Coming of Winter

by Tom Threadgill

  Jeremy took a sip from the warm water bottle on the side table. “Yes, sir, but here’s the thing. They found a few bones, but most of the remains were gone.”

  Maggie shrugged. “Three or four years in the wild’ll do that. Animals scavenge. Drag things who knows where. Nothing new about that.”

  “Animals don’t use axes, sir.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Most of the bones were missing. Like you said, animals probably hauled them away. But the left radius—that’s the lower arm bone on the thumb side—was there, and forensics found deep scratches on it. Possible tool marks made by a cutting instrument.”

  Maggie downed the last of a Diet Coke. “And you think this is related to Sarah Goldman’s killer because her head and hands were missing? Did forensics compare the tool marks on the bodies?”

  Jeremy glanced downward. “The radius was too damaged by the elements.”

  “Uh-huh. So, let me ask you, Agent Winter, what’s your theory here? Why the cuts, assuming that’s what they are, on his bones?”

  He focused on the laptop screen. “His hands, sir. The killer took them.”

  “Hiding the vic’s fingerprints?”

  “That’s my guess. It could also be that he took the bones as his trophy. Maybe to keep with the ones he took from Sarah Goldman.”

  Maggie leaned back in her chair and tapped her lips. “Let’s say there’s a serial killer at work here—and I’m not saying that’s the case—where are the other two bodies? Why leave Thornquist and Goldman and not the others?”

  “It’s possible they just haven’t been found yet. But I don’t think that’s what happened. If you look at the timeline of the murders, the two bodies that were located are the oldest of the four. I believe the killer is evolving. Learning. Getting better, if you will. No body, no evidence. He’s taking them from the scene.”

  “And what? Dumping them somewhere else?”

  Jeremy pulled his lips into his mouth and shook his head. “Possibly. Honestly, there’s not enough data yet to know.”

  Maggie pointed at the camera. “Exactly. You’re asking me to commit to an investigation without enough information. Why would I do that? At this point, all you really have is a cluster of names with no solid connection between them. Not even a tentative one.”

  He interlaced his fingers. “Because, sir, you believe I might be right.”

  “Oh, really? And what makes you think so?”

  Jeremy tapped his watch. “Your meeting began over six minutes ago, sir, and you’re still here.”

  She squeezed her lips together, but couldn’t hide their upturned corners. “What are you asking for, Agent Winter?”

  “One week, sir. Give me that much time to try to build a case. If there’s something there, that should be enough time for me to find it.”

  “Three days. No more. Now, as you pointed out, I’m already late for my meeting. Don’t make me regret doing this, Agent Winter.”

  “I won’t, sir. Thank you.”

  Maggie nodded. “Not bad. I’d say you’ve got a fifty-fifty shot with Bailey.”

  “Should I request more time? You know he’s going to cut whatever I ask for.”

  “Don’t get greedy. Now, there’s a little girl who needs to be tucked in for the night. I’d better go check on her. Make sure she said her goodnight prayers.”

  “Have her say one for me. I could use the help when I talk to Bailey tomorrow.”

  “Will do. Let me know how it goes.”

  “Of course. Thanks for your support, Maggie. You’re better at roleplaying than you pretend.”

  She leaned in closer and winked. “Oh, you have no idea. Sleep well.”

  Jeremy took another swallow of the warm water and stared at the blank screen. Sleep well. Right. Too much to think about.

  He closed the laptop lid, his heart getting heavier as he did. The end of another day living alone. He needed to see Maggie, to tell her everything about his past, and more importantly, his future. At least the one he wanted. She’d said that no matter what he told her, nothing would change how she felt. Easy enough to say when you don’t have the whole story. He wanted to believe her. Knew she was sincere when she said it. But she didn’t know yet. Had no idea what he was capable of.

  How thin his line was between civilized and savage.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Maggie had been slightly off in her portrayal of Director Bailey. One day. That’s it. Jeremy had twenty-four hours to convince his boss there was something to tie these murders and disappearances together. Bailey didn’t buy it, but he was no fool. If evidence did turn up, now or years in the future, he’d be able to say it had been investigated, not ignored. The first rule of politics. CYA.

  Jeremy had hit the road early that morning after deciding Barry Thornquist was his best shot. Although more than four years had passed since the murder, at least there was a body. That was more than he had with Catherine Mae Blackston or Demond Houston. The Big Oaks National Wildlife Refuge was five hours from his apartment and had the added benefit of being on the way to Virginia. He’d spend most of his Friday investigating the area where the body was found, then head over to see Maggie and Rebecca.

  Trepidation mingled with excitement. He couldn’t wait to see his girls but dreaded the coming conversation regarding his past. One thing he’d learned in all of his cases—secrets almost never stayed buried.

  He’d emailed the Thornquist case file to Maggie before leaving Saint Louis. She’d volunteered to review it and pull any data she thought he might need. He’d agreed, but insisted she do the analysis only if it didn’t impact her other work. The last thing either of them needed was to anger Bailey. Jeremy didn’t like the political games, but he understood them. His boss was walking a very fine line and could easily decide to take a detour. If that happened, Jeremy harbored no illusions as to which way Bailey would go.

  He was two hours and one bathroom stop into the drive when Maggie called. “You on Bluetooth or speaker?”

  “Speaker,” Jeremy said. “I’m not sticking those things in my ear. That’s how you get brain cancer. And don’t roll your eyes at me.”

  She chuckled. “Turn down your radio. I can’t concentrate when Blake Shelton’s on. Did you know he’s really tall?”

  “Um, yeah, I did. Are you stalking him or something?”

  “Nah. Just happened to stumble across it on a Google search.”

  “What were you searching for?”

  “Blake Shelton, naturally. And don’t roll your eyes at me. I got some info on the wildlife refuge. They used to test bombs and other munitions there back in the Second World War. The National Guard still has a section up in the northern part that they use for practice. Off-limits to the public, of course.”

  “Interesting. Relevant?”

  “Yep. There’s probably a lot of unexploded stuff still scattered around parts of the refuge. They cleaned up what they could find, but chances are there’s plenty more buried out there. It could be dangerous if someone stumbled across it and didn’t know what to do.”

  Jeremy checked his rearview mirror and changed lanes to pass a slow- moving semi. “I’m surprised they let people in there.”

  “Yeah, but here’s the thing. They only let the public in on certain days. You have to pay a fee and watch a safety video. Then they make you sign a form acknowledging the danger before they’ll let you in. Thornquist did all that. The local PD has his signature on the form on the day he disappeared. Handwriting analysis confirmed it was him.”

  “Assuming the killer played by the rules, he’d have signed the form? I’m sure the local PD would have checked that when Thornquist’s body was found.”

  “They did,” Maggie said. “The forms are kept on file indefinitely. Simple matter to find the ones around the time he disappeared. Forty- six people filled out the forms, and all of them were checked. No luck. I pulled the weather data, and they had quite a bit of rain around then. Guess that’s why so few peop
le were there.”

  Jeremy checked his fuel gauge. Quarter of a tank left. About time to grab an early lunch. He stretched his left leg, grimacing as he wiggled his foot. Need to get that checked out. The limp was getting worse, at least from his perspective. “Don’t think I’d sign the list either if I were going to kill someone. I assume all the names were valid?”

  “Yep. All checked out. It wouldn’t be difficult to bypass the guard shack or park office, though.”

  “Got it. And they’re absolutely sure Thornquist wasn’t killed where his body was found?”

  Maggie sighed. “No, but they’re as sure as they can be. Coroner’s report indicates probable cause of death as gunshot near the heart. Based that on a partial rib bone they found. If true, and the murder occurred there, small fragments of bone should have been located. Too small for animals to worry with. They sifted the ground but didn’t find anything, so the supposition is Thornquist was killed somewhere else in the park.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Maggie. I should be at Big Oaks in around three hours, depending on traffic around Louisville. Did you let them know I was coming?”

  “Yep, but it’s been almost a year since they found the body, Jeremy. Not going to be anything to see.”

  “Got to start somewhere, right? Plus, it’s on the way to your place. And listen. No more help on this. Get back to your own case.”

  “Oh, joy. More hours of wiretaps to review. Seriously, I’m sure this judge is guilty of taking bribes, but if his wife knew about the two mistresses, she’d probably administer justice herself. Save us all a lot of trouble.”

  Jeremy chuckled. “Maybe you should give the judge a choice. Confess to the bribery charge or you’ll tell his missus what he’s been up to.”

  “I wish. I’m pretty sure it’ll all come out when he eventually goes to trial. Wouldn’t be surprised if he asked to be placed in protective custody once she hears about his affairs.”

  “I’ve got to take this exit, Maggie. I’ll call you tonight. Be sure and tell Rebecca I said thanks for the prayer. I think it worked.”

  “Will do. Talk to you later. Love you.”

  Jeremy’s chest tingled, and he scrubbed his hand across it. No matter how many times Maggie said it, his reaction was the same. Like the Grinch in that Christmas show whose heart grew three or five or however many times. “Love you, Maggie. I’ll call you later.”

  He pulled off the interstate and scanned the options. BP settled the issue for him. Two taquitos and a drink for three dollars. The exhilaration of being an FBI agent never ended.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jeremy surrendered to the high-pitched whine of kamikaze gnats and moved a few feet to the left. Nothing to see anyway. Some sort of ivy, poison knowing his luck, snaked across the ground between trees. The residue of last autumn’s leaves waited patiently to decompose. A mockingbird strutted back and forth on a branch and seemed particularly angry with him. Something to do with the gnats probably.

  He checked the diagram in the police report again. Fourteen feet from the road. Far enough to not be seen but close enough to hustle back to a vehicle. Jeremy pointed to his car and drew an imaginary line from there to where the body was found. No direct path. Several trees between here and there, meaning no clear shot. Thornquist wasn’t killed here, and the three- year gap between his disappearance and his corpse being found eliminated most hope of finding any evidence. If only it were as simple as kicking a few leaves and magically finding something the CSI team missed.

  After one last look to cement the scene in his mind, Jeremy returned to his vehicle. He cranked the engine, switched the air on, and made sure the windows were all the way up in case the gnats came hunting. Why had Thornquist come here? The victim’s last known location was near his home in Muncie, a good hundred miles north. His wife thought he was spending the day playing golf with buddies, but that had been checked out. None of his friends were with him.

  His car turned up a month after his disappearance behind a Wendy’s in Bowling Green, Kentucky, one hundred seventy miles south of here. The vehicle had been there for a while, possibly since the day of the murder. The crime lab found plenty of hairs and fingerprints, none of which provided any leads. In the trunk, they’d discovered a set of Ping golf clubs and specks of Thornquist’s blood. Problem was, at least nineteen different people had been in the car at one time or another. Eleven had been identified and cleared. The others were unknown, so the evidence sat bagged and tagged, waiting for a suspect.

  The working theory was that the murderer killed Thornquist somewhere else in the park, dumped the body here, drove his car to Kentucky, and either stole another vehicle or simply lived near there. It was a solid explanation with no plausible proof. And it ignored three major issues.

  Why did the killer cut off his victim’s hands, and if this was a copy of Sarah Goldman’s murder, presumably skull? Carjackers don’t do that. They may kill to steal, but body mutilation happened only in murder cases. It was personal. Violent. As if a gunshot to the heart wasn’t enough. The bigger problem, at least to Jeremy, was Thornquist’s car.

  The vehicle had been taken from the park. Easy enough to see why. An unoccupied car would be spotted quickly in an area this size. Nowhere to really hide it. From the killer’s perspective, best just to get it out of here and leave it somewhere else. Buy some time and put some distance from the crime scene. But that meant that either the perpetrator was on foot when he came here, not likely considering the distance involved, or he wasn’t alone. No other vehicle had been located, so two cars had to be driven.

  And why had Thornquist come to the park in the first place? None of the other visitors that day remembered seeing him, but after three-plus years, that was no surprise. What Jeremy did know was the victim lied to his wife about where he’d be. That often pointed to an affair or illegal activity, but not always. The local PD had checked into the possibility of a drug deal gone bad, but nothing in the victim’s life pointed that way. The man had come here for a specific purpose, one which no one had identified, but possibly the key to solving his murder.

  He drove to the Fish and Wildlife Services park headquarters and waited inside for the officer on duty to get off the phone. A wooden counter bisected the office, adorned with two stuffed birds and a map of the refuge taped on top. The officer was an older man, mid-50s maybe, with a deep tan and thinning blond hair. He nodded to Jeremy and held up one finger before finishing his call and walking over.

  “You must be the FBI guy.” He extended his hand. “Gil Pollock.”

  “Jeremy Winter. I appreciate you taking the time to let me in the park.”

  “Hey, no problem. Glad to help out. Find anything?”

  “A swarm of hungry gnats, but that’s about it.”

  Pollock chuckled. “You never get used to those little buggers.”

  “I don’t suppose so. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

  “Not at all. Don’t know that I’ll be any help, though.”

  “Were you here when the body was found?” Jeremy asked.

  “I was. Been here almost a year when they found him.” Pollock shook his head. “Never forget the look on that hunter’s face. Kind of excited and freaked out at the same time, if that makes sense.”

  “It does. You weren’t here when Thornquist was killed?”

  “Nope. Not much has changed since then, though. We’re staffed pretty thin. That’s why the park’s only open on certain days. Better for the wildlife too. But if somebody wants to get in here, open or not, they’re not going to have much trouble with it.”

  Jeremy scratched his cheek and looked around the office. “I imagine there were a lot of folks talking about finding the body. Anything stand out to you?”

  “Not really. Nobody knew who he was. Kind of made people jittery for a while, like maybe there were more bodies waiting to turn up. A lot of the regulars made sure they never went out alone. After a while, things went back to normal, though.”

&
nbsp; “The regulars?”

  “Yeah. Mostly birdwatchers and hikers. The police talked to the majority of them, but it was a dead end. I mean, well, you know. They didn’t get any helpful information.”

  Jeremy tapped a finger on the counter. “Mind if I take a look at the waivers from four years back when he went missing?”

  Pollock shrugged. “Suit yourself. The police took the forms from the day the body was found, and I think a week around the time the guy disappeared. We file by date. Nothing computerized. We’re lucky to get enough funding to open the days we do, much less get any decent equipment. Come on back this way.”

  He escorted Jeremy into a storage room filled with metal shelving. Bankers boxes covered most of them, each with dates written on the end in black marker. Pollock pointed to white labels on the racks.

  “Sorted by years,” the wildlife officer said. “Each date is in its own manila folder, so you shouldn’t have too much trouble. Some days we hardly get anybody, other days we’re maxed out. Depends on the season and the weather.”

  Jeremy placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the boxes. “Thanks. Got a chair I can borrow?”

  “Sure thing. Be right back.”

  Jeremy grabbed the carton marked with the dates around Thornquist’s disappearance and set it on the floor.

  Pollock returned with two folding chairs and flipped them open. “Figured you might want some company.”

  “I won’t turn you down. Nothing quite as exciting as flipping through page after page of forms.”

  The officer chuckled. “Such is the life of a government employee, right? Now, what are we looking for?”

  “Honestly,” Jeremy said, “I don’t know. Patterns maybe. Just making sure I cover all my bases. I know the local PD checked it all out, but I’d still feel better giving it the once-over myself.” He opened the box and ran his finger along the top of the files. “Looks pretty full. I thought the police took a bunch of them.”