Chapter 27    table of contents  

The battered green farm truck sputtered and died just as it arrived at the end of a long gravel driveway. The driver, a teenage girl, swore under her breath and tried to restart it without success.

Damn thing. I told Mom and Dad it wasn’t running right. Now it’s gone and died on me. Perfect, just perfect.

She looked at the bags of groceries in the passenger seat and sighed. She grabbed them, opened the door and exited the truck, stopping to smack the steering wheel one more time for good measure. She divided the bags evenly between both hands and started walking up the driveway towards her house. During the course of her half-mile walk, she thought about the events of the past day and a half. First, there was the fight with her boyfriend. Well, not really a fight. She hadn’t even been able to respond to his statements and questions. She had just sat in stunned silence until he dropped her off at home, and when he had cautiously asked about their planned trip to the city, scheduled for today, she had told him that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. She had other things she needed to do. He had obviously been upset, but he knew her well enough not to press the issue. They had parted in silence, and later that night, all she had been able to think about was that conversation.

Everything was so great, and he had to go and mess it up. Now everything is so...awkward.

After a long sleepless night, going back and forth in her mind over what he had asked, she had decided to call him tonight and talk, just talk, to try to smooth things over. He really was a great guy and she really didn’t want to lose his friendship. The other thing, well, they would work it out. Somehow.

He next set of thoughts turned to that morning, when she had arisen, and the rest of the family was already up and preparing for the party tomorrow. Everyone, that is, except for her little brother. The poor kid was sick as a dog, probably one of those 24-hour viruses. Or so she hoped. He had looked terrible when she went to see him this morning.

“Stay in bed, rest, you’ll be OK by tomorrow,” she had told him. He had been so disappointed that he couldn’t go with her to the city.

“It’s OK, we can always go another time,” she had assured him. “Just rest today, you don’t want to miss the party tomorrow.”

She had then gone downstairs to the kitchen, where her mother was just taking a cake out of the oven.

“Your father requested German Chocolate, but I don’t have what I need to make the icing. We need a few more things from the store, too. Would you be a dear and run into town for me?”

“Sure Mom, I don’t have any other plans...now,” she had said without enthusiasm.

Her mother had looked at her with sympathy.

“If you’re not up to it, Belle could go. You could stay here and decorate.”

“No, that’s OK. Besides, decorating is Belle’s thing, not mine. No artistic talent here. I’ll go, I just hope the truck makes it there and back,” she had said as she took the list from her mother and headed out the door.

I sure didn’t get my wish there. Damn truck. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed so long in town.

She had met a couple of her high school friends while in the grocery store, and they had chatted idly for about half an hour. The checkout had taken longer than expected, too, and she had been in a rush to get home after she left.

Mom’s going to kill me...

She stepped up her pace and soon she was at her front door. She was surprised to find the house absolutely quiet. With a shrug, she opened the front door and walked down the hall to the kitchen where she placed the bags of groceries next to the kitchen sink. The cake was sitting on the fancy pedestal on the table, ready to be iced, but her mother was nowhere to be found. She walked into the dining room which had been wonderfully decorated, but it, too, was empty.

Where in the Hell is everyone?

She peered into the family room, which was also empty, and then headed down the hall to the laundry room. She opened the side door and walked down the steps to the yard.

“Hello? Where is everybody?”

She walked around to the back yard and stopped, frozen, staring at the gruesome tableau she saw before her.

No...it’s not real. It’s some sort of sick joke...

Six bodies were hanging, their arms outstretched against the old oak trees that framed the yard. In a flash she realized that their arms had been tied and nailed to crosspieces which had been affixed to the trees themselves. The bodies were in groups of three, separated by sex, with the oldest of each in the center. They had been stripped of clothing except for a piece of cloth around the waist. The deep cuts across their torsos stood out livid against the pale skin, internal organs visible in the deepest gashes. Their arms and legs had all been slashed open as well, and were painted with twisting red symbols that were strange, yet somehow familiar...

The girl felt a scream rising in her throat as she looked at the oldest female, unable to comprehend that it was the woman she had spoken with that morning, just as she had every morning for most of her life. As she stared at her mother’s mutilated body, she thought, with horror, that she saw it move.

Oh God, she’s still—

Unthinking, she took two steps forward and stopped as her right foot landed in something soft and wet. She looked down and saw she was standing in a large puddle of some dark liquid which was soaking into her shoe and turning the white canvas crimson. Gasping with disgust, she looked back up at the bodies of her family as saw without a doubt that any hope of saving them was gone. From her new perspective she could see that all of their throats had been slit from ear to ear...

The scream that had been building since she stepped into the back yard finally broke free and shattered the silence. She drew another breath to scream again when the blow struck her from behind. She felt a crushing pain in her side as her ribs snapped. She stumbled, twisting her ankle, and fell to the ground. She heard what sounded like a tree branch breaking and white hot pain flashed up her left leg. Another blow shattered her right arm and she rolled on her back, raising her other arm and right leg to ward off her attacker. The next blow hit her just below the knee and the pain caused the edges of her vision to darken. She tried to scream but the pain in her side from her crushed ribs made it impossible to draw a breath. She shielded her face with her remaining limb and within seconds another blow smashed her hand and wrist. She lay on the ground, writhing with pain, praying for the beating to stop. Suddenly it was silent and she opened her eyes, wincing, trying to see what was happening. Through the haze of pain, she saw a figure dressed in black standing over her, a wooden baseball bat in one gloved hand. The bat fell from the figure’s grasp. Slowly, her attacker withdrew a large gleaming knife from its belt.

“No,” she whispered. “Please...”

The figure bent down and the knife flashed through the air. She felt a searing pain in her side just below her ribcage. Still she could not scream. The knife rose and fell again, sinking deep into her stomach. Using what little strength she had, she warded off the next direct blow and felt the knife slice across the palm of her hand. Finally, she was able to let out a scream, high and weak. The figure slashed at her again and again, cutting her arm, hand, and fingers down to the bone. With all her strength she finally knocked the knife from the attacker’s grasp. The attacker scrambled after it, and the girl tried unsuccessfully to rise from the ground. As she raised her head, she saw that the attacker had returned, bloody knife in hand. She watched in horror as the blade descended one last time towards her throat and just as it connected, she heard the killer scream out in a high, unnatural voice:

“You’re not supposed to be here!”



Tigg sat bolt upright in bed, her heart racing, her hoarse scream breaking the silence of the cabin. She sat shaking, unable to move, until a wave of nausea swept over her and she stumbled to the bathroom. She collapsed in front of the toilet and vomited. Shuddering, she reached up and pulled the lever, then slid into the corner and drew her knees up to her chest. She stayed in the position, rocking back and forth, sobbing quietly, the dream fresh in her mind. Never before has she experienced a memory of that day with such detail and clarity. She could almost feel the burning slashes and the grating of broken bones. She put her hand to her throat and felt the scar, almost certain she would feel fresh blood rising from that old injury.

After a few moments, she heard a light knock on the bedroom door and Pendergast’s voice drifted through the cracks.

“Tigg? Are you all right?”

No, she thought, I haven’t been all right for a very long time.

She gingerly rose to her feet and staggered to the bedroom door, where she leaned her head against it and replied in a shaky voice.

“I’m fine. It was...I’m fine.”

She waited, expecting to hear Pendergast’s retreating footsteps. When she didn’t, she unlocked the door and opened it a crack to peer out. Pendergast, sans disguise, was peering back at her, his silvery eyes filled with what she thought was concern.

“Really, I’m fine...it’s just a bad dream,” she muttered, trying to avoid his gaze. “Is it time to get up yet?”

“It’s 4 AM.”

“Oh. Sorry I woke you up, then. I think I’ll go back to bed.” She shut the door and locked it, waiting for Pendergast to leave. She heard his footsteps move away from the door and she returned to her bed and collapsed on top of it. She lay in her back, staring up at the ceiling, the scene replaying unbidden in her mind.

I never saw his face. Never. How am I supposed to stop him when I don’t know who he is?

Knowing that there would be no more sleep that night, Tigg rose from her bed and got dressed.

She grabbed a small bag from her knapsack and opened the bedroom door. When she looked out into the cabin, she was surprised to see Pendergast sitting at the kitchen table. She walked to the kitchen and turned to face him. He looked up at her, curious, momentarily forgetting the small carving he had been turning over in his hands.

“I decided to make some tea.”

“Excellent idea. I have already put the kettle on the stove.”

Tigg stared at him for a moment and then walked to the cabinet to retrieve two mugs. She opened the bag she had brought with her and removed a silver tea ball which she proceeded to fill with some of the remaining contents of the bag. She looked up at Pendergast, who was watching her carefully.

“Orange pekoe with dried lavender and lemon balm. Would you like some of this?”

“No, thank you. I have my own preferred special blend.”

“Oh.”

They sat in silence until the kettle started to whistle. Pendergast placed the carving back on the table, rose, took one of the mugs from the table, and walked to the counter. He returned a few moments later with a steaming cup and the kettle and filled Tigg’s mug as well. He took the kettle to the sink and came back to the table where he sat down once again. Tigg added her tea ball to her mug and twirled it in silence. The minutes dragged by. Finally, she picked up the carving and started to examine it carefully.

“It’s one of John’s. It’s worth what you paid for it.”

“That was not my primary objective in buying it, but thank you for the information. How can you tell?”

“Subtle differences. This is an old one. It’s probably been sitting in that store for years. I’m guessing it was made before John’s arthritis got too bad.”

“Is that why you took over his work?”

“Nothing unusual about that, I’m guessing. John told me that often artists train students to take over their work. He once mentioned this guy who worked with blown glass. The guy lost sight in one eye and no longer had depth perception, so his apprentices and associates do all the actual work. It’s still billed and sold as his work, though. The design is still his, the vision is still his.”

“But you added your own touch when you took over Ravenwood’s work.”

“With his encouragement, I assure you.”

“I see.”

Tigg sighed. She looked up at Pendergast, a weary expression on her face.

“Look, Pendergast, I’m sorry for everything. I’ve behaved abominably towards you. I’ve given you every reason to hate me and still you behave like a gentleman.”

“It’s quite all right. I do understand what you’re going through.”

“I know. You warned me I wasn’t ready to read that file, and I didn’t want to listen. But you were right, I wasn’t really ready for what I would find. It affected me much more than I thought it would.”

“Your nightmare?”

“Yes.”

“I am sorry as well.”

“There is one thing that did come out of it, though.”

“Yes?”

“The dream was a memory. I remembered almost everything. But...”

“But what?”

Tigg’s expression turned to one of profound grief.

“I never saw the killer’s face. I can’t help the way I thought I could. We’re never going to find this guy!”

Pendergast regarded her with a look of concern. Finally, he placed one of his hands on hers and looked her in the eye.

“This case is solvable. You know more than you think, and there are other ways you can help. With the resources we have, we can find the killer. Do you believe me?”

“I...I don’t know. I...I guess so.”

“Good. Then let us get started.”

Chapter 28    table of contents  

Amelia Harding awoke with a start. She sat up in bed and looked nervously around the room, almost expecting to see the menacing flames that had invaded her dreams. Her eyes took in her surroundings: the shabby hotel room with cheap prints on the wall, the antiquated TV bolted to a battered dresser, and the cracked vinyl easy chair in the corner with a pillow and hastily folded blanket laying on the seat. As the sleep-induced fog in her head cleared, the events of the night before came rushing back. Her house, her car, and nearly all of her worldly possessions were gone, up in flames. With a groan, she swung her feet over the side of the bed and sat on the edge, wondering how things could possible get worse.

She heard the key rattle in the lock and the hotel room door opened to reveal Charlie Quinn, drink holder with two Styrofoam cups balanced in one hand and a slightly greasy white paper sack in the other. He stepped into the room, shut the door and walked over to Amelia’s bed. He placed the bag on the nightstand and handed her one of the cups, which she accepted without a word.

“There’s creamer and sugar in the bag, if you need it,” Quinn said. Amelia was surprised at how subdued he sounded. He walked over and sat in the chair, tossing the pillow aside as he did so.

“I’m fine, thanks.” She removed the lid and took a cautious sip.

“There’s breakfast for you in there, too.”

Amelia opened the bag and peeked in.

“Donuts?”

“Well, we are cops, right?” said Quinn, the joking tone of his voice falling a little flat.

“You are. I’m not sure what my employment status is after last night,” she said gloomily.

“I called your office and spoke to Detective Gregory. He seemed quite relieved to hear that you’re OK.”

Relieved that there will be less paperwork, more likely.

“Did he say anything else?”

“Yes. You’ll be happy to know that you’re no longer a suspect in Darrow’s murder.”

“Wonderful,” she said flatly. She took one of the crullers out of the bag and took an unenthusiastic bite.

“He also thinks it would be a good idea for you to be out of the area for awhile, until this whole thing blows over. He believes what happened last night is back-lash over the publicity surrounding Darrow’s alleged wrongdoings.”

“What do you think?”

“I’m keeping an open mind.”

Amelia resisted the strong urge to throw the donut at his head.

“After everything the Mr. Woodward told you, you still think that—?”

“I said I’m keeping an open mind. My first choice of a suspect may not be correct, but I still think the cases are connected. Whether what happened last night has to do with the case or is random, I still think we need to be cautious, and I think we still need to continue our investigation.”

“Oh, sure, what have we got to lose? Oh, wait, I have nothing left to lose.” Amelia’s voice rose in anger.

A pained look crossed Quinn’s face.

“I know, and I’m sorry all this has happened to you. You don’t deserve all of this trouble. Neither did Brian. But the fact is, it has happened, and we need to find out why.”

Amelia sighed in frustration. She hated to admit that he was right.

“So what do you suggest we do?”

“I looked up the man you told me about, Gabriel Montgomery. I found his office number and called to leave a message to set up an appointment. The voice mail message provided his cell number and I called him. He’s willing to meet with us this morning at 7:30. Apparently he likes to get in the office early on Mondays and can spare half an hour.”

“I think you better meet with him without me.”

Quinn looked at her with surprise.

“Why?”

“He has no great love for the members, past and present, of the Pine Mountain Sheriff’s Office. He’d probably be much more amiable to answering questions if I wasn’t there.”

“Oh.”

“I could...show you where the building is located. It can be kind of tricky to find if you’re not familiar with the city.”

Quinn looked at her for a moment and then smiled with relief.

“Thank you, Amelia.”



Just before 7:30, Quinn and Amelia arrived at the parking garage across the street from the DCF building. Quinn quickly found an available metered space and parked his car.

“Mr. Montgomery said he’d meet me at the front door. Are you sure you don’t want to come along?”

“Trust me, it’s better this way. A few words of caution though: watch your step. Montgomery isn’t as...mellow as Mr. Woodward.”

“I’ll keep that under advisement.” Quinn exited the garage and walked across the street to the front entrance of an imposing brick building. As soon as he arrived, the front door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man in a slightly rumpled suit beckoned to him.

“Mr. Quinn?” His voice was soft but deep, with a slight twinge of a rural accent. Quinn walked over and nodded.

“I’m Gabriel Montgomery. Please, follow me.” Montgomery turned and led Quinn through the lobby and down a long narrow hallway. After making a left turn down another hallway, he stopped at one of the office doors and unlocked it. He flipped on the light and held the door open for Quinn.

“Please, make yourself comfortable. I need to finish copying a few things and I’ll be back.” Quinn walked into the office and sat down in one of the chairs in front of a large wooden desk. Montgomery left the door ajar and disappeared from view.

Quinn glanced around the office which was cluttered but organized. He got up and walked around, reading the degrees posted in plain frames on the wall and the certificates of service and commendation. On the wall opposite the desk he saw a framed photograph and moved closer to examine it. It was what appeared to be an informal family portrait. In the center was a middle aged couple seated on a picnic table bench. The man was thin and rangy, with thinning brown hair and blue eyes behind round wire framed glasses. He was looking at the camera with an amused expression. The woman had honey-blonde hair and dark grey eyes and was smiling happily at the camera. On the woman’s left sat a boy and a girl, late teens or early twenties, who were dressed in identical coveralls and appeared to be waving merrily. They both had the same honey blonde hair as the woman, and the girl was quite beautiful, her angelic face alight with merriment. The boy was winking at the camera and wore a mischievous grin. On the man’s right were seated a young man and woman, early to mid twenties, both with brown hair and blue eyes. The young man wore a rather serious expression but was waving at the camera as well. The young woman was smiling shyly and looking rather embarrassed by the whole situation. On the ground between the older couple’s feet was a teenaged boy with light auburn hair and blue eyes. His expression was innocent and open, with a bright smile on his face. His right hand was raised, but instead of waving it was facing palm out, fingers splayed, with the middle two fingers folded down over the palm. Seated cross-legged on the table behind the couple was another boy that Quinn recognized as a teenage Gabriel Montgomery. He too was waving at the camera, but his expression was not as cheerful as the others.

“I see you’re admiring my family, Mr. Quinn.”

Startled, Quinn turned around to find Montgomery standing behind the desk and looking at him with an unreadable expression.

“Ah, yes. It must be nice for you to have such a large family. I’m an only child, myself.”

“So am I.”

Quinn gave him a puzzled look. Montgomery walked around the desk and looked at the picture before turning back to Quinn.

“I call them ‘my family’ because they were more of a family to me than my own. I left home as soon as I was able to escape my abusive father and alcoholic mother.”

Quinn was rather shocked at Montgomery’s openness.

“I—”

“But enough about me. I understand you have some questions that you think I might be able to answer.” Montgomery walked back to his desk and sat down, an expectant expression on his face. Quinn returned to his own chair and tried to decide how to phrase his first question. He decided to get straight to the point

“Mr. Montgomery, I need to ask you some questions about the Eastman family.”

Montgomery’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and he glanced up at the photograph.

“Why?”

“I understand that you knew them very well and I need some information that I think only those close to the family could provide. You were close to them, correct?”

An ironic smile crossed Montgomery’s face as he continued to stare at the photograph.

“Yes, they were like family.”

Quinn followed Montgomery’s gaze, them mentally slapped himself. He pointed to the picture.

“Those are the Eastmans?”

“Most of them.”

Quinn returned to the picture and examined it even more closely.

“Which one is Eleanor?”

“She’s not there. She borrowed my camera to take the picture. She wanted a family portrait to take with her when she went away to college in New York.”

Quinn turned back toward Montgomery and saw that his expression was now guarded.

“Do you have a picture of Eleanor?”

“Mr. Quinn, what is this all about?”

“About two weeks ago there was a family that was murdered in my town. During the course of the investigation we learned of the Eastman family murders and the similarities between the two. I’m trying to track down as much information about the two families.”

“I see. Why are you so interested in Eleanor?”

“Because she survived the first attack, but then disappeared. I thought...maybe if we could find her she could help us, tell us about what happened leading up to the attack. Maybe we can find a connection”

“I take you don’t believe that Lucas was responsible for his family’s death.”

“No, I don’t.”

Montgomery gazed at Quinn with an expression that was a mix of anger, curiosity and sadness.

“Mr. Quinn, I can tell you about most of the events in the days before the attack, and I can tell you a lot about the Eastmans, but if you’re looking for Eleanor, I would say you’re out of luck.”

“Are you saying that because you can’t help me find her, or you won’t?”

“I’m telling you that because she is dead.”

“Disappeared, yes, and declared dead, but since they never found her...”

“Oh, but they did.”

Quinn sat in stunned silence, not sure if he had heard correctly. Finally he managed to croak out a question.

“What do you mean, they did? It was my understanding that she had never been found.”

“There hasn’t been anything official put out yet. About a month ago, I saw a small piece in the local paper. I probably would have missed it myself if I hadn’t been reading carefully. It reported that a group of hunters had found a set of human remains in a ravine not far from the hospital from which Eleanor disappeared. The piece said they had been sent to the state forensic anthropologist, and the preliminary results indicated that they belonged to an 18-year old white female. She estimated that the remains had been there for over 10 years, but were too weathered and broken up to get a good idea of any injuries or cause of death. The...skull was missing, so no dental comparison could be made, and she said DNA analysis was probably not feasible.”

“So, you don’t really know...”

“Mr. Quinn...I do know. If she were still alive she would have...contacted me. This just gives more concrete proof.”

Quinn sat in stunned silence. Montgomery gazed at him for a moment and continued.

“Do you really believe that there is a connection?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And if you solve your case you will solve the Eastman murders as well?”

“I...yes, I do.”

“Then I will do what I can to answer your questions.”

Quinn struggled to recover from his shock. He sat for a moment and then withdrew a small notepad and pen from his pocket.”

“Tell me about the family. What were they like?”

Montgomery leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“They were wonderful people. They welcomed me with open arms and treated me like one of their own. They were a very close-knit family. Even when some of the older kids went off to college, they kept in touch and came home to visit often. Lucas went to a special school here in Charleston, but he came home as often as he could and the family also visited him often, especially Eleanor. They were very close.”

“How did you meet them?”

Montgomery smiled ruefully.

“As I said before, my home life was not anything out of a Norman Rockwell painting. I participated in school sports as a way to avoid being home. Because I found it difficult to study in that environment, my grades were horrible and I was in danger of getting kicked off the team. In my freshman year, my vice principal, Mr. Woodward, suggested that I join a ‘peer tutoring’ program that had been started that year by another student. He arranged for my first tutoring session with the one who started the program.” Montgomery chuckled dryly at the memory. “I expected it to be some nerdy guy with horn rims and a pocket protector. It turned out to be Eleanor Eastman.”

“So you first had contact with the family through her?”

“Yes. I worked with her for 2 weeks, and at the end of that time she said she didn’t understand why I was doing so badly. She said, ‘You’re smart, Monty, you should be doing better.’ Something about her made me want to open up, and I told her about my family. She offered to let me study at her house on the weekends, and that’s how I met the rest of the Eastmans.”

“Did you know of any problems that they had with anyone in the community? I understand there was an incident with Eleanor in high school, but I haven’t heard anything else.”

“Incident?”

“With another student, resulting in the injury of that student, a Jason Marshall.”

“Oh, that. Jason decided to grope her breast one day while she was walking down the hall. She slammed him into a locker and he cut his head on one of the vents. I told him not to mess with her but he apparently thought it would be fun to see her reaction. He got more than he bargained for.”

“No one was upset enough over that incident to retaliate?”

“The general consensus was that he deserved what he got. He was too embarrassed at getting his ass kicked by a ‘geek girl’ to press the issue.”

“Are there any other incidents that you remember?”

Montgomery’s expression darkened.

“Darrow.”

“Jacob Darrow, the Sheriff?”

“Yes. He liked to harass the high school kids, pull them over for no reason and issue bogus tickets. There was a rumor that sometimes he planted stuff to blackmail kids into working for him in some of his scams, but it was never proven.”

“So what happened with Darrow and the Eastmans?”

“He started following Eleanor while she was driving me home one night. He pulled her over and read her the riot act, then tried to get her to let him ‘search’. She was ready for him, and promptly recited all of the laws, regulations, cases, and judgments which justified her refusal to let him search, and then informed him that if he decided to press the issue that she would see him in court with one of her family’s lawyer friends, plus all of the other victims of his bogus stops as witnesses. Darrow was completely unprepared for someone like her, someone he couldn’t intimidate. After that incident I heard rumors of how much he hatred her and how should would ‘pay’ for embarrassing him.”

“So, after the murders, you thought...?”

“That it was Darrow, covering up his own crime? Yes, but I knew he’d never be charged. He was too powerful in the community and had too many friends that would cover for him, no matter what.”

“You do know that he was murdered a few nights ago?”

“Yes. Considering the life he led, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.” Montgomery gave a derisive snort. “Lucky for me, I was in full view of multiple witnesses when it happened, otherwise I’d probably be cooling my heels in a cell.”

Quinn shifted uncomfortably in his seat and decided to change the subject.

“Do you know of any other problems? Disagreements in the family about associations with outside people, that sort of thing?”

“Nothing major.”

“But the minor things?”

Montgomery stared at Quinn for a moment before replying.

“Mrs. Eastman was not altogether happy with Eleanor’s college friends, but I never heard any outright arguments about it.”

“Why wasn’t she happy with them?”

“Well, they were all older, and some were a little...wild. Eleanor belonged to a theater group at the college, and all of her college friends belonged to it, too. She joined because she wanted something to do after classes while waiting for her mother to finish teaching. She started out just doing technical stuff, lighting, sound, special effects, that sort of thing. Some of the older students convinced her to try out for the plays and she started doing that as well. Her family wasn’t sure if that was the best use of her talents, but since it made her happy they didn’t say much.”

“Her talents?”

“Apparently she was some sort of electronics genius, but she didn’t really talk with me about that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, actually.”

Quinn studied his notes.

“You said some of her friends were a little ‘wild’? What did you mean by that?”

“There was this one time, the whole theater group decided to disguise themselves as senior citizens and see how people reacted to their appearance. One of them wrote an article for the college newspaper about ‘perceptions’. It caused all sorts of havoc, apparently. They also enjoyed testing their ‘special effects’ stuff out in public places. No harm was done, but they didn’t make any friends.”

“Special effects?”

“Stage explosions, flashpots, smoke boxes, that sort of thing. Eleanor explained that they were perfectly safe, but people tended to get nervous about that sort of thing. She thought they were overreacting.”

“Do you know the names of these people?”

“I probably have an old program somewhere at home. I could fax it to you.”

“Thanks. That would be great. You...mentioned that Eleanor was going away to New York to college. Was that a problem for the family?”

“Well, financially it wasn’t a problem. Mrs. Eastman’s brother was footing the bill, and Eleanor was going to work for him part time to get experience. The thought of a family member being so far away did not make them happy, especially Lucas, but Eleanor promised to visit as often as she could.”

“What sort of would she have been doing?”

“Her uncle owned an engineering firm, so something along those lines, I’m guessing.”

Suddenly a light went on in Quinn’s head. An engineering firm...

“What was your impression of him? Would you say that he was close to the family?”

“I only met the man once, but Mrs. Eastman told me that he and Eleanor got along better than anyone ever expected. Apparently he was rather distant with everyone but her.”

Quinn looked at his watch. Their time was almost up, but he had one more question.

“What was his name?”

“Eli Glinn.”

Trying not to show any reaction to the name, Quinn rose from his chair and extended his hand. Montgomery rose and shook it.

“Thank you for your time Mr. Montgomery. You’ve been very helpful.” He handed Montgomery a business card.

“Here is my fax number if you find that program”

Montgomery nodded curtly.

“Good luck, Mr. Quinn. Please keep me informed, won’t you?”

“No problem. Good day.” Quinn turned and walked out the door towards the entrance. He passed several people who gave him a quizzical look, but paid them no attention, his thoughts elsewhere. He left the building and crossed the street to the garage, where he found Amelia dozing peacefully in the car. She awoke with a start when he opened the door and climbed inside.

“Well?”

“I think we just got our first big break.”



Gabriel Montgomery sat as his desk, staring at the photo on the wall opposite his desk. He had put it there for many reasons. He used it as a focus piece for some of his clients, neglected and abused children as he had himself been, to show them that not all family relationships resembled the horror that they (and he) had endured. For many, it did encourage them to open up and to want to be helped. For others, well, there were other techniques he had tried with more success. Another reason was to remind himself why he did this job. He had taken up social work as a way to honor them, his true family, for turning him around. He had loved them dearly, and felt the pain of their loss every day. The third reason was a little bit of self-punishment that he thought he deserved. The picture helped serve as a reminder that there was at least one family member that could have been saved...

Slowly he withdrew his wallet from his suit jacket and removed a small laminated photograph, frayed at the edges and wrinkled with age. It depicted a prom portrait, two teenagers in formal attire, the boy in a black tuxedo and the girl in a dark grey satin gown. The boy stood behind the girl with his arms around her waist, her gloved hands resting on his. The girl’s dark auburn hair was braided and curled in as fancy a style as her mother had allowed, her dark grey eyes alight with laughter. Montgomery stared at the picture and thought back to the last time he had seen this girl laugh.

They had been coming home from her friend’s house where they had gone to pick up her graduation dress. They had been driving along, windows down, laughing and singing along with the radio. The tune had just switched from Bad Moon Rising to Paint it Black when their last conversation started.

“Someone down at the oldies station is in a morbid mood today”, she had said with a giggle.

“I don’t understand why you listen to that anyway. Time to step out of the past and into the future, or at least the present.”

“Today’s music sucks. Besides, you try growing up in a house with a Beatles fanatic and not like listening to ‘the oldies’.”

“Speaking of the future, let’s talk about it.”

“What is there to talk about? We’re both going to college next fall, me in New York and you in Colorado. It’s what you wanted, right? You worked hard to get that scholarship.”

“It’s good for now, but I’m talking about afterwards.”

“I suppose I’ll be working at my uncle’s firm, unless I get a better offer. You’ll be helping kids, just like you wanted. Why, are you having second thoughts about social work as a career?”

“I’m having second thoughts about being separated from you.”

She had stared at him in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I want us to be together.”

“So, what you, want to transfer to NYU? Give up your scholarship? That’s silly...”

“Damn it, Eleanor, you know what I’m talking about! Stop being so obtuse!”

“I...don’t.”

“I want us to be together forever. Do you want me to spell it out?”

She had fallen silent and sat staring out the window until they arrived at her house. He had been fuming inside, angry with himself for screwing up what should have been a wonderful moment. She had opened the door and climbed out without a word, grabbing her dress from the back seat as she went.

“Eleanor? What...what time should I pick you up tomorrow? We’re still going, right?”

She had turned and looked at him, the shock still apparent in her expression.

“I...I don’t think that’s a good idea, Monty. I have a lot to do tomorrow.” She had turned and walked to the house without a backward glance. The next day, when he heard about the attack, he couldn’t help thinking, that DJ wasn’t morbid. He was prophetic...

Montgomery’s thoughts soon switched to the last time he had ever seen her. He had gone with Eleanor’s friend Becca to the hospital so he could tell Eleanor goodbye before leaving for college. Before then, he had avoided the place, even after the doctors said she could have visitors, because he just couldn’t deal with it. He had hated himself for it.

You still hate yourself for it, he thought.

Becca had told him what to expect: the scars, the deathly pallor of her skin, and her lack of response to anyone who approached, but what he had not been prepared for were her eyes. Those eyes, so intelligent, so full of life, were flat and dead. She looked like a life-sized doll, battered and broken. He had been unable to stay more than a few minutes and had been filled with self-loathing at his weakness. Before he left, he had squeezed her hand, hoping for some sort of response. There was none.

Montgomery’s thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of people returning to their offices after a long weekend, and soon the strident ringing of the phone on his desk called for his attention. Bringing his focus back to the present, he quickly replaced the picture and put his wallet away while removing a handkerchief from his coat pocket. He dabbed his eyes quickly, cleared his throat, and reached for the phone.

Chapter 29    table of contents  

It had been the worst night of Rick Mathies’ life.

When he had received the killer’s cryptic phone call, Mathies’ had been in shock. Eventually his police instinct had kicked in and he had contacted the cellular company to try and locate the caller. After going back and forth with the company for what seemed like an hour, and dealing with a whiny manager who had seemed more concerned with the legality of his request than the urgency, Mathies had only learned that the call had gone through the closest relay tower, and the caller could have been anywhere within a three mile radius.

Hell, he could have been across the street for all they know, Mathies had thought with anger.

Mathies had then called Patrick Campbell for an update on the investigation of his daughter’s disappearance. Finding nothing at the scene (and the rain hadn’t helped), they had towed her car in to the regional lab. Campbell had assured him that the on-call crime scene and lab tech was currently going over the car with a fine tooth comb and they would keep him updated, but Mathies had insisted on observing.

When he arrived at the lab, he was escorted to the garage when the examination was taking place. The technician, a young, brash man by the name of McIntire that Mathies had regrettably dealt with previously, was explaining his find to Campbell.

“The car is absolutely clean otherwise, so I don’t think it’s an old stain. It gave a positive result with the Kastle-Meyer test, but we’ll check to make sure it’s human.”

Mathies has listened with a sinking feeling as McIntire continued.

“It may take awhile. We’re rather backed up right now, and the new analyst is just getting up to speed.”

“How long?” Campbell had asked, his impatience evident in his deep voice.

“We...we have a new test that will do two jobs at once, but we haven’t quite finished the validation of the instrument for our lab, and—”

“I’m not interested in the details, McIntire. How long?”

“Well, it’ll take at least a day after we get to it. Two to three if it’s human and we have to do DNA. We’ll need something for comparison for the DNA tests, either from the subject or from the parents, and to do the Ks will take...”

“Three days?!” Mathies had exploded. “In three days she could be—!”

Campbell had placed a restraining hand on his arm.

“I’ll talk to the director. He’ll light a fire under these guys, don’t worry.”

McIntire had given a disgusted snort.

“We do the best we can. It’s not like TV, you know.”

“I am well aware of that, McIntire.”

“It could be an old stain.” Mathies had said, almost to himself. “This could all be for nothing.”

“Doubtful, given the condition of the vehicle interior,” McIntire had remarked. “It looked like it had just been cleaned. I didn’t even find hairs from the driver.”

Campbell had raised an eyebrow.

“That’s rather important, don’t you think?”

“Well, I...”

“The Sheriff and I have something to discuss. We’ll let you get back to you job.”

Campbell had led Mathies to a conference room and shut the door.

“Rick, is there something you’re not telling me?” Campbell had asked, his brown face etched with concern.

“I can handle it.”

“That didn’t answer my question. Is there something else going on here? Does this have anything to do with...another case?”

Mathies had known he couldn’t lie to his friend. He had said nothing.

“Damn it, Rick, let me help out here. I can call—”

“No! I have to do this on my own. I have to find Bonnie. Just...help me find the guy who took her. That’s all you can do for now. If we can find him, I can find her, and...a lot of other problems will be solved.”

“Do you need me to send you someone from the office to help on your end? I can—”

“No, I have all the help I need for now.” I hope.

After assuring Campbell that he was dealing with the situation, Mathies had gone home to get a comparison sample for the lab. He had been grateful to find his wife fast asleep in her favorite chair, the cordless phone resting on her chest. He had hated to think what her reaction would have been if she had seen him sealing Bonnie’s toothbrush in an evidence container.

After returning to the lab and submitting his own sample, Mathies went back to the office and checked through his files, local databases, anything that might help him connect to the killer. Finding nothing of use, at dawn he had returned to the spot where Bonnie’s car had been found. It was not as though he actually expected the killer to adhere to the old adage and “return to the scene of the crime”, but it gave Mathies time to think. He went over the killer’s words in his head.

You didn’t think I was finished now, did you? I’ve got lots more...fun planned.

How long, do you suppose, someone can survive in that state? No food, no water. Nothing but darkness...

One’s own family is the most important thing...I guess you’re not the father you’ve been made out to be...

Mathies slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

I WILL find her, damn you, if it’s the last thing I do!

Mathies’ thoughts were interrupted by his cell phone. He checked the number and answered.

“Hello? Yes, Sherri, I’ll be there shortly.”

With a sigh, he started his cruiser, put it in gear, and headed back into town.

Chapter 30    table of contents  

“I wasn’t supposed to be there.”

Pendergast turned to Tigg in surprise. These were the first words she had spoken since their talk early that morning.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The killer wasn’t expecting me to be home. That’s the only thing he said that I remember.”

Pendergast studied Tigg for a moment before voicing his next question.

“Who knew that you wouldn’t be home that day? Do you remember?”

Tigg gave a disgusted snort.

“Lots of people, unfortunately. That little scrap of information is not going to help all that much. But it means...” She couldn’t finish the statement.

“It means that the killer could have been someone whom you knew.”

“But that’s impossible. All of the people I told were friends. None of them were crazy enough to have done...Don’t you think I would have known if they were?”

“There’s no art to read the mind’s construction in the face.”

“Somehow I had hoped you’d find a better authority on the subject than Shakespeare,” said Tigg bitterly. “I’m sorry, it’s just that—”

“I understand. Many people have been surprised by how well a killer can hide their true nature. You are not alone.”

“How comforting.”

“You said that you recognized four people on the list Mr. Glinn provided. Were any of them among the ones who would have known?”

“All of them. Again, not much help. Besides, it also could have been someone who overheard, or was told by someone else, or...” Tigg lapsed into silence. The whole thing still seemed hopeless, despite Pendergast’s assurances that the killer could be found.

When Pendergast did not respond, Tigg sighed and turned to him.

“I’m sorry again, I’m being completely pessimistic. It’s a bad habit I’ve developed.”

“I can understand that as well.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, watching the small amount of morning traffic on Water Street. The sheriff was not in yet, or so the receptionist had informed them when they stopped in a few minutes earlier. She had told them that he would be in shortly.

“So,” said Tigg, “what’s out next move?”

“We are going to go speak to the possible witness for the Zoller case.”

“Witness? You mean Harlow? What makes you sure he’s even worth the time?”

“As you yourself mentioned, people who tend towards the fringes of society may have a clearer view of the social dynamics. I’m hoping that Mr. Harlow follows that precedent.”



Tigg was surprised to find that Harlow’s bookstore, Shanachie, was already open, and had been since the ungodly hour of seven. She followed Pendergast through the front door and stopped. A voice called from the back room.

“I’ll be right with you.”

Tigg barely heard it. She was too busy staring in wonder at the interior of the shop. Heavy wooden bookshelves lined every wall, some reaching to the second story ceiling. Old fashioned rolling ladders allowed access to the upper shelves. Free standing shelves, large tables and small stands packed with books filled the interior of the large open room. The store itself was divided into New and Used sections, and within each section, categories of books had been labeled and separated. Above each shelf a fitting quotation had been painted in flowing script. The shop smelled of old paper, glue, leather, and dust. In sharp contrast to the antiquated atmosphere, a radio was playing fairly loudly in the background, with Jimmy Buffett lamenting life in the tropics and his lost shaker of salt.

What a wonderful place, thought Tigg, momentarily forgetting the reason for their visit.

Pendergast gravitated towards a glassed in case which held several old, leather bound books, while Tigg wandered slowly towards the far wall of used books. She stopped briefly to study the Bestsellers, one of which appeared to be about either renaissance art or cryptanalysis, and read the quotation above: This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force. She shook her head and continued on.

She soon passed Comedy (Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read), Classics (Some books are undeservedly forgotten; none are undeservedly remembered), and stopped at a corner shelf which held a placard proclaiming “Read a Banned Book Today!” She read the quotation (An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all) and began to examine the titles. Some were familiar, but others were completely foreign, and she briefly wondered who this Rowling guy was and how he managed to get so many of his books banned. On the shelf above, she spotted an old favorite, removed it and started to read.

As Margaritaville switched to Sympathy for the Devil, the radio volume was lowered and she heard the same voice from before, cultured and with a slight east coast accent, coming from the front of the shop.

“How may I help you gentlemen this morning?”

Tigg continued to read the book. She knew Pendergast would soon start in on his routine.

“Hello. My name is...”

Silence. Tigg waited for a minute for Pendergast to continue, and when he did not, she turned to see what had rendered him speechless.

Next to the front counter stood a tall, well built older man. He wore a black t-shirt with “Nevermore” printed across the chest in white script, faded blue jeans and cowboy boots. His snow white hair was brushed back from his forehead and was gathered in a ponytail at the base of his neck. What had apparently startled Pendergast so was his face. The left side was clean shaven, while the right sported a long white beard and thick mustache. This strange, lopsided look contrasted strongly with his calm voice and air of professionalism behind it.

After a few more moments of silence, Pendergast resumed his speech.

“Ah...yes. I am Dr. Daniel Prescott. My student, Mr. Crow, and I are here in Winstead as part of a research project. We are speaking with local businessmen and we hope that you would...ah...consent to be interviewed.”

And what an interesting interview that will probably be, thought Tigg.

As she turned back toward the shelf she glanced out the front window and saw the Sheriff’s cruiser pull into a space in front of the office.

Finally.



Harlow gazed at Prescott impassively before replying.

“What kind of research? I’m not sure I’d be appropriate for any type of study since I’m not exactly your typical ‘local businessman’.”

“We are investigation the psychological, sociological, and economic affect of a certain type of crime on small towns.”

Harlow raised an eyebrow. “What type of crime?”

“Mass homicide.”

“I see. And since our town has recently played host to such a crime, you decided that this would be the perfect opportunity for a study here. Yet again, why me? I’m sure there are plenty of other businessmen in the area that have been more affected.” The suspicion in Harlow’s voice was readily apparent.

“I spoke with some of them, and I plan on interviewing them later, but they seemed to believe that you had a ...unique perspective.”

“I see. The locals told you all about ‘Crazy Old Jed Harlow’ and his wild stories. You just had to see for yourself.”

“They did mention that you were a bit...eccentric.”

Harlow threw back his head and laughed.

“I hardly think I’m rich enough to qualify as ‘eccentric’. Most would say I’m just plain crazy.”

“A persona that I suspect you cultivate carefully,” said Prescott dryly.

Harlow grinned.

“You’re pretty astute for an academic. Yes, I have found that the only way to live a quiet life in a small town and the only way to be left alone is to have the locals believe I’m a ‘bit touched’. Harmless, yes, but not someone they’d with whom they’d want to associate on a regular basis. It’s worked so far.”

“But why isolate yourself? As I understand, one of the benefits to living in a small town is a sense of community.”

“That would require sharing my past experiences, something I’m not too keen on, to be perfectly blunt about it.”

Prescott gave him a questioning look. Harlow sighed.

“I’m a retired lawyer. State prosecutor, to be precise. I’ve seen too much that I’d like to forget, and the thought of re-hashing it to every local Tom, Dick and Harry is enough to make isolation seem like paradise. At first, I tried avoiding the questions, but to be frank, the locals are just plain nosy. Finally I ‘let slip’ a few wild stories. After that it was easy.”

“So, the stories the locals mentioned, they are all just that? Stories?”

“Most of them. But the one I suspect that you’re interested in is not.”

“Which one would that be, Mr. Harlow?”

“What I saw near the Zoller farm a few days before the murders.”

“The satanic ritual?”

Harlow snorted.

“Not exactly, but that’s what I told the sheriff in order to get his attention. It didn’t seem all that important at first, but after what happened...”

“Tell me about it,” said Prescott, withdrawing a pen and notebook from his jacket pocket.

“I was out for my evening hike. I own ten acres adjacent to the Zoller farm, and I enjoy a daily stroll in the woods. I was about a hundred yards from the property line when I saw a figure dressed in black standing near a small clearing. As I crept closer, I saw that the person was standing in the center of a semi-circle of trees, and a large bundle seemed to be suspended from several. The bundles had no discernable shape, but they probably at least the size and weight of a body. I saw no evidence of blood, but the whole thing was just strange. I watched the person fill another bundle with sticks and rocks, and then hoist it to the tree. This person then stood back and seemed to be admiring the work. It made no sense at the time. I snuck away to avoid a confrontation. Then a few days later, I heard about the murders. I called the sheriff out to investigate. Unfortunately, he sent his new deputy sheriff.”

“What happened?”

“We went out to the site, but there was nothing there. Then this new deputy, straight form the big city of New York, informed me that he saw no evidence of the ‘trappings of Satanism’, of which he had ‘seen enough of in the cases he had investigated’, and suggested that I might not have seen what I thought. I think he had spent too much time listing to the Nuts and Dolts club and had already formed an opinion.”

“I’m sorry, ‘Nuts and Dolts’?”

“That’s the name I gave to the ‘group of local businessmen’ you’ve spoken to. They used to hang out in the hardware store until the new owner took over and remodeled, then they had to move to the diner. I never bothered to give them a new name.”

“I see...What else?”

“I went back later to check the scene myself. I found grooves in the tree branches where those bundles had been hauled up. The deputy missed those, I guess. He never really bothered to look up.”

Prescott checked his notes before continuing.

“Have you formed an opinion about what you saw, Mr. Harlow?”

Harlow lowered his voice, and for the first time an expression of fear crossed his face.

“Yes. I don’t think it was a ritual at all. I think it was practice.”



Mathies took the new case report, faxed in that morning, form Sherri, went to his office without a word, and shut the door. He sat down at his desk with a sigh and opened the report. More horrors, now familiar lay within. He read through, noting the differences. He didn’t even need to have the Zoller case to compare. He knew it practically by heart. After a few minutes, a creeping sense of doubt entered his mind. The differences between the two cases seemed almost deliberate. He shook his head.

No, the killer didn’t know about this crime. It has to be a copycat.

Just as he reached the last page, he heard a tentative knock on his office door.

“Yes?”

Sherri stuck her head in.

“Rick, Bill called earlier. He checked with the hospital and they said Rebecca Jenkins had been at work since 6 that morning. She did go outside to make a phone call at the end of her first shift but she was only gone for maybe ten minutes. I know you don’t...anyway, Bill thought you’d just want to make sure everything was covered.”

“Thanks Sherri. The report says that the time of death for the Jenkins family was somewhere between 2 and 4 PM.”

After a quick glance to the outside window, Sherri stepped into the office and shut the door.

“I...can’t believe it. I just spoke to Chris a few days ago. It seems impossible to think...”

“Yeah, I know.”

“How is Becca handling it?”

“Badly.”

“Bill said you think—”

Mathies looked up sharply.

“Bill was told not to talk about the case,” said Mathies in an angry voice.

“I’m sorry, but...well, you know, we both work here and—”

Mathies expression softened.

“I know Sherri. Sorry.”

“You really think it’s a copycat? Even though it was so much like the Zoller case?”

“That’s the theory for now, but we’re keeping that within the department. The public needs to think it was a random crime, a burglary gone bad or something. We can’t afford for this to get out.”

Sherri’s face went pale. Her normal professionalism seemed to be crumbling and when she spoke again she sounded as if she was close to tears.

“Why...why is this happening? Why here?”

“I really wish I knew.”



“That will make an interesting...ah...sidebar for our research Mr. Harlow. However, I need to return to the task at hand.” Prescott looked up to see that Harlow was staring at something near the far wall.

“Mr. Harlow?”

“I...I think there’s something wrong with your student.”

Prescott turned to stare a Crow, who was still standing in front of the corner shelf. He appeared to be staring at the wall and the book he had been reading was dangling, forgotten, in one hand.

“Mr. Crow?” Prescott called. Crow jumped and slowly turned towards Prescott’s voice.

“Are you all right?”

Woodenly, Crow started to walk towards the entrance of the store. When he reached the front door, Harlow called out to him.

“Did you want to buy that book?”

Crow walked to the front counter and laid the book down by the register. He reached into his pocket and slowly withdrew a crumpled $5 bill, which he handed to Harlow with a trembling hand.

“Ah, To Kill a Mocking Bird, one of my personal favorites. It’s in fairly good condition for a used book, isn’t it?” said Harlow, trying to elicit a reaction. Crow said nothing. Harlow placed the book in a paper bag and handed it to Crow along with his change. Crow turned without a word and walked out the door.

“What was that all about?” asked Harlow.

“I am not sure,” said Prescott, his attention fixed on the retreating figure. “I believe I’ll have to cut this interview short. I hope that we can continue at a later time.”

“I’ll be here,” said Harlow. “Tell Mr. Crow I hope he feels better soon.”

Prescott nodded and walked out of the shop. Harlow looked after him for a moment before returning to his work.



As Pendergast approached, he saw that Tigg was leaning against the truck, one hand on the hood. She was visibly trembling.

“Tigg?” asked Pendergast in a gentle voice. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The sheriff is back,” she said in a whisper.

“I noticed. We can now go retrieve the statistics report and inquire as to his absence last night. But something else...?”

“I know why he never showed up last night. He was busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yes.” Tigg finally turned to face Pendergast, and even beneath the disguise he could read the stricken look on her face.

“There’s been another murder.”

Chapter 31    table of contents  

“Have you lost your mind?”

Quinn glanced briefly at Amelia and returned his gaze to the slowing traffic ahead. They were approaching the first toll booth on the southbound West Virginia Turnpike, and Quinn starting rummaging in the car’s ashtray for change.

“This whole thing is crazy. You realize that, don’t you?” The anger and exasperation in her voice was really starting to grate on Quinn’s nerves. As they had headed south from Charleston, he had recounted his conversation with Gabriel Montgomery.

“Montgomery told you she’s dead. There’s evidence to support it. Why won’t you let go?”

“They’re not sure that the body was her. No dental comparison and no DNA equals no positive I.D. The location of the body could be coincidence, or maybe even a set up.”

Amelia gave an angry sigh and lapsed into silence. After they had passed through the toll plaza, she turned to Quinn.

“Where are we going now?”

“Reliance University Hospital,” replied Quinn.

“The hospital where Eleanor Eastman was treated? What do you think you’ll find out there? You don’t have a warrant, and I seriously doubt they’ll give you anything.”

“I’m just going to talk with someone who was there at the time.”

“How are you going to find such a person?”

“Already done. I had my friend from the state police check into it. Lucky for me, he knew someone who works there and they passed along the information.”

“What makes you think this person will even talk to you?”

Quinn didn’t bother to respond. They rode for several miles in silence, interrupted occasionally by rumble of the tires as they passed over a rough section of road.

“You’d think if they charge you to drive on this road they’d at least keep it maintained,” muttered Quinn after a particularly bumpy stretch. Amelia looked at him with a faint smile.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Always a first time for everything.”

Amelia glared at him.

“At least one of us is thinking,” she said angrily. “The only thing I’ve seen you do is run around on some wild goose chase, all because of some crackpot theory. Now you’re going to harass some poor person at the hospital, and they’ll tell you the same thing as everyone else. Eleanor Eastman was the victim of a terrible tragedy, not the cause. What do you hope to accomplish?”

“I want to know how much contact Eleanor Eastman had with Eli Glinn while she was in the hospital, especially before her ‘disappearance’.”

“Who the Hell is Eli Glinn?”

“Her uncle and legal guardian. Also the one responsible for arranging her transfer to another hospital, right before she vanished.”

“So what?”

“He also visited our office a few days ago.”

“Why?”

“Rick...Sheriff Mathies called him. Apparently they were old friends. This Glinn owns an engineering firm that also happens to do forensic profiling.”

“So? It makes perfect sense for him to help with the case, especially if he suspected there was a connection.”

“That’s the thing. He didn’t agree to help on the case. He drove all the way from New York to talk to Rick about it, and then he says he can’t help. Doesn’t that strike you as just a little bit suspicious?”

“Well, maybe he didn’t see the connection.”

“Anyone who was involved in both cases, or knew about both cases, has made the connection. He’s involved in this somehow, I’m sure of it.”

Amelia remained silent, unsure of how to respond. In her mind, she resigned herself to the fact that there was no way to discourage Quinn once he was on a mission. She’d just have to ride it out. For now.



Pendergast opened the door of the truck and guided Tigg into the passenger seat. He walked quickly around to the driver’s side, climbed in, and shut the door before turning to Tigg.

“Who?”

“C-chris Jenkins. And his family.” Tigg’s voice cracked on the final word.

“One of the people on your list,” said Pendergast, almost to himself. “And his family. Do you mean Rebecca Jenkins?”

“No. She was at work...at the time.” Suddenly, Tigg slammed her fist on the dashboard, causing a passerby to turn and stare. Pendergast waved her along, and when the young woman had moved out of earshot, Pendergast returned his attention to Tigg. She was shaking worse than before.

“What else?”

“The sheriff thinks it’s a copycat, but they’re telling everyone that it’s a burglary gone wrong. I guess they don’t want people to panic. I don’t think anyone else knows about it.”

“Except you.”

“I...”

Pendergast regarded her for a moment before continuing.

“You didn’t strike me as being an ungraceful person. When you knocked those files off the desk in the sheriff’s office yesterday, I suspected you had some ulterior motive. Now I understand what it was.”

“What?”

“Mr. Glinn said you did work for him in the area of ‘electronics and surveillance equipment’. I assume that includes, ah, listening devices.”

Tigg stared at him, momentarily unable to respond.

“But we’ll speak of the repercussions of this at a later time.”

Finally Tigg found her voice.

“Repercussions? I was trying to help, damn it! Do you really think that the sheriff would have told you everything? I was just trying to make sure we were getting as much information as we could.”

Pendergast lowered his voice. “I meant personal repercussions. You learned something that upset you greatly, and I fear the shock has been too much for you.”

Tigg stared at the floor. She couldn’t bear to meet Pendergast’s gaze.

“You’re losing control of your emotions. You will need to pull yourself together, not only for the sake of continuing the investigation, but for your own safety. Do you understand?”

“I’ve lost a friend,” said Tigg, her voice trembling with emotion. “Innocent people have died because I haven’t done enough.”

“I understand. But you must compose yourself. You must.”

“I...will.”

Pendergast placed his hand on the door handle.

“I will go make your excuses to Mr. Harlow and ask a few more questions. That should give you time to calm down and compose yourself before we go speak to the sheriff. Agreed?”

“Yes,” whispered Tigg, still staring at the floor.

Without another word, Pendergast opened the door and climbed out, shutting the door gently behind him. He walked to the front door of the bookstore and disappeared inside.

Tigg raised her head and looked out the front window of the truck. She saw the young woman who had passed by earlier seated on a bench, pushing a baby carriage back and forth with her foot, her attention focused on the child inside. After a few minutes, the woman lifted the crying infant out of the stroller and began to rock it back and forth. As Tigg observed the scene, an old memory, long buried, surfaced in her mind.



She sat on a wooden bench that had been built around a towering oak tree, one of the oldest on campus. The late summer breeze stirred the hair of the infant she held in the crook of one arm, and he started to stir, fussing a little. She rocked him slowly, hoping he would sleep for just a few more minutes until his mother and father returned. She sang to him softly, an old favorite, one of the songs her mother had sung to her as a child. By the time she had reached the second verse, he had drifted off to sleep again, but she continued to sing.

“And when the broken hearted people
Living in the world agree,
There will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is
Still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be.”

“Corrupting that poor kid already, are you?”

Eleanor looked up.

“Hey Zoey.” Eleanor glanced at the other two girls. “Hey Julia, Faith. What’s up?” she asked, keeping her voice low and hoping they would have the sense to do the same.

“We’re headed off to class. Printmaking and Design.”

“All three of you? I thought you had CVA lab this afternoon?”

“I switched to the morning section. Don’t you know, I just love the smell of formaldehyde in the morning. Besides, the TA is much cuter.” Zoey turned and winked at her companions. Julia giggled, while Faith rolled her eyes.

“Then I imagine that the TA is the only pleasant thing to look at in that class.” Eleanor wrinkled her nose. “But I can’t see how an art class fits into pre-vet curriculum.”

“All work and no play makes Zoey a dull girl. Besides, I have to fill up those BS humanites requirements somehow.”

Julia shot Zoey a dirty look.

“I would think you’d take it as an opportunity to become a well-rounded individual,” she said stiffly.

“Whatever. I don’t need to be well-rounded, I just need to be perfect at what I do.”

Zoey turned to Eleanor, who had resumed slowly rocking the slumbering infant, humming softly as she did so.

“How’d you get stuck with babysitting duty?”

“Chris and Becca got stuck with classes that meet at the same time. I’m free, so I offered to watch Robin.”

“Oh, well, I guess it will be practice for the future, right?”

Eleanor laughed quietly.

“Hardly. I might use the ‘skills’ when I have nieces and nephews, but I think I’ll just be a career woman.”

“So sayeth the totally mature sixteen-year-old,” said Julia with a laugh.

“Almost seventeen. Old enough to know what I want, I think.”

“Whatever,” said Zoey. “Hey, listen, we were looking for you anyway. Dr. Meadows posted the results of the auditions for the fall drama. Congratulations, you got the title role.”

“Wow. I never expected that.”

“We...were rather surprised, too,” said Faith. “Considering that you’ve never acted in a play before. But it’s a great opportunity. Think you’ll be up to it?”

“Sure she will,” said Julia. “I saw her audition. But we all got parts, even Becca. Frankly I was surprised she would have time to try out, much less do the play.”

“Chris thought she needed to do something for herself. They’ll work it out. They always do.”

“I guess they have to since they have no other family,” said Faith. “I can understand that.”

“That’s not something I’ll ever have to worry about,” said Eleanor with a laugh. “With five brothers and sisters, I’m sure there’ll be someone there for me.”

“Too true,” said Zoey. She looked at her watch. “Well, we better get going. See you later.”

With a wave, the three girls departed. Eleanor watched them leave and turned her attention to the front door of the biology building from which she expected Becca to emerge shortly. After a few minutes, she spotted Becca working her way through the crowd of students entering the building. Becca’s anxious expression faded when she saw Eleanor and Robin, right where she had left them an hour before. She hurried over to them, sat down next to Eleanor on the bench and held out her arms. Eleanor gently handed the still sleeping infant to his mother. Becca held him close for several minutes before speaking.

“Thank you,” said Becca. “I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.”

“Chris thought we should look into day care, but you know, I hate to leave him with a stranger. You never know...”

“I understand. He means a lot to you.”

Becca sighed. “More than you know. I really don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him. I’d probably just curl up and die.” Becca blushed. “That probably seems silly to you, doesn’t it? Chris says I worry way too much.”

“No, not really. But I don’t think you have too much here to worry about. I think this little corner of the world is relatively safe.”

“I hope you’re right.”



I was wrong, thought Tigg. I’m so sorry, Becca. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself as Pendergast had instructed.

I understand...you must compose yourself. You must.

No, thought Tigg, you don’t understand. You can’t possibly...

Soon, Tigg’s shaking subsided. A new emotion had taken control, blocking out her anguish and doubt. Her anger helped her focus.

I will get through this, not for my safety, but because I have to. I must stop this, somehow...

By the time Pendergast re-emerged from the bookstore, Tigg was calm, grim determination and a new resolve in place to steel her against what she knew lay ahead.

I will stop this. I will help find this bastard if it’s the last thing I do.

Chapter 32    table of contents  

Sherri looked up as the front door of the Sheriff’s Office opened, revealing Dr. Prescott and his student.

Oh God, that’s just what I need this morning, thought Sherri.

“Good morning, Ma’am. I was wondering if you had those crime statistics reports for me?”

“Yes, Dr. Prescott. Just a minute.” She walked over to one of the cabinets and pulled out the file, which she unceremoniously dropped on her desk in front of him.

“Ah, splendid. Thank you. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble?”

“Not at all,” grumbled Sherri. She sincerely hoped he would take his damn file and leave.

“Is the Sheriff in? I have a few more questions for him this morning.”

“He’s rather busy right now. I can have him call you when he’s free.”

At that moment the inner office door opened and Mathies stepped out.

“Sherri, have you heard from—?” Mathies stopped and stared at Prescott, a strange look crossing his face.

“Charlie? Not yet, but I’ll—.”

“Keep trying,” snapped Mathies, briefly returning his attention to Sherri who was staring at him, open-mouthed.

“Yes, sir.” Sherri sat down at her desk and reached for the phone, her face flushed with anger and embarrassment.

“Well, Dr. Prescott,” said Mathies, turning towards him, “I trust Sherri has provided you with the information you requested. Was there anything else?”

“Ah, yes, as a matter of fact. I have just a few more questions for you, that is, if you have the time...”

“I suppose. Just make it quick. Sherri, please hold all my calls except from Patrick Campbell.” Mathies turned and walked into his office. Prescott turned to his student.

“Mr. Crow, please wait here.” Crow nodded, and Prescott followed Mathies into his office, shutting the door behind him.

Sherri sat at her desk, her cheeks burning. Soon she noticed that Crow was still standing, staring at her. After a moment, he walked to the water cooler and filled two cups. He brought her one of the cups, which she accepted.

“Thank you, Mr. Crow.”

He nodded, walked over to an empty chair, and sat down, withdrawing a book from his pocket. He opened it and leaned back in the chair. Sherri watched him read for a few minutes, unsure of what to say to this quiet young man. Finally, she picked up the phone. Time to get back to work.



Mathies sat down at his desk and sighed. His face was drawn and grey, with dark circles under his eyes, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week. He stared silently at Prescott for a few moments before speaking.

“I’m going to owe Sherri another apology this morning,” he said with a note of self-loathing in his voice.

“Indeed.”

“Alright, Dr. Prescott, what do you need to know?”

“I am sorry you missed our meeting last night, Sheriff Mathies. I do understand how difficult it is to meet like this, but I was hoping you would have some more information on the case at this point.”

Mathies picked up the toxicology report and handed it to Prescott.

“Just this. I forgot to have Dr. Crosslin explain it to me last night. I can’t make heads or tails of it, but maybe you can.”

Prescott opened the file and read silently for several moments.

“Interesting. The toxicological analysis identified two types of barbiturates in the victims: thiopental and pentobarbital. However, only the parents had pentobarbital in their systems, in addition to trace amounts of the thiopental.”

“Which means what?”

“The thiopental is an ultra-fast-acting barbiturate. It is commonly used as an anesthetic for minor surgery where the patient needs to be completely unconscious. Its’ effects are almost immediate, but it has a very short half-life, and only lasts about 20 minutes. The pentobarbital is a short-acting barbiturate which lasts about 4 hours. It suggests that, in the case of the parents, the thiopental may have been used to knock them out, but they were alive long enough for it to metabolize, and the pentobarbital was used to keep them subdued afterwards.”

“But the children only had thiopental in their systems?”

“Correct. It suggests that the children were killed very soon after being rendered unconscious.”

“So why take the children out quickly and keep the parents alive longer? Unless...” A look of horror crossed Mathies’ face.

“Unless the parents were subdued first and killed last, so they would witness the children being killed.”

“We’re dealing with a madman,” whispered Mathies, his face turning an even paler shade of sickly grey.

“No,” said Prescott. “We are dealing with a very cold, very deliberate killer. This was not some random act of violence. This was planned, and this was personal.”

“My God,” said Mathies. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Mathies saw Prescott slip the report back on his desk before the door opened and Sherri stuck her head in.

“Rick? Patrick Campbell is on the phone. You said...”

“Yes, it’s OK, Sherri. Thank you.” She nodded and withdrew. Mathies picked up the phone.

“Pat? Did you find her?” His face fell at the response. “No, I understand. You’ll keep looking. What about the—? Tomorrow?!? That’s the best they can do? No, I...OK. Thanks, Pat.” He hung up the phone and leaned back in the chair. It was several moments before he could look up.

“Is there anything else, Dr. Prescott?” he asked wearily.

“I suggest you contact the local hospitals and veterinary services, since those are the facilities that would most likely have the drugs mentioned in the report.”

“I’ll have my deputy work on that as soon as he gets back. I have other concerns at the moment.”

“Other concerns? Another case?”

“Yes. We had another group of murders last night, Dr. Prescott. That...is why I missed our meeting.”

“The same killer?”

“No, I believe it’s a copycat. There are several inconsistencies with the other case.”

“Such as?”

“The lack of symbols on the victims, for one thing. We kept that out of the papers.”

“Do you have the autopsy report? May I see it?”

Mathies stared at Prescott, a creeping suspicion emerging in his mind. He shook his head to throw off the thought.

“Here.” He handed the folder containing the report across the desk. Prescott opened the folder and quickly scanned it.

“These differences. They seem almost...deliberate.” Mathies felt a chill go down his spine.

“I had the same thought when I read the report,” admitted Mathies. “But I know they’re not from the same person.”

Prescott looked at him sharply.

“What do you mean?”

Mathies couldn’t respond.

“Sheriff Mathies, is there something else going on here? Mr. Glinn’s profiling program suggested that the killer would be very likely to perpetrate other crimes in order to distract the officers in charge of the case. These new murders certainly fit.”

“Did...did it mention what kind of crimes?”

“No. Why? Has something happened?” Prescott was looking at him with an expression of intense curiosity.

Mathies couldn’t take it any longer. He had to tell someone, and Prescott already seemed to know that something was terribly amiss. He stared at the floor, unable to meet Prescott’s piercing gaze.

“He has my daughter,” said Mathies in a low voice.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The killer. He has her.”

Prescott stared at him, an expression of shock flitting across his face before he regained his normal placid expression.

“How do you know?” he asked, lowering his voice as well.

“He called me from her cell phone. I thought it was...” He couldn’t finish.

“What precisely did he say?”

Mathies thought back, trying to recall as much as he could about that horrible conversation.

“He said she was tied up somewhere...in the dark, without food or water. He had left her there some time before he called. He wanted me to concentrate on finding her instead of the Zoller case. He said he had more ‘fun’ planned. When I ...told him I couldn’t drop the Zoller case he said I wasn’t the father I’d been made out to be. He also denied the Jenkins’ murders...” Mathies expression darkened. “But he was ‘flattered’ that he had ‘inspired’ someone else to kill.” Mathies looked up at Prescott and could see that he was losing some of his cool detachment.

“Anything else? Anything that might suggest where your daughter was being kept, or how he knew where to find her?” asked Prescott.

“He said he was giving her a ...history lesson.” Mathies eyes widened. “Maybe I should have Pat check...”

“Historical sites? Possibly.”

“He said he wouldn’t stop me from finding her, but...”

“He didn’t give you much chance of doing so. Sheriff, I think this is one of the rare cases where you need to do what the killer asked.”

“What do you mean? Drop the other case? But—?”

“Appear to do what the killer asked. Announce that she is missing. Involve others in the search publicly. In the mean time, allow us to continue out investigation. You will of course play a role, but obliquely. We will on occasion need to gain access that only you can provide. While you are, ah, introducing us and our ‘project’, you will be in a position to conduct your own investigation. I suggest the hospital would be a good place to start, where we may meet the survivor and you may question the staff concerning the drugs found in the victims and access to those drugs. I’m sure you know of at least one person whom you can trust to provide information.”

“Yes, but...we won’t draw the attention of the killer? We’ll appear to be working together, won’t we?”

“Not if you make it very clear how little you think of our project but that you are being pressured to assist us.”

“I don’t see how this will help find—”

“If we find the killer, we will find your daughter, and we will prevent his ‘fun’ that he has planned. Now, are we in agreement?”

“Yes,” said Mathies with a sinking feeling. “We are in agreement.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.” Prescott rose and walked to the door. He opened it and turned to Mathies.

“Thank you for the information, Sheriff. You’ve been most helpful.”

He motioned to Crow and walked towards the front door. Crow stood, nodded to Sherri and followed.



When they were back in the truck, Pendergast turned to Tigg.

“Did you—?”

“Every word,” she said flatly.

“And your opinion?”

“I think the same person killed all three families: mine, the Zollers, and the Jenkins’.”

“We are in agreement. What else?”

“The killer has no intention of letting the Sheriff find his daughter. He is just keeping him distracted until the next killing.”

“Also agreed. Anything else?”

“The killer knows the Sheriff’s daughter, or at least has heard her speak of him. He told the Sheriff that he’s ‘not the father he’s been made out to be’. Rather—.” She paused, listening. “The Sheriff is calling someone...telling him to check local historical sites. It seems he’s decided to listen to you. He’s also telling this person to announce her disappearance.”

“Excellent. The killer will believe he’s established sufficient control over the Sheriff.”

“You don’t think this will cause him to harm the Sheriff’s daughter?”

“No. He is confident she won’t be found. But I suspect that it is a moot point. I believe it’s likely she’s no longer alive.” Pendergast watched Tigg’s expression, but she showed no trace of emotion.

“You’re probably right. I doubt he would chance a potential witness.”

Pendergast nodded.

“What now?”

“We have an hour before we’re to meet the Sheriff, and I believe we have time for one more interview.”

“The last person on my list or Mrs. Willamette?”

“The last person on your list.”

“You’re going to need my help for this one, then.”

Pendergast gave her a curious look.

“You’re certain you’re prepared for such an interview?”

“Yes. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” Now.

Chapter 33    table of contents  

Quinn and Amelia exited the elevator on the fifth floor of Reliance University Hospital and turned right. They passed several closed doors before stopping at the one marked “Agatha Millhouse, MN, Nurse Supervisor”. Quinn raised his fist and knocked three times.

“Looking for me?”

Quinn and Amelia turned to see a short, stout woman with black eyes and tightly curled grey hair, dressed in a dark blue skirt suit. She gazed at them expectantly.

“Uh, are you Mrs. Millhouse?”

“Ms. Millhouse, young man. Yes. How may I help you?”

Young?

“Sorry. I’m Charles Quinn, and this is Amelia Harding. We...” He caught Amelia’s dark look. “I mean, I am doing some research on a patient who was treated here about twelve years ago. The person I talked to in the administration office said you would be a good person to ask about the patient. You were working here 12 years ago, correct?”

“I have been working here for over 40 years, Mr. Quinn. You can hardly expect me to remember one patient out of the thousands that have passed through, nor expect me to discuss open cases.”

“I think you might remember this one, and the...case is long closed.”

“Which patient?”

“I’d rather discuss it in private, if that is...acceptable?”

“If we must. Please, step into my office.” She unlocked the door and led them into a modest room lined with bookshelves, lithographs, and framed certificates. Ms. Millhouse closed the door behind them, then walked to her desk and settled herself into a large, comfortable-looking chair. Quinn and Amelia seated themselves in the decidedly more uncomfortable-looking chairs opposite.

“Now, who was the patient?”

“Eleanor Eastman.”

The woman’s dark eyes narrowed and she stared at Quinn before responding.

“I remember her. Her case was not something you’d forget easily. Why are you researching that poor girl?”

“I...I’m interested in her story. The case involving her and her family, to be precise.”

“Morbid curiosity? I don’t really have time for that, Mr. Quinn. Or are you hoping to profit from the tragedy by writing a book or some other such nonsense?”

“No, nothing like that. Please, Ms. Millhouse, I would really appreciate your help. It’s very important.”

Ms. Millhouse turned in her chair and gazed out the window on the far wall, seemingly unimpressed with Quinn’s plea. She remained unmoving for several minutes until finally turning back toward Quinn.

“What do you want to know?”

“Were you here when she was brought in? What happened?”

“Yes. I remember the ER nurses talking about it. They were frankly amazed that she was still alive. They almost lost her a couple of times, but I guess she was quite a fighter. She was in intensive care for nearly four weeks.”

“What happened after that?”

“She was transferred to long-term care, up here on the fifth floor. She was healing well physically, but she was otherwise unresponsive. She had been that way ever since she regained consciousness while down in the ICU.”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘unresponsive’?”

“Exactly as it sounds, Mr. Quinn. She didn’t react to anything. She did seem to feel some pain, but her responses to it were relatively minor. She never cried, never spoke, wouldn’t voluntarily respond to aural or visual stimuli. She wouldn’t even look at the people who came to visit and speak to her.”

“Who came to visit her?”

Ms. Millhouse paused and gave Quinn a sharp look.

“Not many people. Those who came once often didn’t return. Some people just can’t take seeing something like that.”

“Something like what?”

“A person who has been completely broken. It’s a terrible thing, believe me.”

“Ah, yes, I...believe you. But the people who did come to visit...?”

“Some friends from school, I believe. She had one friend who did visit her regularly, talked to her, read to her. The girl said she wanted to be a nurse one day, that I remember.” She thought for a moment. “Rebecca Jenkins.”

Why does that name sound familiar? thought Quinn.

“Let me see. There was a cop who used to come see her, but I think he was hoping for more case information. His boss put a stop to it, eventually, and told the guy it was a lost cause.” Her expression hardened. “A really rude, coarse man. I think he was the Sheriff of some Podunk little town down south, but he certainly didn’t win on charm. The only other cop I remember was an FBI agent. He said he was part of the behavioral sciences unit and was doing research. He spoke to her for a fairly long time, but he never got a response. He asked the staff a lot of questions and I don’t think he was too happy with their answers. He was a strange fellow. Some of the nurses said he was rather creepy.”

The “boss” must have been Darrow, but who was the cop? Cambry? I’ll have to ask him when I get back. And just who was this FBI agent? Said he met him...I’ll have to ask him more about that, too.

“Did any relatives come to visit?”

“Not right away. I think the only one she had left was out of the country when she came in, and it took awhile to locate him. He visited a couple of times.”

“How did he react to seeing her?”

“He...he struck me as a man who kept his emotions inside, so he appeared calm, but I believe he was truly rattled.”

“Did you, or anyone else, supervise any of these visits?”

“Not directly, but there was always someone nearby.”

“Did anyone ask to be left alone with her?”

“Her uncle did, both times he visited. Why?”

“How soon after his second visit did she ‘disappear’?”

Ms. Millhouse stared at Quinn, an angry look in her dark eyes.

“Mr. Quinn, what is the purpose of these questions? They seem to go far beyond the bounds of research. What are you looking for, exactly?”

“I’m looking for an explanation for something inexplicable. I’m not trying to cause anyone any trouble, believe me.”

“I see.” She thought for a moment. “I couldn’t say for sure. Perhaps a week, maybe more.”

“Were you here the night she disappeared?”

“If I had been, I wouldn’t be here now. Everyone who was on duty that night was either fired, demoted, or transferred to another hospital. The administrators forbade everyone else from discussing the case. They feared legal action and wanted to keep as tight a lid on the situation as possible.” Ms. Millhouse drew a deep breath and sat up straighter in her chair as if she were prepared to rise from it. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Quinn?”

“Yes. Did you ever...suspect that the Eastman girl was not as ‘unresponsive’ as she seemed?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, was there any time when she looked as if she was more aware than she let on.”

“I do not think I understand what you’re getting at.”

“What he means,” broke in Amelia, “did you notice that she was faking the whole ‘unresponsive’ thing and planned her escape from this hospital with the help of her uncle?”

Ms. Millhouse stared at Amelia, a look of complete shock on her face.

“Is this some sort of sick joke?”

“Nope. Charlie here really believes that, don’t you?” said Amelia, turning to Quinn. He sat in stunned silence, unable to respond to Amelia’s outburst.

“In fact,” she continued, “he even believes that she is really the one responsible for killing her whole family. Isn’t that right, Charlie?”

Ms. Millhouse abruptly rose from her chair and glared down at Quinn and Amelia.

“I do not have time for this sort of sick nonsense. Please leave, immediately, before I call security.”

“Ms Millhouse, I—.” Quinn tried to stammer an apology, but it fell on deaf ears. She walked to her office door and flung it open.

“Leave. Now.”

Quinn meekly rose from his chair and left the office, followed by Amelia. The office door slammed shut behind them, and several people turned in their direction. They quickly walked to the elevator and Quinn punched the button. The doors opened, and they entered without a backward glance. As the doors slid shut, Quinn turned to Amelia in fury.

“What the HELL is the matter with you?!? You just ruined any chance I might have had of—!”

“Of what?” she shot back. “You weren’t going to find out anything because there is nothing to find! I wanted you to see how stupid the whole thing sounds. Don’t you get it? This is bullshit! All you are doing is tarnishing an innocent girl’s memory and upsetting the few remaining people who cared for her. It’s not right! What’s worse, you’re bringing attention to the old case, and sooner or later you’re going to alert the real killer. I’d rather get thrown out of a hospital by some pissed off nurse than wind up dead!”

Quinn stared at her, a welling mix of emotion rendering him speechless. He turned away from her and stared straight ahead. Amelia lowered her voice and continued.

“Look, Charlie, I know you think you’re on the right track, but...it’s just wrong. We both know there is a connection between the cases, and we really should be looking at that, not focusing on one person. Let the poor girl rest in peace.” Amelia quickly surveyed her situation before continuing. “I’ll...I’ll help you any other way I can, but not with this.”

Quinn continued to stare straight ahead, not even letting on that he had heard her. Amelia sighed in disgust. They rode the rest of the way down in silence, and when the doors opened he exited the elevator and left the building without uttering another word.



Five floors above, in the relative silence of her office, Agatha Millhouse sat motionless, staring out the window on the far wall, her thoughts focused on the events of twelve years ago. She had believed the issue was long buried, and yet here it was again. Some things can never really be forgotten, she mused. She turned back to her desk and opened her rolodex, withdrawing a card with a simple printed message and phone number. After staring at the card for a long time, she set it on her desk, withdrew her cell phone from one of the drawers, and flipped it open. With a distinct feeling of unease she began to dial.

Chapter 34    table of contents  

Pendergast eased the truck to a stop in front of a modest two story house at the end of a cul-de-sac and killed the engine. He grabbed his briefcase and exited the truck, waiting for Tigg to join him. Silently she followed him up the front walk to the front of the house, taking note of the newly planted trees, roughed-in landscaping, and immaculate lawn.

“How long has he lived here?” she asked.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ulster moved to Winstead 6 months ago. They are it’s most recently arrived residents, an honor which will provide the pretense of our visit.”

“Mr. and Mrs.? Interesting.” She looked up at the house, which had a new roof and looked as if it had been recently painted. “It appears that ol’ Todd is doing OK for himself, or at least keeping busy.”

“Indeed.”

Tigg glanced at the empty carport. “Looks like they’re at work. Why are we here?”

“Mr. Ulster works from home, and I have it on good authority that he rarely leaves the property.”

“Hmmm. I see some things never change.”

Before Pendergast could question her cryptic comment, Tigg reached the front door and pressed the button for the doorbell. Pendergast stepped up beside her and waited.

After several moments of silence, they heard a soft clicking sound approach the door from the interior of the house and then retreat. The clicking returned, accompanied by the sound of heavy footfalls. A chain rattled, and slowly the door opened to reveal a man with tousled brown hair, dressed in blackwatch plaid pajama bottoms and a dark blue t-shirt. His light green eyes held a look of annoyance. He stared at the pair, then reached to the left of the doorframe and produced a small sign, which he held up for their inspection. Tigg and Pendergast turned their attention to the sign, which said:

DEAF, MUTE, NOT INTERESTED. GOOD-BYE.

When their gaze returned to him, he started to close the door. Tigg stepped forward and made a series of motions with her hands.

“Please, wait.”

The man stopped, looked at her, and raised one eyebrow. He quickly signed a question, which almost caused Tigg to laugh out loud.

“What, Jehovah’s Witnesses are learning to sign now?”

Tigg glanced at Pendergast to see if he had understood, but he shook his head. She signed a response.

“No. Well, I don’t know about that, really.” Tigg indicated to herself and Pendergast. “We are researchers. Studying this town, and would like to discuss this with you.”

“Why with me?”

“Because...” Tigg paused, trying to thing of a good way to phrase the reason. “You might have interesting answers.”

“I doubt it.” He regarded Pendergast with an unfriendly expression on his face, then turned back to Tigg.

“He the boss?”

“Yes. Dr. Prescott. Doesn’t sign, but has the questions. I’ll interpret. My name is Jack Crow.”

“Todd Ulster.” Ulster thought for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth between Pendergast and Tigg, before coming to a decision.

“OK. I can spare a few minutes. Not too long. I’m busy.” He opened the door wider to allow them inside. “Come with me.”

They followed him down the front hall, which smelled of fresh paint. The clicking sound they had heard earlier resumed, and Tigg turned to see a small corgi-type dog with a bright orange collar following them. At the end of the hall, they turned left and entered a small room which apparently served as an office. It was packed with books, computer equipment, cables, and other electronics. One small sofa was jammed up against the far wall, flanked on either side with labeled boxes yet unpacked. A large desk holding three computer monitors and various other pieces of equipment was against the opposite wall. Pendergast lowered himself onto the sofa and Tigg followed suit.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t touch anything.” Ulster headed back down the hall, and the dog followed.

“He doesn’t seem particularly happy to see us,” observed Pendergast.

“Well, it appears that we did wake him up, but I suspect it’s more that he’s not happy to see you.” Tigg said, removing her sunglasses and gazing around the room with curiosity.

“Why would you say that?”

“I remember some of the things he said regarding his family. They belonged to a very small minority of culturally Deaf people who strongly dislike hearing people, especially those who don’t sign. It’s unfortunate, but it happens. Todd was a little more, well, liberal in his views in that regard, but he still won’t go out of his way to interact with the Hearing.”

“Hence your lack of surprise that he is somewhat of a hermit.”

“Yes.”

“But he has agreed to talk to us?’

“Yes. I told him our names and that we have questions about the town. You’ll ask, I’ll interpret. But go slow, and keep it simple, I’m a little out of practice.” Pendergast nodded, withdrew his notebook, and waited.

Ulster soon returned, wearing jeans and a different t-shirt. He sat down in his office chair and swiveled to face Pendergast and Tigg.

“What do you want to know?”

“He wants to know why we’re here,” Tigg muttered to Pendergast.

“Ah, yes. We are studying the psychological, sociological, and economic effects of a certain type of crime on small towns.” He paused, waiting as Tigg spelled out the unfamiliar words. “Mass murder to be precise. You have heard of what happened to the Zoller family, correct?”

A flicker of unease crossed Ulster’s face.

“Strange subject for study. I am aware of what happened, but not much otherwise. I haven’t lived here long.”

“Did you know the family?”

“No.”

“How do you feel about the town, in light of what’s happened?”

“My wife and I discussed installing an alarm system. The crime made her very nervous.”

“I see.” Pendergast made a notation in his book. “What about you?”

“I have no opinion. There’s crime everywhere. People can’t get away from it, can we?”

“Unfortunately, no. But this kind of crime is different. It produces strong emotions from most people. How did it make you feel?”

“It...brought back bad memories.” Ulster shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Of what?”

“I lost friends. Very good friends. But it happened a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. So this new crime reminded you of your loss.” Pendergast made another note. “May I ask what happened?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“I see.”

Tigg caught the look of anger that flashed in Ulster’s eyes. She quickly signed “sorry”. Ulster smiled slightly. “No problem.”

“Now,” said Pendergast after noting the brief exchange, “I would like to collect a little background information, if you don’t mind. For statistical purposes.”

“OK.”

“When did you move to Winstead?”

“Six months ago.”

“And what sort of work do you and your wife do?”

“I’m a web page designer and...” Tigg paused and asked for clarification of a sign. “Webmaster for several non-profit organizations. I also do maintenance for a couple of ...online order companies. In my spare time I’m remodeling the house, and I do...computer-generated graphic art.” Again, Tigg appeared to struggle a bit with some of the signs. Ulster was looking at her carefully, a puzzled expression on his face. He looked at her and signed four letters as a question. She signed “no”. His eyes narrowed slightly at her response, and then continued his narration.

“My wife, Deanna, works for the police.”

“The Winstead police?”

“No, state police, in the laboratory. She’s a biologist who analyzes...evidence.”

“Ah, that must be fascinating.”

“Yes, too bad she has to work with cops.”

“I see. Is she, ah, hearing impaired also?”

Tigg grimaced. She signed the question, replacing “hearing impaired” with “deaf”.

“No, she’s a CODA.”

“I’m sorry?”

“CODA. Child of deaf adults”, explained Tigg.

“Ah.”

Ulster looked at Tigg and signed another quick question. She hesitated before responding in the negative. Ulster gave her another suspicious look, this time staring for several moments before returning his attention to Pendergast.

“To, ah, return to a previous question. You are not happy that your wife works with cops. Why not?”

“I don’t trust them. Bad past experience.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

Again, Ulster shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was still for a moment, debating his response. Finally, after directing a piecing stare at Tigg, he responded.

“A cop killed a friend of mine. My best friend. His name was Lucas.” He paused, carefully watching Tigg while she interpreted. A startled expression briefly crossed his face, and it was several moments before he continued.

“Another cop blamed my friend for something I know he didn’t do, to justify him being killed.”

“I am truly sorry to hear that.”

“After that, I had no use for the police. My wife tried to tell me that what happened was a one time thing, so I started to do research. I found out that there are a lot of times that the cops get the wrong person. I also found that a lot of have gone unsolved because the police...messed up.” Tigg blushed slightly, editing one sign to something slightly more polite.

Ulster turned to one of the computers on the desk, placed his hand on the adjacent mouse, and clicked to open a window. It displayed a website entitled “Epidemic of Incompetence: Unsolved and Unsolvable Murders” in bold red letters across the top a black screen, with several underlined links were listed beneath. He turned back to Pendergast.

“Each one of these...links goes to a collection of news stories about a case with evidence of police misconduct, and that’s what I’ve found with my limited searching. I’m sure there are plenty more. I decided to make people aware of the problem.” He turned to the computer again, clicked another link, and turned back.

“These are recent cases that do not look like they will be solved, based on news reports of lack of evidence, where no suspect at all has ever been identified.” He turned and clicked a final link.

“These are closed cases where evidence has shown that they were closed to soon, or with the wrong person put in jail. Again, only what I’ve found with a limited search.”

Now, does that explain why I don’t hold the police in high regard?”

“Actually, your response is not that surprising. Anger combined with the need to find an outside entity upon which to focus it. Has you research and subsequent display of the results produced the desired effect?”

“What do you mean?”

“Has anyone seemed interested in your cause?”

“I’ve received several responses and questions about cases, but...” He stopped, apparently unsure of what to say next.

“You have also invited the interest of a certain, ah, element of society that you would rather have avoided.”

An expression of fear flickered across Ulster’s face.

“I have received correspondence from people who seem to...enjoy reading about these tragedies. Some have even offered their own interpretations of the crimes. These are not pleasant, but I can ignore them. The work is important.”

“Have you, by chance, shared these, ah, interpretations with the police?”

“Not recently. I did, at first, because my wife insisted. They scared her, the things people sent. The information was not well received. I expected as much.”

“Is, ah, the recent case from Winstead featured on your page?”

Ulster’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes.”

“And have you received any of this type of correspondence in regards to the case?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t mean anything. It is just a...sick interpretation of what was written in the newspaper.”

“May we see it?”

Ulster hesitated, his eyes flicking back and forth between Pendergast and Tigg. Finally he turned, opened one of the desk drawers, and withdrew a file folder. He removed a sheet of paper and held it up for their inspection. It appeared to be a pen and ink drawing, depicting several figures. Tigg gasped when she recognized the scene. It was the same as she had seen in her dream the night before. She stared at the picture, frozen, unable to look away.

Ulster, alarmed by her reaction, quickly lowered the picture and placed it back in the folder. Tigg closed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the image. When she opened them, she saw that both men were staring at her. The expression on Pendergast’s face was unreadable, but Ulster looked horrified. Before she could say anything, he signed a few declarative sentences. She started to respond, but thought better of it, and turned to Pendergast.

“Mr. Ulster needs to speak with me in private. In the kitchen.”

“Are you sure that is wise?”

“I...I’ll handle it. It’s fine. Trust me,” said Tigg with much more confidence than she felt.

Ulster rose from his seat and walked out of the room, turning more than once to make sure Tigg followed. When they reached the kitchen, he stopped and rounded on Tigg. When Tigg saw his expression she took a few steps back. He glared at her for a moment, then raised his hands and very deliberately signed a question.

“Who the Hell are you?!?”

Chapter 35    table of contents  

Amelia walked briskly through the parking lot to where Quinn had parked, and was quite relieved to discover that his car was still there. Quinn himself was sitting in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead, apparently lost in thought. He failed to acknowledge Amelia’s presence when she opened the passenger side door and slid into the seat next to him. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Amelia started to say something to Quinn.

“Charlie, I—”

“You’re right.” Quinn’s voice was low and he sounded defeated.

Amelia was startled into momentary silence. She quickly recovered and tried again.

“Charlie, I...what do you mean?”

“You’re right. I’m dragging you along on a wild goose chase, upsetting innocent people and probably putting us in danger, as well. I’m sorry.” He sounded so miserable that Amelia immediately felt a rush of guilt.

“Look, Charlie, I’m sorry, too. You have helped me out, and I’ve been a bit ungrateful.”

“A bit?” He looked at her with a little half smile on his face. Amelia almost laughed out loud with relief.

“Yeah, I deserved that.” Her face sobered. “But look, Charlie, we both know there is something else going on here, and I meant what I said. I have a lot at stake here, too, and I’ll help you find the real connection, any way I can.”

“Real connection? I suppose we’re back to square one in that area.” Quinn lapsed into silence once more.

“What...what else have you looked into during your investigation?”

Quinn sighed. “The usual: friends, family, business associates. We tried to find a history of violence in the family or a history of problems in the community, neither of which turned up anything. Quite the opposite, actually. They were from all outward appearances the perfect family. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” he muttered ruefully.

“Well, maybe that’s it. The killer is just targeting ‘perfect’ families. There’s no other connection.”

“Then how did the killer pick these two particular families, and why? Something has to connect them. Some organization? Schooling? Maybe further back in history the families had a connection. I don’t believe that the killer just picked them at random.”

“So how do we check? Old records? It will be Hell trying to get them from Pine Mountain, that’s for sure.”

“And getting the proper paperwork takes time. Something tells me we don’t have that.”

“What about old news stories? Maybe the two families were featured in some sort of article and the killer picked them that way?”

“I thought of that, before, and I tried looking in the local papers. Unfortunately the online editions only go back five years. We’d have to go back much further than that, I’m afraid.”

Amelia thought for a moment. Suddenly she had an idea.

“The University has an archive, covering this whole area and going back to the first official records. It’s as good a place to start as any.”

“But wouldn’t that be closed to people outside the University? We’d still need official access.”

“Alumni have access. At least those that pay their yearly dues to the alumni association do.”

“Do you know of any?”

Silently Amelia opened her wallet and pulled out a card. Quinn took it from her and read the front.

“‘Reliance University Alumni Association Member. Amelia Harding, Class of 1992’.” He stared at her for a moment before continuing.

“You’re really willing to help me, after everything that’s happened?”

She nodded. He handed the card back to her, and started the engine.

“I guess that settles it. We’re going fishing.”



Tigg stared at Todd Ulster with what she hoped was an innocent but puzzled expression. Finally, she managed to sign a response.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand...”

“You recognized that picture, didn’t you? Did you send it to me?”

“I’ve never seen that...drawing before in my life.” Technically, not a lie, thought Tigg, struggling to remain calm. “Besides, I didn’t know anything about your...” What the Hell was that word? “...website until just now. Why are you so upset with me?”

Ulster appeared to calm slightly, but still held Tigg’s gaze.

“Some things about you just don’t add up.”

“What do you mean?” Tigg asked, her feeling of unease intensifying.

“Your ‘accent’. You sign like someone who has grown up signing, but you told me you’re not a CODA and have no deaf relatives. How did you learn?”

“I...studied.”

“No, you wouldn’t learn that way in a class. Plus, you’re kitchen signs are very familiar.”

“Kitchen signs? I don’t...”

“Don’t tell me that. I thought at first it was a coincidence. You use signs that aren’t standard, but are like those used within a family. A family I knew.”

Oh, Hell. Tigg shifted nervously on her feet, trying to maintain her innocent expression.

“When I used the name sign for my friend, you didn’t ask me to clarify, yet you did for other words.”

“I knew someone with that name, must have been a coincidence that they had the same sign.”

“No. Someone trained would not assume that. You knew the name sign for my friend. The one only his family and close deaf friends used. How did you know that?”

Christ Tigg, how did you get yourself into this? Next time leave the lying to Pendergast.

“I don’t know,” replied Tigg. “Really, I don’t.”

Ulster retreated two steps and gazed intently at Tigg.

“There’s something else,” signed Ulster.

“What?”

“You sign like a woman.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“No. You’re signing frame is what a woman would use, not a man. It’s not something that’s taught, it’s a natural tendency.”

Damn it. Something else I forgot. You’re doing just great, here Tigg. Maybe you should have stayed home.

“So why are you so interested in my...signing habits?”

“At first I thought you had to be a close friend of the Eastman family, and it was just a coincidence that you showed up here. But then the questions your boss asked were a little too direct. He seemed to know ahead of time what I would say and he didn’t seem all that surprised by my answers.”

“So?”

“So then I wondered why he would be interested in me. I haven’t lived here that long, I don’t know the town. Obviously he’s looking for something specific. Something to do with what happened to Lucas’ family.”

“That’s quite a leap. Why would we be looking into something that happened...a long time ago?”

“I thought something must have happened to get your attention. You, the friend of the family, wanted to find out what really happened. You convinced your boss to look into it because he had more authority. But he started out asking about the other family.”

Ulster’s face hardened. “I thought maybe it was just a ruse, a way to get in the door and to eventually ask about the past. Then when I showed that picture, you reacted to it. You knew about both families. But what the recent murders have to do with the old I didn’t know. Finally I decided they must be connected somehow, and they only one who could have made a connection must have known both. Which brings us back to you. Who the Hell are you?”

“I’m...Who do you think I am?”

“I told you, an old friend of the family, someone close to them. Either that, or...”

Suddenly, Tigg couldn’t take it any more. The need to actually tell someone, to let him know what she had been through, had been welling up inside her since she first saw her old friend. She felt the control she had forced on herself crack. I can tell him. I know he’ll keep a secret. He has to. I just hope he won’t be too angry with me. She took a deep breath and responded.

“Or what? A family member?”

Ulster’s eyes widened in surprise. He studied her for a moment before replying. “No. You can’t be family. You’re too young to be Lucas’ uncle. All the rest of the family is dead, except maybe...no, you can’t be...”

“Can’t be who...Toddie?”

Todd Ulster stared at Tigg, unmoving, color draining from his face. Finally, he was able to sign a tentative response.

“Eleanor?”

Tigg nodded slowly, waiting for the burst of angry questions she was sure would follow. Suddenly, Todd lunged forward and embraced her. Tigg stiffened, caught off guard by both Todd’s response and the first physical display of affection she had experienced in a long time. Eventually she returned his embrace, thinking God, I hope Pendergast doesn’t walk in here right now. After a few moments she broke away, surprised to see tears in his eyes.

“Todd? Are you OK? I’m sorry...”

“It’s OK. I just can’t believe...what happened? Why did you disappear? Where have you been...? Why are you dressed up like a...?”

“I had to leave, to hide, to stay safe. I’m still hiding. That’s why I’m in disguise.”

“Hide? From who?”

“The killer.”

“Do you know who—?”

“No,” signed Tigg showing her frustration and fear in her expression. “But the killer probably doesn’t know that. If I’d stayed around...I really would be dead.”

“And the rest of your family, did any of them—?”

“No. They’re...all gone.” Tigg felt her eyes begin to sting, and angrily wiped her sleeve across her face, trying desperately to bring the surge of emotion under control.

“But you’re here now. Why? What is going on, and what does this have to do with the other family?”

“It’s the same killer.”

A look of horror crossed Todd’s face.

“Do you mean that your family, they were killed like...that picture showed...?”

“Yes. That’s how...I last saw them.” Todd looked as though he might become ill. He leaned heavily against the kitchen counter and took several deep breaths before looking back at Tigg. Slowly his expression changed to one of anger.

“You’re here to find the bastard who did this, aren’t you. Somehow you think you can catch him?”

“My boss does. I...I’m doing what I can to help.”

“I want to help, too.”

“No. It’s better than no one knows you’re aware of the connection.”

“Why the Hell not?”

“Because the killer goes after anyone who might know something about both cases. He’s already killed one of the cops involved in the old case, and tried to kill another. You would be in danger, and I’m not doing that to you. I can’t...”

Todd’s expression darkened.

“Now you’re worried about me? You didn’t think what you disappearing would do to me? What thinking I had lost both of my best friends would do to me? Now, after years of mourning, you show up, and you don’t worry what that’s doing to me? But I want to help you and you...”

“I know! I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone would—.”

“Care?” Tigg looked at the floor, unable to take anymore. He’s right...he’s right...I didn’t... She felt a light tap on her wrist and looked up. Todd was looking at her, his expression a mix of anger and misery.

“I’m sorry, Eleanor. I just...you don’t know what it...what I...oh, never mind.”

“What? What happened?”

“No one really seemed to question what the cops said had happened. No one would speak up for Lucas, and when I tried I...became an outcast. People acted like I would do the same thing or something. It was...”

“Awful.”

“Awful, yes. I always hoped that you would get better, and then you could tell them they were wrong, but when you didn’t, and you disappeared, it was just...I gave up. I stopped defending him. I just let it drop. I let him down, Eleanor. What kind of friend am I?”

“A good friend. For believing he would never do such a thing. That’s really all any of us could have done.”

“But now you are doing something. I want to help. I want to make up for not doing anything before. Please.”

“Todd...there’s nothing you can do. P—my boss is supposedly very good at this sort of thing. My uncle is working on it, too. Maybe if you get anything else related to the case, take it to the Sheriff, and he’ll get it to us, but be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you. OK?”

“OK.” He reached out and touched her wrist briefly before continuing. “You’ll find the killer. I have faith in you. He’ll finally be brought to justice.”

Tigg merely nodded. She took several deep breaths and when she felt composed enough she motioned for Todd to head back to the study.

When they reached the room, Pendergast we still seated on the sofa, idly scratching the ears of the dog sitting at his feet. He rose as they entered.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, glancing back and forth between the two.

“Yes, fine. Did you have any more questions for...Mr. Ulster?”

“No, I’m afraid we will have to cut the interview short. Sheriff Mathies phoned and said he has arranged for us to meet with some, ah, subjects which may be of use to our study. Thank you, Mr. Ulster, for your time.”

“No problem.” He turned and led Pendergast and Tigg down the hall to the front door, which he opened for them. Pendergast stepped through and headed toward the truck. Todd tapped Tigg’s shoulder as she walked past and she turned to face him.

“Good luck.” For the first time he gave her a genuine smile.

“Thank you.” Tigg turned and walked to the truck. She turned and waved to Ulster, who was standing motionless in the doorway of the house. She climbed into the truck, shutting the door and turning to watch the house as Pendergast pulled away from the curb and headed into town. She watched Todd slowly turn and walk back into the house.

Survivor’s guilt. That’s what that shrink called it. Something we have in common. I never realized how bad it would be for him...

A line from one of John’s favorite poems surfaced in her mind, and she repeated it softly to herself.

“It’s dead easy to die, it’s the keeping-on-living that’s hard...”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Pendergast, startling her out of her reverie.

“Nothing.”

He gave her a piercing stare and then returned his attention to the road.

“I fear we will have much to discuss later. But for now, let us focus our attention on the task at hand.”

“Yes,” muttered Tigg. “We’ve got to keep our focus.”

Chapter 36    table of contents  

Eli Glinn closed his cell phone with a snap and placed it on the desk. He gazed out his office window, watching the activity in the room beyond, reviewing in his mind the phone call he had just received. The information provided by Agatha Millhouse was not completely surprising, as he had suspected someone would eventually be checking into a certain “strange disappearance”. However, that person’s true motive, as so indignantly described by Ms. Millhouse, was only slightly expected. Police officers, in his experience, are known for at times making monumental deductive leaps. Glinn suspected that the subject of the speculation would have found such a notion uproariously funny in the past, but now...

Glinn leaned forward and typed a few commands on his laptop and was soon rewarded with a complete and detailed record of Deputy Sheriff Charles Edward Quinn, courtesy of the ever-helpful Mime. He scanned it quickly, passing the basic background information he had already committed to memory and looked closely at the more personal details. Soon he came to a bit of information that could possibly have caused Officer Quinn to produce such a theory. It was a remote possibility, true, but still warranted scrutiny.

Glinn guided his chair to a different desk and pulled up the entry dialog for the profiling program on its dedicated workstation. He had anticipated difficulty in controlling the situation in Winstead and had created profiles on all of the Sheriff’s Office personnel, including Mathies. He accessed Quinn’s profile and added the pertinent information. After sending the request for a new profile, he guided his chair back to his desk and in his thoughts returned to the question he had been contemplating before Ms. Millhouse’s call.

Tigg had refused to help on the case. Why? Every scenario he had run, both in his mind and in the program, had confidently predicted she would help. Fearfully, and in need of assurance of safety? Perhaps. Bent on revenge and requiring firm guidance, or even restraint? Almost assured. Lack of interest or flat out refusal had not been given a high probability at all by the profile, and even less in his mind. He had carefully planned the meeting, knowing full well of Pendergast’s abilities in persuasion and Tigg’s ability to avoid his own brand of manipulation. He had been certain that the combination of the facts and receiving the news from a stranger would have at least caused her to reconsider her self-imposed isolation (he had offered many times since Ravenwood’s death to bring her back to the city, all of which had been refused). He knew of her desire for justice for her family. Her reaction made no sense. Then again, she always had a knack for doing the unexpected. Glinn thought back to their first meeting as proof of this ability.

He had finally given in to his sister’s request to visit. Half-sister, to be precise, a product of their mother’s first marriage. They had grown up together but had parted ways in their adult lives. He had gone into the military and was planning to retire to civilian life to set up an engineering firm. She had gone the marriage-and-family route, teaching at the local college and raising six children. He found their lack of common ground almost amusing at times. Marie had chosen to overlook their obvious differences and still insisted on pressuring him to “be a part of the family”, something he was loathe to do. He was not overly fond of children (he found them rather boring), was not inclined to participate in familial gossip sessions, and had adeptly avoided her invitations for years. Finally he was forced to concede that the only way to stop the invitations was to accept one, and in doing so to increase the probability that one visit would suffice. He had decided that an aloof but slightly menacing persona would produce the desired effect, and presented such a façade. The result was as he expected when introduced to five of Marie’s children.

He sat stiffly in one of the wing chairs in Marie and Isaac’s living room, in his dress uniform, and was introduced to the children. The two eldest, Zachariah and Rita, had greeted him with solemn faces and retreated from the room as soon as their parents would allow. The twins, Matthias and Michelle, had initially hidden behind their mother and had refused to shake his hand, even when cajoled by Marie. The youngest boy, Lucas, took one look at him and ran from the room. All amusingly predictable behaviors, thought Glinn. Finally, Marie had called in the youngest girl.

Eleanor, come into the living room and meet your uncle.” Marie had turned back to Glinn with a slightly worried expression. “She’s my trouble maker. Always getting into stuff, and just too darn smart for her own good. I hope she behaves herself while you’re here.”

Which hopefully won’t be too much longer, Glinn thought. Marie rose from the sofa and went to the door to call the girl again.

Eleanor, get in here! NOW!”

Glinn heard running footsteps and suddenly a girl of about five appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in denim overalls and a white t-shirt, her auburn hair twisted into two rather lopsided braids. Her appearance was in sharp contrast to her siblings, all of whom had obviously been dressed in their Sunday best.

Eleanor! Didn’t I tell you to...” Marie blushed and glanced at Glinn. “I’m sorry, I told her she had to be presentable for your visit.” Glinn barely heard her, his attention focused on the girl, waiting to see which pattern of behavior she would follow.

Eleanor cocked her head and stared at Glinn with frank curiosity before turning to her mother with a questioning look. Marie struggled to recover from her embarrassment.

Eleanor, this is your Uncle Eli. I told you that he was coming to visit today, remember? He came all the way from New York City.”

She turned back to Glinn and regarded him, her dark grey eyes alive with curiosity. Suddenly she smiled, ran up to him and threw her arms around him, hugging him with such force that Glinn was completely caught off guard. He froze and then, much to his own surprise as everyone else’s, tentatively hugged her in return. Finally she let go and stepped back, gazing at him with an expression of happiness and (Glinn noted with faint amusement) a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Thank you so much for coming to visit us, Uncle Eli,” she said in a voice that sounded uncannily like her mother’s. “Momma has been hoping you would for such a long time. You’re staying for a while, right?” Glinn glanced at Marie, who was staring at them both and looking rather shell-shocked.

I...” Glinn found himself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “I suppose I can stay for a little while.” Eleanor smiled, turned and skipped from the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Glinn noted that Isaac and Marie were looking at each other in confusion. Marie turned to Eli, her face flushed with embarrassment.

I’m sorry, Eli, I hope she didn’t...I don’t what got into her. She’s never taken to anyone else like that.” Marie’s apology was cut short by the reappearance of Eleanor, carrying a well worn book and looking quite pleased with herself. Without hesitation, she climbed into Glinn’s lap, opened the book and looked up at him expectantly.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Glinn was unsure of what to do in a situation. What did this child want? He ventured a guess and asked her.

Do you...would you like me to read that...to you?”

“No, I will read it to you. It’s my favorite, and I’ve read it many times.” She held up the front cover to his face so he could read the title: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

She started to read aloud in a clear, confident voice. After a few minutes, Marie decided to interrupt.

Eleanor, you don’t need to do that. You wouldn’t want to bore your uncle, now would you?”

Eleanor stopped reading and looked up at Glinn.

I’m not boring, am I?”

No,” replied Glinn with a faint smile, “you’re definitely not boring...”



Glinn’s thin lips curved slightly into a rueful smile. It was that same memory that had flashed through his mind years later. He had just returned from a six month project overseas. During that time, he had been completely out of touch with his sister’s family. A necessity, as personal worries had no place in his mind when he was fully engaged in a project. He had instructed his staff that he was not to be disturbed for any reason, and his personally attorney already had vast experience in handling his affairs while he was “incommunicado”. On the day of his return, he had strolled into the office, satisfied with the successful completion of his latest project and curious to see how his new “recruit” was faring in her new environment. He had arranged everything for her arrival in New York prior to departing, including a small start-up project for her introduction in the firm.



The expression on his secretary’s face when she saw him walk through the door gave Glinn pause.

“Good morning, Eva. Has there been a problem this morning?”

“Uh, no, not this morning Mr. Glinn. It’s...your attorney asked me to have you call him as soon as you arrive.”

“I believe that can wait. I’d like a progress report on our newest project. How far has the new intern progressed with it?” Knowing Eleanor, it’s probably already finished, thought Glinn with satisfaction.

She..uh..never started. I really think you need to call Mr. Wainwright.”

Glinn would not allow himself to show anger. Emotion was weakness, and weakness could not be displayed to anyone, especially in this business.

I shall do that. Thank you Eva.” Inwardly fuming, he walked quickly to his office and shut the door. After selecting the correct card from his Roladex, he placed a call to Oscar Wainwright, Esq.

Oscar? Eli Glinn. Is there a problem? I expected——“ He listened, anger fading. For a man who spent his time preparing for any eventuality, he was completely unprepared for such a shock to his carefully guarded personal life. He slowly lowered himself into his desk chair as he listened to Wainwright explain what had happened. Out of habit, he withdrew a pen and paper from his desk and began to make notes. Finally he was able to ask a question.

Where is she?”

He quickly copied down the information and tucked the sheet of paper away in his coat pocket.

Thank you Oscar. I’ll be in touch.”

After hanging up the phone, he sat silently, thinking, trying to make his brain function through the haze of emotion he was desperately trying to control. Finally he rose from his chair and walked to the outer office.

Eva, I will be out of town for a few days. Please follow the usual procedures.”

But...you just returned from a project and...”

That project was completed two weeks ahead of schedule. It will not be a problem. I have a pressing matter to attend to. Do not mention this to anyone, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Glinn left the building without another word, climbed into his car and headed west. He drove straight on through the night and arrived in Reliance early the next morning. During the drive, he went over what Wainwright told him. He couldn’t grasp it. It made absolutely no sense. There had to be something else and he would certainly look into it, but for now, he focused on one thing. He had to get to that hospital.

Glinn located Reliance University Hospital with little difficulty. After speaking to several nurses and one hospital administrator, he was finally able to speak with Eleanor’s doctor. Dr. Byer had just finished his early morning rounds, and was surprised to see someone waiting at his office. Glinn stepped forward as the man approached.

May I help you?”

“I need to speak about a patient.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that without the patient’s permission, you see—”

“From what I’ve been told, she could not give permission. The patient is Eleanor Eastman, and I am her uncle and legal guardian, Eli Glinn.” Glinn maintained his neutral expression with monumental effort.

I...please, step into my office. We have much to discuss.”

Glinn followed the doctor into his office and shut the door. After they were seated, he listened to Dr. Byer describe her injuries and her present condition with a growing feeling of anguish. Suddenly he had to interrupt.

What is your recommendation for further treatment?”

“While her physical injuries are predominantly healed, there has been no improvement in her mental state. I would suggest transferring her to a long-term care facility. There’s really nothing more we can do for her here.”

“I need to see for myself before I can make such a decision.”

“I understand, but I think you’ll see that what I’ve told you is valid. Come with me.”

Glinn followed the doctor down the hall and they took the elevator to the 5^th floor. They walked to the nurses’ station where a short, stout woman with black eyes and tightly curled greying hair was filling out duty sheets. She looked up as they approached.

Agatha, this is Mr...Glinn.” He turned to Glinn. “Agatha Millhouse is our head nurse, and she takes excellent care of her patients. Agatha, Mr. Glinn is here to visit Eleanor.”

The nurse’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

She doesn’t get many visitors, especially this time of morning.” Glinn noted her suspicious expression and responded.

I am her legal guardian. I have been out of the country and did not hear of her...situation until I returned yesterday.”

I see. I’ll go make sure she is presentable. Just a moment.” She walked down towards the end of the hall, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking slightly on the tile floor. In a few minutes she returned.

You may go see her now. Room 523.”

When they arrived at the room, Dr. Byer turned to Glinn and spoke in a low voice.

Frankly I’m glad you came. Perhaps a seeing a familiar face of a relative will be beneficial. We’ve tried everything else.” He opened the door to the room and spoke to the occupant with forced cheerfulness.

Eleanor, you have a visitor. It’s your Uncle Eli.”

Glinn stepped into the room behind the doctor and stared at the figure stretched out on the hospital bed. He was unable to completely hide his shock. This was not the young woman he had seen just five months ago, eagerly anticipating her move to New York, bursting with vitality and plans for her future. The girl he saw in that room was deathly pale and thin, her face and arms marred by scars that stood out vividly against her pallid skin. She lay almost perfectly still, seemingly unaware of their presence, her eyes unfocused and blank. Glinn felt a swell of anger. This could not have happened, should not have happened. He took several steps forward and looked down at her, waiting for her gaze to turn to him. Finally the doctor spoke.

Ah, as you can see, she is quite unresponsive. I think it best that we proceed with my recommendation. I—“ He was interrupted by the nurse.

Dr. Byer, sorry to interrupt, but I need your signature on this chart.”

Ah, yes, just a moment Mr. Glinn.” He stepped out of the room and into the hallway. Glinn turned back to Eleanor and was startled to see that she was looking straight at him, her pleading expression so full of pain that he almost gasped in surprise. She held his gaze until approaching footsteps announced Dr Byer’s return, allowing her eyes to return to their previous glassy stare.

Sorry about that, Mr. Glinn. As I was saying...”

Yes, Dr. Byer, I understand. Would you allow me a few minutes of privacy. With my niece. I need some time to consider...”

Yes, of course. I need to get back to my office. Please stop by when you’re done so we can finalize the paperwork.” He stepped out of the room and shut the door. Slowly, Glinn returned his attention to Eleanor. She was staring at him as before, unmoving and silent. He took another step closer and sat down on the side of the bed.

Eleanor...” he said in a low voice. Slowly her lips curved in a slight smile.

About time...” she whispered. Glinn stared at her, almost afraid to believe.

Eleanor, are you...?”

I want...to be dead.” Glinn felt a chill down his spine.

“Are you in pain? You want to die because...?”

No. Not to die. I want to be dead. Safe. They...must think I’m dead.”

Who must?”

Whoever did this...to me, to us.” Suddenly he understood.

Eleanor, I can take you to another hospital. No one will know where. I’ll just have to tell the doctor...as part of your transfer—”

No...remember...can three people keep a secret?”

Only if two are dead.” Glinn’s mind was racing. He could barely believe he was considering her request. It went against everything he believed: careful, rational planning by level headed people was vital for any plan to work. He knew he wouldn’t have time to do what must be done, but he must...

His thoughts were interrupted by a surprisingly strong hand gripping his arm. He looked at her again and she released him.

I can get out of here,” she whispered, desperation evident in her voice. “But I can’t get away. I need your help. Do this and I can repay you...I can work for you somehow. Please...”

Finally, Glinn slowly nodded. “I’ll need a bit of time.”

Time...” She resumed her look of detachment just as Glinn heard approaching footsteps. The door opened and the nurse peeked in the room.

Do you need anything, Mr. Glinn. Does she...need anything?”

“No, thank you,” he said, rising from the bed. “I’ll need to go speak with Dr. Byer now.” The nurse nodded and withdrew. When he was sure she was far enough away, he turned back to Eleanor.

I will return when everything is ready.”

Thank you.”



Glinn had spent the next few days preparing. His perseverance, as with any project he undertook, allowed for the lowest amount of risk. After her “disappearance”, he had returned to participate in the search, playing the part of the furious yet deeply concerned guardian. It was only after he had returned to New York with her that his careful plan started to unravel. Having an apparently disturbed and unpredictable charge was not something he had anticipated, much to his sorrow. In not helping her return to normal and having to send her away, for the first time in a long time he had tasted bitter failure. It was something he realized he had been trying to compensate for ever since.



Glinn sat back in his chair and sighed. Time for recriminations was long past. Perhaps in solving the mystery of both cases, he could at last lay the matter to rest. Glinn closed his eyes and searched his memory. Their last meeting, that only thing left which might explain her behavior, was his target.



Five years ago, Glinn had followed the trail up Black Mountain, stopping at the clearing in front of John Ravenwood’s cabin. Ravenwood himself was seated in front of his fire pit, carving a piece of wood and flicking the shavings into the fire. He raised his head as Glinn approached and smiled before calling out to him.

Eli! It’s been a long time. Pull up chair and we’ll chat awhile.”

Glinn walked up to the fire pit and sat down on one of the large logs lying nearby.

John. How have you been?”

Can’t complain. What brings you today?”

“Just paying a visit. Where is...?”

Ravenwood sighed.

Tigg saw you coming and decided to make herself scarce. I’m not sure exactly where she is at the moment.”

Tigg?”

That’s what she wants to be called. She came up with that name sometime after your last visit. What, two, three years ago?”

“Interesting. I need to speak with her. I have...a proposal for her.”

“What is it this time?” The hoarse voice startled Glinn and he spun around to find his niece standing a few yards away at the edge of the woods. He rose to his feet, took a few steps towards her and stopped when he saw her expression.

“Eleanor. How are you?”

“Eleanor is dead. Right? It’s been long enough so you should be able to make it official.”

“That is part of what I came to discuss.”

“There’s no discussion. When you left me here I told you I was never going back. Not without a damn good reason, and you know what that reason would be.”

“I’m sorry. Nothing has changed with that situation.”

“Nor would I have expected it to. What is it you want, Eli? I haven’t seen you for years and all of a sudden you show up with a ‘proposal’.”

“I’ve taken on a new project that involves some travel at sea. You once expressed an interest in such a thing. I am proposing that you come with us, as part of the team. Your work has been exemplary and I feel that there would be benefits to all of us if you were to join the project.”

I am happy doing my work here. I have my equipment, I have my workshop. As long as no one discovers that I’ve tapped into the electric lines of the mineshaft, or gets around to disconnecting them, I can continue to do my ‘exemplary’ work right here. Tell you me what you’ll need, provide the background literature and I’ll have it ready before you take off on your little cruise.”

If that is your final decision...”

“It is. Leave the information with John. I have work to do.” She turned and stalked off, disappearing down the train that led to the lake.

Glinn sat back down on the log and stared into the fire, trying to suppress the emotions boiling up inside.

Guilt is a terrible thing, isn’t it Eli?” asked Ravenwood.

I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean.”

“Guilt. It’s something you two have in common. You feel guilty because you think you’ve failed her, and she feels guilty because she survived. It causes both of you to push people away. It’s a terrible thing, because it eats away at you until there’s nothing left, unless you let it out somehow. Now Tigg, I think she’s found away to let some out, but not you. You try to control it too much.” Ravenwood reached into his pocket and withdrew a small wood carving, which he handed to Glinn. It was an eagle, wings spread in flight, each feather meticulously detailed. Near the eagle’s eyes were small carefully carved and smoothed droplets which Glinn realized were tears.

I think she’d like you to have this. It’s her way of letting go a little. Maybe it can remind you to do the same.”

Glinn tucked the carving away in his coat pocket and rose to his feet.

Thank you, John, for everything.” He took one last look at the woods where Tigg had disappeared, turned and headed back down the trail from Black Mountain.



Glinn reached into his desk drawer and took out the carving, turned it over in his hand and traced the tears with one finger. He allowed himself to wonder, briefly, how things would be different if he had listened. He sighed. It was a pointless exercise. What’s done is done, and he could no more change himself now than he could have risen from his cursed chair. To admit he had taken the wrong path was to admit failure, and that was something he could truly never do again.



A soft beep signaled the end of the profiling program run, and he guided his chair over to the workstation and read the results.

Interesting...

He reached into his coat pocket and extracted his cell phone. It was time to get an update from Pendergast and relay this new information to him as well. This time the case would be solved. It was the only acceptable outcome.

Chapter 37    table of contents  

As they were pulling into the parking lot of Good Samaritan, Pendergast’s cell phone rang. He extracted it from his pocket and checked the number before answering.

“Good morning, Mr. Glinn.” After gauging Tigg’s reaction, he pressed the speaker button on the phone.

“Dr. Pendergast. Am I calling at an inopportune time?”

“No. We may speak freely.”

“Any progress?”

“I have spoken to a potential witness to the killer’s, ah, pre-crime activities. Unfortunately a follow-up investigation by the sheriff’s department is unlikely.”

“I see. Anything else?”

“Your prediction that the killer would engage in diversionary tactics was correct. There has been another set of murders, constructed to appear as though they were committed by a copycat. The Sheriff’s daughter has been kidnapped and the killer has contacted the Sheriff, instructing him to abandon the Zoller case and concentrate on finding her. I advised the Sheriff to give the impression that he was complying.”

Pendergast heard the faint clicking of a keyboard. Suddenly the sounds stopped and Glinn’s voice returned.

“Your impression?”

“The killer is getting bolder and feels the need to have absolute control of the situation. I fear that the Sheriff and his employees will be in greater danger as the killer gets closer to his goal.”

“You believe he has a final target and is not just killing randomly?”

“Yes. He will not allow anyone to prevent him from attaining that goal.”

“I see. Now I have some more information for you pertaining to the case. In your investigation, have you encountered someone named Charles Quinn or Amelia Harding?”

“No.” He looked at Tigg, who shook her head.

“Mr. Quinn is the Deputy Sheriff in Winstead. Apparently he, accompanied by Miss Harding, has been conducting his own investigation. He paid a visit to Reliance University Hospital earlier this morning.” Out of the corner of his eye, Pendergast saw Tigg stiffen, the knuckles of her clenched fists turning white.

“What was the purpose of his visit?”

“Apparently Mr. Quinn believes that the survivor from a 12-year-old mass murder in Pine Mountain, West Virginia did not just disappear from the hospital. He thinks that she planned an escape with the help of her legal guardian. He also believes that she was not traumatized by the attack, and is in fact responsible for the murders of her family.”

Pendergast glanced at Tigg, who was staring at him, opened mouthed, a growing expression of anger on her face. She started to speak, caught herself, and then made a sign that was, while not known to Pendergast, perfectly clear in its’ intent.

“Interesting,” he said after a pause. “Do you have any indication as to what led Mr. Quinn to develop this theory?”

“In reviewing his background, I learned that Mr. Quinn, once a detective with the NYPD, was involved in an investigation of a homicide where the perpetrator was later identified as one of the surviving family members. It was after this investigation that he left active duty and joined the SOC team in his precinct.”

“I see. What about Miss Harding? Does she subscribe to his theory?”

“She is the only remaining member of the Pine Mountain police department. Last night there was a second case of arson in that vicinity, and her property was destroyed. Whether or not this has anything to do with our current case is under investigation. However, it is unclear if she shares Mr. Quinn’s opinions concerning the old case.”

Pendergast was silent for a moment before taking out his notebook and making a few entries.

“I will speak to Sheriff Mathies about this,” he said. “I hope this independent investigation does not aggravate the present situation any further. I am on my way to meet with him at the hospital to speak to the survivors. Is there anything else?”

“Not at this time. I trust that you will call me if there are any developments. Good day.” There was a click and the line went silent. Pendergast put the phone back in his jacket and turned to Tigg who was staring silently out the truck window.

“Your opinion?”

“Of what? Mr. Quinn’s theory?” She gave a derisive snort. “Quite creative. Maybe he should be writing books instead of conducting a police investigation.”

“Perhaps. There is a chance we will have to deal with him during the course of the investigation. Will you—?”

“I won’t deck him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Pendergast smiled thinly.

“Not really. I was merely concerned that you may not be able to overlook the slight he has made against your character.”

“Frankly, that is the least of my worries. Now...” She turned and stared at the hospital for a moment, barely suppressing a shudder. “Let’s get this over with.”



Rick Mathies stood silently by the 5th floor nurses’ station, waiting to speak with Marilyn Carter and Dr. Aubrey. He watched the nurse supervisor, Nicki Peterson, repeatedly dial a number, listen and hang up in disgust. After observing several cycles of this behavior, he was about to ask her to explain when he caught sight of Marilyn, pushing a medicine cart. “Marilyn!” he called out, earning a disgruntled look from Nicki. Marilyn jumped slightly and looked up. She smiled wearily and walked towards Mathies.

“Good Morning, Sheriff.”

“How is Rebecca doing? I was hoping to speak with her this morning, if...” Marilyn shook her head.

“Not well. I don’t think it would be a good idea just yet. She’s still in really bad shape. They were all she had, and...well, I hope you understand.” Mathies simply nodded.

“She wants me to get something for her, and I guess I better ask you first. It’s at the house and I didn’t know if it was OK to go there yet.”

“No. I can get it if you tell me what it is.”

“Family photo album. She says it’s in the living room, on the shelf in the coffee table.”

“No problem. If it will help her...deal with this.”

“I’m not sure anything really can.” She took a key chain out of her pocket and handed it to him. Nicki, who had been listening to their exchange in silence, let out an annoyed sigh. Marilyn grimaced and turned to her.

“Yes, Nicki? Is there a problem?”

“As much as I hate to disrupt, I must remind you that we are very-short-handed this morning, and your patients are waiting.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She turned abruptly and walked back to her cart. Mathies reigned in a surge of anger and turned to Nicki.

“Perhaps you can help me. Has Dr. Aubrey come in yet this morning? I need to speak to him about Mr. Cambry.

“He was here earlier.” She checked to make sure no one else was around and lowered her voice. “We had a problem with Mr. Cambry this morning. He was awake and seemed to be much improved, and asked if he could watch TV. He was watching the news when he suddenly became very agitated and his heart rate and blood pressure jumped alarmingly. We tried to get him to calm down but he seemed extremely upset about something and kept saying ‘it’s all my fault’ over and over. Finally Dr. Aubrey had to give him a sedative. He’s sleeping now.”

“Did you find out what had upset him?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

Damn it.

“What about Mark Zoller? There is some researcher here in town who would like to try to interview him.”

“Ha. Good luck. He’s still in PTS land.” Mathies choked back the retort he wanted to make, knowing that it wouldn’t help in the slightest. Nicki Peterson has always been callous, and he often wondered how such a person could have entered the health care profession. His wife said it was a coping mechanism, but he was unconvinced.

He watched her dial the phone again and sighed. He’d have to wait for Prescott to arrive and tell him he’d have to do the interviews later. Just then he heard the elevator bell and turned to see Prescott and Crow step off and start down the hall towards him. Prescott moved forward with his usually confident step, while Crow hung back a little, looking like he’d rather be just about anyplace else.

“Ah, good morning, Sheriff Mathies. The receptionist said we’d find you here. Have the arrangements been made?”

Nicki looked up at Prescott and gave him a withering stare.

“And who might you be?”

“Dr Daniel Prescott. I’m here as part of a research project. The good Sheriff has been so kind as to try to arrange a meeting with one of your patients.”

“Who’s he?” she asked, pointing at Crow.

“One of my graduate students, who is assisting with the interviews and data analysis.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Prescott,” interrupted Mathies, “but we won’t be able to interview anyone this morning. Mark Zoller is still...unresponsive.” He jumped slightly as Nicki slammed the phone down again and turned to her.

“What is your problem?”

“My problem is that I’m understaffed and I really don’t have time for babysitting this morning. One of my nurses hasn’t shown up for her shift. Again.”

“Is that who you’ve been trying to call all morning? Who is it?”

“Yes. Sonja Rossman. She called in sick yesterday, after her normal 3 days off, and I can’t get a hold of her. Her cell is turned off and no one is answering at home. Maybe you should go investigate.”

“Interesting,” said Prescott. “I believe I’ve seen this sort of thing before.”

“What sort of thing? Asked Nicki and Mathies together.

“Well, in cases such as these, where a town has been disrupted by crime, some people grow so afraid that they can no longer function. She may just be at home, overcome by fear. Sometimes it is a delayed reaction, as I believe this to be. Sheriff Mathies, if you are in fact going to go check on this woman, I’d like to tag along. It could be a good opportunity to collect more data.”

“Fine. We might as well go now, as there’s nothing we can do here.”

“I’ll say,” muttered Nicki. “If you do find her, tell her to get her ass into work, overcome by fear or not. If she doesn’t she’ll find herself overcome by unemployment.”

“I do that. Let’s go.” He walked to the elevator, followed by Crow and Prescott. The entered the elevator and started the descent to the first floor. After a brief silence, Mathies heard a hoarse voice behind him.

“What a bitch.”

He turned in surprise to look at Crow, who flushed slightly and stared at the floor. Suddenly, in spite of himself, Mathies laughed.

“I couldn’t have put it better myself.” Sobering quickly, he turned to Prescott.

“Do you really want to go speak to Sonja, or is there something else on your mind?”

“Yes. A nurse, who possibly has access to the drugs found in the Zollers, is suddenly and rather conveniently unavailable. I think it’s best that we go talk to her.”



On the way to Sonja Rossman’s house, Prescott told Mathies of the call he had received from Glinn. When he heard about Quinn, Mathies was furious.

“Damn him! I told him that was a stupid idea!”

“He has, ah already informed you of his theory?”

“Yes. I thought it was evidence that he was overworked and not thinking clearly. When you arrived, I told him to take a couple of days off to rest. I didn’t think he’d go down there. I’m going to kill him.”

“I would like to speak with him when he returns. I just hope that his interference does not jeopardize his or anyone else’s safety.”

“That makes two of us,” muttered Mathies.

They rode in silence for a couple of miles. Finally they reached a small housing development on the west edge of town. The houses were all pre-fab, low-cost dwellings, similar in size and design. Mathies pulled into the driveway of one of the houses and killed the engine. The windows were shuttered and dark, and the driveway was empty except for a trashcan and two recycling bins.

“Doesn’t look like she’s home, but I guess I better check to make sure.” Mathies climbed out of his cruiser and was followed by Prescott and Crow. He reached the front door and rang the doorbell, which could be heard from within. After the tones faded, there was nothing but silence. He raised his fist and knocked loudly on the front door, which slowly swung open on the first knock. He paused and removed his gun from the holster, motioning Prescott and Crow to step back.

“Sonja!” he called. “Sheriff Mathies. All you all right?” Silence. Suddenly something hurdled towards him out of the darkness. He jumped back just as a blurred shape flew past him and out into the yard where it came to a stop and howled indignantly. Mathies leaned against the door and gave a shaky laugh.

“Damn cat.” He saw Crow kneel down and coax the animal towards him, eventually gathering the purring beast into his arms.

Christ, my nerves are shot. As soon as his heart rate returned to normal Mathies moved further into the house. After a quick search he returned to the entrance hallway where Prescott and Crow were waiting.

“Nobody home except the cat. It doesn’t look like anything is missing. Maybe she went to work and we just missed her.”

“I don’t think so,” said Prescott, pointing to the dining room. Mathies looked and saw a large and rather shabby purse hanging on the back of one of the chairs. Mathies walked over and peeked inside.

“Looks like the one she uses and her wallet and checkbook are still there.” Damn it. One more thing to worry about. He took out his cell phone and called the hospital. After several transfers he finally reached Nicki, who seemed to be in an even fouler mood.

She informed him that Sonja had not yet arrived at work. He ended the call as quickly as possible and called the office.

“Sherri, I need a favor. Tell everyone to let me know if the see Sonja Rossman or her silver Taurus. She hasn’t been to work in a few days and isn’t at home. I need to speak with her. Thanks.” He turned to Prescott.

“Do you really think she might be involved in this?”

“As I said, her absence is rather convenient.”

Mathies sighed.

“What now?”

“I would like to see the crime scenes, if it is possible.”

“I have to go pick something up at the Jenkins place and take it back to the hospital. That’s as good excuse as any for you to visit that one. The Zoller scene might be a little more problematic, but...”

“Leave the explanations to me, Sheriff.”



Mathies parked his cruiser in the Jenkins’ driveway. This was probably the last place he wanted to be right now, but the memory of Rebecca Jenkins request gave him the resolve he needed. He climbed out of the car and waited for Prescott and Crow. Together they followed the path around to the backyard. Prescott looked around with a curious expression on his face, while Crow stayed as far back from the scene as possible.

He jotted a few notes, pausing to examine the group of trees where the bodies had been found. Finally he nodded to Mathies and they walked back around to the front and up the steps, ducking under the crime scene tape to reach the door. Mathies retrieved the keys Marilyn had given him and opened it, stepping into the front hallway and turning on the light switch before heading into the living room. The room contained simple yet sturdy and well made furniture, and was decorated with dozens of framed family photos. Crow slowly walked along the nearest wall, apparently studying the pictures while Prescott stood still and gazed around the room, taking in every detail. Mathies located the photo album that Rebecca had asked for and silently tucked it under one arm. After several minutes of silence, he spoke.

“They were a very close knit family. From what I understand, the parents were both orphans. They had no other family so their own meant everything to them. Mrs. Jenkins...Rebecca is understandably devastated.” As I would be, if anything happened to...damn it, I should be out looking for her, not running errands! “I think it’s time to go,” he said with a little more force than he intended. Prescott nodded, took one more look around and walked out of the room. Crow followed him reluctantly, and Mathies had one last look before leaving as well. At the front door, he struggled with the lock for a few second before finally getting the key to turn and started down the steps just as his cell phone rang. He checked the number and answered with a great feeling of trepidation.

“Pat. Did you—?”

“Rick. I put out a notice to the other regional offices asking about checking historical sites. I just got a call from over in Jefferson County. One of their officers was searching for a reported drug cache at the old Fulcrum Furnace site when he found...I’m here now and I think...you need to see something.”

Mathies closed his eyes, feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut. His knees started to shake and he was about to collapse when he felt a strong hand on his arm, steadying him.

“Rick, are you there?” Pat’s voice sounded far away, unreal. Mathies opened his eyes and saw that Prescott was standing in front of him, looking at him with concern. He turned his head to see Crow gripping his arm, the expression in Crow’s eyes unreadable behind his dark grey lenses. Mathies took a deep breath and replied in a shaky voice.

“Yes, Pat. I’m on my way.”

Chapter 38    table of contents  

Tigg sat quietly in the back seat as the cruiser hurtled down the highway, the heavy photo album resting on her lap. She had eased it out of the Sheriff’s grasp as they walked towards the car and he hadn’t even noticed. When they reached the car, Mathies had refused Pendergast’s offer to drive and Tigg wondered if they would even make it to the site, considering the condition he was in. After several miles had passed without incident, Tigg relaxed and turned her attention to the album. She placed her hand on the front cover, steeling herself for the memories that would return, and opened it. The first picture was from Chris and Becca’s wedding, taken about a year before she had met them. The joy in their expressions was obvious, and Tigg felt a twisting sensation in the pit of her stomach.

So much happiness...all gone.

She quickly flipped through the first few pages, stopping to stare at a photo she recognized. She had taken it. It showed Chris and Becca, seated on the steps of the theater building, doing their impression of the comedy/tragedy masks. Tigg remembered how much they had laughed at that photo. She turned the page to the next picture and felt a chill. It was a group portrait of their theater club, the “non-serious” pose, and she recognized herself among the group of laughing students. She was sitting next to Becca, their arms flung carelessly around each other’s shoulders. Tigg quickly turned to the next page. More pictures from their college days. More memories. Blinking quickly to ease the sudden stinging in her eyes, Tigg turned to the last page of the album. The pictures had apparently been taken at Christmas, probably this past year. She recognized Chris, standing in front of a heavily decorated tree, his hands on the shoulders of two children, a teenaged boy and a girl of about eight. Tigg stared at the boy, barely able to believe that this was the baby she had watched for Becca so many times. Suddenly she couldn’t take it any more and slammed the album shut, earning her a brief glance from Pendergast. Mathies seemed not to have noticed.



Rick Mathies tried desperately to keep his attention on the road and nothing else, but his thoughts kept drifting, memories surfacing in his mind that brought waves of pain. Memories of his daughter as a little girl: happy, loving, innocent. The laughs they had shared through her childhood, the jokes, the little harmless mistakes and greater triumphs. How proud he had been at her graduations from high school, then college and grad school. How much he missed her when she had moved away. And now...

Suddenly Mathies felt a surge of anger so great he could barely keep from screaming.

You son-of-a-bitch! You mother-fucking bastard! Why? Why my Bonnie? Why didn’t you just come after me, goddamn it?! I’m going to find you. I’ll blow your fucking brains out. To Hell with due process, to Hell with everything. It will be a righteous killing. How could it not be? Ten innocent people! How many other lives have you ruined, you sick bastard? No one else should ever have to deal with this, all because of you...



After almost an hour, and several miles of twisting back roads, they arrived at the sight of the old Fulcrum Furnace. The furnace itself, a stone chimney over thirty feet high, was located on a bluff overlooking the Ohio River. It had been declared a historic site five years ago, but due to its’ isolation was less popular with the tourists and used far more by trysting couples looking for some degree of privacy, or amateur ghost hunters looking to confirm its’ reputation as one of Ohio’s “most haunted sites”.

Mathies pulled into the gravel parking lot, already occupied by several state police cars and a white ME van. He turned to his passengers.

“Stay here. I’ll be back...as soon as I take care of this.” He climbed out of the car and headed down a well worn path, stopping briefly to speak to one of the uniformed officers before disappearing from view.

“This case is killing him,” said Tigg quietly.

“Indeed. The killer is weakening the greatest threat to his ultimate goal. An outright murder of the Sheriff would bring in more powerful authorities, but a slow poisoning of his spirit has the desired effect without such extreme adverse consequences.”

“You say ‘his goal’. You don’t really believe that this Sonja person has anything to do with it?”

“She may be involved, either as a willing or unwilling accomplice. The killer excels at control and is a master of manipulation. Something tells me Ms. Rossman does not quite fit that profile.”

“Why not?”

“I believe the killer would be in a position with greater power. He would be loathe to take orders from or to report to someone else. Unless, of course, it offers an opportunity for stretches of unobserved activity or to secretly observe those in power. I do not see that Ms. Rossman’s position fits these criteria.”

“So who does fit? Do you have any suspects at all?”

“I have asked an associate to compile a list and provide background information. He has assured me that I will receive this information by tonight.”

“And in the mean time?”

“In the mean time, we will continue our interviews.”

“A lot of good that has done so far.”

“On the contrary. We have learned a great deal.”

“Like what?”

“We will discuss it later,” said Pendergast, nodding slightly towards the trail Mathies had taken. Tigg looked up and saw that the uniformed officer closest to them was staring at them intently. She sighed, took out her book and sat back to wait.



Mathies made his way along the rough and muddy trail, slipping several times and almost falling once. He barely noticed, pressing onward, dreading what he would see when he reached the site and yet anxious to get there. Finally he reached the end of the trail and was stopped by another uniformed officer.

“I’m sorry, but this is crime scene. The state highway patrol is handling it,” he said, noting Mathies slightly rumpled uniform jacket.

“Patrick Campbell asked me to be here. He says there’s something I need to see.” At that moment, he spotted Campbell and slowly raised a hand in greeting. Campbell walked over to him, the expression in his dark eyes reflecting the emotions Mathies himself had felt.

“Rick. I’m sorry to call you out here, but...well, I wasn’t sure.”

“It’s OK, Pat.”

“Are you ready?”

No, but I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Let’s go.”

Together they walked to the base of the furnace, where two medical examiner assistants were moving a large black zippered bag onto a stretcher, supervised by the M.E. himself. This was one of the very few counties in the state that did not rely on an elected coroner and instead hired a trained professional. That piece of information gave Mathies little comfort.

The M.E. looked up from his clipboard and stared at Mathies before directing his question to Campbell.

“He’s here to make an ID?”

“Yes,” replied Mathies, his eyes on the black bag.

“Fine. Here’s what we have so far: female, Caucasian, early to mid thirties, approximately 5’5” tall, brown hair. Does that sound like what you’re looking for?”

Mathies nodded. The M.E. reached over and unzipped the top of the bag, releasing an unpleasant whiff of decay. Mathies took a deep breath and peered into the bag.

A wave of relief hit Mathies, followed by a sinking feeling of horror. He stared at the still, slightly blue-green tinged face for a minute before anyone spoke.

“Rick?” asked Campbell, his voiced strained.

Pulling himself together after his initial shock, Mathies turned to the M.E. “How long has she been dead?”

The M.E. gave him a pained expression and began to speak in a slightly haughty tone.

“Well, core temp is slightly higher than ambient, but that’s likely due to heat generated by bacterial activity. Livor mortis has set, rigor mortis has passed, there’s skin slippage in the extremities and some slight abdominal bloating and marbling, all consistent with at least one degree day. However, the local temperatures have only been between 30 and 50 degrees Fahrenheit, which has slowed the process and reduced insect activity. Consequently—”

“He doesn’t need a fucking lecture, Gafferty. Answer the question,” growled Campbell. The M.E. blushed and responded angrily.

“As I was trying to say, because of the environmental conditions slowing the normal processes, determination of the post mortem interval will be a little more difficult. It’s not an exact science. I’ll need to check the potassium levels and...”

“Answer the question!”

“I would say at least two days, possibly as many as four.”

“That’s impossible,” said Mathies in a low voice. “Someone spoke to her yesterday.”

“Is it Bonnie?” asked Campbell, the concern in his voice returned.

“No, it’s not Bonnie. It’s Sonja Rossman.”

Chapter 39    table of contents  

“Who?” asked Campbell, his gaze flicking back and forth between Mathies and the body.

“Sonja Rossman. She...was one of the nurses at our local hospital. She didn’t show up for work this morning.” Mathies turned to Gafferty, who was making more notes on his clipboard. “Any idea of cause of death?”

“I really would prefer not to speculate until...” He caught Campbell’s glare. “Well, based on the presence of petechiae, although that is not definitive in any way, I would say—”

“Strangulation?”

“More likely suffocation, since there is some bruising around the mouth and I see no other marks or bruises that would indicate manual strangulation.”

“So she was murdered.” The sinking feeling in Mathies’ stomach returned.

“Yes. Not only that, but the crime most likely did not take place here. The patterns produced by livor mortis indicate that the body was moved some time after death.”

“Any indication that she fought of her attacker?” asked Campbell.

“None that I can see, but we will be checking that back at the morgue. We’ll do a tox screen, too, of course.”

“Of course,” muttered Mathies. He already had a suspicion of what they would find.

“Any other questions?” asked Gafferty, impatiently glancing at his watch.

“No.”

“Good. I’ll forward a report to the state police office when it is finished. I trust someone will give you a copy, when it’s appropriate.” Gafferty tucked his pen into his clipboard and nodded brusquely to the two attendants. They zipped up the bag again and carried the gurney down the path towards the parking lot, followed by Gafferty and one of the local officers.

Mathies watched them leave, struggling to control his anger and frustration. He felt a presence behind him and turned to find Campbell, his face etched with concern.

“Rick...”

“I need to get back. I have to send someone out to Sonja’s house to conduct an examination of the scene, I have to start interviews, and...” His voice rose, the effort to control his panic failing.

“Rick, we’ll take care of it. We’ll continue the search for Bonnie, too, but you need to take a break. You need to get some sleep before you crack up. Please, as your friend, I’m telling you, for your sake and for hers. Go home.”

“I...all right, Pat. I just have one more thing I need to do first.” Mathies turned to leave and out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of reflected sunlight. He turned back towards the river, searching the opposite shore for the source, but saw nothing. He shook his head to clear it and looked again. Nothing. Finally he turned and headed down the path back to the parking lot.



When he reached the end of the trail, Mathies saw Prescott, notebook in hand, speaking earnestly to the officer that had been guarding the path. The officer appeared to be reluctantly answering Prescott’s questions and shot Mathies a look of relief when he arrived. Mathies motioned to Prescott, who followed him back to the cruiser where Crow was still waiting. He appeared to be watching the activity at the M.E. van, which soon started up and drove off, disappearing around one of the bends in the road. After they were all back in the cruiser, Prescott turned to Mathies with a questioning look. Mathies ignored him, started the cruiser, and guided it out of the parking lot. After several miles of silence, Mathies spoke.

“It was Sonja Rossman. She was murdered.”

Prescott nodded slowly, saying nothing. They rode in silence for several more miles. Finally Prescott spoke.

“I believe this is the work of the same killer. Miss Rossman likely had some role in the crimes, willingly or not, and the killer needed to eliminate a witness.”

“I’ll buy that,” muttered Mathies. “She provided the drugs, and got a little too nosy for comfort’s sake, so he killed her, too.”

“I also believe that the timing of her death is not a coincidence.”

“What do you mean? Is this another crime to direct attention away from the Zoller case?”

“Perhaps. However, I would be interested in knowing the consequences of Ms. Rossman’s, ah, unavailability for work yesterday.”

“The M.E. said she had been dead for at least two days. Someone...the killer, called her in sick yesterday. Why would he do that? He didn’t want someone looking for her right away?”

“Perhaps.”

“I need to talk to Nicki Peterson and find out who took that call...”

“You may also want to find out who would have to cover for Ms. Rossman in her absence.”



When Nicki saw Mathies approach the nurses’ station, she gave him a disgusted scowl and rose to her feet.

“Well? Did you find Sonja? What is her excuse this time?” Nicki appeared to be ready to take out her frustration on Mathies himself. He was surprised to discover that he didn’t really care.

“When did Sonja call in sick yesterday?” he asked.

Nicki, startled by Mathies tone, stopped, looked down at the desk and flipped through a notebook.

“She called at 1 PM. An hour ahead of her shift, which is the absolute minimum I will accept for calling off. She didn’t even make that deadline today. What—?”

“Who took the call?”

“I did. I take all calls dealing with scheduling.”

“Did it come directly to you?”

“Of course. It’s standard practice.”

“When she called, how did she sound?”

“Sheriff, what is this all about?”

“Just tell me. Did she sound normal?

“Well...” Nicki gave Mathies a confused look. “No. She sounded sick. Terrible, really. She barely could speak above a whisper. I didn’t want her to expose the patients to anything, otherwise I would have—”

“What do you normally do when someone calls in sick?”

“I call the person who is assigned to cover for them. It means extra shifts, overtime, and—”

“You have specific people assigned to cover for others?”

“Yes, I pair up my staff so one is always ready to cover for the other.”

“Is this a permanent thing?”

“The pairs change every two months.”

“Who was assigned to cover for Sonja Rossman?”

“Rebecca Jenkins.”

Mathies felt a cold chill. Now he understood why Prescott needed this information. He returned his attention to Nicki, who was continuing her complaints.

“Yes, now you see how much of a bind I’m in here. So tell, me, Sheriff, where is Sonja? Why hasn’t she called or come in to work?”

“She’s dead.”

Nicki stared at him, open-mouthed, the color draining from her face.

“Rick,” she said in a shaky voice, “that’s not funny. You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not.”

She gripped the edge of the desk, her fingers turning white.

“But, I just spoke to her yesterday. She is...was a healthy young woman. The flu—”

“It wasn’t the flu.”

“But—”

“You better get back to your scheduling,” said Mathies, with a little more venom than he intended. Instantly he felt remorse. “In the mean time,” he said in a gentler voice, “I need to speak to Marilyn. Where is she?”

“She...” Nicki slowly walked back to her chair and sat down, looking at her notebook as she did so. “She is just about done with her shift...she should be finishing up her rounds in the south wing.”

“Thanks, I’ll find her.” He turned and headed down the hall. When he reached the corner, he saw Marilyn at the far end and walked towards her. She looked up as he approached.

“Hello, Sheriff. Did you—?”

He held the photo album out to her. Marilyn accepted it with a sad smile.

“I hope this is what she wanted. How is she?”

“They’re discharging her tonight and I’m taking her home with me. I didn’t think she’d be allowed, or should be allowed to go back home. I still don’t think she’s ready to talk to you, though.”

“I understand, but I do need to speak with her as soon as possible. Please, let me know. It’s important.” He turned to leave.

“Sheriff...Rick, I heard about Bonnie. It was on the news. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, barely keeping control.

“What is this world coming to? Is there anything I can do?”

“No, we’re doing what we can for now. Thank you.” He walked back down the hall and headed for the elevator, taking one last look at the nurses’ station. Nicki was still sitting there, pale and silent, staring off into space, the ringing of the phones unheeded.



Mathies slid into the driver’s seat of his cruiser, shut the door and turned to Prescott.

“Rebecca Jenkins was the one assigned to cover Sonja Rossman’s shift. It was all part of the ‘protocol’.” He sighed bitterly. “It wasn’t luck that kept her from being home when her family was murdered. It was arranged.”

Prescott nodded.

“An intentional survivor. There was a survivor of the Zoller family as well. And the Eastman family.”

“So that’s our pattern? The killer is destroying families, leaving only one behind? But why? And how are they connected?” He was interrupted by the ring of his cell phone. He withdrew it from his pocket, checked the number and opened it.

“Yes, Sheri? No, not yet. What?” He listened, his shoulders sagging as he heard the reason for Sheri’s call. “Yes, I understand. Just what I need right now...No, I’ll be there. I’ll be back to the office in a few hours. Thanks, Sheri.” He pressed the end button and snapped the phone shut.

“It seems that the county commissioners are ‘concerned’ over the recent events. They’re holding a meeting tonight at the town hall, 6 PM sharp. God knows what will happen then. I suspect I’m going to get called to the carpet.”

“We will be there as well. It would be a good opportunity to observe a larger section of the population. At least, that is the excuse we will provide. In the meantime, Mr. Crow and I will continue our interviews. I will also pass on this new information to Mr. Glinn.”

“I hope you, all of you, come up with something soon. I...”

“I understand, Sheriff. Until this evening, then.” Prescott opened the door and stepped out, followed a few seconds later by Crow. They crossed the parking lot, climbed into their truck and drove away without a backward glance.

Mathies stared out the window, trying to collect his thoughts, but due his lack-of sleep induced mental fog he was unable to form any coherent conclusions. Maybe I am cracking up, like Pat said. I guess I better take his advice. With a feeling of resignation, he started up the cruiser and headed home.



After putting several blocks between themselves and the hospital, Pendergast pulled to a stop at the corner near the Sheriff’s Office. He killed the engine and turned to Tigg. She continued to stare straight ahead, and after a few moments spoke in a subdued voice. “She wasn’t supposed to be there, either.”

Pendergast nodded and replied.

“Yes. We appear to have a reason behind the modus operandi. What we lack is a connection between the families. Have you remembered anything that may help?”

“No. Well, I knew Becca and her family, obviously, and she knew mine, but I still don’t remember anything about anyone named Zoller, and I didn’t know Sonja Rossman.” Tigg turned to him, her expression clouded with anger.

“This whole thing is crazy! Maybe you and Eli are trying to make sense of the senseless. Maybe there is no reason, no connection, and we’re just chasing shadows.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Well...no, I don’t. But—”

“Then we shall continue our investigation. Perhaps this next interview will spark something in your memory, a connection we have not as yet discovered.”

“Who are we going to see this time?”

“Mrs. Willamette.”

Chapter 40    table of contents  

Pendergast parked the truck in the alley next to a long, narrow two-story house. He climbed out and headed towards the front gate of the property, and as Tigg followed she gazed at the house with a twinge of sadness. It reminded her somewhat of a place where she had passed many afternoons as a young girl. The slate blue siding, white trim, and maroon shutters all appeared to have been newly painted. The wooden fence surrounding the small lot enclosed extensive and well tended flower beds, bursting with early spring color from the groups of tulips and daffodils, a large glass gazing ball and pedestal centered in the bed nearest to the house. The walkway up to the front porch was lined with boxwoods, and lilac bushes flanked the porch steps. The porch itself was hung with a myriad of wind chimes, glass and wrought iron creations. Sitting majestically by the front door was a life-sized goose, apparently made of cement, which had been carefully attired in a calico dress and matching bonnet. Tigg saw Pendergast pause to gaze at the figure with an expression of puzzled interest before stepping forward and raising the handle of an elaborate brass knocker. He let it fall with a loud retort. Tigg heard a loud, brash voice from within call out.

“Come on in, it’s open!”

Pendergast opened the door and took one step into the house. Tigg heard a startled “oh” from within the house and Pendergast responded.

“I’m sorry to startle you, ma’am, but I was hoping we could speak with you. I’m—”

“Oh, you must be that fella everyone was talking about, the one doing research. Come in, come in. Is that younger fella with you, too?” Pendergast stepped further into the house and Tigg entered the doorway.

“Ah, there he is. Come in, young man. We’ll all sit and chew the fat awhile.”

Tigg stared at the occupant of the house with mild surprise. The woman seated in a recliner opposite the door was dressed in blue jeans and an embroidered sweatshirt with a lace collar. Her silver hair appeared freshly styled, and she was peering at Tigg over the tops of her half-moon glasses with clear hazel eyes that belied her age.

“Sit, both of you. I’ll fetch us something from the kitchen.” She rose from her chair and shuffled past Pendergast and Tigg as they sat on the doily-adorned sofa.

Tigg watched Mrs. Willamette disappear down the narrow hallway and then returned her gaze to the small living room. The walls were covered with framed portraits, decorative knick knacks, small paintings, and ceramic plates mounted on wire frames. Cozy, albeit a bit claustrophobic. She rose to examine some of the portraits but saw nothing familiar. Was it possible that they might learn something here, of all places, or was this just a waste of time? Pendergast seemed to thing they were making progress. She was still pondering this when Mrs. Willamette returned, carrying a tray. Tigg offered to take it but was rebuffed.

“I’m fine, young man. I may be old, but I’m not helpless.” She placed the tray on the coffee table and returned to her chair, settling in with a sigh as she raised the foot rest.

“Bad knees, you know. A family curse. Now, mister, what do you need to know?”

Pendergast flipped open his notebook and turned his attention to her.

“Ah, yes. I’m Dr. Prescott, and this is Mr. Crow. We’re doing research on—.”

“Yes, I know. You want to know how people feel about havin’ a bunch of murders in our town. Thelma has been tellin’ everyone.”

“Thelma?”

“Artie Spiker’s wife. Runs the hair salon down on Water Street, two doors down from the Sheriff’s Office. Artie told her about meetin’ you two and why you’re here. Give it another day and everyone in town will know. Gossip central, that place.” She grinned, her eyes sparkling with deviousness. “If you really want to know the dirt in this town, you go to the salon. You two could benefit from a visit, I think, in more ways than one,” she said, staring pointedly at Tigg.

Tigg stifled a giggle. This woman reminded her strongly of her paternal grandmother. She liked her instantly.

“You got a cold, Sonny?” Tigg shook her head. “Ah, well, you must think I’m funny. Glad somebody does.”

“Ah, Mrs. Willamette,” interrupted Pendergast, “we understand that you—.”

“Knew the family? That I did. Good people. Emmy and Maggie were really nice to me, so helpful. Liz, their mother, was such a sweet woman. It’s a damn shame what happened,” she said, and looked away, lapsing into silence.

“I’m sorry to bring up such a painful subject. I understand if it saddens you—.”

“Sad? I’m not sad, I’m mad as Hell!” She thumped her fist on the arm of the chair. Pendergast’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He gave Tigg a quick glance before returning his attention to the old woman.

“This was such a nice town, safe, peaceful. Now some...bastard has ruined it! And what he did to those people? Nailed them to the damn trees, I heard. Nobody deserves that!” Her face was flushed, eyes bright with anger. “They were a good family, even if they did have their problems.”

“Ah, problems?”

She looked at Pendergast, eyes narrowed.

“Yes, I’m sure everyone in town has told you they were the perfect family. No one likes to speak ill of the dead, not even to the Sheriff.” She snorted derisively. “Some just like to hear themselves talk and the people here can be blind to anything outside their own little worlds. Besides, it wasn’t anythin’ that would catch the attention of someone who didn’t really know them.”

“And you did?”

“About as well as anyone could. They weren’t real social, you understand. Didn’t participate in the local grapevine, and didn’t do anythin’ to stir it up. Kept to themselves, mostly. The kids participated in some community things, but they weren’t really into it as much as everyone thought they should have been. In a town like this, it’s a status symbol, being involved. Now, don’t get me wrong, they didn’t have any enemies, but they didn’t really have any friends, either. People will tell you they were ‘close-knit’. Around here that’s a polite way of saying they was hermit-like.”

“But you knew them better than most people?”

“I’d say I spent a bit more time with them. You see, I was part of the welcoming committee for our church when then moved here, oh, ten or twelve years ago I guess. Bought that old farm out by the state forest. No one else wanted it, really. Too far away from town I guess. Anyway, I made the first visit to their house. They didn’t seem all that happy to see someone. Max said they ‘valued their privacy’.”

“What was your impression of the family dynamic?”

“Dynamic? You mean, did they get along?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, they seemed to well enough. I kinda thought Max and Liz were a little over protective, to be perfectly honest with you. Wouldn’t let the kids stray too far from the house, drove the oldest ones to and from school. I thought maybe they had moved here from the big city or somethin’, you know, high crime rate, but they said they had lived on a farm before.”

“What made you think that there were problems in the family?”

“I got an impression, that’s all. In my experience, if someone don’t talk about their family, there are problems. The girls didn’t talk about home at all when they first started helping me out, but I could tell at times when something was botherin’ them. When I would go visit, everyone was just as polite as could be, but it seemed...forced. There was tension. And their mother, well, she seemed scared of her own shadow. Real jumpy.”

“Did you ever find out why she seemed so fearful?”

“Not really. At first I thought, you know, same old story, someone beat on her. Of course I thought it was her husband, but then I saw how much Max cared for her and I knew it couldn’t have been him.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. A couple of months after they moved here she was in a car accident. Nothin’ major, but she did have to go to the hospital to get stitches. Bleedin’ like a stuck pig, she was. I was there visitin’ a friend, and saw when she came in. After they fixed her up I offered to sit with her until someone came to pick her up, ‘cause she was still pretty upset. I was there when he arrived. The poor man was practically in tears until he saw she was OK. She was really glad to see him, too, poor thing. I couldn’t picture him hurtin’ her after that.”

“I see. What about the rest of the family? Did they have any problems with each other or anyone else in the community?”

“Well, the two older boys seemed to stay out of trouble, and I never saw any arguments between them and their dad, even though he was mighty strict with ‘em.. The girls weren’t real thrilled that he didn’t want them to go away to college, but other than that they seemed to be happy. The youngest boy, Mark, was a bit spoiled by the rest of the family. They all doted on him.” Her face clouded. “I can’t imagine what it musta been like for him, findin’ them the way he did. No wonder he’s such a mess now. I mean, really, think about it. Losin’ your family, all you’ve ever known, in such a horrible way, and bein’ left with nothin’. Almost worse than dyin’ along with them.”

A fate worse than death...

The thought had risen, unbidden, in Tigg’s mind, and she shook her head to clear it. She shivered involuntarily.

“You OK, Sonny?” asked Mrs. Willamette, looking at Tigg with concern. She nodded, still trying to forget the sudden chill she had felt.

What is your idea of a fate worse than death, Eleanor...?

With a shudder she brought her attention back to the conversation at hand. Pendergast was staring at her thoughtfully,while Mrs. Willamette, apparently oblivious to Tigg’s inattention, was searching for something in the basket next to her chair.

“Now, Mrs. Willamette,” said Pendergast, turning back to the old woman, “just a few more questions. In events such as these, many of the citizens have concerns about safety—.”

“You’re worried ‘cause I left my door unlocked, ain’t you?” she asked. Pendergast nodded.

“I was expecting someone, but don’t you worry about me, Sonny, I can take care of myself. Me and misters Smith and Wesson.” She reached down into her chair and brought up a large revolver. “Let that guy come mess with me. Hell’s a fire! I’d welcome a chance to fill his ass with lead!” Pendergast responded slowly, his eyes on the revolver.

“Ah, yes, I see. A...common reaction. Anger and a desire for retribution.”

“Damn straight.” Mrs. Willamette smiled and put the gun back in its hiding place.

“Anythin’ else you needed to know?”

“I don’t believe so...”

“Good, then it’s time for me to ask somethin’ of you.” She reached down into her basket and withdrew a photo album which she handed to Pendergast For the first time, her expression was serious.

“I know you here to find out the ‘effects of the crime’, but there’s somethin’ you need to remember. They was real people, not just victims, not just something to study. They was a family, a good family. I don’t want you to forget that, an’ I don’t want anyone else to forget it. Put that in your ‘research’, so everyone else can see. That...” She pointed at the album, her hand shaking slightly. “...is how they should be remembered. Can you do that?”

“Yes ma’am. I...we will do our best.” He started to open the album, but she held up her hand.

“You can take it with you for now. You look trustworthy enough. Just get it back to me whenever. ” Much of her bluster had faded, and she looked her true age. “Now if you don’t mind, I think I’ve had enough interviewin’ for one day.”

Pendergast reached over and placed his hand lightly on hers.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome...and good luck.”



“I liked her,” muttered Tigg, breaking the silence. They were 5 miles outside of town, on their way back to the cabin.

“I suspect the two of you have much in common,” said Pendergast dryly.

She ignored him. “Well, did you find what you were looking for?”

He reached into his coat and brought out the album which he handed to Tigg.

“Now how did you know she would give that to you?”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, right. You and Eli have a lot in common, too. What now?”

“We’re going to make a stop at the office. The documentation I’ve been expecting is there.”

“Isn’t that a little risky?” Pendergast said nothing. Tigg sighed in frustration, reached over and turned on the radio. Not her favorite type of music, but better than the silence. She opened the album to the first page. It was a family picture, but more like a Victorian portrait than a casual photo, based on the expressions of the subjects. Even the children looked rather serious for their obviously young ages.

Nothing like my family.

She flipped through the pages, noticing that the expressions grew less serious as the children in them grew up. Past the halfway point she noticed that they actually looked happy again, but there was something else. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Think, Tigg, think.

She flipped to the last photo. Another family portrait, but now everyone was smiling. As she looked at the picture, a strange feeling of déjà vu came over her.

There’s something...familiar.

The music on the radio stopped and the announcer started reading a news bulletin.

“From an earlier broadcast: the state police have reported the disappearance and possible abduction of Bonnie Lynn Mathies, daughter of local Sheriff Rick Mathies...”

Tigg looked up from the book with a gasp and stared at the radio.

“Ms. Mathies was last seen Sunday morning outside the Winstead Methodist Church. Anyone with any information in this case is asked to call the state police hotline. In other news...”

She reached over and turned off the radio with a snap.

“Bonnie Mathies. Sheriff Mathies’ daughter.” She smacked her forehead hard enough to cause Pendergast pull of the road and stare at her with concern.

“Oh, God, I’m such an idiot! Why I didn’t make the connection before?” She turned to Pendergast. “I knew her before. We were in college together. Like Becca. But she wasn’t on that list...Damn it!”

“We’ve been entertaining the belief that her abduction and the Jenkins’ murders were part of a distraction. Perhaps—.”

“They were the true targets? The Zoller family was the distraction?”

Pendergast considered this. “Something is still not right.”

“But what—?”

He guided the truck back onto the road and hit the accelerator. Tigg gripped the door handle and leaned back against the seat, her mind racing. The photo album slipped off her lap and onto the floor, forgotten.

Chapter 41    table of contents  

Bonnie Mathies awoke with a start, pulled from her fitful slumber by a strange sound. She raised her head and tried to find the source but the blackness of the cellar was absolute. She waited, listening for the sound again, but all she heard was her own raspy breathing.

Must have been the dream...

Finally, she lowered her head and tried to curl into a tighter ball, shivering in the cold and dampness of what she feared would be her final resting place.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember the jumbled images that had haunted her sleep. Her father, standing across a wide chasm in the earth, calling her name, searching...her own efforts to catch his attention, all of which were in vain...a bridge that, whenever she tried to cross, disintegrated as soon as she set foot on the first plank...dark figures, almost indistinguishable from the landscape, moving to and fro, chuckling mirthlessly at her frenzied attempts to reach her father..

Suddenly she heard the noise again: a soft scuffling sound, stealthy but deliberate.

Rats...

Bonnie was terrified of rats, a fear she had harbored ever since she was a child. She had been only 7 years old when, curious about her father’s work, she has listened to him discussing a case, hiding in the shadows of his study.

“Yep, looks like a natural death. Heart attack while he was taking the garbage to the dumpster, probably right after his shop closed the night before. Laid out in the alley all night and no one noticed. Poor old guy. The wounds? No, the coroner said the rats found him before we did...”

After her father had left she had seen the file on his desk and, with childish innocence, had opened it. The first image she saw was a head shot of the old man and every detail was burned into her mind in that split second: a dark ragged hole where one eye had been; the other eye, minus its’ lid, staring vacantly; skin stripped away from the nose, cheeks, and chin, revealing the well chewed fat and muscle; white teeth glaring through a large hole in the cheek, and on the one patch of pale skin that remained, small, perfectly clear bloody 4-toed footprints...

The sound came again, closer, and Bonnie tensed, ready to fight off the vile creatures. Suddenly she felt something brush her cheek. A weak scream tore through her parched throat. She flailed her arms at the unseen visitor, crying out in panic, her voice barely more than a croaking whisper.

“No! NO! Go away! Leave me alone!”

She tired quickly, soon reduced to ragged breaths and a few feeble movements. After a moment of silence she heard a dry chuckle. She froze, barely daring to breathe.

“What’s the matter, dear Bonnie? Ghosts of darkness past?”

Bonnie recognized that hateful voice. Anger quickly replaced her panic and she gritted her teeth, unwilling to give a response.

“‘From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties, and all things that go bump in the night, good Lord deliver us.’”The mocking tone brought another surge of anger.

“Go to Hell,” she muttered. Her statement produced another chuckle.

“Oh, no doubt I shall. If such a place existed, that is. Me, I think we make our own Hell. Or others make it for us. Isn’t that right, dear Bonnie?”

“What do you want?”

“You’ve already given me what I want. I needed a little something for your father, as a motivator.” Bonnie heard a click and a whirring sound, followed by another click. The sound of her own desperate cries echoed back to her, raising the hair on the back of her neck. Another click followed and the sounds stopped. The killer laughed.

“A little gift for the Sheriff, to encourage him to do what he’s told.”

“What...?”

“He’s supposed to be looking for you, concentrating all of his effort into finding you. He’s enlisted a little help, and he actually picked up on the ‘history lesson’, it seems. I suppose he is a little brighter than I thought... Anyway, it appears that the search for you does not have his full attention and his cop instinct has overridden his parental concern. This is just a little something to bring him in line so I can finish my tasks in relative peace.”

“Tasks? Murders...who?”

“Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you a little present as well.” Bonnie felt something fall across her shoulders and gasped, trying to bat it away.

“Pity you can’t see, as I’m sure you’d recognize it. A well worn stadium blanket, maroon and gold. Our school colors, with a nice embroidered ‘J’ in the corner. Do you remember it, Bonnie?”

A “J”...Jenkins? Oh my God...

“Chris...has a blanket like that...Becca made it. Why...did he give it to you?”

“Oh, hardly. I helped myself. Saw it and thought of you, although, I don’t think it’s all that much use as a blanket now. So threadbare. But for you, it might delay the inevitable just a bit. Chris certainly won’t be needing it anymore...” Bonnie felt a surge of fury so strong she forgot her own fear.

“You fucking b—!”

“Now, now, dear Bonnie, what would your father say about such language? Given your condition, though, I guess allowances can be made. You probably won’t have to worry about it much longer I expect. Neither will your father. After all, there’s only so much a human body can take.”

“What...have you done to him?”

“Directly? Nothing. Stress, however, is a more efficient killer than I could hope to be. Imagine what losing a child can do to such a...devotedparent.”

“He’s looking for me...he’ll find me...someone will find me...” Bonnie whispered with much more conviction than she felt.

“Ah, ever the optimist. Or perhaps just plain foolish.” Bonnie heard the creaking of the stairs and a scrape of wood against wood as the door to the cellar opened. She saw the killer silhouetted against the fading light from a setting sun.

“I must be going now, so much to do. Have a nice life, dear Bonnie. What’s left of it.”

The cellar door banged shut and once again Bonnie was left in total darkness.



Amelia Harding sat back in the stiff plastic chair and rubbed her eyes. Seven hours of staring at the microfiche screen could give anyone a headache, she mused, even if they’re used to it, and I am woefully out of practice.

Coming back to this place had dredged up memories, some more fond than others. She had spent many hours here, researching papers, reading journals, doing homework between classes, all part of her drive to succeed, to get out and to have a better life than her ancestors. All for nothing. Thirty-five, and where am I now? Apparently up a certain fragrantly named creek, sans paddle. She soon realized this line of thought was really not helping and felt slightly disgusted with herself for the brief pity party. It could be worse. It can always be worse.

She looked over at Quinn, bent forward and staring at his own reader.

I wonder if he’s found anything yet.

Her own search had turned up precisely zip. She had checked the editions of the newspaper for the 10 years preceding the murders, working backwards from the June 7, 1993, the day after the crime. The mention of the murder itself was brief with almost no details. Evidence of Darrow’s influence, no doubt. She had had scanned article after article, legal notices, obituaries, community bulletins, and nowhere had she found Eastman and Zoller mentioned in the same article, or in articles that might have even the slightest connection. She had only found a few mentions of someone from the Zoller family: the childrens’ birth announcements and a community notice for when Maxwell Zoller had received a commendation from the Blue Rock municipal police department for “15 years of dedicated and exemplary service” as a dispatcher. Blue Rock was 50 miles west of Pine Mountain and after checking a map Amelia decided it was unlikely the families could have crossed paths by chance.

After searching the last record on the microfiche film Amelia gathered up her brief notes and headed towards the desk to return it. She stopped by Quinn’s desk on the way back.

“Find anything interesting?”

Quinn had been checking the newspapers for the years after the murders, up to when the editions had gone online, as well as 10-15 years prior.

“Not particularly. I’ve been looking at property transfers. I was wondering if...well...someone may had something to gain. The Eastmans bought their place 14 years prior to the murders. Bank repo, it looks like. The previous owner was someone named Frederick Caldwell. No other mention of him that I can find after that. I can find any record that their place was sold after the murders, though. I guess Glinn still owns it by default. I wonder why he didn’t sell it?”

“Probably no one local would buy it. They’d all be scared of ‘haints’.”

Quinn turned and gave her a questioning look.

“Well, would you want to buy a place where...?”

“Oh. Good point.”

“Besides, it’s not exactly located in a hot real estate market. It’s probably a white elephant that he’s stuck with.”

“I wonder...”

Amelia gave him her best “Don’t start that sh*t again” look. Quinn smiled wearily and turned back to the screen.

“Anything else?”

“I read everything there was in the paper about the murders. Hardly anything at all, really. There was more about the search after she...disappeared.” He caught Amelia’s piecing gaze and decided to tone down what he was going to say. “It seems like it was pretty thorough. No one stood out as being out of place in the search. No mention of the Zollers anywhere, except the property transfer record when they sold their place in Blue Rock and moved ten years ago.” He sighed. “Another dead end.”

“It almost seems like...never mind.”

“What?”

“Like the families were chosen becauseit’s impossible to connect them. This seems all too convenient.”

“Yeah, but why were they chosen in the first place? We’re still going in circles here, Amelia.”

“Amelia? Amelia Harding?” A soft, feminine voice spoke from behind them. They turned to see a short, middle aged woman with thick glasses staring at them, a curious expression on her face. She smiled and held out her hand.

“It is you. So good to see you again! Last time you were here you were just getting ready to graduate and heading off to law school. How have you been?”

Amelia shifted uncomfortably and stole a sideways glance at Quinn before replying.

“Ms. Reinman. It’s good to see you, too.”

“I remember how much you loved this part of the library. Back for a visit? Or are you doing research for a case? You are practicing law now, correct?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Ms. Reinman gave Amelia a puzzled look, and when no further explanation was offered she turned to Quinn.

“And who is your friend?”

“Charlie Quinn,” he said, and rose to shake her hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

She blushed slightly and tittered, holding his hand for a moment longer than necessary. Amelia felt a slight twinge of anger.

What? You’re notjealous, are you? Chill, Amelia.

“Where are you working now?” Ms. Reinman asked, still looking at Quinn with a slightly sappy expression.

“Winstead, Ohio,” said Quinn.

“Oh! I’ve heard of that place. That’s where they’ve had all those horrible murders.”

“Yes, a couple of weeks ago.”

“And the most recent ones, just yesterday. How horrible, another whole family. Well, I guess it must keep you two very busy, but why are you...? Mr. Quinn, Amelia, are you all right?”

Amelia felt the color drain from her face as she turned to Quinn. He had gone ghastly white as well.

“A...another family? When?” she asked.

“Well, yesterday. It was in the news today. A burglary, they said. I thought it was strange, so much crime in such a small town. Murders, burglary, kidnapping—.”

“Kidnapping?” Quinn had finally found his voice. “Who—?”

“The sheriff’s daughter, if you can believe it. How horrible it must be for him! I hope he finds her before... Hey! Where are you going?” Quinn had abruptly turned and rushed out. Amelia stared after him for a second, then reached down and turned of the microfiche, pulled out the film and handed it to the startled Ms. Reinman. “I’m sorry, but we really have to go,” she said, grabbing their notes and sprinting towards the exit.



Julia Manning was having a rather bizarre day. It had started out normal enough: answering phones, making and (to her father’s obvious chagrin) canceling reservations, sending the cleaning crew to the vacant cabins, and preparing advertising packets for mailing out to the state visitor centers and travel agencies. It was a boring job, but, as her father often reminded her, she didn’t have very many other prospects. Sometimes the routine was almost comforting, she had to admit, but today her routine had been disrupted. First, by the arrival of a strange young man, a courier of some sort, who had a package for Dr. Prescott. The young man looked nothing like the clean cut delivery people she saw on a daily basis, but he was very conscientious. He wanted to make absolutely certain that the package made it to its’ intended recipient and even gave her a number to call when she had passed the package on to Prescott.

Later that morning her father had given her the task of calling all the council members to arrange a meeting for that night. Such short notice was practically unheard of but her father was insistent. Something had to be done, he declared. The crime situation was absolutely out of control, and what did that mean for the town of Winstead? Lost confidence, lost business, lost tempers and (Julia added to the list in her mind) lost chances for the good-old-boys club to brag about how well they were doing to their city friends.

Shortly after lunch, when business had slowed and her father had finally stepped out for a bit, she had turned on the radio and heard the news about Bonnie. She was so shook up that she couldn’t concentrate on her work and when her father returned and saw that she hadn’t finished, he started in on one of his famous tirades, belittling her abilities, her chosen college major, and her general lot in life. She had been close to tears when they were interrupted by Prescott, stopping by to collect his parcel, this time unaccompanied (thankfully) by his creepy student. Sensing a new opportunity to vent, her father had given Prescott an earful about the subject he had come to research. Prescott had listened quietly, asked a few questions, jotted a few notes, and left as soon as he could. Luckily for Julia, her father’s venting had calmed him down, and he proceeded to ignore her until he left an hour later.

Finally, it was time to close up. She was just about to leave when the phone rang.

“Hello, Winstead Lodge and Rentals, this is Julia, how may I...Yes? Oh hi! Yes, long time no see! How are you? Really? You are? That’s great! Tomorrow around 5? Sure, I’ll be home. Well, I’ll be heading home then, and I’ll be there shortly thereafter. Yes, it will be wonderful to see you too! OK, until tomorrow then. Bye now!”

Julia hung up the phone, feeling better than she had all day. That phone call was just what she needed after all the weirdness. A visitor was always welcome, but in such troubling times, seeing old friends again was truly a comfort.

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