In The Bleak Midwinter: A Special Agent Constance Mandalay Novel (26 page)

“Well, either you do or you don’t,” she told
him. “Which is it?”

He finally turned slowly and stared back at
her, then said, “It’s somewhat complicated, Special Agent.”

She had to admit that now her curiosity was
piqued even more. At the moment, she would certainly welcome a
solid lead on this case that didn’t just create more questions, or
have her hearing voices and drawing her weapon on errant
snowflakes. However, something didn’t seem quite right about the
man. The obvious OCD issues notwithstanding, there was something
else definitely off-kilter with him, so she still wasn’t convinced
that he didn’t have an ulterior motive in mind, and she couldn’t
ignore that fact.

Of course, maybe that was just her paranoia
talking again. He was a pastor, after all; but then again, that
really didn’t matter. Alden Forth had been a minister too, and he
killed at least eleven prostitutes in the Denver area over a period
of seven years before he was finally caught. Titles didn’t make you
innocent. They just gave you something to hide behind if you
weren’t.

“Do you have information about these murders,
or don’t you?” Constance asked.

“I told you…it’s complicated.”

“Then let’s go across the street to the
sheriff’s office,” she suggested. “We can un-complicate it
there.”

He didn’t seem agitated by her suggestion,
but his objection was succinct. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I am here to help you, not Sheriff
Carmichael.”

“In case you missed it, we’re all on the same
team.”

“Perhaps, but there is no longer any hope for
his soul.”

“I see,” she said with a patronizing nod.
“Well, I’ve already told you my soul is just fine the way it is, so
I don’t think there’s any hope for mine, either.”

“Special Agent Mandalay, please listen to me.
I really think we should go back to your room at the Greenleaf
now.”

“I’m confused,” she replied. “You obviously
know where I’m staying. If it’s so important that we talk there,
then why did you wait until I was here to contact me?”

“Because I needed to be sure.”

“About what?”

“That you were alone.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m still not following
you.”

He answered with, “We should go back to your
room now.”

She was no longer second-guessing herself.
Considering the weird circular conversation thus far, Constance had
lost any miniscule amount of faith she might have had in the
possibility of an actual lead coming from him. Like the
conversation, she had come back around to her original assessment
that he was hitting on her, or maybe that he was just a serial
confessor or conspiracy theorist. Whichever it was, she was firmly
convinced that she had a nutcase on her hands.

“We really should go back to your room now,”
the pastor insisted again when she didn’t reply to him immediately.
This time his voice was beginning to show the first hints of
agitation, and that wasn’t good. When dealing with crazy, you never
knew how quickly something like that might escalate.

Constance sent her gaze on a quick roam
around the diner. The closest person appeared to be six or seven
stools away, down the left side of the counter. On the right, the
closest was probably seven or eight away. At the moment everyone
appeared to be engaged in their own conversations and not paying a
bit of attention to the two of them here at the far end. That was
good. There weren’t any other outside influences to antagonize him,
and she had a bit of a buffer zone if things suddenly went south
and he became physical. However, her hope was to defuse this before
it could ever go that far. Talking down a whack job was the last
thing she felt up to doing right now, but there were innocent
bystanders in the diner and she was on deck, like it or not. She
knew the first thing she needed to do was get him out of here and
isolated, in case things fell apart and started to turn ugly.

She centered her gaze back on the man and saw
that he was mimicking her scan of the room. When he finished, he
sighed, then leaned in toward her,
“
Yes. I see him, just as
you do.
Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil
walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may
devour.”

Constance hated hearing that. It seemed like
every time she dealt with someone who started spouting scripture in
a literal sense, people died.

“Tell you what,” she offered. “Just let me
put on my coat and we can go.”

“Yes,” he said. “That would be good.” He
glanced about once again and gave a slight nod, as if to implicate
everyone else in the room. Then he whispered,
“And that they may
come to their senses and escape the snare of the devil, having been
taken captive by him to do his will.”

“That’s from the Bible, right?” Constance
asked, trying to keep him engaged so that he remained focused on
her.

“Yes. Second Timothy, chapter two, verse
twenty-six,” he replied.

“I’d like to hear more. Just let me get my
coat and we can go.”

She kept her eyes on him while reaching back
with her left hand and grasping the heavy outer garment. Without
warning he reached over and clamped his own hand tightly around her
right wrist and pulled, lifting her hand up toward his face.

Without even thinking Constance rotated her
forearm and flexed her elbow hard inward while twisting her upper
torso. Her wrist instantly snapped free between the weak point
where his thumb met the tips of his fingers, and she pulled away.
All of her instinct and training dictated that she should follow
through and subdue the threat, but she managed to stop herself just
short of bringing her left fist around and taking him to the floor.
Her hand, however, was tightly clenched; arm cocked and ready to
fly.

He sat motionless, his gaze following her
right hand as she drew it back. He seemed transfixed by her pink
polished fingernails. The look in his eyes was a queer mixture of
sadness and terror.

“Too late,” he muttered, then looked up at
her and raised his voice. “I’m too late.
Get thee behind me,
Satan: thou art an offence unto me!
”

This was definitely not going according to
plan, but then she knew better than to have expected it to. She
couldn’t help but notice that the scuffle had now caught the
attention of the rest of the patrons in the diner. Conversations
had stopped instantly, bringing a newfound quiet to the room.
Within the scope of her peripheral vision she could see that
several people were now aiming glances toward the end of the lunch
counter where the two of them were sitting.

“Calm down,” Constance instructed the pastor,
staying focused on him and watching for any threatening movement.
“Everything is okay. Just calm down.”

He shook his head, then exclaimed,
“And no
wonder! For Satan himself transforms himself into an angel of
light.”

With that, the man turned and slowly panned
his stare around the room at the rest of the people. Their faces
wore expressions that wavered between embarrassment and sorrow. He
cleared his throat then dropped his gaze back down to the coffee
cup sculpture he had created earlier.

“That’s good… Let’s just stay calm,”
Constance told him again. “Everything is okay. We can go talk just
like you wanted, okay?”

In reality, she was worried that what had
just happened was a minor squall and that his sudden passive state
might be the calm before the storm.

“No, Special Agent Mandalay,” he replied
quietly. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that… I’m too late…” When he
finished speaking he reached up and slipped his hand inside the
folds of his topcoat.

“Whoa,” Constance said, her right hand
automatically sliding back and easily pulling the bottom of her
sweatshirt up to clear her weapon. Her left came forward toward
him. “Why don’t you just pull your hand out slowly, and keep both
of them where I can see them, okay?”

“No need to worry, Special Agent,” he replied
softly. “I am merely reaching for my wallet.” Pastor Reese withdrew
his hand from his coat, slowly as he had been instructed, and just
like he’d said, it was filled with a black leather rectangle.

As he started unfolding the checkbook style
wallet, Stella arrived, looking somewhat embarrassed. She settled a
plate of pancakes onto the counter and then put a smaller dish
containing eggs and bacon alongside. She glanced at Constance, then
at the man.

“Put your money away, Pastor,” she told him.
“You know the coffee is always on the house for you.”

He ignored her and withdrew a twenty-dollar
bill, which he then placed next to his cup while saying, “This
should cover Special Agent Mandalay’s breakfast. Keep the change
for yourself, Stella.”

Constance began to object. “I’m afraid
that…”

“I insist,” he replied, cutting her off. Then
he brought his eyes up to meet hers once again. A look of apology
creased his features, and when he spoke his voice was filled with
what sounded to be sincere compassion. “
When an evil spirit
comes out of a man, it goes through arid places seeking rest and
does not find it…
I’m sorry I was too late to save you, Special
Agent Mandalay… So very sorry…”

He fell silent again as he carefully placed
the wallet back inside his coat. Then, turning deliberately on the
stool, he stood up and walked to the door. Once there, he looked
back, and as if nothing had transpired, he smiled, then called out,
“Merry Christmas, everyone.”

With that, he left. The bell above the
entrance rang out a double chime as the door opened and then closed
in his wake. Constance stood and stepped over to the doors,
watching him through an unfogged section of the glass. He climbed
into a familiar looking four-door sedan, then slowly backed it out
and drove away.

When she turned and came back to the counter,
Stella was still there. The waitress shook her head and looked at
her with what actually seemed like mild compassion for a
change.

“I’m sorry about that,” Stella apologized.
“I’ve never seen him get so worked up. He usually just recites a
few Bible verses and then goes on his way. He doesn’t really bother
anyone. We’re all sorta used to it.”

Constance shook her head. “I guess I’m just
the lucky one.”

Stella continued, “He’s harmless. I really
think he’s just lonely.”

“What about his congregation?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

Constance shot her a puzzle look. “You mean
nobody at all comes to his church?”

“Oh, he doesn’t have a church, ma’am. He’s
not even a real minister.”

C
HAPTER
19

CONSTANCE
pulled the double layer of
wool scarf down from her face while she waited at the front
counter. She’d only had to walk a short distance across the street
to get from the diner to the sheriff’s office, but the icy wind
already seemed to be more brutal than it had been just an hour
ago.

Clovis looked up when she came in, making eye
contact and nodding to acknowledge her presence. She was currently
occupied with the phone pressed up against her ear.

“Yes, yes I know,” she said into the handset.
She listened for a minute, then looked up at Constance again and
made a quick motion with her hand to indicate that the person at
the other end of the line was a rambling talker. Eventually, she
said, “Okay… Well, thanks so much for letting me know… I’ll send
someone over to check… Yes… Yes… I will… You too… Bye…”

Once she had managed to hang up the phone she
let out a quick sigh and shook her head, then turned her attention
to the counter. “Good morning, Special Agent Mandalay. Sorry about
that.” Her tone was businesslike, but she came across somewhat less
standoffish than she had on the first day they’d met.

“No problem,” Constance replied. “Good
morning, Clovis.”

“What can I do for you today?” the woman
asked.

Constance looked past her to the darkened
office windows on the back wall of the room. “I take it Sheriff
Carmichael isn’t in yet today?”

“Been here and gone already,” Clovis
answered. “He started early because of the snow. He’s out running a
few errands right now.”

“Do you happen to know when he will be
back?”

The woman shook her head. “Not for sure, but
I can try to get him on the radio if you’d like.”

“Hmm…” Constance hummed thoughtfully for a
moment before shaking her head and saying, “No, that’s okay. I just
wanted to check in with him about the surveillance tonight.”

She nodded. “He mentioned that before he
left.”

“To be honest, I’ve actually got a few things
I need to take care of myself, so I’ll be tied up all day,”
Constance told her. “When you speak to him, could you do me a favor
and just let him know that I’ll meet up with him here this
evening?”

“Sure, I can do that. Any particular time, or
does he already know?”

The petite federal agent clucked her tongue
then grimaced. “I’m not exactly sure on that just yet.”

“That’s okay,” Clovis replied. She glanced
over her shoulder. When she looked back, her lips had arched into a
tight frown, and it seemed as if the color had drained from her
cheeks. The pained expression that resulted easily tacked ten years
onto her face. With a heavy sigh she said, “It’s Christmas Eve.
He’ll be right here waiting. He always is.”

“Yeah…” Constance muttered, not quite sure
what else to say. “I imagine he is.”

Clovis fiddled with her hands for a moment,
looking down at them as if lost in thought. Her face eventually
began to soften, allowing a blush of life to return. Finally, she
looked up and asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you,
Special Agent Mandalay?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Constance replied,
giving her gloved fingers a soft drum on the edge of the counter.
“Thank you very much though.”