Coming of Winter

by Tom Threadgill

  “I can probably find out his phone number. If you want, I’ll call him and tell him to bring it back before he gets in trouble.”

  “No, that’s all right. You’ve got enough to do to get ready for tonight. I’ll handle it myself. Now then, race you to lunch?”

  The boy sprinted away, laughing and yelling as his father fell farther behind. “You’re not even trying, Dad! Bet you can’t catch me!”

  Catch him. If there was one thing he was good at, that was it. Catching people. Fishy would learn soon enough.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Mason knocked on the door of the brick ranch-style home. Carson Andrews said he’d be there alone this morning, having feigned illness while his parents went off to work.

  The door swung open, and a boy about Lanny’s age stood there. A bright red birthmark on his left forearm vaguely resembled a dolphin and explained his nickname of Fishy. “Hey, Mr. Miller. ’Sup?”

  Mason smiled and shook the boy’s hand. “You’re Fishy, I assume?”

  “Yeah. I’m real sorry about all this. I was just goofin’ off. Didn’t mean to cause no problems.”

  He could at least put his ballcap on straight and put on a belt. “Hey, I was young once too, and I made more than my share of mistakes. Like I said on the phone, though, it’s what you do to make things right that shows what kind of person you are.”

  “And this is just between us? You won’t say nothing to my folks, right? I got enough problems with them already.”

  I bet you do. Mason lowered his voice. “My lips are sealed. A deal’s a deal, right? Did you tell anyone I was coming by this morning?”

  “Naw, man. It’s all good.”

  “Great. Now, if you’ll give me the, um, decoration, I’ll be on my way like this all never happened.”

  Fishy rolled his eyes. “Dude, seriously? I already tossed it. Got too hot, you know? Once word got around school, didn’t want to leave it here. Like, my mom goes through my stuff all the time. Thinks I’m on weed or something.”

  Mason inhaled and clenched his fists as a wave of heat rushed through his head. “Okay. Where is she?”

  “She?”

  “The skull. Where’s the skull?”

  Fishy pointed toward the woods about a half-mile down the road. “Took it down there. Shouldn’t take you too long to find it.”

  Mason looked around. A few vehicles had passed while he stood on the porch. No way to know if anyone noticed him there. “You’re going with me.”

  “Dude, I’ve got stuff to do.”

  “Listen, dude. Either go with me or we wait for your folks. I bet your dad would be thrilled to know you tried to sell drugs to my boys.”

  “Man, I don’t sell that stuff.”

  “Really? Well, it’d be your word against mine, but I guess you know your folks better than I do.”

  Fishy nodded toward the truck. “Come on, but you need to make it quick.”

  As they arrived at the stand of trees, the boy motioned for him to pull over. “Back there’s where I left it.”

  The two walked a few steps into the woods, shuffling through a layer of maple, oak, and tulip poplar leaves. Mason didn’t like thinking about Sarah lying among the dirt and insects. No big deal, though. When he got home, he’d clean her up good. A soft towel for the outside and an old toothbrush to tidy up the teeth and inside. No harm done.

  “Be careful not to step on the skull,” Mason said. “They’re not that expensive, but it takes a while to get a replacement.”

  Fishy squatted and brushed away the fallen debris. “It’s over here, man. It looks pretty creepy laying out here. Awesome.”

  Mason’s grin vanished as a chill shot down his spine. “The jawbone. Where’s the jawbone?”

  Fishy shrugged. “Got to be close. It was there when I threw it back here.”

  “Threw it? You threw her back here?”

  “What’s the big deal? Buy another one.”

  Nausea flashed through Mason. “Buy another one? She’s broken, Fishy. Broken.”

  “Sorry, man. Don’t know what to tell ya.”

  Mason lifted the skull and cradled it in the crook of his arm. Maybe the pins holding the jaw to the cranium broke when she hit the ground. The mandible’s here somewhere. Got to be. And if it’s broken ... He knelt and moved his hand through the decomposing foliage in ever-growing circles. “Did you tell anyone else where you put the skull?”

  The boy shook his head. “Naw. Probably a coyote or something took it.”

  “Think. Be absolutely sure.”

  “Didn’t tell nobody.”

  Was that possible? Could an animal smell bones even after they were coated with polyurethane and sealed in plastic? Maybe. And these bones hadn’t been cooked. Any marrow inside could still be pungent and edible, and there were certainly plenty of stray dogs and other creatures around. If the mandible was gone, how would he find it? The answer was simple.

  He wouldn’t. Sarah would forever be missing her jaw. His eyes watered, and he swallowed hard. No way to fix this. And the reason for his grief stood before him.

  “Sorry, man. Not my fault, though.”

  What? Mason squinted at Fishy. “Not your fault? Then whose fault is it? Idiot.” He grabbed the boy’s arm, squeezing hard before pulling him toward the road.

  Fishy licked his lips, and wrinkles covered his forehead. “Chill, dude. Give me a couple of days and I can come up with some money. It cost five or ten bucks, right? No sweat.”

  A horn honked as a vehicle neared. Mason stopped, a smile frozen on his face, as one of his neighbors drove past and waved.

  Mason yanked open the pickup’s passenger door. “It’s your lucky day, Fishy.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Jeremy flicked through the channels on the TV in his hotel room. Sunday afternoon in early October. A couple of NFL games to choose from, which would be great if he cared for football. Hockey season started later this week, but even if it was already going, none of the games would be broadcast in Memphis. Not exactly a rabid NHL fan base.

  He’d scheduled a call with Director Bailey for ten o’clock the next day. Time to finalize everything and move on. Take a few weeks to figure out what he wanted to do next. Maybe become a security consultant for businesses. Or get his private investigator’s license. Or go for something completely different. Buy a food truck and drive around town selling homemade chicken salad sandwiches. And tacos. Everybody loves tacos.

  He didn’t know what he’d do, but he did know where he’d do it. Somewhere close to Maggie and Rebecca. Past time to pick up the pace of their relationship, and Maggie had made it clear she felt the same way. Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but you can’t hold hands via Skype.

  He glanced at the digital clock beside the unmade bed. Less than an hour since he’d talked to her for the third, no, fourth time that day. He sighed and made the complete cycle of TV stations again, muted the volume, and dialed her number.

  .......

  The ringing buzz of his cell phone awakened Jeremy from a deep sleep. Something’s happened to Maggie or Rebecca. He took two measured breaths to gain focus and slow his heart, then checked the time. Eleven o’clock. He snatched the phone off the nightstand and peered at the illuminated screen. Troy Obion? He cleared his throat, determined to sound awake.

  “Hey, Troy. What’s up?”

  “Sorry to wake you, Jeremy.”

  “Huh? I was up. Just cleaning out some emails before tomorrow morning.”

  “Sure you were. Don’t know why you can’t admit you were sleeping. People do that, you know. Sleep. Nothing wrong with it.”

  “I’m gonna have to take the Fifth Amendment on that one. What are you doing up this late?”

  “Late? It’s barely eleven. Anyway, I’ve been spending some vacation days helping with the search for the Palmer boy, and I thought you’d want to hear we had a break. The TBI got a call a few hours ago from a farmer up in the Friendship area. Said a pack of dogs wa
s stalking around his chickens so he grabbed his shotgun and fired off a couple of rounds.”

  “At the dogs?”

  “In the air. Didn’t want to hit his chickens. Anyway, the pack tucked tail and ran. The farmer went to count his chickens and see if he lost any. He didn’t. But he found something the dogs dropped. Part of a human jawbone.”

  Jeremy bolted upright. “Did it belong to the boy?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. At first, they weren’t even sure it was real. Pretty chewed up by the dogs, and the bone had been coated in plastic or something. The TBI’s still testing it, but they’re almost positive it’s genuine.”

  Jeremy flopped back onto his pillow. “DNA or dental records?”

  “The part of the bone they have isn’t the jaw. I mean, it is, but not the part with the teeth. They told me what it was called. Ramus or something like that. But not enough of anything for dental records to help. Be later tomorrow before the preliminary DNA results are in. Could even be Tuesday morning. That’s kind of the reason I’m calling.”

  “You want access to the FBI’s testing? Honestly, it’s not much faster.”

  “Maybe not the standardized tests.”

  “You talking about the Rapid-DNA machines? Troy, those aren’t approved yet. Certainly not admissible as evidence. I’m not even sure Memphis has one. The Bureau hasn’t bought any as far as I know. There were some floating around for demos, but it’d be a pretty big coincidence if we’ve got one locally.”

  “Can you find out? It could save us a lot of time.”

  Jeremy sighed. “Troy, even if there is a machine here, those things can’t detect mingled DNA. I’d have to get a pure sample. No dog slobber or anything else that would contaminate the specimen. Most likely be a waste of time.”

  “Maybe, but I’m asking. Can you at least find out if there’s one of those machines anywhere close to Memphis? If there’s not, then we don’t have to worry about it. But if there is ...”

  “I’ll make the call, Troy, but don’t hold your breath. Even if I find one, can you talk the TBI into handing over a sample?”

  “You forget who you’re talking to here?”

  “Give me half an hour.”

  “You’re not going to fall back asleep, are you?”

  “Told you. I wasn’t asleep. Talk to you in a few.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  After several phone calls, Jeremy learned that yes, the Memphis FBI office had tested a Rapid-DNA machine, but no, they didn’t still have the unit. Lester Truett, the Special Agent in Charge, raved about its possibilities, but only in limited situations. His concerns were more procedural than technical in nature. He feared it could become easy for investigators to rely too heavily on DNA evidence without doing the legwork to back it up. Got half a dozen suspects? Swab them and in ninety minutes—voila!—suspect confirmed or eliminated. Of course, a court order would be needed if the suspect wouldn’t provide a voluntary sample, but if you knew the right judge, it’d happen.

  Truett had sent the machine to the Little Rock office, about a hundred forty miles away. After a three-way phone conversation with the head of the Arkansas FBI office, it’d been agreed that if a sample from the jawbone could be obtained, it would be sent there for testing to save time. Bringing the machine back to Memphis would require an additional two hours for breakdown and setup, and no one was eager to process the paperwork that went along with transferring the device.

  At two a.m., Troy called back to confirm he’d be able to secure a sample within the hour. The TBI lab would extract marrow and provide it with no guarantee as to its viability. All parties understood any information obtained as a result of this test would never be admissible in court.

  Troy would pick up Jeremy at his hotel at three-thirty for the bumpy ride on I-40 to Little Rock. Barring traffic or construction, they’d be there and have the test underway no later than six a.m., with results due by nine o’clock.

  Ten minutes early, Troy’s red Jeep Wrangler pulled in front of the hotel. Its oversize tires and high chassis promised a rough trip, but at least he’d put the hardtop on. Jeremy grabbed two cups of coffee from the urn in the lobby and braced himself against the wind as he moved from indoors to out. Gonna be another cold, dry day.

  “Mornin’, old man,” Troy said. “Hate to say it, but you definitely didn’t get your beauty sleep last night. Appreciate the coffee, though.”

  “Oh. I suppose I could have brought you a cup, too. Sorry.”

  “Ha ha. I take it back. You look wonderful.”

  Jeremy handed him the java. “You got the DNA sample?”

  “Yep. What time’s your guy going to open up in Little Rock?”

  “I told him I’d call when we were about thirty minutes out. He said he’d meet us at the office and have everything ready. Here’s the thing though—apparently the device is made to run off cheek swabs. We’re kind of crossing our fingers this will work.”

  “Only one way to find out, and the TBI said their results won’t be back until late tonight. Worst-case scenario, we make the hour and a half drive for nothing.”

  “It’s about two hours to Little Rock.”

  Troy adjusted his rearview mirror, took a sip of coffee, and slipped the Jeep into gear. “Buckle up.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  M aybe we should shut everything down for the season,” Paula said. “Say it’s out of respect for the Palmer boy.” Mason sat beside her on the porch, watching the clouds morph from gray to orange as the sun poked over the horizon. “What? Why? We’ve got an awful lot invested. If we closed now, we’d be worse off than when we started. Might as well stick a For Sale sign out front.”

  “I figure it’s just a matter of time till the police come poking around here. They’ve been everywhere else. Might be best to put everything away out of sight.”

  Mason placed his hand over hers. “And if we shut down, what does that look like? That we’re hiding something? No, we stay open. It’s the best thing for us and the community. And anyway, it’s not like we’ve seen a drop-off in attendance. People need to forget their problems. Have some fun. And there’s safety in numbers, right? Folks are glad to let their kids come out here and burn off some energy. Heck, they’d probably be up in arms if we closed.”

  “Then we just keep going. I suppose that’s for the best. I’ve run through this a hundred times, and I can’t see as how there’s anything to connect us to Lanny. And you’re sure about Fishy?”

  Mason chuckled. “Wish you could have seen him when I drove him home. Scared to death I was gonna come back when his parents got off work and make him tell them what he’d done. I don’t think we need to worry about him.”

  “You did the right thing, honey. Would’ve been trouble if you’d brought him back here.”

  “Since I was seen with the boy, didn’t make any sense to take any chances. Got what I was after, most of it anyways. Besides, Fishy doesn’t know where the rest of Sarah is. I’m sure of it.”

  “What about the missing jaw?”

  “I’ll go back once the sun gets up a bit and see if I can find it. If a critter did take the bones, they’re long gone by now. Nothing to be done about it except hope they’re eaten or buried. Still, Lord knows I’d feel a whole lot better to get that jaw back with Sarah where it belongs.”

  “Me too. Before you go out, why don’t you stop in for coffee at the diner and get the latest gossip? Maybe you’ll learn something new.”

  “Not likely. Bunch of crotchety old men sitting around complaining about everything from the government to their bunions. Always talking about the rain too. Either how much we got or how much we need.”

  Paula smiled. “Uh-huh. That’s why you fit in so well.”

  He winked at her. “Of course, the waitresses there are pretty nice.”

  “Well, if you can find one that’ll put up with the likes of you, be my guest.”

  “Eh, I finally got you figured out. Don’t need to start all over again. I�
�m going to check on a few things around here and then head out. Probably skip the diner today and spend a little more time searching. I’ll go tomorrow.”

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself. Want me to come look with you? The boys will be catching the school bus in about half an hour, and I can put off some of my chores until this afternoon.”

  “I wouldn’t mind the company. Just got to promise to behave out there.”

  “Behave?”

  Mason rested his hand on her leg and leaned closer. “I seem to remember this one time we were out in the woods. Course it might have been twenty years or so back, but I remember it clear as can be. If it wasn’t for the poison ivy, would’ve been the perfect day.”

  Her face reddened, and she lifted his hand and placed it on his own leg. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a lady.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Yes, you are. But be sure to check the first aid kit for calamine lotion before we go.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Troy stopped his pacing and plopped into the breakroom chair. “Is it always like this? Hoping it is the kid’s DNA while praying that it’s not?”

  Jeremy placed his hands on his hips and arched his back. The drive to Little Rock had been mercifully quick and painfully bouncy. “Yeah, it is. Seems like for every bit of good news in this job, there’s a hundred bad pieces. Way of the world, I suppose.”

  “That’s a tad cynical, isn’t it?”

  “Danger of the job and one of the reasons I’m ready to get out. I don’t want to be that guy. The one always looking for the negative. Or maybe I’m already him and need something different. Can’t keep a rosy outlook when you deal with this kind of stuff all the time.”

  “You had your out, though. Moving more into white collar crime?”