In The Bleak Midwinter: A Special Agent Constance Mandalay Novel (17 page)

He looked at the flashlight, then cocked an
eyebrow and regarded her quietly for a handful of seconds. Finally
he said, “I’m not sure I even want to know.”

She nodded. “You’re right. You probably
don’t.”

The chill dancing along Constance’s spine
didn’t really subside until they were almost back to the sheriff’s
office near the center of town. As she struggled to shake it off,
she didn’t know whether she should be disturbed, embarrassed, or
both.

C
HAPTER
13

4:49 P.M. – December 22, 2010

Greenleaf Motel

Hulis Township – Northern Missouri

CONSTANCE
pushed aside the sad remains
of what was supposed to have been a Cobb salad. She’d picked it up
from
That Place
on her way to the motel since it had been
rapidly approaching dinnertime, and she wasn’t really interested in
venturing out once she’d managed to get settled. The salad was
edible, but it had been devoid of avocado, shredded Colby had taken
the place of the Roquefort cheese, and the only dressing they had
was prepackaged pouches of ranch. In reality, Faux Chef Salad would
have been a more apt label for it. Hindsight being what it was, she
concluded that the meatloaf might have been a better choice.

Stella, the waitress from earlier in the day
had handled her order. She’d been courteous enough but never
managed to achieve a state that could be construed as friendly.
Constance had also experienced much the same reaction from the desk
clerk when checking in to her room. Other than Merrie, no one
seemed particularly happy about her presence here in Hulis. Even
Clovis at the sheriff’s office had been aloof around her, and she
still wasn’t quite sure what to make of Carmichael himself.

After digging through her computer case
twice, she finally managed to locate an old network cable buried in
one of the inner pockets. The motel had boasted Internet access,
however, as it turned out it was hardwired only. Apparently the
concept of Wi-Fi hadn’t taken hold in this small town just yet.
Based on everything else she had seen thus far, she wasn’t overly
surprised.

Still, she hoped the cable would work.
Actually finding it in the bag was only the first hurdle. She
couldn’t remember the last time she had used it and was sure it had
been quite some time since it had even seen the light of day. Given
the severe crimps in the cable’s length, its condition was
definitely suspect.

She crawled around on the floor and located
the network receptacle, then plugged in. The connector immediately
popped out and fell to the floor. It took three tries before she
realized the locking tab on the plastic rectangle, while still
hanging on, was severely cracked. She turned the cable around,
pushed in the other end, and heard it click. She gave it a slight
tug to be sure and let out a sigh when it remained solidly in
place. That was the second hurdle. She figured maybe she could just
hold the broken end in on the computer while she worked, assuming
there was nothing else wrong with it. Backing out from beneath the
desk, feeling a bit frustrated with all of these gyrations, she
misjudged the distance and banged her head on the underside as she
came up.

“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?”

“Yes, but...”

He cut her off. “I’m afraid I can’t really
help you, SA Mandalay. Like I said, maybe you can check with
archives if you feel like something is missing from the file.”

“I plan to do that,” she said. She was
feeling somewhat perplexed by his sudden stonewalling but pressed
forward. “Still, since you worked the case I’d appreciate it if you
could fill me in on–”

“Have you spoken to the girl?” he asked,
interrupting her yet again.

“Merrie Callahan? Yes, I talked to her this
afternoon.”

“So then you know about her mental
state.”

“Yes, but that’s not–”

“Do you plan to see this through?” he
asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Unless something has changed, then you have
a murder that’s about to occur, correct?”

“As I understand it, yes. I believe that’s
why I’m here.”

“Then perhaps you should focus on that
instead of the past,” he instructed.

Now Constance had moved from perplexed and
straight into annoyed. “Excuse me, Agent Keene, but I’m trying to
prevent the murder. If I can figu–”

“Try me
after
Christmas, SA Mandalay,”
he said, heavily stressing the after.

“What do you mean
after
Christmas?”

“Exactly that. If you still think I can help
you after Christmas Day, then give me a call. But honestly, I don’t
expect to hear from you again. Not about this, anyway.” His words
were followed by a rustle and then dull silence.

“What do you– Agent Keene... Agent
Keene?”

Constance pulled the cell away from her ear
and stared at it before mumbling, “Bastard.”

She waited a long moment, still fuming over
the verbal bum’s rush she’d just received from a colleague.
However, based on what he’d said and the way he’d gone cold at the
mention of the case, she was definitely beginning to wonder if
maybe Ben was correct when he suggested the possibility of a
cover-up. It wasn’t an idea she relished considering, but something
was going on and it definitely didn’t fit with standard
procedure.

Once her flare of temper had mellowed a bit,
she thumbed through the phone book on her cell, highlighted a
number, then pressed the button to dial.

For the second time today she heard five
rings, followed by a recorded voice announcing no more than a curt,
“Leave a message.”

“Drew, it’s Mandalay again,” she announced in
the wake of the start tone. “This is my second message, and I need
for you– Scratch that... Look, I’m sorry if I sound a bit
frustrated, but I just had a really bizarre conversation with Agent
Keene. He was assigned to the Christmas Butcher case prior to you,
but if I had to guess I think you already know that. Listen... I
know you and I have had some differences in the past, but the case
always came first, even when we disagreed. Something really strange
is going on with this... I could use your input. Just call me back,
okay? This number. Thanks.”