“Damn…” he muttered. “That’s some twisted shit. Somebody out there’s a certified wingnut.”
“Seems like it.”
“One body a year, eh? That’s some serious downtime for a serial.”
“True, but an annual cycle isn’t unheard of. Also, the murder is always preceded by a Christmas card delivered to the sheriff’s office on December twenty-second, which is the anniversary of the day the little girl was abducted.”
“Well, not that ya’ needed any more proof, but that pretty much clinches your triggering stressor, right there, doesn’t it?”
“I’d say so.”
“And it’s been goin’ on for seven years now?” There was a hint of incredulity in his voice.
She responded in kind. “I know… Tell me about it.”
“Who the hell’s workin’ lead on this?”
“That’s just it. Nobody. Or maybe me, I guess. I’m actually the fifth agent that’s been assigned over the course of the case thus far. And it’s never a team. Just a single agent.”
“You’re kiddin’ me.”
“I wish I were. It doesn’t make sense.”
“No it doesn’t… Well… Lucky you, I guess.”
“Uh-huh, lucky me,” she spat.
“Well, I’m sure I don’t need ta’ even say this, but you’ve looked at family, right?” he suggested.
“Mother and father both dead. There’s a younger sister, but it looks like she voluntarily disappeared into the woodwork about ten years back and nobody has been able to locate her, so she’s a possibility. Finding her is the issue.”
“I’d look hard at that one,” he grunted.
“I plan to. But like I said, finding her…”
“Yeah, I hear ya’… So what about the girl herself?” he asked. “You said she was ten when it happened, so she’d be what, about forty-five now? And if she never really recovered…”
“Not likely. When I said she never recovered, I mean as in she’s institutionalized,” Constance replied. “Her body aged, but her mind threw in the towel. I’ve been told she still has the mental capacity of a ten-year-old child at best.”
“Not good.”
“Other than that, no real extended family other than the people here in town. Apparently they’ve all chipped in to help take care of her since the parents are deceased.”
“Yeah, that’s definitely a small town thing… Think it could be one of them? The townfolk?”
“It’s an angle I’m working, but the sheriff thinks I’m way off base.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about what a small-town sheriff thinks.”
“I don’t know,” she told him. “He’s pretty sharp. Actually, he reminds me a lot of an older version of you.”
“Yeah, I am pretty damn sharp, ain’t I?”
“Yes, but I’m fairly certain he’s sharper.”
“Ouch.”
“Seriously. He’s Sherlock Holmes kind of sharp.”
“He smoke a pipe and play the violin?”
“I’m serious.”
“So was I. Sorta,” he replied. “So listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but if he’s Sherlock smart, why’s he need the Feebs?”
“Good question. But given the lack of evidence left behind, maybe the killer is Mycroft smart.”
“Yeah, but Sherlock’s older brother was a fat, lazy bastard. I doubt he’d be motivated enough ta’ kill anyone.”
Constance allowed herself a brief, almost imperceptible chuckle. “Bravo.”
“Yeah, kinda figured ya’ didn’t think I knew who Mycroft was.”
“Always full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“That’s what I keep tellin’ ya’.”
“Well, in any case I’m still planning to talk to Merrie. In fact, the sheriff will be taking me over to see her in just a few minutes. I’m not sure what she’ll be able to tell me given her mental state, but you know the drill as well as I do.”
“Gotta verify the case notes,” he said with a knowing tenor in his voice. “Good’a place ta’ start as any.”
“That’s another strange thing,” she explained. “I read through the file and thought I was up to speed when I arrived here. But it turns out our documentation on this case is sorely lacking. All sorts of important information is missing.”
“Lost?”
“That or worse. Maybe pure negligence. Or even incompetence. I don’t know just yet.”
“Think someone coulda screwed with it on purpose?”
“I hope not, but I don’t know why anyone would. It’s not like this is a RICO case where there could be payoffs or something. It’s a serial killer.”
“True,” Ben grunted.
“Except…”
“‘Cept what?”
“Something that was in the file is that the victim is always dumped in the same location.”
“And so this is still an open case why?”
“Apparently the body just shows up. Whoever is doing it makes it past the surveillance without detection.”
“Bullshit. That’s why your file is screwed right there. You’ve got a dirty cop on your hands. Maybe Sheriff Sherlock is your guy.”
“I would think that too, except all four agents prior to me have been on the stake outs as well. I can’t see all of them being complicit in this, and why cover up for a small town sheriff if they were?”
“Yeah, I see your point. But then you’ve got that effed up case file…” he offered.
“I know…” her voice trailed off.
“You talk ta’ any of the other investigators?”
“Not yet. I left a message for one of the previous agents,” she told him. “Hopefully I can find out more when he calls me back.”
“That’d be good,” Ben agreed. “Just be careful. You never know, and if you uncover somethin’ somebody doesn’t want found out…”
“I’ll be on my guard.”
“I’m not kiddin’ here. Especially since you don’t have any backup.”
“I’m a better shot than you are, remember?” she chided.
“I’m serious, Constance.”
“I know you are… Believe me. I’ll be careful.”
She heard him breathing on the other end of the line as a heavy silence fell between them.
Eventually, he cleared his throat and said, “So…I assume you’ll be in Podunkville for Christmas then?”
Constance sighed and watched as her breath condensed in a thick cloud then instantly disappeared. “Unless there’s a miracle, I’m afraid so. I’m sorry. I know we had plans.”
“S’okay…” he told her. “It’s the job.”
The whoosh of weather-stripping against a metal threshold sounded in Constance’s free ear, and she looked up to see Sheriff Carmichael trundling through the opening and then down the short flight of stairs. He glanced at her and pointed toward the diagonally-parked police cruiser that was nosed in at the curb several feet away from her own vehicle.
“The sheriff just came out; I need to go,” she told Ben.
“Okay. Don’t worry about Christmas. We’ll celebrate when ya’ get home.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she replied.
