“Yeah,” he grunted thoughtfully. “None of your colleagues had that, but just about every woman in town has had a Merrie manicure at one time or another, so it’s a connection he’d definitely make. I expect after seeing one on you, he probably believes that you’re possessed just like the rest of us. Probably also why he didn’t bother to tell you anything more.”
“Do you have any idea where he came up with this notion about her?”
“You mean besides him being crazier than a shithouse rat?” he replied. “It was what she did to Colson with that axe. He came from a pretty strict religious family, so I guess when he snapped, his brain just rationalized things the only way it knew how. Like I said, he didn’t handle what he saw that morning so good. Fact is Sheriff Morton had to send him home before we ever finished processing the scene. After that he was on administrative leave for a while, but he never came back to the job.”
“And he never recovered…” Constance added.
“Not really,” Skip agreed. “From what I hear, he wasn’t so bad for a good while there. When these new murders started though… Well…he kind of went off the deep end all over again.”
“Triggering stressor.”
“Yep. So…got anything else?”
“Like I said, nothing solid.” She gave her head a small shake to punctuate the answer.
“Anything you wanna talk out? I’m happy to be a sounding board if you want.”
“Not just yet.”
“Too bad. I wouldn’t mind hearing a fresh theory or two, believe me.”
Constance sighed, but didn’t say anything in return. Carmichael didn’t seem to have a problem with parceling out information if the right question was asked-or button pushed. Unfortunately, they both knew the information on Edgar was something he should have volunteered at the outset, even if he was trying to protect the reputation of an innocent man with mental problems. The background check Ben had run may have painted him as an exemplary cop and upstanding citizen, but there was definitely something else going on behind that facade. She just hoped her instinct about him was correct and whatever he was hiding had a benign intent and reasonable explanation.
Skip rocked back in his old, wheeled desk chair and brushed his fingers through his mustache as he looked her over. After a thoughtful pause, he rubbed his chin then nodded in her direction. “Since we’re on the subject of Beelzebub, you look like you drove through hell and stopped too long to admire the view, young lady…” Raising an eyebrow he added, “No offense meant, of course.”
“None taken,” she replied. “Honestly, that pretty much sums up exactly how I feel at the moment.”
He tilted forward in the seat and rested his arms on the desk. Peering at her with an expression of fatherly concern, he asked, “You get any sleep at all last night, Constance?”
“Actually, Skip,” she said, pausing for a second before saying, “Not much. I took a nap this afternoon, but it wasn’t exactly what I’d call restful, either.”
“Let me guess: about three?”
“No, let me guess, Sherlock,” she returned, sarcasm thick in her gravelly voice. “The bags under my eyes are just the perfect shade and the creases still in my face from the pillow add up to three or something like that…”
He shook his head, the concern still in his face. “No, sugar, that one was just a guess. Three in the afternoon was right about the time I took my nap thirty-five years ago. Wasn’t a very restful one for me either, as I recall. Bad nightmares. Just looking at you tells me you’re on the same wavelength I was back then… And still am, I guess.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I guess I’m just…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “It’s Christmas Eve, you’re away from your loved ones, and you’re stuck in the middle of an investigation I wouldn’t wish on anyone. It’s bound to get to you.”
“It’s my job.”
“Doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Not to mention that I’m supposed to remain objective.”
He shook his head and snorted. “You and I both know that doesn’t always happen. Especially with something like this. When a child is involved it changes everything.”
“Except the problem is, this is supposed to be about seven brutal homicides over as many years. Not about Merrie and what happened to her in nineteen seventy-five.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Well… You might want to tell that to the killer when you catch up to him because I don’t think he got the memo.”
She sighed. “Yeah… I know.”
Sheriff Carmichael silently regarded the sullen FBI agent for a moment then asked, “You eat yet?”
“This morning.”
“I meant dinner.”
She shook her head. “No. My stomach really isn’t up to it.”
“Yeah, I get that too,” he replied. “But since you’re dead set on sitting in that house all night waiting for this sonofabitch, you’re probably gonna need something to keep you going.”
“I’ll eat tomorrow.”
“Tonight, tomorrow, I don’t care,” he replied. “Either way, my wife fixed you up a care package just in case. It’s not a lot. Just a couple of sandwiches and a thermos of coffee, but I have to say, Kathy does make a mean egg salad sandwich.”
“I appreciate it,” Constance told him. “Please thank her for me.”
“I’ll do that,” he agreed. “So…you want to just sit for a while, or are you ready to head on over?”
“Let’s just go. I’d like to have another look at the basement, and the sooner I’m in place the less chance there is to spook our subject.”
“Your call,” he said with a nod. “Been down this road before. I really doubt it’s going to matter one way or the other. Let me go ahead and put some fresh batteries in a flashlight for you.”
“I’ve got mine, thanks,” she told him.
“Okay, good. Then I’ll just grab you a radio that’s got a full charge on it, then I’ll run you on over there.”
“Oh, just one other thing,” Constance said as he was pushing back from the desk.
“What’s that?”
“I’d like to borrow a hammer if you have one handy.”
C HAPTER 23
7:57 P.M. – December 24, 2010
632 Evergreen Lane
Hulis Township – Northern Missouri
Constance listened closely, but all she heard was a metallic clank meshed tightly together with a dull thud.
She took a sideways step, still holding the tire iron up over her head. Skip didn’t have a hammer as she’d asked, but this would do. She really just needed something she could use to bang on the walls.
She remained quiet, and focused. Cocking her head slightly, she drew her arm back and brought it forward with a measured amount of force. When the business end of the angled metal struck, it sent a jarring vibration down her arm and straight into her shoulder.
Again, clank-thud was all she heard.
She continued working her way downward, tapping slowly but forcefully from the top of the basement wall until she reached the footing. With each strike, the same solid noise filled her ears again and again.
She had already made the full circuit of the subterranean room twice. Deputy Slozar was close on her heels, beaming a powerful flashlight wherever she requested. As they slowly walked the perimeter, Constance had pressed her leather-gloved hand against the rough concrete walls while systematically hammering the metal tire tool at somewhat evenly spaced points, listening intently for any evidence of a hollow echo on the other side. She had paid particular attention to the bricked up coal chute, but even there, all that ever met her ears was a metal ping married to a dense thump. There was no hidden passage behind these walls, only solid earth.
