. But my guess is she made it back to her vehicle.”

  “And then?”

  Jeremy strode toward his car, slowing to allow the policeman to catch up. “That’s what we have to figure out.”

  “We?”

  “You. Your jurisdiction, your case. If I can help in any way, I will.”

  The policeman pulled his cap lower and hurried toward the search team. “Agent Winter, I
’m way ahead of you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mason Miller zipped up his brown denim jacket and surveyed the farm from his back porch. Just ahead was the vegetable garden, its bare earth coated in frost. A ways behind it, several acres lay fallow, waiting for the corn he’d plant for this year’s Halloween maze. And beyond that, four hundred acres of pasture and farmland. Couldn’t see them from here, but his small herd of cattle was over the rise on the right, back behind the new maintenance garage. Off to the left a hundred and fifty feet or so, past the gravel driveway and new storm cellar, the old barn stood guard.

  On the northern edge of Crockett County, Tennessee, smack dab in the middle between the towns of Friendship and Halls, the land had been in his family for four generations, maybe longer. The official records and unofficial rumors got a little murky much further back than that. No matter. He’d pass the farm on to his boys and they’d do the same.

  It used to be that handing down your land was a foregone conclusion in these parts. The family and farm stayed together. Sure, you might lease out your fields for a season or two, but the land always stayed in the family. A fertile heritage and secure future. Plenty of folks had given up. Sold out and moved on. But that wasn’t going to happen here. This was their farm. Now and always. Through good times and bad.

  Mostly bad. He’d cheaped out on the crop insurance eight years back, and hail had destroyed virtually all of the soy beans he’d planted that year. Some of his equipment had been repo’d, and every year since had been a struggle to catch up. Even the bumper crop of corn two years back had barely managed to meet the farm’s financial needs. He’d had plenty of offers to buy the land, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not while he lived.

  Besides, once you figured out ways to release the stress, you could get past anything. And nothing relieved his tension like taking a day off and going hunting. Stalking his prey until finally pulling the trigger. Deer, rabbit, coon, duck, didn’t matter. The killing was what was important, but getting some good eats didn’t hurt none either. Almost everything he shot could be fried or cooked up in a stew or ground into meat for burgers.