“Touche.”
“All right, so you ain’t sleepin’. Are ya’ at least eatin’ okay?”
Constance pulled the phone away from her ear and made a face at it. Then she tucked it back up beneath her hair and said, “What are you this morning? My mother?”
“Well, technically speakin’, I’m damn near old enough to be your dad.”
“Not a good visual, dear. Especially not if you ever want sex again,” she groaned.
“Noted,” he replied.
“But to answer your question, I just had pancakes and eggs.”
“Pancakes and eggs, at the same meal? You? When’s the last time you ate?”
“I just told you.”
“You know what I mean.” He didn’t sound amused.
“It’s not important.”
“Dammit, Constance…” he grumbled. “For someone who’s so friggin’ health conscious you sure have problems takin’ care of yourself.”
“Not always… Can we change the subject please?”
“Yeah… Whatever… So since you’re on the phone, I gotta assume you’re still stuck in Whoville?”
“Hulis.”
“Yeah, there.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Didn’t you say that’s about four hours north or somethin’ like that?”
“Give or take.”
“Well, I’m off today,” he said, an audible shrug in his voice. “Want me ta’ drive up? Betchya’ I could make it in three. Maybe two’n-uh half if you tell me you’re wearin’ somethin’ sexy.”
“Dammit, I’m working a case here, Ben!” she snapped, then sighed a quiet, “I’m sorry… Again…”
He huffed out a breath and grunted. “You don’t just need sleep, hon. Ya’ sound like you could use a few rounds with a punchin’ bag.”
She snorted. “Are you offering?”
“Pretty sure I just did.”
“Yeah, I guess you did, didn’t you…”
Constance slid her hand up through her hair and scratched the back of her scalp absently. She grimaced and pulled away when her fingers ventured too close to the residual soreness from her incident with the desk.
She could hear an occasional clunk or rustle at the other end of the line, which meant Ben was now out of bed and moving around. A few moments later he started mumbling curses, vocally naming the coffee pot as the object of his current disdain.
After countless heartbeats with nothing being said, Ben spoke up. “Talk ta’ me, Constance. What’s goin’ on?”
He opened the door and all she had to do was step through. For all his faults in the relationship department, Ben still had his moments. Of course, listening wasn’t always one of them, unless you caught him at just the right time or you were talking about a case. It didn’t take ESP for him to figure out the latter was why she had called.
She sucked in a deep breath and thought about unloading on him. All of it-the house, the voice, the dream, Merrie-everything she could think of that was bothering her. But she didn’t really believe that would do either of them any good. In fact, it would probably be worse, because in the end she’d still have all the problems, and he would be worrying. Besides, she actually had a specific reason for making this call, so she needed to stay focused on that.
“I need a favor,” she said. “Three, actually.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“First, I want you to run a background check on someone for me. His name is Ed Reese.”
“Hang on,” he grunted. “Lemme get somethin’ ta’ write with…” After a bit of rustling he mumbled, “Ed… Reese… Okay, got it. Any other info you can give me on ‘im?”
“Not much,” she replied. “He goes by Pastor Ed Reese, but nobody in town recalls him ever becoming ordained.”
“Hell, you can do it online these days,” he grunted.
“True,” she agreed. “He’s apparently lived in Hulis his whole life…”
“Hugh Liss… Spell it.”
“H-U-L-I-S.”
“Got it.”
“He looks to be in his mid to late sixties. About five-ten to six foot, one-seventy to one-eighty… Hair is mostly gray with some dark brown in it. Brown eyes. Wears glasses. No real distinguishing marks to speak of, that were visible anyway.”
There was a pause while he made notes. Finally he said, “Okay, got that…”
“I managed to find out that he’s divorced, and at some point in his adult life he had some sort of severe mental breakdown. This was several years ago; not sure how long though. He supposedly spent some time in the hospital; also not sure of a timeframe on that either. He’s supposedly still on psych meds, so apparently he’s still under a doctor’s care.”
Ben sighed. “Yeah, well all that’s gonna be hidin’ behind HIPAA unless there’s a damn good reason to know and a really specific warrant.”
“I know.”
“Just for drill, got any idea which hospital? I mean, ya’ just never know who might be stupid enough ta’ talk.”
“Yeah, exactly. Well, all I know is that it was in Mais, Missouri. That’s M-A-I-S. It’s bigger than Hulis, but it’s not a huge city, so I doubt there are more than a couple of hospitals there.”
“Okay… Anything else?”
“Yeah, he drives an older model, black Crown Vic. Plate was obscured and I only caught a quick glimpse of it, but it was a Missouri tag, and I’m pretty sure it started with a G.” Without pause she began thinking aloud. “As to a year, let me see… The rear plate mount wasn’t up on the trunk, so it was pre-ninety-five… But the body style was definitely rounded, so it’s at least a ninety-two. Come to think of it, it also had a front grille, so I’d have to say ninety-three or four. That should at least help narrow it down some.”
“Showoff…” Ben muttered.
She ignored the gibe and added, “Of course, I don’t know for sure if it’s registered to him or someone else. My guess would be him though.”
“That it?”
“Afraid so.”
“No prob; it’s more than I’d get from someone on the street… Okay… So what’s the story? You think maybe this guy’s good for the murders?”
She shook her head out of reflex. “I have no idea. He contacted me this morning and said he had information about the case, but never got around to actually telling me. He sort of freaked out, recited some Bible verses, then took off.”
“Wunnerful… Sounds like maybe he’s just a wingnut.”
“That crossed my mind, trust me. And you’re right; he probably is. But I still need to check him out.”
“Yeah, I hear ya’… So whaddabout the local coppers?” he suggested. “Surely they know somethin’ about ‘im, especially if he’s a nutjob.”
“That’s just it; I think they do, but they aren’t really sharing.”
“Hmph,” Ben grunted. “So Sherlock ain’t playin’ so nice, huh?”
“I wouldn’t say that exactly. He’s not bad, to be honest,” she replied. “I actually like the man, and he seems to be a really good cop. But I definitely feel like he’s holding something back.”
“Gut?”
“Yeah.”
“Gotta trust it.”
“That’s what I’m doing. Of course, I suppose he could be playing it close to the vest because I’m the fifth agent that’s been sent out here on this case, and from what I’ve seen, he hasn’t received much help from the bureau so far. Based on what he’s said, I know for a fact there are some serious trust issues for him where the FBI is concerned.”
“Yeah… Maybe…” he huffed. “Doesn’t justify holdin’ out on ya’, though. He should know that.”
“So are you the pot or the kettle? Seems to me we did that dance ourselves once upon a time.”
“Uh-huh…” he grunted again. “Don’t remind me. I think I’ve paid my dues on that one.” After a short pause he spoke up again. “So, ya’ said ya’ wanted three favors?”
“Yes. The next thing is could you run an N
CIC query on Merrie Frances Callahan, and John Horace Colson. Specifically what I’m looking for would be any case information regarding Merrie’s abduction on December twenty-second, nineteen seventy-five, and Colson’s subsequent death on the twenty-fifth.”
“I can do that,” he said. “But ya’know if the paper you’re holdin’ is already incomplete on a case that old, I really doubt there’ll be anything in the database.”
“Agreed, but I’d like to know for sure.”
“And number three?”
“I’d like for you to get me whatever you can on Sheriff Addison Carmichael.”
“Thought you said you liked ol’ Sheriff Sherlock? Second guessin’ yourself now, are ya’?”
“Just trusting my gut. I really don’t think he’s dirty, but… Well… You know. I’d just like to have some background so I can cover all the bases.”
“Yeah, can’t hurt.”
“He’s been the sheriff here for at least the last seven years. And, he was a deputy here back in seventy-five…”
“Okay, got it…”
“Somewhere in between he was with the KCPD. Made detective from what I’ve picked up in conversation.”
“KC Missouri or KC Kansas?”
“I’d assume Missouri, but I’m not sure.”
“No prob; I’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
“Yeah… We can talk about that later. Okay… Well, I’m sure you knew this was comin’, so here it is, the sixty-four-kay question. You’re a Feeb. You’ve got better resources than the metropolitan PD. Why’re ya’ callin’ me ta’ do this? Forget ta’ take your computer with ya’?”
“That’s the other thing I should mention,” she sighed. “I sort of need you to keep all this under the radar. In fact, it would be best if you could get someone else to pull the NCIC info, so your name isn’t on it since you can be connected back to me.” A thick silence fell in the wake of her words. She took several measured breaths as she waited for a response, then finally gave in and said, “Ben? Are you still there?”
His voice flat, he responded, “Yeah… I had a feelin’ that’s what you were gonna say. Jeezus… What the hell’ve you stepped in up there, hon?”
“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But I’m pretty sure the sheriff isn’t the only one holding out on me.”
“Feeb central?”
“Possibly. I don’t know. I just don’t want any red flags popping up until I’m sure, so if you could mask the queries somehow that would help. I just definitely don’t want them coming from my computer with my ID.”
“Okay, tell me exactly where you’re stayin’,” he said. “I’m on my way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m comin’ up there.”
“No,” she objected. “I need you to stay right where you are and do that background check for me.”
“Constance, think about it. You’re in the middle of north fuckin’ nowhere, workin’ a jacked up serial case, and now you’re tellin’ me your own people might be coverin’ somethin’ up. You need backup, hon, and you need it yesterday.”
His reaction wasn’t wholly unexpected, and it made her glad she’d held back on the emotional information dump. If she’d told him about the anonymous email and texts, or especially the incident at the soda machine last night, he would probably already be halfway here. There were times when it was cute that he wanted to come to her rescue, but this wasn’t one of them.
“Don’t overreact, Ben. I appreciate your concern-really I do-but I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, but this could be different.”
“I’m a big girl, Ben. With a badge and a gun and bullets and everything.”
“I just dunno… What if-”
She cut him off. “I can take care of myself. Think about it… I took you to the mat, didn’t I?”
“Two outta three falls.”
“Well?”
“It’s that one outta the three that worries me, hon.”
“I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I let you win that time. I didn’t want you to feel totally emasculated by a woman who’s more than a foot shorter than you.”
“Dammit, I’m serious, Constance.”
She puffed her cheeks as she blew out a protracted breath, then answered, “I know you are. But I’m serious too. I can take care of myself and you know it. Besides… This is all just speculation at this point. I’m not even sure there’s a cover-up, but even if there is, there have been too many agents involved before me, and they’re all still alive and kicking. If there’s a danger in this, it will most likely be to my career, not my life.”
“Jeezus…” he moaned. “I still don’t like it. Not at all.”
“Don’t worry so much,” she appealed. “Just see what info you can get for me. Maybe then I’ll know where I stand.”
“Yeah… Okay… Let me make some calls. I dunno how quick this is gonna happen with it bein’ a holiday, especially if I gotta fly low. I’m prob’ly gonna hafta call in some markers.”
“I understand. But the sooner the better.”
“Yeah… Always is.”
“Okay… Well, I have some leads to follow up, and then I need to try to grab a nap. We’re staking out the repeat crime scene tonight,” she said.
Ben huffed out a sympathetic sounding snort. “Hell of a way ta’ spend Christmas Eve.”
“Tell me about it,” Constance agreed.
“How late can I call ya’ back? Don’t wanna interfere.”
“You’re probably good up till ten.”
“Gotcha.”
“I’ll try to check in later if I don’t hear from you first.”
“You’d better,” he returned. “Ya’ got Kevlar with ya’?”
“Of course. It’s out in my trunk.”
“Damn lotta good it’s doin’ ya’ in there,” he spat.
“Don’t worry so much.”
“Get the vest outta the trunk and wear it, hear me?”
“I will.”
“And watch your back, okay?”
She sighed. “Stop worrying… I need to go… Later…”
“Yeah… Later…”
Constance started to pull the phone away from her ear then pressed it back up and said, “Oh… Wait… Are you still there?”
She heard a quick fumble then his voice came back on the line, a bit of sudden concern evident in the tone. “Yeah, I’m here, what is it?”
“Nothing really important. I just have a weird question. Kind of a riddle someone asked me,” she explained. “What would you say is ‘heavy symbolism of the Christmas season’?”
She lied about the importance. She was already asking him to do enough, but if the searches set off any flags, he shouldn’t be the one to take the heat; it would come down on her. However, she had no idea what was in that hidden file or from whom it had come. If it turned out that it was something she wasn’t supposed to be seeing, then it was definitely not something Ben should know about. She wanted to keep that brand of trouble contained to herself if possible. Besides, she didn’t need him rushing up here to save her right now.
“Heavy?” he snorted. “That’s easy. My Lieutenant’s wife’s godawful homemade fruitcake.”
CHAPTER 21
After thumbing the ‘end’ button on her cell, Constance quietly stared across the narrow space between where she was sitting on the corner of the bed and the desk that was positioned against the opposite wall. Her notebook computer sat there waiting, the screen empty and dark at the moment because the unit had finally dropped into standby mode due to inactivity. It mimicked her blank stare, patiently awaiting a key press or even a quick tap on the touch pad to bring it to life. While it was only a few feet away in physical distance, for all the bad luck she’d had with cracking the encryption key thus far, the gulf might as well have been countless miles.
And now that she had reached out for help, all Ben had to offer was “fruitcake.”
That was definitely one she hadn’t tried. But then, it had nine characters, not eight. Not to mention it really didn’t jibe with the theme of the song to which the mysterious file was attached. Things like silver and gold decorations, shepherds, kings, and all of the other associated religious myth surrounding the Christmas holiday. She had exhausted those clues to the best of her ability, using kludged together pieces of the lyrics, and even going so far as to try various permutations of-and words from-“The Christmas Story” in the books of Matthew and Luke, but she still had no luck. She was pretty sure she had tried all of the secular options even remotely related to the song by now as well-all of them that she could think of, anyway.
She could probably have given him some guidance by throwing the song out there too, but doing so might have led to questions, and it wasn’t easy for her to lie to him. In the long run, the less he knew about that segment of this debacle, the better. Besides, the song was really just a delivery vehicle. There was nothing to say it was absolutely connected to the answer. That was just a guess on her part.
She muttered, “But fruitcake? Yeah…right,” and then she shook her head and sighed.
After a handful of minutes spent staring off into space, she stood and deposited her cell phone onto the desk next to the computer, then proceeded to make the bed. She had placed a standing “do not disturb” request with the office when she’d checked in, as was her SOP while working. It was just safer for everyone concerned that way.
Before heading out for breakfast, she had tucked all of the carefully sorted reports into her suitcase, out of sight, just in case the housekeeper didn’t get the message about the DND or the wind took off with the door hanger. None of the information she currently had was sensitive, otherwise she would have taken it with her. However, being not sensitive didn’t necessarily make any of it fit for public consumption either.
She dug out the semi-ordered stack of paper and began systematically arranging the different parcels of documents atop the now mostly smoothed comforter. She had no idea what a third run through was going to do for her at this point, other than confuse the issue more, of course. Nothing at all seemed to add up where any of these murders were concerned. A locked, empty house with no forced entry. Not only that, a locked, empty house with no forced entry and cops watching it inside and out. But like magic, out of nowhere, a body appears-or parts of one, to be more accurate.
In the bleak midwinter asacm-1 Page 20