“Oww,” she yelped, then mumbled, “Dammit…”
Constance stood up, then while rubbing the back of her head with one hand, she pushed the damaged end of the blue cord into the jack on her notebook with the other. It stayed for a half heartbeat then popped out, much as she’d expected. She picked it up and jammed the clear connector back into the side of the computer once again and held it there.
She gave it a thoughtful frown. Working like this was going to be awkward, especially if she had to type anything of length. Hunting and pecking with her left hand wasn’t going to be terribly efficient. She considered walking over to the motel office to see if they had a cable she could borrow, but something told her it would be unlikely. Besides, she didn’t even want to think about putting shoes back on right now, heels or otherwise.
After staring at the problem for a moment she let out a quiet “hmph,” then let go of the connector. She heard it click against the desk as it fell out again, but her attention was elsewhere as she ambled over to the nightstand and opened the top drawer. Fortunately, the Gideons were on top of their game, even in Hulis. She pulled out the hardbound Bible, sauntered back to the small desk, then shoved the cord back into the socket and plopped the heavy book on top of the wire, pushing it up against the back edge of the clear plastic connector. This time it stayed firmly in place, so she pointed at it and mumbled, “don’t even think about moving,” then she carefully pressed the power button on the notebook.
While the computer whirred through its start-up sequence, she parked herself in a straight-backed chair that was so uncomfortable she was firmly convinced it had to be from the same matched set as the one sitting in the sheriff’s office. She shifted around, trying to find a less miserable position, but finally gave up. Obviously this just wasn’t going to be her day. Snatching up her cell phone from the desk, she leaned back and thumbed through the screens to see if there were any text messages or voice mails she might possibly have missed.
Nothing.
She stared at the device and pursed her lips, then frowned. It was almost 5:00. Not exactly late, but that made it better than four hours since she’d left the message for Agent Drew. Of course, it was the holidays, after all. He might be with family, if he had any. Or, he could just be avoiding her. She wasn’t really sure which was most likely. Truth is, she wasn’t really sure about anything where Drew was concerned, other than they’d had no choice but to work together on occasion and that they had a noticeable clash personality-wise.
She considered ringing him again but stopped short of actually pulling up his number on the screen. Maybe she needed to try calling one of the other agents who had been assigned. With a little luck she might actually reach one of them instead of a machine.
Leaning over toward the foot of the bed and stretching her arm out, she snagged the case file envelope from the folio she had tucked into the outer pocket of the computer satchel. After sitting back, she dumped the contents out on her lap. Flipping her way through the documentation, sparse as it was, she located a recent case report. She eyeballed the Kansas City based number on the attached business card and thumbed it into her cell.
The phone trilled twice and a woman’s voice answered. “Kimball…”
“Hi, Agent Kimball?” Constance asked.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“SA Mandalay, Saint Louis headquarters. I was trying to reach Agent Keene?”
“You must have an old file,” Kimball said, “He transferred to the Seattle field office over a year ago.”
Constance replied, “Oh, sorry. Listen, I hate to ask, but I’m in the field right now. Would you happen to have his new number?”
“Sure, hang on a second.”
Less than a minute later she had stabbed in the new number and thumbed TALK. After a trio of rings, a voice issued from the speaker. “This is Keene…”
“Keene, hi, you may not remember me, but this is Special Agent Mandalay from the Saint Louis headquarters,” Constance announced.
“Mandalay… Mandalay…” he mused. “Brown hair, worked violent crimes. We met at a close-quarters defense demo, right?”
“Right. I wasn’t sure you’d remember. It’s been several years.”
“Hard to forget. You’re the one who kicked Joe Lanting’s ass in that demo, right?”
She allowed herself a small chuckle at the reference. “The same.”
“Broke his nose as I recall.”
“He had it coming, the way I remember it.”
“That he did. So, yeah, I definitely remember you. I bet Joe does too. So…how are you doing? Didn’t I hear that you took a couple of rounds a while back?”
Constance reached for the scars on her chest out of unconscious reflex. The shooting had occurred during a sting to apprehend an elusive and somewhat prolific serial killer who had decompensated into a rapid cascade of violence. As the killer’s mental state degenerated further, the woman had engaged in a bloody spree, leaving a horrific trail in her wake, all in an attempt to get to a high profile consultant who was directly involved in the case.
Constance had led the team responsible for taking her down, but in the process had come close to becoming another of the victims herself. Her vest had stopped one of the bullets, but the other had struck at an unfortunate angle, allowing it to slip in behind the Kevlar barrier and penetrate her upper chest. The pain had been unlike any other she’d felt in her life. She didn’t remember much about it after that. Not until she woke up in the hospital ICU, anyway.
Last week had marked the fifth anniversary of the incident.
“Actually…” she hesitated as the faded memory tried to bloom anew. “It’s…been quite awhile ago.”
“Really?”
“Yeah…” she replied, an uncomfortable disquiet in her voice. “I’m good. Fully recovered. Thanks for asking.”
“Glad to hear it,” he told her. “Sorry to bring up an old…”
She hurried to end the topic before it could gain a foothold in her thoughts. “That’s okay. Like I said, I’m all good.”
“Yeah…” he returned, breathed an apologetic sigh, then asked, “So, what can I do for you, Mandalay?”
“Actually, I was hoping you might be able to answer a few questions about a case that you worked a couple of years ago.”
“If I can help, sure; no problem. Which one?”
“The Christmas Butcher.”
There was a sudden and obvious silence at the other end of the line.
“Agent Keene? Are you still there?”
Keene cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m here. Exactly where are you calling from, SA Mandalay?”
“I’m actually in Hulis, Missouri at the moment. I was assigned to the case. Do you remember it?”
“Yeah,” he replied, his tone shifting from warm camaraderie to a businesslike chill. “Hard to forget. So that’s still open…”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I guess I’m not surprised.”
“Why is that?”
“Just a gut feeling,” he replied, then quickly shifted the subject. “Godawful what happened to that little girl.”
“Definitely,” she agreed. “So, I was wondering if you could help me out. I’ve been going over the file and it seems incomplete.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. For one thing, there was no mention of Sheriff Carmichael’s connection to the original abduction case back in seventy-five, nor to John Horace Colson’s murder investigation. Also, there was no background on the parents and the sister, Rebecca Callahan.”
“Have you checked with archives?” he asked. “I’m sure I mentioned in my report that we’d been unable to locate the sister.”
“No offense, Agent Keene, but there wasn’t much detail to your report.”
“My SSA and the SAC signed off on it, right?”
