ended up resenting her for that. She’d been off to college and was living her life in Omaha before the accident anyway. She visited quite a bit. She came back for the funeral and then hung around long enough to dissolve the estate.” He shrugged. “Then she set up a trust fund for Merrie, took her half of the inheritance and left. She was back a few times after that, but each time it was shorter and farther between. Eventually, she just stopped showing up. Shoulda been something in your file about it. All of ‘em that came before ya’ tried to track her down but never had any luck.”
“Unfortunately for us, if someone really wants to disappear and they stay out of trouble, it’s easier than most people think,” Constance said.
“That’s a fact,” Sheriff Carmichael agreed.
He looked down at the plate of food in front of him. A visible, dull skin had formed on the surface of the rapidly cooling gravy, and the inviting gloss the butter had given the bright green peas was all but melted into oblivion. It didn’t matter. His appetite had disappeared thirty seconds into the story anyway.
He pushed the plate aside, then reached for the napkin dispenser only to discover that he’d been clenching one of the folded paper rectangles in his fist the whole time he’d been recounting the thirty-five-year-old horror. He carefully wiped his mouth, then brushed out his mustache with his fingertips as he tossed the crumpled napkin aside.
“So, tell me,” he began, turning his emotionally spent gaze toward Constance. “Now that you’ve heard all that, do you still feel it’s absolutely necessary to talk to Merrie?”
Constance nodded shallowly and returned a grim expression. “I’m afraid so. I realize it must be hard, so I can just go myself, if you’d prefer.”
“No, no… I’ll be going out to visit her anyway. I always do. Besides, she’s probably expecting us. Bringing her a new visitor on the twenty-second seems to have become a twisted little tradition where you Feds are concerned.”
“Sorry.”
He shrugged off the apology. “She’s not big on strangers either, but she’ll be okay with you if she sees us together and I introduce ya’.” He reached up and massaged a spot above his eyebrow with the side of a crooked index finger. “All right then. Let me go ahead and collect that piece of pie and run it back to Clovis, and make a couple of calls, then I’ll take you over there.”
CHAPTER 10
Constance stood on the sidewalk in front of the sheriff’s office while he went inside, the collar of her long coat turned up against the breeze. The temperature was hovering in the upper 20’s, but the occasional gusts that surged along the street made it feel much colder. If the sun was out it might not be so bad, but a heavy blanket of gray clouds formed a low ceiling overhead, casting the small town of Hulis in a visible dullness that served to enhance the dark funk that already permeated it to the core.
Her cell phone speaker trilled as she held it pressed against her ear with a leather gloved hand. After the fifth ring a recorded male voice announced without identification or ceremony, “Leave a message.”
Constance rolled her eyes as a sharp tone followed, then began speaking. “Drew, this is Mandalay. Hey, I know it’s the holidays and all, but I got handed the ‘Christmas Butcher’ case and I’m up here in northern Missouri. I just finished a really interesting conversation with Sheriff Carmichael. Apparently our file on this whole situation is incomplete… Actually, that’s an understatement…but…anyway, since you were the last agent assigned, I wanted to run a couple of things past you. Do me a favor and give me a call back on my cell when you get this. Okay? Thanks.”
She stabbed off the device, then punched in a speed dial code using her ungloved hand, which she then promptly shoved back into her pocket once the requisite task was complete and nimbleness of digits was no longer required. Tilting her head to the side, she tucked the cell beneath a cascade of brown hair and pressed it to her ear once again. On the second ring a gruff but far more familiar voice issued from the speaker.
“Homicide. Detective Storm…” the voice said.
“Hey, Ben,” Constance half-cooed. “How is your day going?”
“Pretty damn quiet at the moment,” he replied. “But that’ll change. It always does.”
“Unfortunately,” she agreed. “I’m sorry we couldn’t connect before I had to leave town.”
“Yeah, got your message. Shit happens.”
She could hear the shrug in his voice, but underneath it she could detect a clear note of disappointment as well. They’d both been busy with their respective jobs, and getting together just hadn’t been in the cards as of late.
“So, how ‘bout your day? Where’d they send ya’ off to this time?”
“Hulis, Missouri.”
“Hulis… Where the hell’s that?”
“About four hours north of Saint Louis. Almost right on the Iowa border.”
“Ahhh… North Podunk Cornfield, eh?”
“Sort of. I hate to sound cliche, but quaint definitely fits…in a weird fashion.”
“Whadda they have ya’ workin’?” he asked, then added with a chuckle, “Grand theft scarecrow?”
“I wish. It’s a seriously screwed up case, actually…” She left her words dangling on the chilled air.
“That bad, eh?”
“In a word, yes.”
“Okay…” he said. “You’re soundin’ all depressed. Spill it. What’s wrong?”
She hesitated to answer. After all, why ruin his mood too? But it took only a few seconds for her reluctance to wane, and in the end she just couldn’t keep herself from sharing. “Unfortunately, I just finished listening to a detailed account of a child abduction, abuse, and sexual assault from thirty-five years ago. A ten-year-old girl named Merrie Callahan. It was heartbreaking.”
“Jeezus…” Ben muttered. “Yeah… I can see where that’d royally fuck up your mood. Did they at least catch the sick bastard who did it, or is that why you’re there?”
“They didn’t have to, actually,” she told him. “The little girl he took escaped after he got drunk and passed out. But rather than take any chances, she hacked him to death with an axe first. On Christmas morning, no less.”
“Jeez… Awww… Just… Jeezus…” he moaned. After a brief pause, in a somber tone he added, “That’s one tough little kid. Well at least she got away.”
“But not before he’d tortured and raped her over a period of three days.”
“Yeah… Well, if you ask me, the sick fuck got what he deserved.”
“At the cost of the girl’s sanity, apparently. She never recovered, mentally.”
“That’s fucked up…” he muttered, then fell silent.
She could hear him breathing on the other end of the line. As jaded as he could sometimes be about homicides, no matter how gruesome they were, if a crime involved a kid, he melted. Any act of violence against children pierced his armor instantly and without fail. Part of what made it hit closer to home for him was that he was a father himself.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I really didn’t mean to call and depress you too,” Constance offered.
“S’okay,” he replied. “I’m the one that asked. B’sides, can’t be easy for you ta’ deal with either.”
“No, it isn’t…” she agreed.
“Gotta have someone you can talk to or it’ll make ya’ nuts.”
“Uh-huh. Thanks for listening. I really appreciate it.”
“Any time, hon. So… Stupid question. Why’re you in North Podunk lookin’ at a thirty-five-year-old closed case?”
“Because seven years ago, a man’s body turned up here on Christmas Day, also hacked apart with an axe. Since then, same thing every Christmas morning. Man’s body, hacked up with an axe, and the external genitalia missing. Just like the incident in nineteen-seventy-five.”
