“Just more questions, I’m afraid,” she replied. “Merrie Callahan is older than me chronologically, but in her mind she’s still a ten-year-old girl living in nineteen seventy-five.”
“That’s kinda fucked up.”
“I know. And it gets worse. Apparently, she falls into a catatonic state every year on the anniversary of her abduction. She comes out of it a few days later, on the anniversary of her escape, and it’s as if her clock has reset and she starts living the year over again.”
“Jeezus…” Ben breathed. “That’s a little off the charts. Maybe ya’ oughta call Helen an’ get her input on this.”
Helen Storm was Ben’s older sister. She was also an accomplished psychologist who occasionally consulted on criminal cases. Constance had actually worked with her a number of times before. It never hurt to have a network of contacts outside the bureau just in case you needed a fresh perspective on something.
“Yeah…” she agreed. “I’ve been thinking that myself.”
After making the comment she fell quiet, simply listening to him breathe on the other end of the line. She hadn’t really been expecting him to have any answers when she called. In fact, she wasn’t even certain that she’d really dialed him up to be her sounding board at all. Right now, she just needed to know he was there.
After what seemed like a solid minute had passed with neither of them saying a word, Ben broke the silence. “Somethin’ else is botherin’ you, I can tell. What is it?”
“It’s really nothing,” she told him.
“You’re lyin’.”
She was. She thought about it for a moment then sighed heavily. “You’re right… I am… But it’s just kind of silly.”
“Yeah, so tell me anyway.”
“Okay… We went by the crime scene late this afternoon… It’s this old, abandoned house at the end of a street out on the edge of town.”
“Yeah…” he said. “Find anything helpful, or just more questions again?”
“That’s just it,” she explained. “We never even went in. There’s no electricity and it was late. We were getting ready and the sheriff’s flashlight was dead.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So…” she answered, then paused.
“What is it?” Ben pressed.
“We had another flashlight, but I called it off and decided not to go in.”
“Why?”
“Honestly? I was spooked.”
“You, spooked? I find that one hard ta’ believe.”
“I’m serious, Ben,” she told him. “It was a weird feeling… I don’t know for sure exactly what…but it really did spook me. I felt like a rookie agent… See… I told you it was silly.”
“Not really,” he suggested. “Maybe there’s somethin’ to it.”
“I don’t know,” she grumbled. “Maybe I’m just overtired. The SAC called me in too early for words this morning. I haven’t actually had much sleep.”
“Yeah, well ya’ do sound like you’re draggin’.”
“I am. Maybe I should let you go and turn in early. The sheriff is coming by to pick me up in the morning, so we can go back out to the scene. Hopefully I won’t freeze up this time.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “But don’t ignore your gut.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m not kiddin’, Constance.”
“I know you aren’t.”
“Okay… Talk to ya’ tomorrow?”
“Probably,” she said. “I’ll call when I get a chance.”
“Okay. Sleep tight.”
“Enjoy your pizza.”
Constance stabbed the END button to terminate the call. The ibuprofen hadn’t had a chance to kick in just yet, so her head was still aching, but at least it wasn’t unbearable. She held the phone
up to check the time. The digits on the screen showed that it was pushing 5:30.
As she started to lower her hand she caught a dim flash and focused on it. Her pearlescent pink nails were shining in the light from the small lamp on the side table. Laying the cell phone aside, she held up both hands and splayed out her fingers. As she gazed at the retro manicure she felt herself smile, but only for a brief instant before the corners of her mouth bent into a deep frown.
Given what Sheriff Carmichael had told her earlier, Merrie Callahan had fallen into catatonia by now. Constance couldn’t help but imagine the abject fear that was likely going through her tortured mind at this very moment, and it turned her stomach sour. As she lay there in silence, unable to think of anything else, she could taste the acrid tang of bile on the back of her tongue.
CHAPTER 14
7:32 A.M. – December 23, 2010
Greenleaf Motel
Hulis Township – Northern Missouri
Constance finished threading her holster onto her belt and then worked the end of the flat strap through the remaining loops on her blue jeans. As she pulled the leather tight to buckle it, the corner of her P226’s slide momentarily jabbed into her side and she winced. What little sleep she’d finally managed in the early hours of the morning had apparently been spent rolled over on top of her cell phone. Between the hard plastic rectangle and the unforgiving mattress, she now had a tender spot in exactly the wrong place, given that she preferred a high-ride FLETCH holster for her sidearm. She lifted her layered shirts and had another look. The partial outline of the phone was still visible on her skin, and it was definitely going to bruise.
“Oh well,” she muttered aloud as she pulled the garments back down and straightened them. “I’ve had worse.”
Her voice sounded rough, even to her own ears.
She twisted slowly at the waist, stretching. Halfway through the motion her back popped in a way she wasn’t entirely sure it was supposed to. A massage was definitely going to be in order once she was back home. Probably professional, because whenever she let Ben do it, things tended to take a radically different course. The detour was certainly therapeutic in its own way, but not what she was after at the moment.
Of course, that could always change.
Constance walked to the back of the room and inspected herself in the streaked mirror over the sink. She had actually applied a little more makeup than usual in an attempt to hide the bags under her eyes. Judging from the face staring back at her, the attempt had failed miserably, but she didn’t feel up to taking another run at it. She would just have to look as tired as she felt.
A quick glance at her watch told her that Sheriff Carmichael wasn’t due for another twenty minutes or so. She pondered whether she should just park herself in a chair or take a walk up to the motel office in search of caffeine. Since there was no coffeepot in the room, she’d started her day with a severely travel-worn packet of instant decaf that she had found in her suitcase and prepared with lukewarm water from the tap. As expected, it definitely wasn’t cutting it in the waking up department.
She let out a heavy sigh, then donned her coat and stuffed her cell, wallet, and room key into the pockets. She definitely needed something, so if the office didn’t have coffee, then maybe she’d grab a soda from the machine. She was just stepping out into the frosty air as the sheriff was pulling into a parking space nearby.
She gave him a quick wave, then checked her door to be sure it was locked. Stepping off the sidewalk and skirting around the nose of her own vehicle, she drew up alongside the cruiser and climbed in.
“You’re early,” she said.
