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.”
CHAPTER 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.”
“Which explains why he always goes to an outsider.”
“Pretty much.”
Constance curled her fingers in and looked down at her hand. “I wonder if that might also explain why he seemed to really lose it when he saw my manicure.”
