In The Bleak Midwinter: A Special Agent Constance Mandalay Novel (16 page)

There was a pained sadness in the last
comment, and Constance picked up on it instantly. “What do you mean
by
most of the time
?”

“It gets a little rough this time of year.
You heard what she said about Santa Claus.”

Constance nodded. “Repressed memories.”

“Something like that,” he replied. “Probably
worse.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning they might not stay repressed.”

“Are you saying she actually relives the
abduction and abuse?”

“We’d like to hope not,” he said then nodded.
“But, unfortunately, in her head, we think she does, yeah.”

“You
think
she does?”

He thrust his chin toward her. “What time is
it?”

Constance furrowed her brow in confusion at
his query but pushed up the cuff of her glove and glanced at her
watch anyway. “Two thirty-eight. Why?”

He bobbed his head toward the building. “In a
couple of hours it’ll be right about the time Merrie was abducted
thirty-five years ago. All of a sudden, just like someone flipped a
switch, the girl who just painted your nails will go catatonic. She
won’t snap out of it till about five on Christmas morning. Happens
every year. After that, it’s like her clock is reset.”

“So that’s what Martha meant earlier about
keeping an eye on the time.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “That’s what she meant.
When Merrie wakes up it will be pretty much like nothing ever
happened. For her, it will be Christmas Day, nineteen seventy-four,
which in her mind was the last time the holiday was ever good to
her. We even have a tape of the ball dropping in Times Square, New
Year’s Eve, to ring in seventy-five. She stays up to watch it every
year.”

“What about other things? Like school and
such? People aging around her? Not having any other children to
play with? Surely she can see that things have changed.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to matter. She
focuses on the Christmas holidays. Those are important to her. The
rest of it seems to play itself out in her head as long as nobody
interferes and she has her room.”

“But there are other physical issues. She’s a
grown woman. What about menstruation? Arousal?”

He nodded. “She knows how to handle the
monthly thing. Her mother was still around when that started. As to
any sort of desires and such, to my knowledge she’s never exhibited
any other than a crush on a teen idol from the day. No matter what
her body does, in her head she’s ten. She doesn’t know any better
than to think that’s just how it’s supposed to be. And… Well, we
don’t really know what she sees when she looks in the mirror.”

Constance turned and stared toward the
building as she breathed, “Dear God...”

“Sweetheart, in my way of thinking, God
doesn’t have much of anything to do with it,” Carmichael spat. “If
he does, then he’s just as big a sonofabitch as Colson was, and
I’ll tell him that to his face when I get to the gates... As you
can imagine, the preacher and me don’t much see eye to eye on that
issue.” He paused for a second, looking at the ground thoughtfully,
then hefted the bags once again and turned to go. “Let me get this
stuff inside, so Merrie has her presents to open Christmas morning.
It’d break my heart to disappoint her, and the past seven years
I’ve been too busy to deliver ‘em when she wakes up. When I missed
the first couple it caused some problems for her.”

“I understand,” Constance replied. As he
started to walk toward the door, she called after him. “When you’re
finished with that, do you think you can take me by the scene? I’d
like to have a look at it.”

He stopped, half turned, looked up into the
sky and then back down at her face. “Not really much daylight
left,” he grunted. “No electric over there, and it’s boarded up, so
it’s gonna be dark enough as it is. Be better if we did it tomorrow
morning. Believe me, I’ve been down this road before. Nothing’s
gonna show up there till Christmas Day anyway. But it’s really up
to you. You’re the Fed.”

Constance thought about it for a moment. “Do
you already have the house under surveillance?”

“Yep. Broderick should be out there now.
Slozar’ll relieve ‘im this evening. We can drive by and check on
them if you want.”

Truth is, he was correct. That visit could
wait. As far as all of the previous murders went, the site was cold
in almost every way imaginable. And this year, as a crime scene, it
technically didn’t yet exist. She wasn’t going to learn anything
stumbling around in the dark with a flashlight that wouldn’t be
there for her to discover tomorrow morning.

And besides, at this point her feet really
were killing her.

She nodded in agreement. “Okay, tomorrow
morning then. I would feel better if we checked on the surveillance
though.”

“We can do that. I assume you’re staying in
town tonight?”

“I booked a room at the Greenleaf Motel,
yes.”

“Good. We’ll swing by to check on Broderick,
then we can suss out a time for me to pick you up in the morning.
Just do yourself a favor tomorrow…”

“What’s that?”

He dipped his head toward her feet as if he’d
read her mind. “Since we’re going out to do serious police work,
wear a different pair of shoes. I’m a little tired of watchin’ you
dance.”

“HARRY
, this is Special Agent
Mandalay,” Sheriff Carmichael said. He jerked a thumb toward
Constance while pressing himself a bit deeper into the driver’s
seat to allow for a slightly more unobstructed view. “Special Agent
Mandalay, meet Deputy Harry Broderick.”

Skip had pulled up so that his driver’s side
window was matched up against that of the deputy’s cruiser.
Therefore, the two simply nodded at one another across the span in
between.

“So… Anything?” Skip asked.

“Same ol’, same ol’,” Broderick replied.

He grunted in reply, “Yeah, figured as much.”
He looked over to the passenger seat and addressed Constance.
“There ya’ go. Harry’s on the job. Nothing to report, just like
always. Ready to head back?”

She glanced at her watch. The package
delivery and drive over here had taken a little longer than
expected, but it was still only now approaching 3:30. She glanced
out the window then back at the sheriff. “Actually I think maybe
I’d like to get out and have a look around, if you don’t mind.”

He raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Change your
mind about waiting till in the morning?”

By way of an answer she said, “It’s still
light out…”

“Your call,” he replied, an audible shrug in
his voice as he shifted the vehicle into gear and started it
rolling forward. “Just let me get us out of the middle of the
street first.”

Once they were parked, Constance unbuckled
and climbed out of the patrol car. After swinging the door shut,
she simply stood there for a moment, looking at the property over
the top of the vehicle.

The house at 632 Evergreen Lane on the north
side of Hulis Township was a simple one and one-half story
bungalow, sitting on what appeared to be an average-sized lot.
However, while there were other houses lining the street itself,
none of them were what you could consider nearby. In fact, the
closest in proximity was at best a football field away. On top of
that, the undeveloped lots that made up that distance between them
were to the heavy side of moderately wooded with stands of
conifers. The arrangement effectively left number 632 to occupy its
own private corner of the world.

“From the looks of the trees I suppose it has
always been this secluded,” Constance observed aloud as Skip
levered his door shut.

“Yeah,” he replied, leaning to the side and
looking around the light bar at her. “Looked pretty much the same
in seventy-five. It was a different color, but…well… This place has
been boarded up more than once over the years.”

“Secluded and abandoned. That would explain
why Colson chose it to hole up.”

“Yeah, that’s what we thought too. Just don’t
know why we didn’t find them here on the first pass…” Skip sighed
heavily then cleared his throat. “Back when I was a kid, old man
Henderson lived here. Died here too. After that we used to think
the place was haunted.” He glanced over his shoulder, gazing at the
structure for a good while, then added. “Who knows? Maybe now it
really is.”

“I’d like to think there’s a mundane
explanation for what’s been happening,” Constance replied.

Skip gave a quiet snort, then nodded and
said, “I’d be much obliged if you could find one.”

Sunset was still a little over an hour away,
but the cloud cover that had been looming over the town all day was
still firmly in place. What little daylight they had left was being
consumed by the ravenous shadows from the surrounding wooded lots.
Whether it was the clouds, the shadows, or something else entirely,
to Constance it simply didn’t seem as “light” out here as it had
just a scant few minutes earlier. The muted patina made her feel
unnaturally chilled.

She continued to stare across the top of the
police cruiser, silently taking in the tableau. In stark contrast
to the green-needled conifers on either side of the property, a
bare-branched pin oak tree was rising out of the front yard. It was
malformed, probably due to some sort of damaging wind or storm that
had sheared off the weaker branches at one time or another in its
history. Though dormant now, she imagined that when its foliage was
full during summer, it likely had an abundance of character and
provided a refreshing shade. However, at the moment there was
nothing inviting about the tree. In fact, it looked to her like a
spindly, tortured soul trying to escape a forgotten grave, the
headstone for which was the house itself.

The state of disrepair on the structure was
evident. The once white paint on the aged clapboard siding was
filthy, stained, and dull. Large areas were peeling away to reveal
a coat of slate blue beneath, some of which was peeling as well.
Along the left front corner, the gutter had separated from the
fascia and was hanging several inches below the edge of the roof.
The downspout was bent and cocked outward, but still secured to the
side of the house. It appeared to be the only thing keeping the
trough from crashing to the ground.

Plywood covered the windows on either side of
the front door. Before affixing them, someone had actually taken
the time to cut the sheets to fit the top arc so that they would be
flush against the trim. However, combined with the weathering and
fading light, that care in craftsmanship made the boarded up
windows appear as a pair of dead eyes, rolling upward into the half
story.

Hair prickled along the back of Constance’s
neck. The tingling sensation continued the length of her spine as a
low moan began to rise in her ears. Her breath caught in her throat
and she tensed. In a movement born of pure reflex she hooked her
thumb and slid her arm back, smoothly shifting her coat out of the
way and brushing her hand against the grip of her Sig Sauer. A
heartbeat behind the forlorn sound, its source was revealed when an
icy lick of wind caught her hair and whipped it around, stinging as
it slapped against her weather-reddened cheeks.

Halfway through closing her fingers on the
sidearm she realized what she was doing, and Constance allowed her
hand to loosen, then slide slowly back down to her side. She cast a
furtive glance around and allowed herself to breathe. The deputy
was still in his vehicle and the sheriff had his back to her.
Fortunately, it appeared that her moment of weakness had gone
unnoticed. The last thing she needed was to look like a wimp in
front of them.

“Damn,” Skip muttered.

Constance focused on him as he turned back
toward the car. “What’s wrong?”

“I think these batteries are dead,” he
complained, hammering the butt of a multi-cell flashlight against
the heel of his hand, then clicking the button repeatedly. He
frowned at the unlit business end of the torch and huffed, “Weird.
I just changed them last week… Well…hang on. Let me borrow
Broderick’s.”

The sheriff turned and started toward the
other vehicle, but Constance interrupted before he had taken three
steps. “That’s okay. We can just do this tomorrow.”

Skip stopped and looked back over the car at
her. A curious expression applied itself to his face and he said.
“You sure?”

“Yes,” she replied, glancing up at the sky
then back down to his face. The wind was still rising and falling,
so she reached up and brushed a wayward shock of hair out of her
eyes then gave him a thin smile. “Like you were saying, not much
daylight left, and we won’t find anything tonight that won’t still
be there in the morning.” She shrugged. “Besides, maybe your
flashlight being dead is a sign.”

He snorted out a half chuckle. “Yeah…
Okay…”

“Trust me, Skip,” she offered. “I’ve seen
stranger things.”