In The Bleak Midwinter: A Special Agent Constance Mandalay Novel (30 page)

“Yo… Earth ta’ Constance…” Ben finally
said.

She mumbled, “What?”

“You fallin’ asleep on me or somethin’?”

“Or something…” she replied quietly, still
staring at the embedded photos on the document.

“Wanna share?” he asked.

Her tone remained distant. “No… Not right
now.”

“Ya’know, I really think maybe ya’ need ta’
go back ta’ bed.”

She snapped, “How about I rag on you the next
time you’re working a case and running on nothing but coffee and
cold, three-day-old pizza?”

“Fine, have it your way,” he conceded. “I
didn’t call ya’ ta’ have an argument anyway.”

“Sorry,” she sighed. “I know you’re worried
about me, but I’m definitely just not in the mood for the
mothering, okay?”

“Yeah, I sorta got that,” he sighed, then
gingerly added, “Ya’know, just for the record, your mood is kinda
why I’m so worried. Ya’ don’t usually get like this.”

“Yeah…” she agreed. “I know.”

“Okay, that’s the last I’m gonna say about
it… So listen, I’m callin’ ‘cause I ran your stuff for ya’.”

“Were you able to keep it off the books?”

“Flew as low as I could,” he told her. “I owe
an acquaintance out in KC a bottl’a bourbon. The really good
shit.”

“For what?”

“Well, it is Christmas Eve ya’know… Gettin’
things done on the sly wasn’t exactly easy.”

“This acquaintance a badge?” she asked.

He snorted. “Trust me, you’re better off not
knowin’.”

“Yeah, okay. I get it,” she said, then
thought silently to herself,
Aren’t we a pair, trying to protect
each other… Playing out our own version of the Gift of the
Magi.

Ben added, “Oh, by the way, you’re payin’ for
the bourbon, just so ya’ know.”

“Am I getting my money’s worth?” she
asked.

“Guess it depends,” he told her. “Number one,
your buddy the sheriff is damn near a fuckin’ Boy Scout.”

“That good, huh?”

“Yeah. Just about as clean as they come. Did
twenty-four years with the KCPD, Missouri by the way… Fifteen of
those were as a detective, and ten of
those
were spent
heading up a child predator task force.”

Her mind wandered for a moment to the file
attached to the cryptic email and what it had contained, but she
decided it would be better to keep the information to herself for
the moment. Instead she replied, “Given the history, I can easily
see that. Merrie Callahan’s abduction was likely the truly defining
moment in his career.”

“No shit… Well, he had a hell of a clearance
rate on cases too, so I see what ya’ mean about the whole Sherlock
thing. He was directly responsible for putting away a whole lotta
seriously sick fucks… On top of that he received several
honors…boatload of commendations… Oh, and never fired his service
weapon in the line of duty.”

“Lucky bastard…” Constance breathed.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Ben agreed.
“Anyway, married to Kathy Carmichael, three daughters, blah, blah,
blah. Normal stuff, nothin’ spectacular. Retired from KCPD, hung
out there for a while and did some consulting for the task force,
then moved back ta’ Hulis in oh-two. Elected sheriff oh-three in a
special election ta’ fill the vacated post, and that’s where he’s
been ever since. Re-elected oh-four and oh-eight.”

“Two-Thousand Three was when the first murder
occurred,” Constance announced.

“So you thinkin’ it’s him? He’d have the
inside info, and he’d know how ta’ cover shit up.”

“Yeah, that’s true…but…no…” she replied,
drawing out the word and ending it with a fat pause. “I’ll admit
it’s a weird coincidence, that’s for sure.”

“Well, there
was
one other thing that
showed up,” Ben said. “Don’t know if it means anything.”

“What’s that?”

“In oh-four someone from the FBI recommended
Sheriff Sherlock be put on administrative leave pending a psych
eval.”

“Who?”

“Dunno. Paper trail’s thin as one-ply. Lucky
it showed up at all ta’ be honest. Seems that it came outta your
office in Saint Louis though.”

“Curious,” she muttered. “Well apparently
they didn’t find anything, or he wouldn’t still be sheriff in this
county, or anywhere else for that matter.”

“Nope. Nothin’. Passed with flyin’ colors.
But ya’know, it still might make ya’ wanna rethink your position on
this guy.”

Constance quietly considered his point, then
finally said, “No. I just really can’t see it, unless he’s got me
completely snowed.”

“Well, don’t turn your back on ‘im,
okay?”

“Don’t worry. What else?”

“Well, that’s it for him. There was nothin’
on Merrie Callahan at all. And the only thing I could find on
Colson was his record prior ta seventy-five and his time served at
Gumbo. Real sick fuck, that one.”

“You won’t get any argument from me,” she
replied. “But I already have all that info.”

“Well, then that was a bust.”

“I figured it would be. Just needed to check.
What about Reese? Anything?

“Actually, yeah. The pastor is a different
story.”

“What did you find?”

“Well, he’s clean as far as an NCIC
search…”

“I guess I’m not surprised by that,” she
grumbled.

“But like I said, I still managed to dig up
somethin’. Just for the hell of it I had a genealogist friend of
mine pull a court records search on divorces in Missouri. Took a
bit of siftin’ after the fact since I told ‘im to shotgun it so
it’d be less conspicuous, but he found your guy,” he explained.
There was a quick shuffle of paper at the other end of the line,
then he said, “Wanda Corinne Reese versus Edgar Virgil Reese,
dissolution of marriage. Filed and final in seventy-seven.”

“Seventy-seven…” Constance expressed her
thoughts aloud. “Okay, so based on what I was told his mental
breakdown occurred prior to the divorce, so it had to have happened
before seventy-seven then…”

“Yeah…well while I was lookin’ I accidentally
ran across somethin’ else. Not sure if it’s important or not, but
turns out that from seventy-three till early seventy-six, Pastor
Edgar Reese was
Deputy Sheriff
Edgar Reese.”

“You’re right… That
is
interesting,”
she said. “Did he quit or was he fired?”

“There was a hearing, but I couldn’t get
details. Might have been a psych eval or somethin’.”

“How early in seventy-six?” Constance
asked.

There was a sound of paper rustling as Ben
checked his notes. “Says here his service to the citizens of Hulis
ended mid-January.”

“That’s not long after the Merrie Callahan
abduction.”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Like I said, don’t know
if it means anything, but it seems a little hinky ta’ me. I mean,
it’s a small town and he almost had ta’ be involved in the
investigation back in seventy-five. If these murders are some kinda
copycat, maybe he actually does know somethin’. Hell, maybe he’s
actually your guy. Ya’ already know he’s a wingnut.”

Constance thought about the new information
for a moment, then brought her free hand up and stared at her
nails, remembering Reese’s seeming agitation over them earlier in
the day. Still gazing at the disco pink lacquer she breathed, “It
definitely makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

Just under an hour later, Constance was out
the door and on her way to the sheriff’s office. Fortunately, at
some point while she was sleeping, the lot had been at least
partially plowed, so she wasn’t going to be faced with another
frigid stroll. Good thing too, because strapping herself into an
ice-cold bulletproof vest had been a rude enough awakening as far
as she was concerned.

“My life upon this globe, is very brief,”
replied the Ghost. “It ends tonight.”

—The Ghost of Christmas Present

A Christmas Carol

Charles Dickens, 1843

C
HAPTER
22

6:38 P.M. – December 24, 2010

Sheriff’s Department

Hulis Township – Northern Missouri

“WAS
wonderin’ when you’d show up,”
Sheriff Carmichael said as Constance dragged in through the door of
his office and then without a single word parked herself in the
straight-backed chair across from him.

He waited while she settled herself, absently
inspecting the worn point on the number two pencil he held threaded
through his fingers. After a quick frown he tossed it atop the
folded newspaper on the desk in front of him, abandoning the
crossword puzzle he had been half-heartedly working, and focused
his attention on the petite federal agent.

“I left a message for you with Clovis this
morning,” she eventually replied, her voice hoarse and
emotionless.

“Yeah, she told me.”

“Sorry. I was following up some leads. She
said you’d be here anyway.”

He nodded. “Well, that’s true enough…
So…leads, huh? I could go for some good news. Find anything you
wanna share?”

Constance didn’t answer immediately. The
information in the recently cracked electronic document had only
served to add a whole new layer of complexity to this case, raising
more questions instead of giving answers to those that had already
plagued the investigation for years. Since she didn’t know exactly
what Carmichael was keeping from her, it seemed prudent to play
some things close to the vest for the moment, and the contents of
that document were chief among them. However, there definitely was
one thing she wanted to discuss with him.

She shook her head. “Nothing solid. Although,
I’m a bit curious about Edgar Reese.”

He simply nodded and sighed. “Yeah, I sort of
figured you might be. Clovis said you had the annual run in with
him this morning.”

“You could say that,” she replied. “He
claimed to have information about the murders.”

“Yep,” he nodded, snorting out a chuckle.
“I’m sure he did. He’s used that line on every Fed so far. No
reason you should be any different.”

“That’s what Clovis was saying. What she
didn’t tell me though, was that he was a deputy sheriff here back
in seventy-five.”

“I doubt she thought it was important. Truth
is, in the grand scheme it really isn’t.”

Her retort was matter-of-fact. “Well,
truth is
, I’m not sure I agree with that assessment.”

Skip gave her a nod, then adopted his formal
tone. “Okay, Special Agent Mandalay, I can see we need to clear
this up. So, here you go… Edgar Reese was a deputy sheriff here in
nineteen seventy-five. He came on a little more than a year before
I did. Now, what else would you like to know?”

“How involved was he in the Colson
investigation? For instance, was he ever at the original crime
scene?”

“This is a small department, Constance.
Wasn’t really all that much bigger then, so to answer your
question, yes, he was. We all were. Problem is, Edgar didn’t deal
with it so good, and he hasn’t been right in the head since. I’m
sure you had to notice that.”

“Of course, but if he–”

“Look,” he interrupted. “Let’s just cut to
the chase. I’ve had this conversation more than a few times before,
so I’m pretty sure I know where you’re heading with it. Why don’t
you let me save us both some trouble… Yes, we’ve looked at him for
the murders, and he alibis out.”

“Okay, so what’s his alibi, if you don’t mind
me asking?”

“Don’t mind at all,” Skip replied. “For the
past thirty years, every Christmas Eve, Edgar has driven himself
over to Mais and checked himself into the hospital psych ward.
That’s where he is now. Matter of fact, I got the call from them
about two hours ago.”

“So they call you?”

“Yeah, I asked ‘em to. Just to be sure every
year, not that it matters. It’s really more of a peace of mind
thing. Anyway, he’ll be there for seventy-two hours, and then he’ll
come home, medicated and a little less flaky for a while. Point is,
every year he’s pretty much under lock and key until well after the
annual murder…”

She shook her head and chewed at her lip for
a moment. “Mind if I ask why this wasn’t in any of your
reports?”

“Honestly, I figure Edgar’s had it pretty
rough what with his breakdown and his marriage falling apart like
it did. Not to mention losing his job and becoming the town fool…
He makes enough trouble for himself without my help, trust me. I
believe you had first hand experience with that this morning.” He
shrugged. “I just didn’t want to add to it. Besides, he always
comes to you Feds with his claim, not me. I’d say a better question
would be, why isn’t it in any of
your
reports?”

She let out a soft harrumph. “You’re right,
Skip. That’s an excellent question. I wish I had an answer for both
of us.”

“I hear you,” he replied, then gave her an
apologetic look. “Sorry I torpedoed your theory.”

“That’s okay. I guess I really expected you
to.” She pursed her lips and stared blankly into space. “He’s a bit
too obvious as a suspect for you to have missed him.”

“True,” Skip agreed. He watched her quietly
for a moment, then cleared his throat and said, “So…speaking of
reports, let me ask you a question: What did Edgar tell you?”

Constance shook her head. “Nothing, really.
He insisted on going to my motel room, but when I suggested we come
here instead, he became agitated. Then he just rattled off some
Bible verses about the devil being among us.”

“Nothing else?”

“No. Why?”

“That’s different…” he mumbled, not
answering.

“What is?” Constance pressed.

“Well, the scripture quoting is normal for
him, but in the past he’s always explained it to you Feds. You see,
he believes Merrie is the embodiment of Satan and that everyone in
town is possessed by her.”