In The Bleak Midwinter: A Special Agent Constance Mandalay Novel (18 page)

She stabbed the END button with her thumb
then ran the fingers of her free hand through her hair as she blew
out a heavy sigh. This case was starting to make her head hurt,
literally. Of course, maybe it wasn’t the case as much as the lack
of sleep combined with the frustration she was feeling about her
uncooperative colleagues. However, since they and the sleep
deprivation were both a direct result of the assignment, why not
just go ahead and let it take the blame? It seemed like as good a
scapegoat as any.

After another sigh Constance shook her head
in resignation then stood up from the chair and padded across the
room. She rummaged around in her suitcase, dug out a bottle of
ibuprofen and tossed back a couple of the pills with the remains of
the diet cola she’d purchased with her dinner.

She wandered over to the door and
double-checked the deadbolt, then swung the small security bar into
place out of habit. Pushing the drapes aside, she glanced out the
window into the night. There was little to see other than the
parking lot and the dim glow of the exterior lights mounted next to
each of the room doors. Even so, while she stood staring into the
darkness, the earlier chill made a resurgence along her spine, and
she felt herself shiver as it crawled insect-like around the back
of her neck.

She allowed the drapes to fall back into
place, then wandered over to the bed and crawled onto it atop the
thin comforter. Lying diagonally across the mattress, she yanked a
pillow from beneath the covers and tucked it behind her head, then
tried to relax. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. The
room smelled of old furniture polish and stale air, the latter
issuing on a warm draft from the heating unit on the exterior wall.
If the parking lot could be taken at face value, she was the only
guest staying at the motel tonight. If the odors were any
indication, she may well be the only guest they’d had for quite
some time.

She slowly opened her eyes, then lifted her
hand, which was still wrapped around her cell. As she did so, she
allowed her thumb to punch in a speed dial code via little more
than muscle memory.

The speaker trilled into her ear twice, then
was replaced by a voice.

“Hey…” Ben said.

“Hey,” Constance replied, her voice soft and
audibly tired.

“Bad day?” he asked.

“I’ve had better.”

“Yeah, ain’t we all…” Ben agreed.

Through the phone Constance could hear noise
in the background, ranging from voices to music to the
unidentifiable. “Where are you?”

“Double D’s,” he told her. “Grabbin’ a pizza
and some beers with a coupl’a other coppers.”

“Oh… I’m sorry… I should probably let you go
then…”

“No, no…” he objected. “Just hang on a
sec.”

There was some rustling, a few muted voices,
and then more rustling. A minute later, his voice came back on the
line without the added soundtrack behind it.

“There…” he said. “That’s better.”

“What is?” she asked.

“Just stepped outside ta’ get away from all
the noise. So… You want me ta’ talk dirty to ya’ or somethin’?”

“Not tonight.”

“Okay, so ya’ wanna talk dirty ta’ me
instead? I’m good with that…”

“Ben…”

“Hey… Just tryin’ ta’ help ya’ feel better,
hon.”

“I know…” she sighed.

“So? What’s up? I’m listenin’…”

“I’m not really sure to be honest,” she told
him. “This case is a fucking trainwreck.”

“Whoa…” Ben replied. “If it’s gettin’ an
f-bomb outta
you
then I’d say so…”

“Sorry…”

“S’okay. It’s kinda sexy.”

She half-snorted. “Only you would think
that.”

“I dunno,” he replied. “There’re guys out
there that’d pay for it. But that’s a whole ‘nother story… So,
really… What’s goin’ on now?”

“Remember I was telling you about the holes
in the case file this morning?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, they aren’t filling in. In fact,
they’re getting bigger.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one thing I finally managed to get
in touch with one of the prior assigned agents. Everything was fine
until I told him I was calling about this particular case, and then
he just completely blew me off.”

Ben grunted out a low harrumph, paused, and
then said, “I know ya’ don’t wanna hear it, but like I said
earlier, sounds like a dirty cop in there somewhere. Somebody’s
coverin’ up somethin’.”

“I know,” Constance answered with a resigned
sigh. “Unfortunately, I think you’re probably right, but I don’t
know what or why. This whole thing is peculiar enough as it is
without a conspiracy thrown in on top of it.”

“Get anything outta the interview today?” he
prodded.

“Just more questions, I’m afraid,” she
replied. “Merrie Callahan is older than me chronologically, but in
her mind she’s still a ten-year-old girl living in nineteen
seventy-five.”

“That’s kinda fucked up.”

“I know. And it gets worse. Apparently, she
falls into a catatonic state every year on the anniversary of her
abduction. She comes out of it a few days later, on the anniversary
of her escape, and it’s as if her clock has reset and she starts
living the year over again.”

“Jeezus…” Ben breathed. “That’s a little off
the charts. Maybe ya’ oughta call Helen an’ get her input on
this.”

Helen Storm was Ben’s older sister. She was
also an accomplished psychologist who occasionally consulted on
criminal cases. Constance had actually worked with her a number of
times before. It never hurt to have a network of contacts outside
the bureau just in case you needed a fresh perspective on
something.

“Yeah…” she agreed. “I’ve been thinking that
myself.”

After making the comment she fell quiet,
simply listening to him breathe on the other end of the line. She
hadn’t really been expecting him to have any answers when she
called. In fact, she wasn’t even certain that she’d really dialed
him up to be her sounding board at all. Right now, she just needed
to know he was there.

After what seemed like a solid minute had
passed with neither of them saying a word, Ben broke the silence.
“Somethin’ else is botherin’ you, I can tell. What is it?”

“It’s really nothing,” she told him.

“You’re lyin’.”

She was. She thought about it for a moment
then sighed heavily. “You’re right… I am… But it’s just kind of
silly.”

“Yeah, so tell me anyway.”

“Okay… We went by the crime scene late this
afternoon… It’s this old, abandoned house at the end of a street
out on the edge of town.”

“Yeah…” he said. “Find anything helpful, or
just more questions again?”

“That’s just it,” she explained. “We never
even went in. There’s no electricity and it was late. We were
getting ready and the sheriff’s flashlight was dead.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So…” she answered, then paused.

“What is it?” Ben pressed.

“We had another flashlight, but I called it
off and decided not to go in.”

“Why?”

“Honestly? I was spooked.”

“You, spooked? I find that one hard ta’
believe.”

“I’m serious, Ben,” she told him. “It was a
weird feeling… I don’t know for sure exactly what…but it really did
spook me. I felt like a rookie agent… See… I told you it was
silly.”

“Not really,” he suggested. “Maybe there’s
somethin’ to it.”

“I don’t know,” she grumbled. “Maybe I’m just
overtired. The SAC called me in too early for words this morning. I
haven’t actually had much sleep.”

“Yeah, well ya’ do sound like you’re
draggin’.”

“I am. Maybe I should let you go and turn in
early. The sheriff is coming by to pick me up in the morning, so we
can go back out to the scene. Hopefully I won’t freeze up this
time.”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “But don’t ignore your
gut.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m not kiddin’, Constance.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“Okay… Talk to ya’ tomorrow?”

“Probably,” she said. “I’ll call when I get a
chance.”

“Okay. Sleep tight.”

“Enjoy your pizza.”

Constance stabbed the END button to terminate
the call. The ibuprofen hadn’t had a chance to kick in just yet, so
her head was still aching, but at least it wasn’t unbearable. She
held the phone up to check the time. The digits on the screen
showed that it was pushing 5:30.

As she started to lower her hand she caught a
dim flash and focused on it. Her pearlescent pink nails were
shining in the light from the small lamp on the side table. Laying
the cell phone aside, she held up both hands and splayed out her
fingers. As she gazed at the retro manicure she felt herself smile,
but only for a brief instant before the corners of her mouth bent
into a deep frown.

Given what Sheriff Carmichael had told her
earlier, Merrie Callahan had fallen into catatonia by now.
Constance couldn’t help but imagine the abject fear that was likely
going through her tortured mind at this very moment, and it turned
her stomach sour. As she lay there in silence, unable to think of
anything else, she could taste the acrid tang of bile on the back
of her tongue.

C
HAPTER
14

7:32 A.M. – December 23, 2010

Greenleaf Motel

Hulis Township – Northern Missouri

CONSTANCE
finished threading her
holster onto her belt and then worked the end of the flat strap
through the remaining loops on her blue jeans. As she pulled the
leather tight to buckle it, the corner of her P226’s slide
momentarily jabbed into her side and she winced. What little sleep
she’d finally managed in the early hours of the morning had
apparently been spent rolled over on top of her cell phone. Between
the hard plastic rectangle and the unforgiving mattress, she now
had a tender spot in exactly the wrong place, given that she
preferred a high-ride
FLETCH
holster for her sidearm. She
lifted her layered shirts and had another look. The partial outline
of the phone was still visible on her skin, and it was definitely
going to bruise.

“Oh well,” she muttered aloud as she pulled
the garments back down and straightened them. “I’ve had worse.”

Her voice sounded rough, even to her own
ears.

She twisted slowly at the waist, stretching.
Halfway through the motion her back popped in a way she wasn’t
entirely sure it was supposed to. A massage was definitely going to
be in order once she was back home. Probably professional, because
whenever she let Ben do it, things tended to take a radically
different course. The detour was certainly therapeutic in its own
way, but not what she was after at the moment.

Of course, that could always change.

Constance walked to the back of the room and
inspected herself in the streaked mirror over the sink. She had
actually applied a little more makeup than usual in an attempt to
hide the bags under her eyes. Judging from the face staring back at
her, the attempt had failed miserably, but she didn’t feel up to
taking another run at it. She would just have to look as tired as
she felt.

A quick glance at her watch told her that
Sheriff Carmichael wasn’t due for another twenty minutes or so. She
pondered whether she should just park herself in a chair or take a
walk up to the motel office in search of caffeine. Since there was
no coffeepot in the room, she’d started her day with a severely
travel-worn packet of instant decaf that she had found in her
suitcase and prepared with lukewarm water from the tap. As
expected, it definitely wasn’t cutting it in the waking up
department.

She let out a heavy sigh, then donned her
coat and stuffed her cell, wallet, and room key into the pockets.
She definitely needed something, so if the office didn’t have
coffee, then maybe she’d grab a soda from the machine. She was just
stepping out into the frosty air as the sheriff was pulling into a
parking space nearby.

She gave him a quick wave, then checked her
door to be sure it was locked. Stepping off the sidewalk and
skirting around the nose of her own vehicle, she drew up alongside
the cruiser and climbed in.

“You’re early,” she said.

“Yeah. Bad habit of mine,” Skip replied, then
pointed toward the floorboard on the passenger side. “That thermos
there next to your left foot is full of coffee. It’s fresh.”

“You read my mind,” she replied with an
almost thankful tone in her voice. Shifting in the seat, she leaned
forward and reached for the dinged, gray metal cylinder.

“I just figured Artie still hasn’t put any
coffeepots in the rooms,” he told her.

“You figured correctly.”

“Not surprising, the cheap old coot. Go on
ahead and use the cap,” he offered. “It’s clean, and I already had
my fill at home.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Oh yeah, and it’s just black. Hope that’ll
do.”

“That’s fine. Right now I don’t care, as long
as it’s hot and has caffeine.”

Skip was sitting slightly twisted in his
seat, the back of his shoulder resting against the inner driver’s
side door and his left hand lazily hooked onto the top of the
steering wheel. Reaching up with his right hand, he used his thumb
and forefinger to smooth down his mustache while regarding her
quietly. After a few heartbeats had thumped by, he asked, “So...
About an hour’n a half? Maybe two?”

“What?” Constance asked while twisting the
inner cap back onto the top of the thermos she was now squeezing
between her knees.

“Sleep,” he said. “No offense, young lady,
but you look like crap.”

She took a sip of the freshly poured java,
then nodded. “Oh… Yeah… About two, I think. Which makes a total of
maybe six in the past two days. Last night I just couldn’t stop
thinking about...”

“Yeah, I know,” he agreed as her voice
trailed off. “That’s not all that unusual. Oh, and trust me, I
wasn’t trying to insult you. I know I look like crap too. Three
fingers of bourbon and a sleeping pill didn’t do me much good last
night either. Never does this time of year.”