Chapter 1    table of contents  

Rick Mathies surveyed the crime scene with a sinking feeling. “Crime scene” seemed a mild description for what lay before him. This was not some run-of-the-mill homicide, two drunks knifing each other in a bar or a hunting “accident” as was expected in a place like Winstead. This was insanity.

Mathies watched Charlie Quinn, his deputy sheriff and acting crime scene tech, photograph the bodies of the victims. Quinn was a veteran of a NYPD crime scene unit who had moved to Winstead to “escape the horrors” of big city crime and to enjoy “semi-retirement” with a small town police force. Mathies doubted he was enjoying anything at the moment.

Mathies’ radio crackled to life. He heard the rather subdued voice of Ed Brandt, the deputy guarding the entrance to the property.

“Rick, the coroner is here.”

“He’s going to have wait just a few more minutes, Ed. Charlie is still processing the scene, and we don’t need any more bodies on the premises than we’ve already got.” Mathies winced inwardly at his own weak attempt at a joke.

“Any idea who they are?” Quinn asked Mathies as he knelt by his crime scene kit to retrieve more film. Quinn had only joined the department a few weeks before and was not yet familiar with all of Winstead’s citizens.

“Most of the Zoller family. Maxwell and Elizabeth and four of their five children. The eldest two kids, Michael and Erik, were probably home from college for spring break. The twins, Margaret and Emmaline, were taking a year off between college and high school to earn some extra money, but both must have had the day off. The youngest kid, Mark, is still in high school. He came home and found them like this.”

“Where is he now?”

“Hospital. Their neighbor, Al Plattner, found him running down the middle of Highway 8, and brought him to Good Samaritan. He had to be sedated.”

“Is there any chance that he...?”

Mathies glared at Quinn.

“Sorry, had to ask.”

Quinn gathered numbered markers from the kit and began walking the grid of the scene, stopping occasionally to place a marker nest to an item to take more photographs and record measurements. Mathies watched him work the scene, glad to have at least someone who could keep their head and do their job in this hellish situation.

Mathies’ radio crackled again.

“Rick, Dr. Tolliver would really like to get to the scene and perform the duties of his elected position.”

“Probably missing his tee-time,” muttered Mathies. “All right Ed, send him through. It should take him long to determine that these people are in fact deceased.”

As with most rural area coroners, Tolliver was an elected official, and had no background in forensic medicine. All that was required to become County Coroner is a medical degree and friends who were willing to put you on the ballot. The coroner’s primary role was issuing death certificates, and assuring that the person in question was entitled to one. Tolliver had no more interest forensic death investigation than the sheriff had in golf or country clubs. Personally, Mathies couldn’t stand the little prick.

“Do you think we should bring them down?” Quinn asked with a humorless smile.



What is it about a crime scene that makes everyone try to be a comedian? thought Mathies.

“No, I’m sure the completely competent Dr. Nelson Tolliver will manage just fine. He probably won’t even want to get that close.”

Mathies heard the coroner’s van pull into the driveway, followed by Tolliver’s Mercedes. He heard Tolliver giving curt instructions to someone, and almost smiled. He knew the coroner’s assistant, Jackie Talcott, who had worked 20 years worth of crime scenes and body pick-ups, would have plenty to say about those “instructions” after Tolliver had left. Where he could put those instructions, to be more precise.

Mathies heard Tolliver’s nasal voice more clearly as he made his way to the rear of the house.

“Why must these scenes be out in the middle of nowhere?”,Tolliver complained. “I have so much more important things to do than traveling out to the sticks for another worthless...” Tolliver stopped his rant as he caught sight of the bodies. He stared in mute horror at the scene before him. Jackie, who had been right behind Tolliver, almost ran right into him.

“What the hell...”

“Nelson...Jackie...” Mathies began.

Tolliver jumped, and then turned toward Mathies. “Rick! Why in the hell didn’t you tell me about this before...”

“It wasn’t exactly something we wanted going out over the public airwaves.”

“I...” Tolliver walked forward towards the closest victim, Michael Zoller, and stopped. “I...”

“Need a ladder?” asked Quinn.

Both Mathies and Jackie shot Quinn a dirty look.

“Show some respect”, muttered Jackie.

Tolliver looked at the surrounding woods, a look of panic growing on his face.

“Are...are you sure the person who did this isn’t still around? I mean, this... this is just...”

“We secured the scene as soon as we arrived, just as we’re supposed to do.”

“I...”

Suddenly Tolliver ran from the scene and out of sight. Sounds of retching came from the front yard.

“He lasted longer than I though he would”, remarked Quinn.

Tolliver staggered back.

“I’m sorry, I just...”

“I understand”, said Mathies. “Nothing prepares you for something like this...”

Jackie took a few steps towards the second body. She was paler than Mathies had ever seen her.

“We need to get them down”, she said in a low voice. “Jesus, who would do something like this?”

“I don’t know,” replied Mathies, “but I do know we need to work fast. Someone this crazy isn’t going to stop. We need to catch this bastard.”

Quinn’s hands shook as he picked up his evidence collection kit and began collecting the items he had tagged.

Mathies watched him and thought: Poor Quinn. I guess horrors aren’t confined to the big city after all.

Chapter 2    table of contents  

Several hours later, Mathies was making his final rounds before releasing the scene. A lot had been accomplished in that time. Lights had been set up, and several state troopers had joined with Mathies’ own men in the search. Mathies had made it clear that Quinn was in charge, and he had made sure the house and surrounding property had been thoroughly searched and documented.

Meanwhile, Tolliver had quickly realized he was in over his head and had contacted the medical examiner who worked in the state capital, 70 miles away. Dr. Nancy Crosslin had arrived on the scene two hours later, and proved to be almost the polar opposite of Tolliver. She had calmly directed Jackie and her own two assistants on the further documentation and removal of the bodies. Her professionalism impressed Mathies, but he could see that even she was rattled by the gruesome scene.

Quinn approached from the front of the house, where he had been sealing the evidence lockers for their trip to the state crime lab. To Mathies, he appeared to have aged 20 years since that afternoon.

“Everything’s ready to go”, said Quinn.

“Not exactly the ‘semi-retirement’ type of scene you were looking forward to, was it?”

Quinn sighed. “You know, I thought I had seen everything while I was with the Unit in New York. But this... Anyway, what’s the news from the front gate? Press? Rubberneckers?”

“A little of both. Ed has been doing a pretty good job at keeping the press at bay. Luckily our radio silence has prevented the details from getting out. Our guys know better than to talk about it. None of our cell phones work out here, so that’s one less source of a leak. Ed’s cell works out by the front gate, and he’s is manning communications with the office. They’re keeping a tight lid on it as well. We don’t want a panic.”

Mathies radio crackled. Speak of the devil, he thought.

“Rick, Dr. Crosslin called. She said she is getting started right away. She fully understands the need for urgency.”

“Tell her if she needs anything to let us know. We’re wrapping it up here now.”



Mathies and Quinn walked out to their cars. Mathies handed the paperwork over to the state trooper in charge of guarding the site. Quinn turned to him. “I’m going to go catch a few winks. See you tomorrow, er, later this morning.” He got into his car and headed down the long driveway back to the front gate.

The Zoller farm was 1500 acres of fields, half for grazing cattle, the rest for hay and corn. The house was set far back on the property, in front of the woods that bordered on a state forest. There probably wasn’t a more isolated house in the entire town.

A perfect place for a murderer to do his work, thought Mathies. No chance of interruption. Was that why he had chosen this family, or was there something more?



The county sheriff’s office was situated in scenic downtown Winstead, on Water Street, between the county courthouse and the hospital. The Methodist church was 1 block away, and two days ago Mathies has watched the funeral procession drive past his office window on the way to Winstead Hills Cemetery. He had stationed several officers at the cemetery to search the crowds for outsiders, but the press had gotten wind of the funeral, and that tactic quickly became a lost cause.

Vultures, thought Mathies. Exposing a tragedy like this for all the world to see. All for the sake of their precious headlines and film footage to show over and over on CNN.

The murder case was nearly a week old, and Mathies had nothing. He and his deputies had interviewed neighbors, friends, relatives, co-workers, and no one knew anything that could explain how almost an entire family could be slaughtered at their quiet homestead. All agreed that the Zollers were a wonderful, close-knit, and loving family, and their murders were a terrible tragedy. Sad, but of little practical value for his investigation. In fact, it just made the whole case all that more frustrating.

Mathies’ dark thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his office door. The office manager, Sherri Watson, opened the door and stuck her head in.

“Dr. Crosslin is here to see you, Sheriff.”

“Send her in.”

Dr. Nancy Crosslin stepped through the open door into the office. She was a short, intense woman with dark brown eyes and black hair, prematurely going to grey. Mathies wondered if perhaps her chosen profession had something to do with it.

“Good afternoon, Sheriff Mathies.”

“Good afternoon, Dr. Crosslin. Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you. I have the final autopsy reports for your case, as well as the preliminary toxicology reports and DNA analyses. I wanted to discuss these with you in person.”

“What can you tell me about these murders?”

“The cause of death for all six individuals was exsanguination from a severed carotid artery. The cuts were made with an extremely sharp, non-serrated blade. All other injuries were made post-mortem, and after nearly all of the blood had been drained from the body." She paused.

“That would explain the lack of blood in the area. They were killed, drained, and brought to the site where the bodies were found. I suspect they were killed in a place where is would have been easy to drain and dispose of the blood, such as a bathtub.”

Mathies remembered how the first floor bathroom in the Zoller house had reeked of bleach. Now he knew why...

“But how could the killer get six different people into the bathroom to kill them, without any signs of a struggle?”

“The preliminary tox reports indicate the presence of barbiturates.”

“So the killer drugged them all first, and then went about his business.”

“Right. Afterwards, he would have brought the bodies out to the yard, uh, arranged them, and finished the mutilations.”

Jesus, thought Mathies. “What about the symbols on the victims?”

“Applied with blood, which appears to be a mixture of the victims.”

“Which ones? All of them?”

“Difficult to tell. DNA results showed a mixture, with a maximum of four alleles at each locus. Since they were all related, parents and children, they would have shared alleles. It very well could be a mix of all, or just the parents.”

“Any idea what they mean?”

“That’s not really my area, but I sent detailed photos to the crime lab. They haven’t been able to identify them.”

Mathies sighed. Another knock on the door, and Sherri stuck her head in the office again. “Charlie’s back from the crime lab.”

“Great, send him in.”

Quinn walked through the door to the office with a very annoyed look on his face.

“Charlie, any luck on the trace evidence?”

“No. It looks like our perp cleaned up after himself.” Quinn looked at Dr. Crosslin. “Ah, hello Nancy, nice to see you again.”

“Hello Charlie.”

Mathies noticed that Dr. Crosslin was blushing slightly. Hmmmm, thought Mathies, now that’s an interesting pairing.

After a short uncomfortable silence, Mathies spoke. “So, he knows something about forensics.”

Charlie snorted. “With all the crime shows on TV today, everyone knows something about forensics. Or think that they do.”

Mathies thought a moment. “You’re telling me that there’s absolutely nothing to tie someone to this crime?”

“Well, maybe when Mark Zoller is able to talk he’ll be able to shed some light on this case. How is he doing, anyway?”

“He’s still in Good Samaritan, in the psych wing. He’s under sedation, and his doctor says he’s suffering from ‘Severe Post-Traumatic Stress’.”

“Gee, ya think?” said Quinn sarcastically.

Dr. Crosslin rose from her seat. “If we find out anything new, I’ll be sure to contact you.”

Mathies rose walked her to the door. “Thank you for your help Doctor. Anything you can find would be greatly appreciated.”

“I do what I can. Goodbye Sheriff Mathies.” She turned to Quinn. “Goodbye Charlie. Don’t be a stranger.”

Mathies shut the door behind her and looked at Quinn. Quinn stared back impassively.

“This case is going to have the town in an uproar if any of this gets out or if we don’t do something soon. Any ideas?”

“Well, you could try a forensic profiler?”

“What, from the FBI? How long would that take? And would they even take the case? This doesn’t exactly qualify as serial murder.”

“It was a suggestion. I’m going to go read through the reports again. Maybe I’ll get lucky this time.”

After Quinn left, Mathies sat down at his desk and closed his eyes. Forensic profiling. Figure out what makes this guy tick. The FBI will get involved, and they have been known to make a bad situation worse.

Suddenly, Mathies remembered that there was an alternative. He opened his desk drawer and rummaged around until he found a business card. The card was plain, with small dark grey type:

Effective Engineering Solutions
Little West 12th Street
Greenwich Village, New York
(212) 354-4377

He picked up the phone and began to dial.

Chapter 3    table of contents  

Sherri Watson resisted the temptation to slam the phone back down on the receiver. The phone had been ringing off the hook for the past week: reporters, worried citizens, and crackpots, all with questions or “leads” on the Zoller murders. Sherri took great pride in the organization and relative calm she was able to maintain in the sheriff’s office, but his case had thrown everything into chaos. Crime in Winstead normally consisted of bar-room brawls, minor assaults, burglaries, vandalism, and drugs. The most excitement anyone had seen before this was last October, when the clandestine methamphetamine lab located in one of Joan Tolliver’s rental trailers blew up, killing the two amateur chemists who had been running it. Joan had been absolutely horrified, but Sherri suspected that had less to do with the loss of life and more with the fact that one of her properties was subsequently labeled as a hazardous waste site.

The phone interrupted Sherri’s thoughts. She took a deep breath, brought her anger under control, and picked up the receiver.

“Winstead Sheriff’s Office, how may I help you?”

“Is Sheriff Mathies in?”

The calm male voice was unfamiliar. Probably another damn reporter, Sherri thought. She gave her standard response. “I’m sorry, but he is extremely busy at the moment. May I take a message?”

“Do you expect him to be free within the next hour?”

Persistent, thought Sherri. Must be on a deadline.

“I’m not sure. He is in a meeting right now with some officers from the state police department.” A small lie. He was talking to Charlie, Ed, and one of the local state troopers who had worked the scene.

“Thank you.” The caller hung up.

Well that was a little weird, thought Sherri. Maybe he decided to take the easy way out after all. Many of the reporters who had been unable to break through the communication barrier at the sheriff’s office had re-hashed their old stories and laced them with not-so-subtle criticism on the running of the case and of the sheriff’s office in general. Sherri remembered the first thing Rick had said to her about handling case inquiries: the press is not your friend.

The phone rang again. Sherri gritted her teeth and picked up the receiver.

“Winstead Sheriff’s Office, how may I help you?”

“Sherri, I need to talk to Rick. NOW!”

Sherri winced. She knew this voice very well. It belonged to Grayson Manning, county commissioner and local businessman. He owned half of the buildings in downtown Winstead, as well as several vacation rentals along the river and a lodge which catered to rich tourists who wanted to spend a “relaxing weekend in a beautiful country setting”.

“I’m sorry Mr. Manning, but he’s in a meeting.”

“You’ve been telling me that for 4 days! Maybe it he would stop having so many ‘meetings’ he would have time to go out and find the killer!”

“The sheriff is following up on several promising leads and is making progress on the case.” Sherri tried her standard line for “concerned citizens and businessmen”.

“Two more of my rentals cancelled, and the lodge is only at quarter-capacity for this weekend! People are staying away in droves, and all the businesses are losing money!”

Not all of them, thought Sherri. Bob Petersen’s Guns and Ammo is doing a booming business lately.

“The sheriff’s office is doing all it can to resolve this case as soon as possible. I will have Sheriff Mathies call you as soon as he is available.”

“FINE!” *SLAM*

You’re welcome, Jerk.

The door to Mathies’ office opened, and the meeting participants emerged.

“Rick, Grayson Manning called. He wants you to call him back.”

“Again? How many renters cancelled this time?”

“He apparently thinks that you need to spend more time in the field and less time in meetings,” said Sherri with a wry smile.

“Maybe you need to come up with a new excuse to give for him,” said Quinn.

Sherri shot him a dirty look.

Mathies sighed. “OK, Sherri, I’ll be in my office, mollifying our esteemed commissioner. Frank, thanks again. Keep us posted.”

“Will do.” Frank Andrews nodded to Sherri and Quinn and left. Mathies returned to his office.

“Anything new to report from the meeting of the minds?”

“Rick contacted an old military associate of his about doing a forensic profile of the killer. Says he left a message with the guy’s company, but he hasn’t heard back yet.”

“A forensic profiling company?”

“Actually it’s an engineering firm, which seems even stranger to me.”

“Weird. Why doesn’t he contact the FBI?”

“I looked into that, actually. I contacted an agent I knew when I was in New York, Special Agent Carlton. He said they are overwhelmed at the moment, and also rather short-handed. He also said that since the crime didn’t cross state lines and this isn’t technically a serial killing, it would be difficult to get someone on it.”

“Oh.” The phone rang again, and with a sigh Sherri answered it. Quinn walked over to the front door and looked out at the flow of traffic on Water Street. Or lack thereof.

“He’s in the middle of an important phone call right now. I’ll have him get back to you.” Sherri set the receiver down with a bit more force than normal. Quinn turned at looked at her in surprise.

“Sorry, but this case is really starting to grate on my nerves.”

Quinn turned back to the window, a puzzled look on his face.

“What are you looking at out there?”

“There’s a dark grey van parked out front in one of the handicapped spaces. I’ve never seen it before.”

“So are you going to go give him a ticket or what?”

Quinn moved closer to the window and squinted at the license plate.

“It’s a New York plate, and there’s a handicapped placard in the window.”

“Well then you have nothing to worry about. Probably a tourist on his way to Manning’s lodge.”

“Why would someone drive all the way from New York to southeastern Ohio?”

“Maybe he hates to fly.”

As Quinn watched, a man in a motorized wheelchair emerged from around the far side of the van. He moved the chair forward with a motorized hand control, up the short handicapped ramp and onto the sidewalk towards the sheriff’s office.

“Looks like he’s coming in here,” said Quinn. “He doesn’t looks like a tourist...”

The man had short brown hair, thin lips and a squared jaw. A nasty-looking scar ran down the right side of his face. As he approached the door, Quinn opened it for him. He rolled through the door a stopped.

“How can we help you, sir?” said Quinn, his eyes on the scar.

“I am here to see Sheriff Mathies. He will be expecting me.”

If he’s a reporter trying to get the story, that’s a damn effective disguise, thought Sherri.

“Who shall I tell him is here to see him?” she asked the stranger.

“Eli Glinn.”

Sherri looked a Quinn, who shrugged. She turned, walked to the office door, and knocked.

“Come in.”

Sherri opened the door and stuck her head in Mathies’ office. He was seating behind his desk, phone receiver in one hand and the other covering the mouthpiece. He looked livid.

“Rick, there’s someone here to see you. He says you’re expecting him.”

Mathies gave her a questioning look. “I’m not expecting anyone. Who does he say he is?”

“Eli Glinn.”

A look of surprise came over his face. Then he smiled. “Wow. We may actually be getting a break.” He returned the phone to his ear. “Grayson, I’ll have to call you back. Something important has come up. What? No, it can’t wait. Goodbye Grayson.”

Sherri could here Manning shouting unintelligibly before Mathies set the phone back on the hook. He looked up at her and said, “Send him in.”

Sherri opened the door all the way and turned toward the outer office.

“Please come in, Mr. Glinn.” She held the door open for him.

Glinn moved the control on his wheelchair, and rolled forward into the office.

“Eli, how are...?” Mathies stopped short in surprise when he caught sight of Glinn. He stared for a minute, then regained his composure.

“So good to see you, thank you for coming.”

Glinn merely nodded.

Mathies looked at Sherri. “Thank you , Sherri. Please close the door on your way out. And hold my calls.”

Sherri glanced at Glinn, then back at Mathies. He gave her a reassuring smile. She turned, walked out, and closed the door. Quinn looked at her quizzically, and she shook her head. Mathies appeared confident in this stranger’s help, but she had developed a slow sinking feeling that said otherwise. She sighed, walked to her desk, and sat down. At that moment, the phone rang. She looked at it for a moment, and then reached for the receiver.

Chapter 4    table of contents  

Rick Mathies had never expected to see Eli Glinn with such short notice. He had only contacted the man’s company the previous afternoon, and they had indicated that he was currently occupied with an important project and would be unable to respond to his inquiry for several days. Finally, Mathies had told the person who answered the phone to inform Glinn that he was merely “calling in a favor” and would hope to hear from him soon. Now here the man was, sitting in his office, looking as cool and calm as always. His condition, however, had startled and slightly unnerved Mathies. He struggled to begin the conversation.

“Eli, thank you for coming so...on such short notice.”

“If Rick Mathies’ is in such a crisis that he needs to call in a favor, I thought it best to respond in a timely manner.” Mathies thought he saw amusement in Glinn’s one good eye.

“Thank you. I...”

Mathies couldn’t stand it any longer. “What happened to you, Eli? The last we met, you were...well...”

“Able-bodied?”

Mathies flushed with embarrassment.

“We took on a project that proved to be much more difficult than we had originally anticipated.”

“You mean you failed?”

Glinn smiled thinly. “That project is...not yet completed. We expected to have it resolved in the near future.”

“Oh.”

“Now, what is this favor that you need to ‘call in’?”

Mathies felt relieved. Despite his physical appearance, Glinn was still confident and direct, just as he remembered him.

“When we last spoke, you mentioned that your company was developing a computer program for behavioral profiling.”

“Yes, that program now fully tested and operational. We’ve used it successfully in several difficult cases.”

“We have a case here that has been extremely difficult to resolve due to a severe lack of useable evidence. No trace, no DNA, and no witnesses to connect anyone to these murders. At this point, I believe that a forensic behavioral profile is our only option to get a handle on the killer.”

“You are referring to the murder of the Zoller family.” It was a statement rather than a question.

Mathies shifted uneasily in his seat. He had desperately tried to keep a lid on the case, but information on the case had made it to the wire services in spite of his efforts.

Glinn appeared to think for a moment. “Yes, I believe we can help you.”

Mathies felt a rush of hope. This had been much easier than he thought. Then he remembered something.

“About the standard contract: is the fee still...?” He didn’t dare say it.

“One million dollars? For normal cases and clients, yes. However, I am willing to make an exception in this case.”

Mathies was relieved. He had thought that just getting Glinn here would have used up the favor.

“What do you need to get started?”

“First and foremost, the case file.”

“No problem.”

Mathies rose from his desk.

“Just a minute”, said Glinn. “I would like to keep a low profile. I don’t want anyone else to know that I will be working the case.”

“I told some of my deputies that I had contacted you...”

“Tell them that I was unable to help. Continue your investigation as if my services weren’t available.”

“Eli, I’m under a lot of pressure here. I need to look like I’m actually trying something new and...”

“I understand. However, I believe that your movements are being monitored by the killer. We don’t need to give him an opportunity to flee prematurely.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Let’s just say I’ve done a little preliminary profiling on this case.”

Mathies was stunned. “You already knew why I called, didn’t you? You were waiting to be asked to take this case. Why?”

Glinn said nothing. Several minutes of silence passed, and finally Mathies spoke.

“What else do you need?”

“I will be working on entering the information on this case into the system, and will monitor the progress from my office. However, I have an associate whom I believe will be willing to help with the, ah, legwork. I will contact you and give you further instructions when he agrees to take the case.”

“Is he competent to work a case like this? I’m not sure how an engineer could help us.”

“He is not an engineer, and yes, he is very competent work a ‘case like this’. His methods are unorthodox, but he is very good at what he does.”

“Aren’t you worried that his presence will alert the killer?”

Again, Glinn said nothing.

Mathies’ sighed. “Alright, is there anything else?”

“No, I believe that’s it. You can FedEx the case file to my office. Remember: low profile.”

Glinn adjust the controls on his wheelchair and turned toward the office door. Mathies rose, walked to the door, and opened it. When they the outer moved into office, Quinn and Sherri looked up expectantly.

“Thank you Eli, for your time. I’m so sorry that you will be unable to help us.”

Their faces fell. Mathies felt terrible lying to them.

“I am sorry as well, Sheriff Mathies. Unfortunately I must follow company guidelines. Good luck.” He nodded to Quinn and Sherri with a slight smile, and headed for the door. Quinn jumped up to open the door for him. After Glinn had gone, he shut the door and turned to Mathies.

“What happened, Rick? I thought you said the guy could help?”

“Not enough evidence. A one-time crime doesn’t give enough for his profilers to work with, apparently. I didn’t really understand it either, but the guy seems to be a straight shooter. Back to square one, I guess.”

Sherri looked dejected. “Rick, Grayson Manning called again, and...”

Crap.

“OK, Sherri, I’ll handle it. Why don’t you take off early. Arlene will be here for her shift in an hour. I think I can handle it here until then, Grayson Manning’s problems and all. Charlie, why don’t you go give Ed and Frank and update, and we’ll meet again tomorrow morning.”

A look of weary relief crossed Sherri’s face. “You’re the boss.”

Quinn and Sherri gathered their things and left. Mathies waited until he saw their cars drive by the front window, then he went to the file cabinet and pulled out the Zoller case file. He removed the clips, set the file on the copier, and hit the start button. Five minutes later, the phone rang.

“Winstead Sheriff’s Office.”

“Rick?! It’s about damn time!”

Mathies held the phone away from his ear for a moment and took a deep breath.

I hope you’re right about this, Eli.



One hundred and fifty miles to the southwest, Brian Cambry guided his pickup truck up his driveway and stopped in front of his small single story home. He grabbed a week’s worth of mail and newspapers from the front seat, grabbed his suitcase from the bed of the pickup and headed up the front steps. Cambry was glad to be home after his vacation in Islamorada. He had been down to visit an old buddy of his and had spent the week charter fishing in the turquoise waters off the Florida Keys. The tropical climate and laid-back atmosphere of the Keys had been to his liking, but the steady flow of traffic down Route 1 and the harrowing drive back to Miami International Airport had strongly reminded him why he lived in the country.

As glad as he was to be back home, he was not looking forward to going through the stack of mail he had deposited on the kitchen table. Bills, bills, and more bills, he thought. Whoever said retirement was worry free was a freaking idiot. After surveying the pile of mail, he decided to catch up on his newspaper reading instead. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and the pile of papers from the kitchen table, walked into the living room, and settled into his favorite easy chair. With a contented sigh, he unfolded the paper and began to read. Halfway down the third page, the headline caught his eye: “Authorities still have no leads in grisly Ohio Crucifixion Murders”. A coincidence, he thought. He read further, as the writer outlined what was known about the murder of the Zoller family. A copycat. It must be. But how..? He searched through the papers until he had found and read all of the stories about the case. The details were sketchy, but the resemblance was there. For someone who had seen it all before, the resemblance was definitely there.

Not again, thought Cambry. Please, not again.

Chapter 5    table of contents  

Eli Glinn waited patiently inside his custom equipped van. Twenty minutes previously, he had parked it at a rest stop off of Interstate 70, just west of Hagerstown, Maryland. His “associate” had arranged the meeting place, and Glinn agreed that if nothing else, it would give them a quite place to talk. Glinn was purposefully early for their scheduled appointment in order to take time to go over the plan in his head. While the man he needed to meet with was still something of an enigma, Glinn was fairly certain he would agree to take the assignment. He had previously indicated that he would be willing to accept a project with Glinn’s company should his particular talents be required, but he had also indicated that he wished to have some time to himself before starting such a project.

Glinn’s thoughts were interrupted when the side door of the van opened, and a tall, pale, black-clad figure climbed into the passenger seat. He shut the door and looked at Glinn. After several moments of silence, he spoke.

“Good evening, Mr. Glinn.”

“Good evening, Dr. Pendergast. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice. I was sorry to interrupt your... rest, but a project has been presented to us that I believe will benefit from your assistance.”

“Not an engineering project, I would assume.”

“Correct. I need your experience in forensic profiling. The evidence which was provided for this case is, shall we say, extremely thin. I have the case report provided by the officer in charge, but it lacks... insight.”

“I was under the impression that your profiling program was more than capable of providing ‘insight’ in such cases,” Pendergast remarked, with just a trace of irony in his voice.

“It can, but I believe in this case the human element will be beneficial. I am capable of handling the computer-based profiling based on our present information, but I need someone to look into other aspects of the case which may have been missed by local law enforcement.”

“Who contacted you about this case?”

“The officer in charge, Sheriff Rick Mathies, asked for my help. He is an old acquaintance of mine.”

“I would have expected your normal fee would have bankrupted local law department’s budget.”

“I am taking on this project at no charge.”

Pendergast looked at Glinn with mild surprise. Glinn did not offer any explanation, and after several minutes of silence, Pendergast continued.

“Why do you need my talents in particular for this case?”

“I believe you may have some previous experience with a case of a similar nature.”

Glinn removed a thick folder from his briefcase and gave it to Pendergast. He opened the folder and began to read. After several minutes, he spoke.

“There are similarities between this case and one I examined about 12 years ago. It was in a small town in southern West Virginia. Most of a family was murdered, mutilated, and crucified. The local sheriff informed me that perpetrator had been shot and killed at the scene. The deputy who shot him found him with his last intended victim, covered in blood and holding the murder weapon. As is turns out, he was the youngest child who had apparently ‘gone insane and carved up his whole family’”.

“What was your assessment?”

“According to the townspeople, the boy was well liked by his family as well as the community, and displayed none of the behavior one associates with mental illness or violence. They all felt that it was unthinkable that he had committed such a crime.”

“I take it you agreed with them. Why were you interested in the case?”

“I learned that there had been one survivor, the youngest daughter. I went to interview her in the hope that she might have some information on whom I believed to be the true killer. Unfortunately, she still appeared to be in shock and due to her injuries was unable to communicate. ” Pendergast’s expression darkened. “In retrospect, it was misplaced optimism on my part. He would have never left a survivor.” He regained his composure and turned to Glinn.

“How did you know I had looked into the case?”

“One of the deputies remembered you. Apparently you made quite an impression.”

Pendergast was silent for several minutes, staring thought the window out into the darkness. Glinn waited patiently for his reaction.

“You believe that this recent case and that old case are the work of the same person. The police have not made the connection because the case from 12 years ago was essentially buried, so you want me to work with the police in order to bring both cases together and provide more information in calculating the profile.”

“You are partially right. However, I have done some preliminary profiling. The program suggested that the killer would be monitoring the progress of the police. Any sign of professional involvement and the killer might flee. Therefore I had to give the impression that I am not working this case to all but the sheriff, as he alone can be trusted.”

“Then why do you need my help?”

“In my experience, people are more likely to give you the information you seek when they do not know you are actually looking for it. I need you to gather information from both the police and the citizens of the town for the case, but in a less threatening capacity.” Glinn paused. “There is one other thing I need you to do.”

“What is it?”

Glinn prepared himself for the explanation. This was going to be the difficult part.

“I have an associate who does... contract work on certain parts of my projects: mainly on electronics and surveillance equipment. It has come to my attention that this person possesses some information which would be useful to you investigation. Unfortunately, this associate has some... quirks, and is difficult to contact directly. The quality of work this person produces negates these difficulties in ordinary circumstances, and in fact the self-imposed isolation has been an asset, but in this case we will require an actual meeting to exchange information. My associate absolutely refuses to leave home participate in such a meeting, and lives in an area of limited accessibility for someone such as myself. You do not have such limitations, and I understand that you can be very... persuasive.”

Glinn waited for Pendergast’s response. He suspected that Pendergast had not been fooled by his explanation, but was fairly certain that the man would still be curious enough as to his real motives to accept the project. Glinn was taking a gamble, something he hated to do, but he didn’t see that he had any other choice.

Pendergast remained silent, deep in thought. Finally he turned and looked at Glinn.

“Why is this case so important to you?”

I was right, Glinn thought, he wasn’t fooled.

“Let’s just say I hate to see something left unresolved.”

Pendergast nodded. “When would you like for me to start?”

Glinn more relieved than he dared to admit.

“Immediately.”

Glinn turned the key in the ignition, adjusted the hand controls, and guided the van out of the rest stop and onto the westbound highway. Pendergast sighed, leaned back in the seat, and closed his eyes.

Chapter 6    table of contents  

The downtown area of Pine Mountain, West Virginia resembled many of the other small towns in Appalacia. Shabby brick buildings and Victorian era homes in various grades of upkeep lined the narrow streets, some of which had only recently been upgraded from brick or stone to asphalt. Many of the buildings had “For Lease” signs in empty shop windows. It was a dying town, a far cry from the days when coal mining and steel were actually worth something and the area had prospered. Now there was nothing to encourage the descendants of those coal miners and steel workers to remain. Amelia Harding had stayed, still dreaming of a chance to make it in the big city, but practical enough to know that at 35, the chance of being recruited into a metropolitan police force was slim. She gazed out the window of the sheriff’s office, taking a break from the exciting work of filing the past week’s traffic violations. She listened to her boss, Jacob Darrow, stomp around in his office, speaking loudly on the phone to one of his buddies about their upcoming fishing trip. As she surveyed the nearly deserted street, a VW Minibus that had obviously seen better days stopped in front of the building. The bus backed up, and then pulled into one of the parking spaces. The door opened and a tall, slim man stepped out. He had long graying brown hair, parted in the middle and twisted into two braids, and wore a folded bandana tied around his head in a band. His boots, jeans, tie-dyed t-shirt and vest all looked as though they had been rejected from the Salvation Army donation center. To complete the outfit, he wore sunglasses with small round frames and a rawhide necklace with beads. Amelia stared as he walked toward the door with a jaunty step. This was absolutely the last thing she needed, to deal with some aging hippy tourist who had gotten his dumb ass lost in the “wilds” of southern West Virginia. The man opened the door and stepped into the sheriff’s office.

“Good morning, ma’am. I was wondering if maybe you could help me?” His heavy Boston accent grated on Amelia’s nerves.

“Go back out the way you came, turn right, follow that road three miles, turn left, and you should reach the Interstate after about 25 miles.” Amelia hoped to get rid of him quickly before Jake came out and caused a scene.

“Well, uh, thank you, but that wasn’t what I was asking. This is Pine Mountain, isn’t it?”

“Says so on the sign you passed on the way into town.”

“Ah, yes, yes it did. Anyway, I have an old college buddy whom I lost touch with many years ago, but I believe still lives here. I was passing through, remembered that he lived in this area, and thought I’d stop by. Unfortunately I’ve lost his address. I understand in small towns like these, everyone knows everyone, so I was hoping you could help me find him.”

“What’s his name?

“Isaac Eastman.”

Amelia froze. She really didn’t want to have to explain this to a complete stranger. The man looked at her questioningly, and tried again.

“His wife’s name is Marie. They have six children...”

At that moment, the door to Darrow’s office opened and he stomped out. The stranger looked startled, and Amelia couldn’t blame him. Darrow’s friends, with rare wit, had nicknamed him “Tiny”. He was, without a doubt, the largest man Amelia had ever seen: well over 6 1/2 feet tall, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. She suspected that the main reason he was such an effective sheriff was that no one would dare cross him. Darrow glared at the stranger, and asked in his booming voice, “What the hell do you want?”

Tact had never been Tiny’s strong point, and he absolutely hated what he referred to as “those damn hippy-commies”, which in his lexicon meant practically anyone who wasn’t a local.

The stranger looked faint. He glanced towards the door and back at Darrow. Amelia decided to speak for him.

“He’s looking for an old friend that he lost touch with several years ago.”

“And who might that be?”

“Isaac Eastman.”

“Never heard of him.” Amelia looked at Darrow, not quite sure she had heard correctly.

“I was quite sure he lived here. Although in 12 years, he could have moved...”

“Oh, yes, now I remember. You’re really not good at keeping in touch with your ‘friends’, are you?”

“How do you mean?”

“Eastman’s dead. Him and his whole family.”

The stranger turned pale under his tan. “What...what happened? Was it an accident? A fire?”

“The youngest kid went nuts and killed them all.” Darrow paused. “Sorry you had to find out like this.” He didn’t look all that sorry to Amelia.

The stranger looked absolutely horrified. Amelia felt genuinely sorry for him. Darrow was such an insensitive jerk.

“Well, I...” The man’s voice quavered. “Uh, thank you for your help.” His hands shook as he reached for the door. Darrow turned, stomped back into his office, and slammed the door so hard the walls shook. Amelia glared at the office door, and then turned back towards the stranger.

“Are you OK?”

“I...I think so. I just can’t believe it. They were such a wonderful family. It makes no sense.” He opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight, closing the door carefully behind him. Amelia watched as he slowly walked to the Minibus. She turned and walked towards Darrow’s office. He opened the door just as she was about to knock.

“Don’t you have tickets to write?” he asked.

Amelia sighed. “I was just letting you know I was heading out on patrol.”

“Fine.” He slammed the door again. Amelia gathered her keys and ticket book from her desk. She walked to her cruiser, and looked around for the stranger’s Minibus. It was gone, but she was pretty sure she knew where it was going.



After Amelia had left, Darrow went to a large hunting print he had hanging on the wall of his office and lifted it off the hook. Behind the picture was a fire-proof safe that only he knew existed. He opened the safe and removed a small stack of photos, images which, if made public, would not only end his career but would also land him in prison. He had no idea who had taken them, but person had one goal in mind: to ensure Darrow’s silence. The subject on which he was to remain silent was written on the back of the first photo. It simply read:

“The Eastman Case is Closed.”

Darrow was going to make sure it stayed that way.



Three miles outside of town, the VW Minibus made a left turn onto county highway 36 and headed for the Interstate. The driver kept his eyes straight ahead, but his thoughts were on the conversation he had just had in town.

“Not the most pleasant person in the world, is he?” Glinn asked.

“No, he wasn’t. He was even worse than when I spoke with him 12 years ago. He was tactless, but not completely rude”, replied Pendergast.

“He seems quite defensive about a case that was so ‘open and shut’.”

“Indeed.”

“I do believe you might yet obtain some more information on the case.”

Pendergast looked in the review view mirror in order to see Glinn’s expression. He was seated in his chair in the back of the bus, out of sight from the casual observer.

“Oh?”

“Yes. In fact, it is closing in on us as we speak.” Suddenly Pendergast heard a siren, and checked the side mirror. One of the local cops was behind him, indicating that he should pull over. Pendergast pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Glinn pulled the curtain hanging behind the front seats closed and disappeared from view.

Pendergast recognized the female deputy with whom he had spoken at the sheriff’s office. He rolled down the window as she approached.

“License and registration, please.”

“Was I speeding, officer? I’m sorry, I’m still...” He handed her the registration and ID that Glinn had provided before they arrived in town.

She leaned toward the window as she appeared to examine the documents, and spoke in a low voice.

“I’m sorry for the way the sheriff treated you back there. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Thank you.”

“They were your friends, and I can’t even imagine how you must feel.” She paused, considering what to say next. “I also think you deserve to at least know all that happened. It may not help, but...”

Pendergast nodded slowly.

“The youngest apparently did kill all of them, all but the youngest daughter. The deputies found him leaning over her, murder weapon in hand. The first deputy on the scene called out a warning, and when the boy didn’t respond, he shot him.” She sighed. “He was new on the force, didn’t know the people, and did what he thought was right at the time. No one had told him the youngest Eastman son was deaf...” She noticed the pained expression on the stranger’s face, and felt even more pity for the poor man.

“What happened to...?”

“The youngest daughter survived the attack and was taken to the hospital. She had sustained multiple slash and stab wounds, including one across her throat which severely damaged her vocal cords and nearly killed her. Both of her hands, arms, lower legs, and most of her ribs were broken. The doctors were frankly amazed that she survived such an attack. What didn’t survive was her mind. She remained unresponsive even after she had healed. The doctor in charge of her case kept hoping she would recover, but he even he eventually admitted she would never be the same. Then something really strange happened. Two days before he was going to transfer her at her guardian’s request to a private institution, a day after her 18th birthday, she disappeared from the hospital.”

“Disappeared?”

“It looked like she got up in the middle of the night and walked out. No one saw a thing. Everyone in the department searched the surrounding country for her, and eventually for her body. They even brought dogs to try and pick up a scent. Nothing.”

Amelia could see the man was fighting with several emotions: sadness, bewilderment, and anger.

“Why wasn’t any of this in the news?”

“The sheriff is very good at keeping a lid on his cases and discouraging the local press. I think you can see why. The last I heard anything was about five years ago, when the girl was declared legally dead by her guardian. After that, the case was officially closed, and as far as everyone is concerned, it should stay that way.”

“But I should...”

“Trust me, there is nothing you can do. It’s too late. You would be better off to just forget it.” Pendergast sensed that there was more that she wanted to say, but she straightened up and spoke in her normal voice, ending the conversation.

“OK mister, I’m giving you a warning this time. Drive safely.”

“Thank you officer, will do.” Pendergast noticed another vehicle drive past them, slowing down as it did so. The deputy pulled warning notice off the tablet and handed it to Pendergast, along with the other documents he had given her.

She walked back to her cruiser, climbed in, and turned back toward town.

“Wait just a few minutes,” murmured Glinn.

As he watched, the car that had passed drove by again in the opposite direction. Pendergast acted as though he was stowing his registration and license. The car slowed down again, and Pendergast put the bus in gear and pulled onto the highway. The car sped up and headed back toward town.

Glinn opened the curtain. “I think it would be prudent to change vehicles as soon as possible.”

Pendergast nodded, stepped on the accelerator, and guided the bus back towards the Interestate.

Chapter 7    table of contents  

Brian Cambry paced his living room, wondering, as he had since reading those articles, what he should do with his knowledge of a possible connection between two sets of murders separated by 12 years and 200 miles. After the initial shock he had felt, he had tried to reason that it was just a coincidence. Surely in this day and age, murderers had enough sources of inspiration for their twisted actions. Maybe he was imagining the similarities between this case and the one he had encountered. The details were not listed, a tactic to help separate out the true murderer from the cranks, and in those might be something which would truly isolate this case. If it was a copycat, why had he waited 12 years after the original murder? It didn’t really make sense. One thing was certain, it wasn’t the original murderer. That was the only thing Cambry was sure of at the moment.

The phone rang. He answered it almost immediately.

“Hello?”

“Brian? This is Amelia Harding, returning your call.”

“Amelia! Thanks you for calling back so quickly.” Cambry paused, unsure how to continue.

“No problem. What’s on your mind?”

“Do you remember the Eastman case from about twelve years ago?”

“I wasn’t on the force then.”

“Yes, I know you were hired after....”

“Barry Sherman’s death.”

That’s a polite way to put it, thought Cambry.

“Yes, that’s right. But you do remember the case?”

“It wasn’t anyone could easily forget.”

Anyone except Tiny Darrow, thought Cambry.

“I was just wondering if anyone had ever shown interest in the case recently.”

“Not in the case, but some poor guy came through town looking for Isaac Eastman. Today, in fact. Said he was an old college buddy who had lost touch.”

“I see. Anything odd about him?”

“Other than the fact that he looked like a refugee from the ‘60’s, no. Actually seemed to be a decent guy.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I ...uh...read in the paper about this recent case in Ohio. It seemed to be a lot like the Eastman case. Have you heard anything about it?”

“I haven’t really been keeping up with the news lately. We lost our only other deputy a couple of months ago and haven’t found a replacement yet. I’ve been doing double shifts and, well, you know the story. What happened?”

“Six people were murdered on their farm in southeastern Ohio. It sounds like the same M.O. as the Eastman murders. I was thinking it could be a copycat...”

“Our case wasn’t highly publicized, so I think that’s unlikely. Probably a coincidence.”

That’s what I wanted to hear, thought Cambry, so why doesn’t it make me feel any better?

“Maybe you could check into it. You know, take a quick look at the case file, check out the story in the papers, see if anything matches...”

Silence.

“It was just a suggestion, but if you really think it’s a coincidence...

“Brian,” said Amelia, her voice lowered to almost a whisper, “the case file is gone.”

“What?!?”

“You know the old records are kept locked in the storage area in the basement. About three years ago, there was a fire that destroyed half of the storage area, including the cabinets where the old files were kept. The inspector said it was caused by faulty wiring.” Amelia didn’t sound as though she put much faith in the fire inspector’s opinion. “Jake managed to smooth the whole thing over, saying no active cases had been lost, and the information was not critical.” Amelia raised her voice to a normal speaking level. “At any rate, I sure it really is just a coincidence. No need to play armchair detective. It’s best to just forget about the whole thing.”

Cambry was puzzled. Why was Amelia quick to dismiss the connection between the two cases?

“Amelia...?”

“Nice talking to you again. Keep in touch.” Amelia lowered her voice to a whisper. “We’ll talk more later.” She hung up.

What the hell...?



Amelia waited, hoping that Darrow had not caught any of her conversation with Brian Cambry. She had erased Cambry’s message from the office voice mail as soon as she heard it, and had returned the call on her cell phone to avoid leaving a trace of the call. Earlier, when she had returned from her little meeting with the guy who had claimed to be a friend of the Eastmans, Darrow had given her the third degree, followed by a long lecture on her perceived ineffectiveness as a police officer and veiled threats towards the future of her employment status. After his hour-long rampage, he had finished with a warning about discussing any case with anyone not directly employed by the sheriff’s office. As much as Amelia hated to admit it, she was afraid of Darrow, and knew full well how miserable he could make anyone who defied him. She had made her best effort to ensure him that she knew her place in the department and was sure to follow orders. She certainly didn’t want to ruin that status, and had tried to make it clear, if Darrow was listening at the door, that she was complying with his demands. If all went well, she planned to contact Cambry and discuss the connection that she, too had made.

After several minutes of silence, she walked over to Darrow’s office and knocked.

“What?” boomed Darrow. That man has no manners, thought Amelia.

“I’m heading out on patrol.”

“Make sure you write some real tickets this time. Warnings don’t help anyone, especially the department’s operating fund.”

“Yes, sir.”

She walked straight out the front door to her cruiser, climbed in, and drove off towards the outskirts of town. Darrow watched her leave, and confident as he was with his own ability to intimidate, he was sure that she was now toeing the line. He had nothing to worry about.

Five miles outside of town, Amelia pulled into her usual speed trap location. It was a perfect location in many aspects. As far as for a speed trap, it was hidden between two hills, which made it almost invisible from either direction. For privacy, it was far enough outside of town so that anyone she did not want to meet on this particular occasion would be unlikely to interrupt, and it was also one of the best spots in town for a clear cellular signal. After calming her nerves for a good half hour, she pulled out her cell phone and began to dial. The phone range three times before Brian Cambry answered.

“Hello?”

“Brian, this is Amelia again. Sorry about before, but I do have more to tell you.”

Cambry was silent for a moment.

“OK, go on, I’m listening.”

“Jake has forbidden me from speaking to anyone outside the department about any case. He made this declaration shortly after the stranger came through asking about the Eastmans. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. He claims that he doesn’t read the papers, but I’m sure he has seen something about the case in Ohio, and I’m sure he’s seen the similarities that you and I have noticed. He’s not just ignoring it, he’s actively avoiding the connection. I don’t understand it.”

“I know he insisted the case was closed almost immediately after the murders occurred. After all, it looked like an open-and-shut case. The obvious lack of motive didn’t sway that opinion. At the time I thought he was interested in protecting Barry Sherman. Shooting a kid looks a lot less horrific if the kid in question is a mass murderer. That reasoning didn’t help Barry, though,” he said with bitterness. “He couldn’t take the guilt.”

Both were silent for a few minutes.

“If it is a copycat, how did he get the information?” asked Cambry. “None of the details ever made it to the papers. For all outward appearances, it was just a case of ‘mass murder by a disturbed teen.’”

“The files are gone, and no real record of the actual case exists.” Amelia paused. “But we don’t really know if the cases are that much alike. You know all the details are kept out of the papers. What if we’re wrong?”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”



Two hundred miles to the north, the killer watched the comings and goings at the Winstead sheriff’s office. They don’t have a clue, the killer thought. So far, no one had made the connection. No one from the previous case had come to call. None of the experts had showed up to help. The FBI hadn’t been called in. No physical evidence. No witnesses. The sheriff’s office was giving reports of progress, but the killer was sure they were just spinning their wheels. It was perfect. Yet the killer remained watchful. Can’t have them spoiling the fun just yet. There’s still work to do.

Chapter 8    table of contents  

Gus Bridgier sat on a hard wooden stool behind the cash register counter of the Black Hollow General Store, staring out the window into the swirling fog. Spring always brought lots of fog to the valley, but it usually burned off by noon. Today it lingered, creating a grey landscape that matched Gus’s mood. It didn’t help business much either. Three or four locals were usually parked on the Liar’s Bench out in front, but today all but one had stayed home. Hank Garrett sat snoozing in one of the old rocking chairs by the pot bellied stove in the corner of the store. Gus had tried to maintain the “old time country atmosphere” for his store, as it seemed to impress the tourists. Not that there were many around this time of year. In the summer and early fall, most of Gus’s business was providing camping supplies, gasoline, kerosene, fishing tackle and bait to the campers and fishermen who visited the various scenic mountain and lake sites nearby. He also sold local crafts and wares produced by Black Hollow’s more industrious citizens. Luckily those few months of summer business mostly kept him going through the lean winter months. If it wasn’t for John Ravenwood, a local and notoriously reclusive artist who paid Gus a regular stipend to deliver supplies and tend to his shipping needs, Gus would probably have had to close down in the winter. I’d also probably die of boredom, thought Gus. Nothing ever happens here. As Gus watched, a small capped pickup truck emerged from the foggy road and pulled into one of the parking spaces in front of the store. A tall, pale, thin man dressed in jeans and a barn jacket climbed out of the truck and walked towards the front door. He wasn’t a local, and he really didn’t look like the tourists that normally passed through. Gus sat up straight on his stool as the stranger entered the store.

“Good afternoon,” said the stranger. He spoke with an accent reminiscent of the Deep South.

“Afternoon,” said Gus. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I was informed that this is the establishment where I can purchase a camping permit for the Black Mountain Forest.”

“Sure is.” Gus paused. “When did you need the permit?”

“Today. For two nights.”

Gus stared at the stranger. He really didn’t look like the cold weather camping type. In fact, he really looked like he needed to spend some time out in the sun, not in the woods.

“Are you sure you’re prepared for camping out this time of year? Gets a might bit nippy up on the mountain.”

“Yes, I prefer to camp in the early spring. I find the weather invigorating.”

“Well, you’ll surely have your choice of sites. Most people don’t start showing up out here until June.”

The stranger merely nodded. Gus felt slightly uneasy. There was something a little strange about the situation.

“I’ll need to go dig out the permits. Be right back. Feel free to, uh...look around.” Gus walked to the back room to his desk and began searching for the right folder. He saw the stranger walk slowly down the aisle to the crafts display in the far corner of the store. The man stopped in front of the shelf holding the pieces that Ravenwood had permitted Gus to sell in his store. They were mainly small wood carvings and pottery, and seemed to be fairly popular with locals and tourists alike. The man was studying them more intently than most, Gus noted.

Gus looked over at Hank, and saw that he was watching the stranger as well. That doesn’t bode well, thought Gus. Hank had a penchant for spinning tails about the area to in an attempt to frighten the tourists, although Gus suspected some of them actually enjoyed it, or were at the very least amused.

“You couldn’t pay me to go up on Black Mountain alone at any time of year,” said Hank in a loud voice.

“The hike up there would require too much effort on your part,” replied Gus, eyeing the stranger to observe his reaction. The stranger turned and stared at Hank, a mildly curious expression on his face.

“No sir, too many strange things happen up there: weird lights in the forest at night, strange sounds. Then there’s that crazy Injun than lives up there all alone. I’ve heard he’s chased people away from his shack with an axe, screaming curses and threatening to scalp them.”

“Hank, you know that is complete bullshit. Bunch of teenagers trespassing on his property scared themselves silly and made that up to cover up their own fear.”

“But I’m sure he still would do something like that. You know he hates people. He’s been up there over twenty-five years, and has never even been to town. You’ve been running errands for him all that time, and even you haven’t seen him. He’s a nut.”

“Some people like their privacy, and he apparently likes quiet in order to do his work.” Gus turned to the stranger. “He’s quite an artist.”

“Artist, nut, what’s that difference?” quipped Hank.

“What sort of art does he do?” asked the stranger.

“Woodcarvings, pottery, stuff like that. Some of the small stuff I sell in the store. Most of the rest he ships out to other places.” Gus lifted a small flat glass fronted case from the wall. “He gave me this just a few months ago.” Inside the case was a knife with an extremely well made stone blade. The handle was carved and polished wood, depicting an eagle with beak agape. The stranger peered closely at the knife.

“The workmanship on this is very fine. The detail on the carved handle is incredible.” He paused. “I believe I’ve seen pieces similar to this in a gallery in New York. The artist’s work is quite well respected in the area of primitive folk arts. He is a recluse, if I remember correctly.”

“I still say he’s a nut,” muttered Hank from his corner.

“I have found that artistic ability and insanity do tend to go together, with one often enhancing the other.”

Both Gus and Hank stared at the stranger for a moment. Finally Gus spoke.

“I found the permits. Sign here. Payment is in cash only, please.”

The stranger signed the offered permit, then withdrew his wallet, opened it, and handed Gus a fifty dollar bill.

“I’ll be right back.” Gus quickly went to the office and came back with the change.

“Will you be needing anything else?” Gus glanced at the permit. “Mr. Pendergast?”

“Directions to the site,” Pendergast replied.

“Oh, yeah, right, of course,” sputtered Gus.

“Go back out to County Road 23, turn right, go three miles to Cemetery Rd, turn left. The parking lot for the camp sites is 15 miles down the road, on the right. The sites are about a mile up the mountain. I recommend site A, which has a raised platform shelter. There’s firewood stored at the back of the platform, and there’s a fire pit about 15 yards in front of the shelter. You have to bring everything else in yourself.” Gus took out a small folded pamphlet. “This is a map of all of the public access hiking trails. About 500 yards to the north of the campsite, you’ll find a snake-fence which marks the boundary of the public lands. Beyond that is private property. It’s posted against trespassing. You’ll need to check back in by noon after your second night’s stay.”

“Otherwise we’ll send the search and rescue team out to find you,” said Hank. Gus shot Hank a dirty look.

“It’s required for our permit files,” said Gus. Pendergast nodded.

“Is there anything else I should know about the area?”

“Watch out for bears and mountain lions,” said Hank.

“Hank, there hasn’t been a bear sighting around here for 50 years, or a mountain lion sighting for 150.” Gus lowered his voice. “Ignore him, Mr. Pendergast, he’s just trying to get a rise out of you. It gets pretty boring for the locals around here, and they have to find some way to entertain themselves.”

Pendergast nodded again. “I shall take the necessary precautions,” he said so Hank could hear. “Thank you for your assistance, and I shall check back in with this establishment in two days.” He turned and walked out the door. Gus and Hank watched as he climbed back into his truck and drove off towards the campground. At least the fog is clearing out now, thought Gus. He should have no trouble finding the place.

“That city slicker won’t last two days up there,” muttered Hank.

“I don’t know,” said Gus. “Something tells me he can take care of himself.”



Two miles past the store, Pendergast drove the truck into a scenic overlook parking lot where a dark grey van waited. He got out of the truck, walked to the van, and climbed in the passenger seat. He turned to the driver.

“I reserved the campsite for two nights. Are you certain that will be enough time?”

“Yes,” Glinn replied. “You will need to stay in the campsite tonight, just in case someone gets curious. No one needs to suspect the real reason for your visit.”

“How will I find this associate of yours?”

“No doubt you were already told about the boundary fence. Follow that fence for 500 yards north, and there will be a stone marker. On the other side of the fence there is a rough trail that winds up the mountain for about two miles to a large clearing. On the far side of the clearing is a log cabin with a stone foundation.”

“What shall I say when I find your associate?”

Glinn smiled thinly. “Tigg will find you. State for whom you are looking, give your name, and say that I sent you. Answer any questions that are asked in return.”

“Are you sure this ‘Tigg’ has the information we need for this case?”

“Quite certain.”

“Will he give it to me?”

Glinn was silent.

Pendergast stared at Glinn for a moment, then nodded. He climbed out of the van and walked toward the truck.

“One more thing,” called Glinn. “Be very careful. Tigg is not the most...stable of people.”

Pendergast gave Glinn an inquisitive look, then climbed into the truck and drove off. Glinn was not really worried about Pendergast’s safety. Tigg had never hurt anyone, but was the only person that Glinn had ever met for whom he could not completely or even confidently predict motives or behavior. He hoped this time his predictions were right.

Later that evening, Pendergast surveyed campsite A. Everything was set up to look like a weekend outing: the tent was set up under the shelter, a fire was burning in the pit, provisions and extra gear were hanging from the roof of the shelter. Pendergast walked over to the fire pit, sat down on a large log, and stared into the dancing flames. Tomorrow would prove to be both interesting and enlightening, of that he was certain.

A quarter of a mile from the campsite, on an outcropping that was almost hidden from view, a human figure sat on a large branch of an oak tree. One long sinewy arm was wrapped around the tree trunk for balance, the other was raised to the figure’s face, an old pair of army binoculars grasped in one work-worn hand. The figure silently observed the lone camper sitting and watching his campfire as light faded and darkness crept over the mountain. Finally, when night had fallen and the camper had turned in for the night, the figure climbed down from the tree and followed a well-worn trail down the mountain.

Chapter 9    table of contents  

Charlie Quinn sat at his desk which was covered with evidence reports from the Zoller murders. He probably knew them all by heart, but he kept looking, hoping that something, anything, would help him find a connection to the killer. Rick Mathies had been interviewing anyone who had even talked to a member of the Zoller family, and he too had come up with nothing. “Maybe I’m just not asking the right questions,” he had said to Quinn. Maybe there are no right questions to ask, Quinn had thought. He could see that the case was eating Mathies’ up inside. He had been working almost non-stop on the case, and the stress was really starting to take its toll. Mathies had looked more haggard in the past few days than Quinn had ever seen him, and Quinn had finally convinced him to take the afternoon off. “I can cover for you,” Quinn had said. “A little rest will help you to clear your mind, see things you might miss when you’re worn out.” Mathies’ had reluctantly left an hour ago, and Quinn had fielded his calls from those people whom Sherri was unable to discourage. Luckily, the number of calls had started to diminish. For some people, apparently no news was good news. The murderer hadn’t struck again, so maybe he had left, or it was a one time thing. They’re deluding themselves, thought Quinn. This guy isn’t going to stop. He enjoyed his work too much...

The front door opened and a middle-aged man walked in. He had iron grey hair and a thick mustache, and wore jeans with a long-sleeved t-shirt that was a little tight over his protruding stomach. He saw Sherri and walked over to her. She looked up at him, and then glanced over at Quinn.

“May I help you, sir?” asked Sherri.

“Uh, yes. I’m looking for Sheriff Rick Mathies.”

“I’m sorry, he’s not in the office at the moment. Perhaps I can help you?”

“Well, I...I have some information that might be helpful to the Sheriff on one of his recent cases.”

Quinn perked up. This might be interesting. Then again, it could just be another crank.

“I’ll handle this, Sherri,” said Quinn. He walked over to the stranger and extended his hand. “Deputy Sheriff Charles Quinn.”

“Brian Cambry.”

“Now Mr. Cambry, what sort of information do you have?”

“I read about your case in the newspapers, the one where a family was murdered, and it seems a lot like a case we had down in southern West Virginia about 12 years ago. I was a deputy who worked on the case then.”

Quinn looked at Sherri and he could see his own hope reflected in her expression. Maybe this is the break we’ve been looking for,he thought.

“Alright, Mr. Cambry, why don’t we go discuss this.” Quinn opened the door to Mathies’ office. “Please, come in and have a seat. Sherri, you know the routine.” Cambry walked into the office, and Quinn followed and shut the door.



Sherri stared at the closed door for a moment then resumed her work. She glanced at the door every few minutes, wondering what being discussed behind it. Was it possible that something like this really had happened before? Was it possible that the same person was responsible for both crimes? Most importantly, was it possible to catch this person with the information from such an old case?

Sherri’s thoughts were interrupted by Leo Marsten, local business owner and part time animal control officer. He walked in the front door and greeted her with a dazzling smile. She smiled back, the visitor momentarily forgotten. Marsten was a young man with striking features, old-school charm and a knack for business as well as public relations. Since moving to Winstead five years ago, he had taken a run down hardware store and turned it into a successful enterprise, had earned the respect of many of the town’s “old-timers” and was rumored to be thinking about running for a county commissioner seat in the next election. He even made the nefarious job of “dog catcher” seem like a benevolent civil duty.

“Hello Sherri. How are things going?”

“Fine, Leo. It’s calmed down a little since last week.”

Marsten nodded. “Terrible thing, wasn’t it? Have you had any more luck on the case?”

“No. Rick and Charlie have been working themselves to death, but still nothing...” She glanced towards the closed office door.

Marsten followed her gaze, and gave her a questioning look. “Is Rick in? I have some paperwork for him to sign.”

“No, he’s out of the office. Charlie is meeting with someone...”

“Without Rick? Must be urgent.”

“It’s...someone who might have some information to help with the case.”

“That’s great! You guys look like you could use a little help at this point...if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“We’re not sure how good his information will be yet. Please keep this to yourself, will you Leo? We don’t want anyone to get too excited.”

“No problem, I understand. Look, I’m about to head out for the weekend. I’m going to do a little spring fishing, and I’ll be out of town for a couple of days. I’ve got someone to cover for me, don’t worry.” He pulled out a roll of papers from his inside coat pocket. “Could you get Rick to sign these for me when he comes back in?”

“Sure, no problem. Have a good weekend, Leo.”

“You, too, Sherri.” He flashed another dazzling smile and walked out the door. Sherri gazed after him for a minute, and with a sigh returned to her paperwork.



Quinn was not quite comfortable using Mathies’ desk, so he sat in one of the two armchairs on the far side of the office, and indicated that Cambry should take the other.

“Well, Mr. Cambry, what makes you think these two cases are similar?”

Cambry was impressed with man’s directness. This might be a little easier than he thought.

“In the paper, it said that six members of a family had been murdered in an isolated area, and that the bodies had been mutilated and ‘arranged in a manner of religious mockery’. I assumed that meant, uh, crucified. Almost twelve years ago, in Pine Mountain, we had a similar case: the Eastman family. Same type of location, same sort of victims, and same sort of positioning of the bodies.”

“Why hasn’t anyone else come forward? Why wasn’t your case in any of the databases?” asked Quinn.

“Our sheriff, Jacob Darrow, was very good at keeping the press out of police business. He can be a very intimidating individual. Another reason is that the case appeared to be closed almost immediately. One of the other members of the family was found with the supposed murder weapon in hand, standing over the last intended victim. He was shot by one of the other officers when he did not respond to a verbal warning. At the time, I thought Darrow’s rush to close the case was a way of protecting that officer, and there was nothing else to indicate that he was wrong about who committed the murders.”

“So you think this case is a copycat,” said Quinn, his excitement waning.

“Maybe, but I don’t understand how they got the details. Nothing was published in the papers. The only people who knew anything about the real facts of the case are either dead, retired, won’t or can’t talk about it. Anyway, I’m not sure it’s all the same. There were some details that weren’t in the papers. I came here because I wanted to see if the cases really did match, and I figured if I called I would just be dismissed as a nut.”

“And there were no survivors?”

“Actually, there was. It was the youngest daughter, Eleanor Eastman. She was taken to the hospital in really bad shape, with multiple broken bones, slash and stab wounds, and almost died. The doctors were frankly amazed that she survived, but said that she suffered from ‘severe post traumatic stress,’ and her mental state did not survive.”

That sounds familiar, thought Quinn with bitterness. Just like poor Mark Zoller.

“Where is she now? Could she have eventually told someone?”

“She disappeared from the hospital, one day before she was to be transferred to a long-term care psychiatric facility.”

“Disappeared? How can someone disappear from a hospital?”

Cambry looked slightly flustered. “Well, I suppose the security was not what it should have been. But there was no sign of a struggle. It almost looked like she just got up and walked out. Physically she was almost healed. I guess everyone thought that since she wasn’t really ‘there’, they wouldn’t have to keep as close an eye on her. After she disappeared, we had search teams out, but never found anything.”

“Did anyone come to see her that might have had something to do with her disappearance?”

“Well, there was one man who came by to interview her. Apparently he was some sort of psychological profiler, and was looking for information on the killer to help with his study. He didn’t have all of the details of the case either, from what I could gather. I talked to the man afterwards, and he said she was completely unresponsive. But that was a couple of months before her disappearance. ”

“Did she have any other family?”

“She had a guardian, but I’m not sure of the family connection. He was named in the Eastman’s will as their children’s caretaker. I think I only met the man once, and I don’t think he visited her very often. He sent his lawyers to take care of most of the estate business. Although, come to think of it, he was the one who authorized her transfer to the other hospital.”

Quinn was silent. This case was interesting. But were the two really connected?

“OK, Mr. Cambry, would you mind sharing the detail that you think was withheld from the papers that might connect the two?”

“Weird symbols, matching no known source, painted on the bodies with what was probably their own blood.”

Quinn felt the blood drain from his face. Cambry looked at him, and Quinn saw that response mirrored by Cambry.

“We need to get Mathies’ in here to hear this,” said Quinn, “but he’s out to get some much needed rest, and I...”

“I understand,” said Cambry. “Perhaps we can all get a fresh start on this tomorrow...that is if you’re willing to let me help.”

“Absolutely,” said Quinn, feeling some real hope for the first time in days.

“Can you recommend a place to stay in town? It was a long drive up here.”

“Sure, but it’s not in town, unfortunately. There’s a small bed and breakfast about 4 miles outside of town on Highway 8. Winstead Manor, it’s called. You probably passed it on the way in. I’m pretty sure they’ll have a room available. The only other places are farther out, by the river.” And I’m not giving Grayson Manning any more business than I have to,thought Quinn darkly. He rose from his chair, and Cambry did the same. He extended his hand again.

“Thanks a lot, Mr. Cambry, I think this may just be the break we’ve needed.” Cambry grasped his hand and gave it a hearty shake.

“Please, call me Brian. I’m glad to be of service, Deputy Sheriff Quinn.”

“And please, call me Charlie. We’re glad to have you here, Brian.”

Quinn walked to the office door, opened it, and walked out to the main office with Cambry. He walked to his desk, found a card, and handed it to Cambry.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

Cambry nodded, smiled at Sherri, and walked out the door. Sherri saw the look of relief on Quinn’s face, and finally felt a true surge of hope.



Across the street from the sheriff’s office, the killer watched Brian Cambry climb into his truck and drive off towards the outskirts of town. The killer knew full well what Cambry’s visit meant to the sheriff’s case. Well, well, Tiny, thought the killer. There’s one loose end you neglected to tie up for me. Your mistake. The killer climbed into a pickup truck that idled at the curb, put it in gear, and slowly followed the same path out of town.

Chapter 10    table of contents  

Brian Cambry drove west along Highway 8, thinking about what would happen tomorrow. He was elated at the prospect of doing police work again, if only as an advisor on the case. As soon as I get settled in for the night, he thought, I’ll have to make a complete list of everything I can remember from the Eastman case. Luckily, retirement had not led to loss of mental acuity, and he was fairly certain he could help to piece the old crime scene back together, even from the scant evidence gathered. Everyone who deals with crime scenes has a small store of images gained over the years that are burned into one’s memory, and the scene he encountered at the Eastman home was just such an image. Although he was not confident with his own drawing ability, he thought that with the help of a sketch artist he would be able to at least roughly reproduce the scene for the sheriff and his deputy in order to find more similarities between the two cases. He just hoped one was available tomorrow.

Just past the four mile point, at the crest of a long hill, Cambry saw the sign for Winstead Manor. He turned onto the gravel driveway and drove until he reached a large well-kept Victorian house set back amongst towering oak, maple and birch trees. It was nearly dark, and the porch lights shown like a welcoming beacon. He grabbed a small overnight bag from the passenger seat, walked up the path to the house, and climbed the steps to the porch. The front door opened and a short, plump, grey-haired woman stepped out.

“You must be Mr. Cambry. I’m Mrs. Shoemaker. Deputy Sheriff Quinn called and said I should be expecting you. My daughter is getting your room ready now.”

“Thank you,” said Cambry, somewhat surprised. He hadn’t expected such friendly treatment and efficiency with such short notice.

“It shouldn’t take long until it’s ready. Would you care to come in?”

“Actually, I’d rather wait out here for just a bit to enjoy the fresh air. I’ve been cooped up in the truck for several hours.” Cambry understood that country etiquette required some small talk, and continued. “This is a nice place you have, so quiet and peaceful. Just like home.”

“Where is home for you, Mr. Cambry?”

“Eastern Kentucky, not too far from Huntington.”

“You must be tired after that long drive.”

Cambry merely nodded. He walked over to one of the wooden rocking chairs and sat down with a sigh. Mrs. Shoemaker selected the chair opposite Cambry’s and sat down as well. They waited for several minutes, chatting idly about the weather. Finally, the front door opened and a plain young woman stuck her head out. She looked at Mrs. Shoemaker, nodded, smiled at Cambry, and then withdrew.

“Ah, your room is ready. Please, follow me.”



From the woods on the far side of the driveway, the killer watched them disappear into the house, and then crept towards Cambry’s truck. Ten minutes later, the killer climbed into the pickup truck that had been left out at the main road, hidden from view by a grove of paw-paw trees and honeysuckle vine. The clock on the dashboard read 6:18.

Plenty of time, thought the killer, and guided the truck back onto the highway towards the south-bound interstate.



Several hours later and 200 miles to the south, the killer drove slowly past the home of Ben Stevens, the local fire chief and one of Jake Darrow’s closest associates. It was poker night, and Ben was hosting the weekly game with Darrow, mayor Randall Dalhart, and Jim and Jeff Brennen, owners of the only remaining bar and restaurant in Pine Mountain. Cronies since high school, they formed a tight-knit group that watched out for each other and, when necessary, covered each other’s tracks. Upstanding citizens though they appeared, in reality they were responsible for quite a bit of the illegal activity in the vicinity. Darrow was the facilitator for the crimes, conveniently looking the other way, or at times manufacturing evidence against other citizens to bring them under his control and to do the group’s dirty work. The killer remembered a first encounter with Darrow: a bogus traffic stop, search of the vehicle, planted evidence, and Darrow’s smirking declaration of “I own you now, kid.” The memory still made the killer’s blood boil. The arrangement had one advantage: it had allowed the killer to observe and understand Darrow’s weaknesses and had allowed for the tables to be turned. It had been sweet revenge to blackmail Darrow, see him sweat, but now Darrow had committed a greater transgression. His apparent inattention to detail and lack of control over his former staff had allowed a connection to be made between the killer’s two cases and threatened to disrupt the final plan. That would simply not do. The devil is in the details, Tiny. I remembered them this time, even if you didn’t.



At half-past midnight, Darrow left Ben Stevens’ house and headed home. Lady Luck had apparently abandoned him half-way through tonight’s game, and he had lost a bundle. Doesn’t matter, he thought. I’ll get it back, one way or the other. In the hidden safe in his office, Darrow kept a file on all of his “buddies”, and well as several others in the area with whom he had leverage. They knew that he was familiar with the skeletons in their respective closets and was well aware of where the bodies were buried, literally as well as figuratively. This knowledge did not lift Darrow’s dark mood, as the thought of the safe reminded him of what else it held. The amount of beer he had consumed that evening had not improved his mood, either. This was not the first time he had driven under the influence, and his luck had held so far. If he ever encountered a state trooper on one of these nights, however, the likelihood of talking his way out of it was much less than he liked.

Darrow’s well maintained two-story farmhouse was located 3 miles from town, at the end of a narrow dirt county road. After his slow, cautious drive home, he finally turned onto his driveway and breathed a sigh of relief. As he came around the final curve, the car’s headlights illuminated the building he used as a combination garden shed and workshop. The door, which he normally kept padlocked, was wide open. With a curse, he slammed the car into park, threw open the door, and stomped to the shed. The padlock lay on the ground, the shackle cut cleanly in half. Goddamn kids, he fumed. They’re the only ones stupid or naive enough to fuck with me. Little bastards were probably stealing gas for their goddamn rice-racers. He decided to see what was missing, and stepped into the shed. The light switch was located on the wall with the work bench, and as he moved toward the right side of the shed, his foot collided with a metal can that had been left in his path. “Shit,” he muttered, as something wet spilled over the floor and soaked his shoes. The smell of gasoline filled his nostrils. “Shit, shit, SHIT!!” he exclaimed as he stumbled forward and almost fell. He cautiously took two more steps forward and finally felt the edge of the workbench. He leaned forward, found the switch, and flicked it on. There was a loud BANG, and Darrow was blinded by a flash of brilliant white light from one of the lamps on the bench. He fell heavily against the door which slammed shut. Darrow fell forward to the floor and cried out in pain as his right wrist snapped. Clutching his broken limb, he rolled over and tried to sit up, blinking to clear his eyes of the burned image from the flash. He smelled the acrid smoke and immediately felt the heat from the fire which was quickly filling the shed. Gasping for breath, he tried to stand, but his legs gave out and he again crashed to the floor. Soon he could feel the blistering heat of the fire on his feet and legs. Then, as his vision finally cleared, he saw a figure standing outside the window at the back of the shed.

“Help!” he croaked. “Please!”

The figure held a picture up to the window, and Darrow saw that it was the same picture he kept locked in his safe, the picture with the warning. The figure leaned closer to the frame, and with a shock Darrow realized he recognized that face. It was a face he hadn’t seen for almost 12 years. Suddenly, he knew what this was all about. He gave a screaming curse as the face in the window withdrew, and as the flames licked over his body, he had one last conscious thought: he now knew who had really murdered the Eastmans.



The killer watched from a distance as flames engulfed the building, then turned and walked back towards the truck. The loss of the sheriff would throw the small town police force into turmoil. With a man as hated as Jacob Darrow, the plethora of suspects would keep everyone in town scrambling to point fingers and cover their own asses. No doubt Jake’s buddies would soon realize that the incriminating files were gone and would start to worry, wondering what could happen. Until the information in those files was made public via a state news source, that is, thought the killer with a smile. Panic, disorder, and chaos. My work here is done. The killer guided the truck out onto the bumpy dirt road and disappeared into the night.

Chapter 11    table of contents  

Charlie Quinn arrived at the Sheriff’s Office just before dawn. The night dispatcher, Arlene Jackson, looked up in surprise when he walked in the front door.

“Good morning, Charlie. You’re here kinda early this morning, aren’t you?”

“Good morning, Arlene. I have a very important meeting to prepare for today, so I wanted to get a head start.” He walked to the file cabinet, brought out the thick file on the Zoller murders, and took it over to the copy machine.

“Whatever,” said Arlene, and went back to her paperwork. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Quinn as he made copies of the file, clipped the copies together, and stacked them on the table next to the copier.

“What case is that?” she asked, as if she didn’t already know. Only one case in recent history had generated enough paperwork to make a pile that thick.

“The Zoller case.”

“Don’t you and Rick already have copies of that case?”

“We have someone new coming in to look at it today. I wanted us all to be able to read over it together.”

“Is it the F.B.I.?” Arlene felt a momentary rush of excitement. She had always wanted to meet an F.B.I. agent.

“No. It’s someone who once had a case that was similar. It’s possible there’s a connection between the two cases.”

“Oh.” Arlene swallowed her disappointment, sighed, and then went back to her paperwork. She worked in silence for half an hour, surreptitiously pulling out the crossword puzzle she had hidden under the desk blotter and jotting in an entry every few minutes. She was slightly annoyed at having her routine interrupted by Quinn’s presence, but had adjusted quickly. Quinn had finished copying and had returned to his desk to read over the file once again. You would think he would have that damn thing memorized,Arlene thought. At least it’s quiet now. That copier noise was getting on my nerves. The silence was soon broken by the ringing of the telephone. Arlene shoved her crossword out of sight and then answered it.

“Winstead Sheriff’s Office, how may I direct your call?” Even though most people knew to dial 911 for emergencies, there were those who still thought they had to call the sheriff’s office first. It never made sense to Arlene, but she had learned to deal with it.

“I need to speak to the sheriff, please. It’s very important.” The female voice was soft, but sounded as if the woman were close to panic.

“He’s not in at the moment. Do you need emergency services?” Arlene’s finger hovered over the transfer button.

“No, it’s not that. One of my former co-workers was supposed to be meeting with him yesterday, a man named Brian Cambry. I really need to talk to Brian, and I was hoping that someone there would know where he is.”

“Let me check, hold on just a minute.” Arlene hit the mute button on the phone and turned to Quinn. “Charlie, did someone named Brian Cambry come by yesterday to meet with the sheriff?”

Quinn looked up in surprise. “Yeah, he did, but the sheriff wasn’t in, and I met with him. Why?”

“There’s some woman on the phone who needs to talk to him. Says she’s a former co-worker.”

“Let me talk to her.”

Arlene handed the receiver to Quinn and pressed the mute button again.

“Hello, this is Deputy Sheriff Charles Quinn. I spoke to Mr. Cambry yesterday and I’ll be meeting with him again this morning. May I give him a message?”

“No, I need to talk to him. Did he stay in Winstead last night? Do you know where?”

Quinn thought a minute. “May I ask who is calling?” He heard an exasperated sigh at the other end.

“This is Deputy Amelia Harding of the Pine Mountain Sheriff’s Office. Do you want my badge number, too? Now please, just tell me where he is!”

“Ok, ok. He’s staying at Winstead Manor. Let me get the number.” Arlene quickly wrote it down on a piece of paper and handed it to him. She’s more alert than she looks, thought Quinn. He read off the number to Amelia.

“Thank you,” she said, and hung up.

“What was that all about?” asked Arlene?

“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Quinn.



Brian Cambry guided his truck down the driveway away from Winstead Manor and turned onto Highway 8, his mind on the forthcoming meeting. Unable to sleep, he had stayed up well past midnight, making notes and rough sketches of everything he could remember from the Eastman case. He read over everything, adding what scant details were missing from the first draft, hoping the whole thing would be of use to Mathies and Quinn. Even after he had written all he could, he still had trouble relaxing. He had tossed and turned for hours, and finally rose at dawn. When he went downstairs, he was surprised to find that Mrs. Shoemaker was already up as well, bustling around her spotless kitchen preparing breakfast for her family. She had insisted that Cambry join them. Now, tired but well fed, he was heading into town for what he hoped would be a productive day. Cambry realized how much he had missed real police work. There was nothing like the rush you felt when pieces of a case finally started to come together, he thought with a smile. He almost wished he hadn’t retired 3 years ago, but at that point he was ready to get out. Working for Darrow took all the fun out of it. He had moved to eastern Kentucky to get away from Pine Mountain and all the unpleasantness, but here he was again, back in the thick of things, working on a real case for the first time in years.



The fog that had been thin up at Winstead Manor had thickened considerably as he descended the long hill. Cambry tried to keep the speedometer under 40, but gravity was working against him and his truck continued to pick up speed. Near the end of the descent, the road curved sharply to the right, and Cambry pressed his foot down on the break pedal as he approached it. His foot sank to the floor with almost no resistance. Oh, shit, he thought, and tried again. Nothing. He tried not to panic as he pumped the break pedal, but the truck was going nearly sixty as he approached the curve. He tried to steer into the curve but the truck would not respond and the wheel spun uselessly in his hands. I’m not going to make it, he thought, as the line of trees loomed ahead. He unbuckled his seat belt, opened the door of the truck and threw himself free just as the truck left the road and crashed through the underbrush at the edge. He tried to roll as he landed, but he had misjudged the drop-off and hit the ground hard. Cambry heard something snap, followed by a flash of excruciating pain. His head connected with the ground and the pain faded as darkness washed over him.



As the sun was rising over Black Mountain, Pendergast made his way up the twisting trail towards the summit. The woods were silent except for the occasional birdsong and rustle of leaves as small animals dove into the underbrush at his approach. Pendergast had noticed several signs that marked the area: No Trespassing, Posted: No Hunting, and Private Property. He stopped and read the next sign he saw posted at a curve in the trail. Warning: Private Property. Trespassers Will Be Violated. Survivors Will Be Shot. Pendergast shook his head and continued on. After almost two miles of hiking, he arrived at a wide clearing. On the far side of the clearing was a large log cabin with a stone foundation and two stone chimneys at either end. A covered porch ran across the front, and a set of worn stone steps provided access at one end. To the right of the cabin were two cordoned off areas, one much larger than the other, with fences made from thick branches stuck in the ground and tied together with twine. To the left of the cabin was a grove of small but well tended trees. Several boxy white wooden structures were standing in a group off to one side near the edge of the woods. Pendergast noticed a thin column of smoke rising from the ground about 20 yards from the edge of the clearing, and as he approached he saw that a fire had been built in a large flat bottomed pit. The pit had a ledge around the outside between the bottom and ground level, and a perhaps three or four dozen small pottery vessels had been placed on this ledge, their openings pointing toward the center. A stack of kindling, thick branches and logs had been placed to one side. Pendergast turned and walked toward the cabin. Thin wisps of smoke rose from both chimneys, but the windows were shuttered and no sounds were audible from within. He climbed the steps and walked towards the front door, past a large stack of firewood. On the far side of the door was a pile of grey, white, and tan stones. An old canvas tarp, littered with small chips of stone and slivers of wood, covered the floor and a small wooden stool sat in the center. On the far end of the porch was another large stack of firewood.

Pendergast knocked on the door three times, stepped back, and listened. The cabin was silent. He walked back to the end of the porch, down the steps, and around to the back of the cabin. The windows on the side and in the back were tightly shuttered as well. At the edge of the woods, a chopping block stood next to a large pile of logs, a heavy maul lay on the ground next to the block. Pendergast scanned the woods behind the cabin and spied another trail leading down the mountain. He followed it for a hundred yards where he found an old shack that looked as though it had been built into the side of the mountain. The door was slightly ajar, but the shack looked as deserted as the cabin. He continued down the trail until he came to another clearing at the edge of a mountain lake. A small wooden boat lay on its side near a patch of dead cattails and an old floating dock bobbed just offshore. Pendergast surveyed the area around the lake, but saw no sign of movement amongst the trees. The lake area was as quiet as the cabin and the shack, the silence only broken by the mournful call of a dove in the distance. Pendergast returned to the path and followed it back to the cabin, senses on high alert. At the edge of the clearing, he paused. He has the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. He took a step forward, paused again, and his acute sense of hearing detected a slight rustle in the leaves behind him. Before he could turn, he felt the twin barrels of a shotgun pressed into his back. He froze, and then slowly raised his hands into the air. After a dozen heartbeats, a soft voice, menacing and hoarse from disuse, broke the silence. “What’s the matter, city boy? You lost?”

Chapter 12    table of contents  

Amelia Harding pressed the End button on her cell phone and snapped it shut. You just missed him, dear, the lady at Winstead Manor had said. Just my frigging luck, thought Amelia. As she climbed out of her cruiser, she observed the arrival of the state crime lab technicians with a distinct feeling of trepidation. The state police had been called in by the fire department and had quickly taken control of the scene after the fire was extinguished. Amelia had been called in shortly after the state police arrived, but she noticed that they were regarding her with disdain, if not outright suspicion. After a quick survey of the still-smoking ruins of the shed, the state detective had noticed something which had prompted him to call for a medical examiner as well. Amelia still couldn’t believe there was a possibility that Darrow had been in that shed, but the house was empty and his car was parked out front. She had called his buddy Ben Stevens, but Stevens claimed that Darrow had left hours ago. In the back of her mind, Amelia kept thinking about how weird Darrow had been acting, the old case that he tried to bury, and the new case that seemed so similar. She has a sinking feeling that the fire was related and that there was more to this whole mess than either she or Cambry had seen.

The state police detective, Kevin Gregory, approached her with a contemptuous look on his face. Amelia knew the type, and she wasn’t too pleased to be talking to him, either.

“Do you have any idea how this could have happened,” he asked in a condescending tone that immediately set Amelia’s teeth on edge.

Isn’t that what you Staties are supposed to be figuring out?

Amelia stared at him for a minute.

“Nothing comes to mind,” she replied.

“Well, is there anyone who would have a grievance against your boss?”

Only about two-thirds of the population of Pine Mountain.

“Not that I was aware,” said Amelia.

“Is there anyone I could talk to who might know about any problems?”

Oh, I don’t know, you might start with Darrow’s buddies, the Redneck Mafia.

“He has several friends that he spent a lot of time with, playing poker, hunting, fishing, that sort of thing. They might be able to help you.”

“I’ll need to talk to all of the officers in your department.”

“I am the only officer in the department. We’ve tried to get a replacement for the deputy that we lost a couple of months ago, but apparently the local government feels that the crime rate is not high enough to warrant it.”

“Well it looks like that just changed.”

Amelia worked to control her anger. “Can you tell me anything about the fire?”

“It was arson.”

I kinda figured that out for myself, asshole.

“Can you be more specific?”

“It looks like it started on the right side of the building, on top of some sort of workbench, but spread quickly. As soon as we get the debris cleared and samples taken, we’ll check for pour patterns.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder at the medical examiner and his assistants who were struggling with a body bag. “We won’t have a positive ID on the victim until the ME finishes, but based on the size I would say that it is Sheriff Darrow.

Amelia felt her knees grow weak. She steadied herself against the cruiser, closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths. Even though she had disliked Darrow, it was still a shock to realize that someone she had known and worked with for more than ten years had died that way. She shook her head several times, and when she opened her eyes she saw that the detective was staring at her intently.

“How well did you know the Sheriff?”

Amelia sighed. It was going to be a long day.



Rick Mathies arrived at the office fifteen minutes ahead of the scheduled meeting and was not surprised to see that Charlie Quinn was already there. He had been curious when Quinn told him about Cambry’s visit and requested a meeting between the three of them. Mathies wondered if this was the person Glinn had mentioned during his brief visit. He had contacted Glinn’s office and left a message, and the man had returned the call almost immediately. He told Mathies’ that the “associate” was currently gathering information for the case, would be traveling to Winstead very soon, and that other sources of information should be treated with care. He had also given Mathies’ a basic profile of the killer: white male, late 20’s to early 30’s, high school graduate with some college education and some sort of technical training, and would be monitoring the case closely. It wasn’t anything that Mathies hadn’t already surmised, and he began to wonder if Glinn’s program would be that much help after all. He also started to wonder if maybe Glinn was keeping something from him.

Arlene walked out the front door of the office as Mathies approached. They exchanged pleasantries, and he stepped inside.

“Good morning Sherri. Good morning, Charlie.”

Sherri was about to respond when the phone rang. She smiled, waved and picked up the receiver. Quinn rose from his desk, grabbed the stack of copied files, and followed Mathies into his office, shutting the door behind them.

“Well Charlie, tell me what this Mr. Cambry had to say that makes you think he can help us with this case.”

“He told me about a case he worked on 12 years ago that he thinks was very similar based on what he could get from the news reports. He came to ask about the details that were left out of the papers, and those matched too. He says that the other people who were involved in the case can’t or won’t talk about it, so that’s why we haven’t heard about it before now. There was also a survivor in that case, but she disappeared from the hospital where she was recovering from ‘severe emotional trauma’ and no trace of her was ever found” Quinn paused, a strange look on his face. “Cambry thinks it’s a copycat since the murderer in his case is dead.”

“But you don’t think it is a copycat. Why not?”

“The case is strange. It’s obvious someone is covering up for something. The only reason I can come up with for burying a case like that is blackmail. But who? And why? Then there’s the survivor. The circumstances surrounding her disappearance are certainly suspicious. Something else is going on with that case that no one’s picked up on.”

Mathies thought for a moment. “So, you think they got the wrong person, the murderer is still out there, and he’s responsible for the disappearance, the blackmail, and our case?”

“Not exactly. I...” He was interrupted by Sherri, who opened the office door without knocking and rushed in. Mathies was about to say something to her when he saw the look on her face.

“Sherri, what’s the matter?”

“You’re not going to believe this! Mr. Shoemaker just called. He was driving into town and he saw where a truck had gone off the road, just at the bottom of that big hill on Highway 8. He went to check it out and found the driver who had either been thrown from the truck or jumped. He said the driver’s in pretty bad shape, so he called the ambulance, but he thought you needed to know as well.” Sherri tried to brace herself to deliver the bad news.

“Needed to know what?”

“It’s... Mr. Cambry.”

Mathies saw the blood drain from Quinn’s face. Without a word, he dropped the files, brushed past Sherri, and headed straight for the front door.

Mathies sat down heavily at his desk and put his head in his hands. This was definitely not the way he had expected to start off the morning.



Two hundred and fifty miles from Winstead, Eli Glinn sat in his van, staring at his laptop screen, one good eye scanning the data that had recently appeared. His van contained all of the equipment he needed to maintain contact with the home office of EES which allowed for him to constantly update information being complied and analyzed by the profiling program. In a situation such as this, where he wanted to be close by when something happened, such an arrangement was vital. After a few moments of silence, he quietly typed a few commands and resumed reading, absently rubbing the scar on his right cheek. Suddenly the computer beeped and the screen went blank. Glinn lowered his hand and stared at the screen, waiting. Slowly a figure appeared, a mime with a spinning globe balanced on one finger. The figure faded and a line of text scrolled across the screen.

G, my man! What can I do for ya?

Glinn leaned forward and began to type his response.

Hello, Mime. I need information on a certain individual of interest.

Ah, an assault on the privacy of a citizen-at-large. Whose deep dark secrets will we be unearthing today?

Sheriff Jacob Darrow of Pine Mountain, West Virginia.

No problemo. I’ll beam you the info ASAP. Anyone else?

John Ravenwood.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Have you slipped a gear, my man? You already HAVE all of that!

I need to know if someone else has been checking into him.

Only your partner in crime.

Glinn smiled thinly. He had expected no less.

Has he asked for information on anyone else?

Glinn stared at the screen, waiting for a response.

Mime? What did you give him?

Only what’s in the public record.

He’ll know soon enough anyway, thought Glinn. If Tigg decides to tell him, that is.

Very well, Mime. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.

The screen went blank. Glinn leaned back in his chair and waited, his mind on the meeting he had arranged that was now taking place 20 miles away on Black Mountain.

Chapter 13    table of contents  

Pendergast stood absolutely still as he remembered Glinn’s warning. He was about to speak when he felt the barrel of the shotgun press harder into his back and heard the voice again.

“Well?”

“I’m looking for Tigg.”

Pendergast heard a sharply drawn breath, then silence. After a few moments, the voice spoke again.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Pendergast. Eli Glinn sent me.”

“Why didn’t Eli Glinn come himself?”

“He is physically unable to make the journey.”

“Why does he need Tigg?”

“He believes Tigg has some information that will be vital for a certain project.”

Silence. Several minutes passed. Finally, the voice spoke again.

“Tigg’s busy. You’ll have to wait for that ‘information’.”

“This is a very important project for Mr. Glinn. Time is of the essence.”

“Not here, it’s not. Start walking. Don’t turn around, don’t try any tricks. Clear?”

“Perfectly clear.”

“Good. Now, move.”

Pendergast walked slowly towards the front of the cabin, mindful of the shotgun barrel jammed against his spine. He ascended the stone steps and walked across the front porch. When he reached the front door, the voice told him to stop.

“Your boots.”

“My...?”

“Boots. Take them off.”

He carefully knelt down, untied the laces, slipped the boots off his feet, and placed them by the front door.

“Inside.”

Pendergast opened the front door and took several steps into the shadowy interior of the cabin. The light disappeared as the front door shut, and he stood silently in the dark.

“Slide your feet. Aristophanes might be around. He doesn’t like to be stepped on.”

“Aristophanes?”

“Chief officer in charge of rodent and copperhead control. Keep moving. Go fifteen paces and there’ll be a door.”

Pendergast cautiously reached out and felt for the wall. His hand closed over a door knob.

“Step inside.”

He opened the door and walked through the doorway.

“Your coat.”

Pendergast removed his jacket and held it out to the side. It was quickly taken from his grasp.

“Have a seat. There’s a chair to your left and a bed to your right, your choice. Don’t turn around.” The shotgun barrel left his back and he heard the door shut. A key rattled in the lock and a few moments later, he heard the front door close. Pendergast took a small flashlight from his shirt pocket, switched it on, and swept the light around the small room. It was not much bigger than a walk-in closet and there were no windows. The bed barely fit between the front and back walls, a small nightstand with a battery-powered lantern stood next the bed, and a wooden rocking chair was squeezed in the back corner. Shelves lined the walls above the bed and the chair. Pendergast switched on the lantern, turned around to examine the door, and saw that there was a flat piece of metal where the knob and lock should have been. He stared at the door for a moment, then turned back to the bed and inspected the books that were stacked neatly on the shelves above. After a few minutes, he selected Sophocles’ Three Theban Plays, sat down on the bed, and began to read.



Tigg collapsed against the front door. What the hell am I doing? I must be as crazy as everyone thought. Why? Why couldn’t I just have the peace I wanted? I can’t help. I can’t change anything. I need some time to think this through. Tigg rose, leaned the shotgun against the woodpile, and walked slowly towards the fire pit on the far side of the clearing. Damn you, Eli, all I wanted was to be left alone...



Charlie Quinn stood at the bottom of the large hill on Highway 8, watching the tow truck driver winch Brian Cambry’s truck up out of the woods. After he left the sheriff’s office, he had gone straight to the hospital and was told that Cambry was in surgery. The ER doctor told him that Cambry was expected to recover, but the staff was trying to notify next of kin. Quinn had promised to try and get them some of that information and had then driven out to the crash site. Frank Andrews, the state patrol officer on the scene, had finished photographing and measuring where the truck had gone off the road and had started to supervise removal of the truck. He and Quinn had silently watched the proceedings, and finally Quinn spoke.

“What do you make of this, Frank?”

“No skid marks. He didn’t even hit the brakes.”

“Do you think he fell asleep at the wheel?”

“Who knows? Not something you would expect from a guy who just spent the night at that fancy B&B up the road.”

Quinn gave him a quizzical look.

“Mr. Shoemaker told me. He said the guy was fine this morning at breakfast, although he did look a little worn out.”

“Maybe it was a heart attack or something like that and he lost control.”

“I think even with something like that he could have hit the brakes.”

“What if he didn’t have any,” Quinn said darkly.

“We’ll have the truck checked for signs of mechanical failure.”

How about sabotage?thought Quinn. An idea had been forming in his head ever since his meeting with Cambry last night and the idea had been reinforced by the mornings’ events. What if someone didn’t want Cambry to make that meeting this morning? What if that someone had been watching the office, had seen Cambry, and knew what had precipitated his presence in Winstead? Someone with everything to lose if a connection was made between the Zoller case and the case Cambry had investigated twelve years ago.As crazy as it seemed, Quinn thought he knew just who that person was.

“Any word on his condition?” asked Andrews.

“I stopped by the hospital. They were still working on him.” Quinn took one last look at the crumpled truck and shook his head. What a mess. He’s damn lucky he made it out of the truck in time.

“I’m going to go talk with the Shoemakers. I need to find some information on next of kin for the hospital. Hopefully Cambry said something to them that will help with that search.”

“I need to finish up here. See you later, Charlie.”



At the crest of the long hill, Quinn turned into the Shoemakers’ driveway. He pulled up to the house and stopped. His eyes swept over the small parking area, and he noticed a large dark stain on the gravel at the far end. He got out of his cruiser and walked over for a closer look. Suddenly the front door of the house opened and Mrs. Shoemaker stepped out onto the porch. When she saw Quinn, she rushed down the front steps and called out to him.

“Officer Quinn! My husband told me what happened? Is Mr. Cambry all right?”

“We don’t know yet. The hospital needs help in locating next of kin.”

Her lower lip trembled. “Oh, he’s such a nice man! I hope he’s okay. He was fine when he left, but...”

“But what?”

“He said he had a rather sleepless night. He didn’t dose off while driving, did he? He had plenty of coffee at breakfast, but he still looked tired.”

“Did he mention anything about his family? I need to find them.”

Mrs. Shoemaker thought for a moment. “He said his wife would have loved our home, but it sounded like she’s...gone. He never mentioned anything about kids.”

“What about his home? Did he mention any friends?”

“He said he lives eastern Kentucky, not too far from Huntington. He said he used to live in a little town in southern West Virginia. I think it was called Pineville? Something like that.”

“Pine Mountain?”

“Yes, that’s it. He retired three years ago and moved away, but he didn’t say why. He didn’t mention any friends in either place, but someone called for him this morning. A woman, I think her name was Amelia Harding. She seemed very disappointed that she had just missed him.”

That’s who called this morning. I wonder why she’s so desperate to talk to him?

Quinn glanced down at the stain. “Is this where Mr. Cambry’s truck was parked last night?”

“Uh, yes, I believe it is. Why?”

“Thank you. Someone will be coming back here to check out this area.” He walked back to his cruiser, grabbed a roll of crime scene tape, and began to cordon off the area. Mrs. Shoemaker’s eyes widened in surprise. She gave Quinn a frightened look, turned and quickly walked back to the house. When she was gone, Quinn pulled out his cell phone and pressed one of the numbers.

“Winstead Sheriff’s Office, how may I help you?”

“Sherri, this is Charlie. I need you to do a few things for me.”

“Sure Charlie, what do you need?”

“First, call Frank Andrews and tell him he needs to check out something up here at Winstead Manor. I found a fresh-looking stain where Cambry’s truck was parked last night.”

“You think that—?”

“I’m just making sure all the bases are covered. I also need you to contact someone named Amelia Harding at the Pine Mountain Sheriff’s Office. She called for Cambry earlier this morning, and I’m hoping she can help with locating his next of kin.”

“Is he—?”

“They don’t know yet. Please keep all of this to yourself, especially this next thing. I need you to find as much information as you can on a certain individual.”

“Okay, Charlie, will do. Who is it?”

“Eleanor Eastman.”



After several hours, Pendergast heard the front door open and close. He turned off the lantern and waited in the dark, listening. He heard a few soft thumps, a rustle of something dry and brittle, and a few scrapes of metal against stone. Several minutes passed and he was able to discern the sound of running water and the clink of metal against metal. Another thump, and then he heard the sound of the key in the lock. Pendergast rose and stood with his back against the wall, the book still clutched in one hand. The door opened slowly, and a figure, backlit by a low glow from the room beyond and holding what appeared to be a shotgun, stepped into the doorway. Pendergast noticed that the person’s stature was similar to his own, though a couple of inches shorter than his own height. The figure spoke with the same hoarse voice as the person who had locked him in.

“Come out.”

Pendergast moved slowly from the small room. He saw that the low light was coming from a lantern on a wooden across the larger room.

“Keep moving.”

He walked toward the table, remembering to slide his feet along the floor.

“Sit.”

He reached for the wooden chair next to the table and lowered himself onto the seat.

“Put your hands on the table where I can see them.” Pendergast complied.

“Nice choice of reading material.”

“Do you approve?” said Pendergast with the faintest trace of sarcasm.

“It’s an...interesting read.”

“I much prefer the original Greek to the translation you have here.”

“Those of us lacking a classical education must make do somehow, don’t you agree?”

“Yes.” Pendergast was silent for a moment. “Do you have a favorite passage?”

After a pause, the figure replied, “as a matter of fact, I do: ‘I have no home on earth and none below, not with the living, not with the breathless dead.’”

Pendergast thought a moment, and nodded. “I understand.”

The figure moved to the far end of the table, away from the light, and sat down.

“Now, Mr. Pendergast, kindly tell me why Eli Glinn chose you for this little errand.”

“He assisted with one of my cases, a case that was highly personal. I am returning the favor.”

“He must have great reason to trust you. Otherwise you would not be here.”

“Yes.”

“That means I am supposed to trust you as well. Trust for me is, shall we say, rather difficult.”

“So I noticed.”

The figure gave a short, hoarse, coughing laugh. “I see you and Eli share the same sense of humor. You must have many similarities, as I am sure he would only trust someone like himself. Did he tell you why he needs to speak with me?”

“He says you have information that could be vital for a particular project.”

“So you said. What is this project? Why is it so important that he needed a face to face meeting, even though he couldn’t be here himself?”

“It has to do with the murders of the Eastman family, twelve years ago.”

“That case is closed. What could I possibly have that would help now?”

“A similar case, in southeastern Ohio, has been brought to his...our attention. We are working on a profile for the case.”

“How ‘similar’?”

“Almost identical.”

Pendergast heard a sharp gasp, and then silence. After a long pause, Tigg spoke in a shaky voice.

“And what, pray tell, would I know about a case like this that occurred hundreds of miles away? I haven’t been off this mountain in...twenty-five years. I’m sure the locals told you that.”

“First, I do not believe Glinn needs your help in profiling the killer. He needs it to profile the victims. Second, I don’t believe you have been here that long.”

Tigg stood, leaned across the table, and turned the knob on the lantern. For the first time, Pendergast was able to see Tigg clearly: long, dark auburn hair with a streak of white at the right temple, twisted into a thick braid which hung over one narrow shoulder; a pale heart-shaped face with thin lips and high cheekbones, marred by two thin jagged scars that ran diagonally from jaw to hairline; dark grey, intelligent eyes surrounded by long, thick lashes.

“You know me, don’t you? You remember me.”

“Yes.”

Tigg stared at Pendergast. “I remember you, too. Well, Mr. Pendergast, it seems we do have something to talk about after all.”

Chapter 14    table of contents  

Amelia Harding sat at her desk, gazing out the window and battling a monster of a headache. This is, without a doubt, the worst day of my life, she thought. After enduring Detective Gregory’s grilling on her working relationship with Darrow, she had returned to the office only to find that the place had been burglarized. The alarm had been turned off, and the door was unlocked, but Darrow’s office had been ransacked. She had called Gregory, who had arrived with two technicians in tow, and had been subjected to another round of questions. His attitude towards her was even more apparent and it took every ounce of restraint she could muster to keep from decking the patronizing son of a bitch.

After they finally left she had collapsed into her chair. She thought about trying to call Cambry again and started to reach for the phone when it rang.

“Pine Mountain Sheriff’s Office.”

“May I speak to Amelia Harding, please?”

“Speaking.”

“Officer Harding, this is Sherri Watson from the Winstead Sheriff’s Office. I believe you called earlier for Mr. Brian Cambry?”

Amelia gave a sigh of relief. Finally.

“Yes, I did. Could I please speak to him? It’s urgent.”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Mr. Cambry has been in an accident. We are trying to locate next of kin, and since you used to work with him we were hoping you could help.”

Amelia felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.

“Officer Harding?”

Finally Amelia found her voice. “I...what happened? Is he...?”

“He’s at the hospital now, and they’re still working on him. We were trying to get the information just in case.”

“He...he doesn’t have any family. His wife died about a year before he retired. They didn’t have any children. I think he was an only child since he never mentioned any brothers or sisters.” She took a deep breath. “What happened, exactly?”

“It appears he lost control of his vehicle on a steep hill and went off the road.”

“No one who spent as much time driving in the mountains as Brian did would lose control on a hill. There has to be something more.”

“The officer who examined the scene suspects it may have been some sort of mechanical failure.” Amelia could hear the doubt in the woman’s voice. The feeling of unease she had experienced since she entered the office this morning surged.

“I see. Please, when you find out anything, let me know.” She gave Sherri her cell phone number. “Brian is a good friend. Just a minute, please.” She opened her desk drawer to get a note pad and pencil and was startled to discover a small picture had been placed within. She looked at it for a few seconds and was horrified when she recognized the place in the picture. First Darrow, then Cambry. That accident is no goddamn coincidence, she thought. It can’t be.

“Officer Harding, are you still there?”

“Uh, yes. Which hospital is he in? Could I have the address in case I need to...send something?”

“Good Samaritan, 5501 West Maple Street, Winstead. We can let you know more as soon as we hear anything.”

“Thank you.” Amelia placed the phone back on the receiver and picked up the photograph. It had been taken at night, but the light from a burning shed illuminated a white two story farmhouse in the background. She turned the picture over, and a single line was printed on the back in neat block letters. As she read the words, she felt something she hadn’t truly felt in a long time: fear. The message on the picture was brutally clear: THE EASTMAN CASE IS CLOSED.



Charlie Quinn got out of his cruiser and walked towards the front door of the Sheriff’s Office. Just before he made it to the door, his cell phone rang. He checked the caller’s number and answered.

“Hello, Frank. Have you found out anything else?”

“We took samples from the stain, but will take a while to analyze it. It looks like brake fluid to me, but we’ll want to be sure. After I left the Shoemaker’s, I stopped by the garage where we took the truck. The mechanic says it appears that the brake line was cut. Looks like this might not be an accident after all.”

“I suspected as much. Keep the whole thing under wraps, will you? I need to look into this. As soon as Cambry is up to it I’ll see if I can get any more information. Thanks, Frank.” He snapped the cell phone shut and opened the front door of the office. Sherri looked up, and he walked in.

“I called Amelia Harding. She said Cambry doesn’t have any family. The hospital just called and I gave them what information I had. They said he’s out of surgery and he should be fine, but it will be awhile before he’s ready to talk.” She turned, grabbed a page from the printer, and held it out to him.

“I checked up on your ‘person of interest’. There wasn’t much.”

Quinn scanned the printed sheet. It didn’t contain much more than he already knew.

“See if you can dig deeper. I need to talk to Mathies.” He knocked on the office door, waited for Mathies’ reply, and entered the office, closing the door behind him.

Sherri looked at the closed door with a puzzled expression on her face. Why was Charlie concerned with a girl that was declared dead five years ago?



“Miss Eastman...”

Tigg abruptly rose from the table, walked to kitchen area in the far corner of the cabin and stood with her back to Pendergast. He watched her for a moment, and tried again.

“Eleanor...”

“Don’t call me that. ‘Eleanor Eastman’ is, for all intents and purposes, dead. Not to sound melodramatic or anything, but I left that name and that life a long time ago. There wasn’t much left to it anyway. No big loss, right?” Her voice was bitter. “Call me Tigg.”

“A shortened form of ‘Antigone’, I presume. It is an interesting choice for a name.”

Tigg turned and glared at Pendergast. “I see your choice of reading material was not random.” Pendergast nodded. Tigg turned back to the wall and began removing items from a cupboard. She worked in silence for several minutes, and then turned back to Pendergast.

“How did you know?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You must have gone to the general store to get a camping permit. They would have told you about the ‘crazy artist who lives on Black Mountain’. That’s who you should have expected to find here. How did you know that I wasn’t him?”

Pendergast gazed at Tigg for a moment.

“After I visited the store and heard the stories, I called an associate of mine who is very good at obtaining information very quickly. He provided me with John Ravenwood’s rather, ah, interesting history along with his vital statistics. I must admit that is who I did expect to find, but when you accosted me at the edge of the woods, I knew from where you placed that shotgun that you were not tall enough to be Ravenwood.”

“And yet you didn’t try...to get the upper hand.”

“Glinn warned me that you were not the most ‘stable’ of people.”

Tigg gave a derisive snort. “Not stable? Eli doesn’t forget anything... What else did he tell you?”

“Very little. He said that this meeting was necessary because you have information about the case but refuse to leave your home.”

“Refuse to leave? Of course I refuse to leave. There’s nothing for me out in the ‘real world’ and here, at least, I am safe. Didn’t Eli mention that my being here was his idea?”

“No.”

“Ah, yes, typical Eli. Always plays his cards close, never trusts anyone with knowledge of his plans. He’s lucky that attitude hasn’t gotten him into trouble.” Tigg carried a flat wooden try to the table and set it down in front of Pendergast. She took one of two battered enamel cups, filled it with steaming liquid from an equally battered teapot, and set it down in front of Pendergast. He raised one eyebrow and gave her an inquiring look.

“Never let it be said I don’t know how to be a gracious host. There’s honey if you need it, and biscuits in that tin.” She indicated a small jar filled with a viscous amber liquid and flat metal container with a tight fitting lid. Pendergast raised the cup, sniffed it, and set it back on the table.

“Look, I haven’t poisoned the damn stuff. Here.” She poured herself a cup and took a sip. “I would never hurt anyone, even if I am ‘unstable’.”

Pendergast turned and looked over his shoulder at the small room where he had been locked in.

“Oh, that. I was busy, and I wasn’t sure what to do with you. I needed some time to think. Hey, I did let you out eventually.”

“So you decided to trust me.”

“I didn’t say that. I decided to hear what you had to tell me, and I wanted to know why Eli really sent you. In all the time I’ve been here, he hasn’t seen the need for any ‘information’ I might or might not have.”

“I believe your information can be very useful.”

“I don’t.”

Pendergast gazed at Tigg. Tigg glared back for a minute, dropped her eyes and looked down at the table. Pendergast spoke in a gentle voice.

“You have endured more than anyone should ever have to endure in their lifetime. I understand that remembering the past is painful, but this has gone beyond you and your family. Another family has suffered the same fate. The person who did this will not stop, and even more families will be killed. There will be no way to catch him unless we are able to find some way to link these crimes. When the killer leaves us no clues, or evidence is lost, we must look to the victims themselves to provide a link. If we can find a commonality, something that all of the victims have that somehow brought them to the attention of the killer, then we have a chance of finding the killer himself. You are the only one who can provide the information we need to make an accurate profile of your family.”

“I...ah, Hell.”

Tigg abruptly rose from the table, walked over to a small trunk standing by the small room, opened it, and retrieved several old books.

“Eli asked me to write down anything at all that I thought might help the case. When I first came here, I refused to do it. I didn’t think it would help since there was so much that I couldn’t remember. It only came back to me in...nightmares.” Tigg placed the books on the table. “Finally, John convinced me that if nothing else, it would help me to deal with what happened. He told me that by writing down my fears it would be easier to face them. I started out describing the nightmares. Eventually I was able to write down other things as I remembered them, observations about my family and the days before...the attack. The things that I thought might help if the real killer was ever caught. Not that any effort was being made to find him.” The bitterness had returned to her voice. “Five years ago I gave up. I didn’t see the point anymore.”

“Can you describe what you remembered?”

“No. You can read it all in these books. It’s not something I care to re-visit if I don’t have to. ‘Painful’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. I can answer questions after you read them, if it’s necessary.”

“How will I contact you again?”

“You won’t. You can read them here, now. I don’t want these books to leave this cabin.”

“Very well.” Pendergast opened the first book and began to read. Tigg looked at him for a moment, walked over to the closest window and opened the shutters. She took a coat and a hat from the row of hooks beside the door and turned back to Pendergast.

“I’ll be out on the front porch if you need me.” She grabbed a tool box that was sitting next to the door and walked out on the porch, closing the door behind.



Tigg took the stool from the center of the tarp on the front porch and moved it up against the cabin wall. With a sigh, she sat on the stool and opened the toolbox. She selected a smooth oval stone, several antler billets of various sizes, a copper flaker and a small abrading stone. She picked up a large rough grey cobble from the pile and examined it. As she did so, she thought back to the first time she had tried working stone many years ago. Tigg could almost hear John’s low gentle voice giving that first bit of advice. You have to see the shape of the blade in the stone. Plan what you are going to do. Think about each step. If something doesn’t go the way it should, look to see how it can be corrected. She had looked at him and asked, What if it can’t be corrected? What if one big mistake ruins everything? He had smiled and replied, you can learn to adjust. Don’t let your fear of mistakes dictate what you do. Do what has to be done to finish the job. It will all turn out fine. It will be good for something, even if it wasn’t what you originally wanted. Tigg gazed out at the woods beyond the clearing. What I originally wanted...

She draped a leather pad over one knee, placed the cobble on the pad, and brought the oval stone down on one edge of the cobble with a loud CRACK. As she started to shape the stone, she felt some of the tension that had been building since last night start to drain away.

I know what I originally wanted. Now I just have to figure out how to do it.

Chapter 15    table of contents  

Pendergast opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. The sun had just dipped behind the trees and much of the porch was cloaked in shadows. Tigg was gone and the darkening yard was silent. Pendergast walked over to the work area and stopped to look at several objects which had been left on the porch railing. The first was a stone knife blade similar to the one he had seen at Bridgier’s store. The others appeared to be rough forms for smaller blades and projectile points. He leaned forward to examine them more closely.

“You don’t want to walk any further over there. Debitage is rather rough on bare feet.”

Pendergast turned towards the voice. Tigg stood at the end of the porch, a thin bladed knife in one hand and a small skinned carcass in the other. She followed Pendergast’s gaze.

“Rabbit. Are you out for a breath of fresh air, or were you looking for me?”

“I have a few questions which thus far remain unanswered.”

“Fine. We can talk while I fix us dinner.” Tigg opened the cabin door and stepped inside. Pendergast followed.

“Will Mr. Ravenwood be joining us?”

Tigg froze, then walked to the kitchen area and dropped the carcass in the sink.

“No.”

“Pity. I am a great admirer of his artwork. I would have liked to meet him.”

Tigg turned and stared at Pendergast for a moment.

“I’ll take you to him later.” Tigg opened the door on the stove and started to add kindling for the fire. Pendergast sat down at the table and began leafing through one of the journals.

“You said you have some unanswered questions,” said Tigg without turning around. “What are they?”

“You made no mention in your journals of how you managed to leave the hospital undetected.”

“And that knowledge will help you with the profile?”

Pendergast thought for a moment. “Call it ‘professional curiosity’.”

“I call it ‘being nosy’. Let’s just say I had some outside help.”

“From Mr. Glinn, your ‘guardian’?”

“If you already knew, then why did you ask?”

“I merely speculated. I would like to hear the full version, as well as why you wanted to leave.”

Tigg turned and glared at Pendergast. “The fact that they were planning to send me to a nut house was not a good enough reason?”

Pendergast gazed at her impassively. Tigg sighed and continued.

“I had been fully aware of my surroundings for some time. I chose to play the part of the traumatized victim because if the real killer believed I was a viable witness, my life wouldn’t have been worth Jack Shit. I waited until I was able to function at a near normal level before I planned to leave and in the mean time I found out how lax the security was at that hospital. When I got to the point where I could walk without assistance, I took a short nighttime stroll. No one saw me. It was amazing how un-alert the night staff was at that place.” She gave a short derisive snort. “After that I made several more trips and got to know the layout of the hospital pretty well. Unfortunately, there was no real way for me to leave once I left the building. I was lucky that Eli came to visit when he did.”

“I’m surprised that Mr. Glinn would take part in such a risky project.”

“I was able to convince him it would be beneficial to both of us.”

Pendergast waited for further explanation, but Tigg was silent.

“Why did Glinn bring you to Black Mountain?”

Tigg sighed. “I was not as suited to a ‘normal’ life as we thought. I had difficult time adjusting to my new environment, I started having severe nightmares, and when I woke up I tended to be...destructive. It was a little too much for someone who likes order as much as Eli does, and I was too unpredictable for someone who expects everyone will follow a rational path. He had to come up with a contingency plan, and this was it. He brought me here to live with John Ravenwood, and old military associate, whom he knew well and trusted. I presume he expected John to be a stabilizing influence. He thought that given time, I would be able to return to the ‘real world’. He was only partially right.”

“You refused to leave.” Pendergast thought for a moment. “It still does not sound like a project Glinn would undertake. There must be another reason.”

“You can ask Eli that question yourself.” Tigg placed a cast iron skillet on the stove and added something from a large bottle. She returned to the sink and started to cut the carcass into small pieces. She took a small bowl and several canisters from the cabinet, added some of the contents of each to the bowl, and rolled the pieces of meat in the mixture. Pendergast watched with mild interest. After several minutes of silence, he spoke.

“Do you think you will ever leave this place?”

“Not without a damn good reason.”



Charlie Quinn drove into the visitor’s lot of Good Samaritan and parked his cruiser near the entrance. He had received a call minutes before from Cambry’s doctor and the man had indicated that he would like to meet with Quinn at his convenience. As Quinn walked towards the entrance, he thought about his brief meeting with Mathies that afternoon. He had reported that Cambry’s crash was apparently not an accident and had voiced his opinion of who might be responsible. Mathies had been taken aback by his speculation and stated that Quinn needed a lot more evidence before pursuing such a crazy theory. Quinn hoped to get more evidence by talking to Cambry as soon as he was coherent. After meeting with Mathies, Quinn had returned to his desk and started searching for more information in the online edition of the local newspaper in southern West Virginia. The online editions only went back 5 years, so his search turned up nothing. Frustrated, he headed towards the hospital and was almost there when Dr. Aubrey had called.

Quinn found the information desk and asked the nurse to page Cambry’s doctor. Dr. Aubrey arrived within a few minutes, and Quinn asked if they could speak in private.

They went to the doctor’s office and closed the door.

“What can you tell me?”

“Mr. Cambry sustained a compound fracture of the left humerus, three broken ribs, a severe concussion, and multiple abrasions and contusions. He had some internal bleeding from a lacerated lung which was caused by one of the broken ribs. We will need to keep him for a few days to monitor his injuries and ensure he doesn’t develop pneumonia, which can occur in cases of rib and lung trauma.”

Damn, thought Quinn, I’d hate to think what would have happened if he hadn’t made it out of the truck.



“When can I talk to him?”

“He is not ready for visitors just yet. Why are you so desperate to speak with him?”

“The crash was not an accident. I’m hoping he might be able to tell me something that will help us catch the person who sabotaged his truck.”

Dr. Aubrey looked shocked. “Do you think that person might come after him again?”

“It’s possible. It would be a good idea to give the impression that he’s unable to talk. He’s safe as long as he’s not perceived as a threat.”

“I see. I’ll make sure that the staff knows he is not allowed to have visitors, and we’ll tell anyone who asks that we are waiting to hear from next of kin before releasing any information. Will that do?”

“For now. I still need to talk to him.”

“He is on fairly strong pain medication. I doubt he will be very coherent, but you may try to get the information you need. Follow me.” Dr. Aubrey led Quinn to the elevator and they ascended to the 5th floor. Dr. Aubrey stopped at the desk and informed the nurses of Cambry’s “special situation”. He then led Quinn down the hall to room 535. Quinn peered into the room at the figure on the bed, and was unnerved by Cambry’s appearance. His formerly tanned and healthy face was pale and bruised. The side of his head was bandaged, and his left arm was in a thick cast. Quinn and Dr. Aubrey approached the bed, and Cambry’s eyes slowly opened. He looked at Quinn, smiled slightly and spoke in a weak voice.

“I guess I missed the meeting...”

Quinn looked at the floor. He had always been uncomfortable talking to people in hospital beds. Finally he looked back at Cambry, who was watching him with a slightly glazed expression.

“What happened, Brian?”

Cambry closed his eyes for a moment, and then spoke.

“No brakes...no steering...couldn’t stop...I ...jumped.”

“Did you notice anything strange last night? Was anyone following you?”

“I don’t remember...I wasn’t really...paying attention.”

“Did you tell anyone that you were coming to Winstead?”

“Just Amelia...we talked about...the case.” Cambry’s responses were becoming slower and his voice was getting weaker.

“Amelia Harding?”

“That’s right. We used to...work together.”

“Would she have told anyone else?”

Cambry didn’t respond. Quinn was about to ask the question again when Dr. Aubrey put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Mr. Cambry needs rest. You can try again tomorrow.”

“But I—”

“Please. I have to think of the patient’s welfare. Your questions can wait. I assure you, he’s not going anywhere for awhile.” Dr. Aubrey turned and headed for the door.

Damn it, thought Quinn, and with a sigh followed the doctor back out into the hallway.



Rick Mathies sat at his desk, leafing through the quarterly budget reports, and wishing he could be somewhere else. After almost an hour, he finished perusing the reports, wrote up a list of changes, and set the whole stack in his out box. He would take them to Sherri on his way out, but for the time being he just wanted a few moments of peace. He thought back to Quinn’s theory of who was behind the murders as well as Cambry’s accident. Quinn’s losing it,he thought. Too much stress for a guy who wanted a quiet semi-retirement. I’ll have to talk to him about taking some time off as soon as Glinn’s associate shows up to help us out. Mathies leaned back in his chair and stared out the office window. I just wish the guy would get here.

He heard a knock and then Sherri opened the office door and stuck her head in.

“Bonnie is here to see you.”

Mathies’ mood brightened. “Send her in.”

Sherri opened the door wider and a young woman with curly brown hair and deep green eyes walked into the office. Mathies rose from his desk and greeted her with a warm embrace. She returned the greeting and stepped back to gaze at Mathies.

“Mom was right, you do look like Hell.”

“Is that any way to talk to your dear old Dad?”

“Hey, I’m just calling things the way I see them. She said you’d been really overworked lately. I thought the boss gets to call the shots and makes everyone else do the dirty work.” She gave him a lopsided grin.

“Not a chance. Now, to what do I owe this visit?”

“Mom wanted to make sure you didn’t miss our monthly get-together. She sent me down to drag you away from your case files.”

“Ah, I see, it’s a conspiracy. Not to worry, I was done for the day anyway. Let’s go.” He grabbed the stack of reports from the out box and walked to the outer office. Bonnie followed and shut the door behind them.

“Here you are Sherri, the budget reports, reviewed and a list of corrections added. I’m heading out now.” Sherri took the reports and walked back to her desk. Bonnie looked around the outer office and paused at Quinn’s desk.

“Where is your new deputy sheriff?”

“He’s out following up on an auto accident.”

“Too bad. I wanted to meet him.”

“I’m sure you’ll have the opportunity. Let’s go, your mother will be waiting for us.”



From across the street, the killer watched as Mathies and his daughter climbed into their respective cars and drove away. Ah, the dutiful child, paying a monthly visit to her beloved parents, just like clockwork. How convenient. The killer gave a low dry chuckle. The Sheriff’s department is having such a busy time lately, but they appear to be slacking off. It’s time they had something else to keep them occupied...

Chapter 16    table of contents  

Glinn leaned forward to stare at the computer screen that had suddenly gone blank just seconds before. He knew what to expect, and was not surprised when the image appeared before his eyes. The picture of a mime spinning a globe disappeared, and a line of text crossed the screen.

G, my man! I have what you asked for. I’m beaming it to you now.

Would you summarize the information for me?

Hey, I just get the goodies, I don’t dig into them.

But surely your curiosity gets the better of you sometimes?

Yes, it does...And don’t call me Shirley!

Mime...

Oh, all right, all right! Here’s the skinny: seems like this Darrow was one crooked bastard. He was investigated by the feds a couple of times, but nothing stuck. His name was associated with a couple of big-wigs in that town, on some of their “sensitive projects”, IYKWIM.

Was?

The devil got his due. Darrow was killed early this morning. He’s now a Crispy Critter. They found him in his shed.

Was the fire set or was it an accident?

Are you kidding? With all the bad mojo this guy had, I’d bet someone whacked him, and I’m not a gambling man.

Glinn thought for a moment. The program had given a high probability that the killer would violently attack those who were observed connecting the two cases, but Darrow was low on the list of possible sources. This would certainly require further investigation. He leaned forward and resumed typing.

Have you finished compiling the other information I requested yesterday?

I’m good, but I’m not THAT good, my man. You’ll get it, don’t worry. I’ll have it all by tomorrow morning.

Very well, Mime. I will be expecting it.

TTFN

The screen went blank. Glinn retrieved the file on Darrow that Mime had sent, opened it, and began to read.



Amelia Harding was just gathering up her things to leave when the phone rang. She hesitated, almost afraid to answer. Officer Keckley, the state trooper who had been assigned to take over for her gave her a quizzical look and answered the phone. Amelia had just made it to the door when she heard the trooper call her name.

“Officer Harding? It’s for you.”

Amelia turned and walked back towards her desk. She took the receiver from the trooper’s outstretched hand, drew in a deep breath, and answered the call.

“This is Officer Harding speaking, how may I help you?”

“This is Deputy Sheriff Quinn from the Winstead Sheriff’s Office. You called earlier about Brian Cambry.”

Oh, no...

“Uh, yes, I did. How...how is he?”

“Still unconscious. He’s in pretty bad shape.”

Oh, Brian, what did you walk into? And why did I let you do it?

“Officer Harding?”

“I...I’m here. That is...just terrible. I hope he’s going to be all right.” She noticed that Officer Keckley was watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“That remains to be seen. Why were you trying to contact him this morning?”

“There’s a, uh, situation here where I thought he might be able to help.”

“Oh? What kind of a situation?”

“We’re, uh, a bit short handed, and I was hoping for his help. In an unofficial capacity, of course.” She darted her eyes nervously towards Keckley, but he appeared to be absorbed in a file open on his desk.

“Isn’t that something your sheriff would have to approve?”

“Not in this case. Anyway, it’s...been resolved. Please, if you hear anything else about his condition, let me know.”

“Officer Harding, is there something wrong there?”

Yes, and I’m the world’s worst liar.

“No, nothing. Thank you for calling.” She quickly hung up the phone.

“Is there a problem, Officer Harding?” Keckley asked with mild interest.

“No, it’s nothing. Good night.” She quickly opened the front door and walked out to her cruiser. She looked around nervously before she climbed in. She sat in the cruiser for a minute and when she was finally convinced that she wasn’t being watched, she started the car and headed home.

Two hundred miles away, Charlie Quinn sat at his desk, staring in surprise at the receiver. He placed it back on the hook and looked out the front window into the night.

Something has that woman rattled, he thought. And not just Cambry’s accident. He was about to call back when the phone rang.

“Winstead—”

“Charlie, this is Sherri. I was looking up stuff online when I came across something that I thought you might need to hear.”

“What is it?”

“You know that town where Cambry worked, Pine Mountain? Guess what? Their sheriff was murdered last night.”

“You’re kidding.” Charlie felt a knot growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Nope. Someone set fire to his shed with him in it.”

“Are they sure it was set?”

“The article said it was arson. Something happens to two members of the same department in one night. That’s one hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Sherri, don’t mention this to anyone else, do you understand? We can talk to Mathies’ about it tomorrow, but for right now, keep this to yourself. I’m starting to get a really bad feeling about this case.”

“You think that—?”

“I think that there’s more to this than just what’s happened here. Now, as soon as Arlene gets in, I’m going back to the hospital to keep an eye on Cambry. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He put the receiver back on the hook and leaned back in his chair.

Now I know why Amelia Harding was so desperate to talk to Cambry, and why she won’t talk now, he thought darkly. Someone has been busy...



As the moon rose over Black Mountain, Pendergast followed Tigg along a well worn path through the forest. He used his flashlight to illuminate the trail in front of him, but Tigg appeared to know the way well and moved quickly ahead without the benefit of a light source. Over the past hour, Pendergast had attempted to gain more information from Tigg about her journal entries but she had grown increasingly cryptic and had only given him the barest of details. He was convinced that she knew more, but she had evaded his questions and after several attempts to change the subject, she had abruptly announced that it was time to go see Ravenwood. Pendergast had tried to question her as they set out through the forest, but she had remained silent.

They had been walking for about twenty minutes when they arrived at a small clearing at the edge of a deep ravine. The valley below was illuminated by the rising moon, and Pendergast surmised that during the day the view would have been breathtaking. Tigg walked over to a large boulder near the edge of the ravine and sat down as Pendergast waited where the trail emerged from the woods. Tigg gazed out into the valley for a few moments, and gave a short rueful laugh. She turned back to Pendergast.

“Best view in Black Mountain, and peaceful, too. John’s favorite place.”

Pendergast looked around the clearing. “I was under the impression we were going to meet Mr. Ravenwood.”

“I said I would take you to him. I have.” She pointed to a spot behind Pendergast. He turned and raised his flashlight. The light illuminated an elongated pile of rocks at the base of a larger boulder, and as he moved forward, he could see words chipped into the flat surface of the stone. He bent down towards the inscription.

Just think! Some night the stars will gleam upon a cold, grey stone,

And trace a name with silver beam, and lo! ‘twill be your own.

That night is speeding on to greet your epitaphic rhyme.

Your life is but a little beat within the heart of Time.

A little gain, a little pain, a laugh, lest you may moan;

A little blame, a little fame, a star-glean on a stone.

Pendergast turned to Tigg, who remained seated on her rock. Her head was bowed and in the darkness he could not see her face.

“John was always partial to Robert Service. He always said some of his poems would make good epitaphs.” She sighed. “He knew he was going to die, you see. He brought me here to tell me. He said that warning me well ahead of time was better than a sudden shock, especially after what happened to my family. He wanted to make sure I was prepared.” She paused and raised her head. Her voice was shaky. “I told him he could get help, that he didn’t need to die up here, but he said he preferred to die as he had lived. He was a difficult man to dissuade once he had his mind set.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Almost a year. One day he didn’t come back from his usual morning walk. I found him up here. It was...what he wanted all along.”

Pendergast watched Tigg in silence for a minute and then he spoke in a low voice.

“What about you? What is it that you want?”

Tigg raised her head and glared at Pendergast.

“What do I want?” Her voice shook with anger. “What does it matter? Anything I actually care about gets taken from me. I lost my family, not once, but twice. I lost my friends. I lost the future I had planned. I don’t get what I want, not even when I just want to be left alone!”

“Is that what you want now? To be left alone?”

“Yes, I do.”

Pendergast thought for a moment. “I don’t believe you.”

“I really don’t care what you believe. I’m fine here, or as fine as I’ll ever be. You can tell Eli that as well. Tell him his plan to persuade me to leave here failed. Tell him he’s on his own with this case. I can’t help him. I gave you what I had, there’s nothing else to give.”

She stood up and walked across the clearing to the edge of the woods, where she turned to Pendergast and said,

“Now, I think it time for you to leave. I have a lot of work to do.”

Tigg turned and headed back down the trail. Pendergast followed her to the cabin and tried to speak to her again but she ran up the steps, stomped across the porch and slammed the door. He walked up to the front door, knocked, and listened. After several minutes, he turned and headed back towards the trail to the campsite. At the edge of the forest, he turned and gave the cabin one last glance. The windows were dark and he could not see any movement. Finally he turned and made his way back down the mountain.

Tigg stood just out of sight by the window, waiting, he heart pounding in her chest. She had almost expected Pendergast to try harder to change her mind, but was relieved when he didn’t. It made her job so much easier. Yes, she thought, I certainly do have a lot of work to do...

Two hours later, Tigg surveyed the items she had gathered from various places in the cabin, some of which had been well hidden. She had checked and re-checked the condition of several items to ensure that they were in perfect working order. As she placed everything into a battered but sturdy knapsack, she made a mental note of the locations of each. After she had finished packing, she made one last check of the cabin itself. When she was sure everything was secure, she grabbed the knapsack and her coat and hat, opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. She stood on the porch for a long time, breathing in the chill night air, her mind on what she had been contemplating since that day in June twelve years ago. I’m breaking one promise to keep another. Please forgive me, John, but this is something I have to do. She gave her home one last look, turned and headed for a hidden trail that led to where she knew she needed to go.

Chapter 17    table of contents  

Just before dawn, Pendergast left the campsite and slowly made his way to the lot where he had parked the truck. The mountain was shrouded in a cold, thick fog, and the beam of his flashlight barely penetrated the mist. His journey down the mountain took almost an hour, and when he reached the lot he saw Glinn’s dark grey van parked next to the truck. He set his camping gear down next to the van and opened the passenger door. Glinn turned toward Pendergast as he climbed into the passenger seat.

“I trust you have completed the task?”

Pendergast nodded.

“What happened?”

“As you predicted, your ‘source’ located me first. However, she was not as helpful as you apparently hoped.”

While this was not completely unexpected, Glinn had hoped she would be more responsive to a request by someone other than himself. He tried to read Pendergast’s expression, but the man’s face remained impassive.

“But she did give you something.”

“Yes. She allowed me to read some notes that she had written pertaining to her...experiences, but they were neither complete nor coherent. She indicated that directly speaking about it was too difficult.”

“Were you able to question her about the information in her notes?”

“I tried several interview techniques, but she resisted all of them. I believe there is something else motivating her refusal to discuss the case.”

“Fear?”

“Perhaps.”

“Did you impress upon her the urgency of the matter?”

“I mentioned the new case, but she was unmoved.” Pendergast turned to Glinn. “She seemed to think that this was some sort of plan to convince her to leave the mountain.”

Glinn struggled to hide his surprise. It was a little disconcerting that Tigg was still able to read him so well even though she had not been in direct contact with him for years.

“I had predicted that given the circumstances, Tigg would wish to take the initiative to assist with the case and would be willing to do so directly.”

“It appears we will not have her assistance. What is your new plan?”

Glinn handed Pendergast a thick folder, which Pendergast recognized as the case report from the Zoller murders.

“Use the information that you were able to obtain and look for connections between the two cases based on the evidence. I have spoken with the sheriff in Winstead, and he will be expecting you. To everyone else, you will be an academic doing research. I trust you to provide a plausible topic.” He pointed to a small battered briefcase and a larger but equally battered valise. “I’ve provided and arranged for everything else you will need to complete your ‘cover’.” Finally, he handed Pendergast another folder. “This is a list of possible connections between the two families, complied from census, tax, and school records from both Winstead and Pine Mountain. Although I am sure that the killer would not leave such an obvious trail, I trust the information could still be useful for profiling the victims.”

“Have there been any new developments in the present case?”

“Something has occurred that may be connected. Sheriff Jacob Darrow was murdered early yesterday morning.”

Pendergast raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“Someone set fire to one of his outbuildings while he was inside.”

“Given his reluctance to discuss the case, the connection seems unlikely.”

“The profile gave a high probability that the killer would eliminate anyone who might connect the two cases. Darrow was not given a high probability of being that person, but something might have happened to lead the killer to believe otherwise. The profile also indicates that the killer is keeping a very close watch on the people involved in the case. In retrospect, it is probably better that Tigg declined to participate in the investigation.”

Pendergast gazed at Glinn for a moment. Finally, he spoke.

“Tell me, Mr. Glinn, what is it about this young woman and this case that is so important to you? I questioned Tigg on the matter, and she informed me that I should ask you directly. You seem to be uncharacteristically involved in this case.”

“As you are well aware, where family is concerned, objectivity becomes difficult. It is a mistake I have learned from and avoided ever since in every other project I have undertaken. Unfortunately, once again I find myself in a situation where a personal connection has prompted my involvement in a project. This time I need to have it resolved.”

Pendergast thought for a moment, and then nodded slowly.

“I understand.”



Charlie Quinn woke with a start and then winced when he felt the pain in his neck and shoulders. He had fallen asleep in the chair he had moved to Brian Cambry’s room the night before, and now he was paying for it. Some guard I am, he thought. Sleeping on the job. I guess I really am getting old. He checked his watch. Damn, I better get moving. He rose from the chair and was going to go over to check on Cambry when the door opened. A young petite woman entered, pushing a cart in front of her. When she saw Quinn, she smiled.

“Good morning Officer Quinn. I’m Rebecca Jenkins. Dr. Aubrey said you were here keeping an eye on Mr. Cambry.” She looked over at Cambry and lowered her voice. “Do you really think someone tried to kill him?” Quinn nodded.

“It certainly looks that way. What else did Dr. Aubrey tell you?”

“He said we were not to talk to anyone outside the hospital about it, and that the press had been told Mr. Cambry is still unconscious. We’re supposed to report anyone who asks about him to the security officer, who will contact you.” She walked over to Cambry’s bed, checked his vital signs and IV, and made a few notes on his chart. She paused a moment and then turned to take a closer look at him.

“Is something wrong?” asked Quinn.

“No, I just thought for a moment he looked familiar. I guess I’ve seen so many patients that after awhile they do start to look the same.” She shook her head. “If you need anything, I’ll be making rounds.” She turned the cart around and pushed it out through the doorway, closing the door behind. Quinn was about to follow her when he heard a weak voice behind him.

“So this wasn’t an accident...”

Quinn turned and looked at Cambry. The man’s eyes were open, and still slightly glazed from the painkillers, but the fear in his expression was clear.

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough. Tell me exactly what happened.”

“The brake line was cut. It looks like it was done while you were parked at Winstead Manor. Someone must have known why you came to see us and followed you.

A puzzled expression crossed Cambry’s face.

“The only one who knew I was coming was Amelia. Unless...” His expression darkened.

“Unless what?”

“Unless Darrow overhead our initial conversation and figured out what was going on. I knew he wanted the case closed and forgotten, but I never thought he’d go this far.”

“Darrow? Your old boss? It wasn’t him, trust me.”

“Why do you think that?”

Quinn sighed. “Because he’s dead. He was murdered just a few hours before your crash.”

Cambry’s eyes widened in surprise. Quinn heard the beeping of one of the monitors start to increase, and he gave Cambry a worried look.

“What happened?”

“Don’t worry about that right now. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Cambry closed his eyes. After a few minutes, the beeping of the monitor returned to it’s normal rhythm. Cambry opened his eyes again and looked at Quinn.

“Who would do something like this? And why?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” said Quinn, “but I intend to find out.”



Bonnie Mathies stood outside of the Methodist church waiting for her mother to finish speaking to the minister. Bonnie had intended to leave last night after dinner with her parents, but her father had insisted she spend the night. She understood that he was worried about her safety, but still some part of her was a little chagrined at his protectiveness. I guess Mom is right, she mused. You never stop being a parent. Then, because she had spent the night, her mother had then insisted that she attend church services. Church was something Bonnie had managed to avoid since she left home for college fifteen years ago, but her mother was insistent. She had even convinced Dad that “it would be wonderful to attend as a family”. During the service, Bonnie had passed the time by surreptitiously studying those around her. Most of it had provided idle amusement, but in studying her father she observed how truly haggard he looked. She had joked about it with him when she met him at work the previous evening, but in reality she was worried. She knew he was working on a particularly horrific case, and she had seen it mentioned in the papers, but she also knew better than to ask about it. His work was strictly off-limits as a topic of conversation in the Mathies’ household. Her mother joked that the rule was part of their pre-nuptial agreement, but Bonnie knew it was her father that really didn’t want to expose his family to the problems of police work. She had hoped to talk to him about it after the service, out of earshot from her mother, but before she could get him alone he had said he had to leave. He had given her a quick hug goodbye, wished her a safe trip home and headed to the office. Now she was waiting to say goodbye to her mother before making the trip back north. She really did need to get home. Monday was a teacher in-service day, but her section was not meeting for any discussion this session, so she was planning on spending the rest of the weekend grading papers and homework assignments. She had a stack on her desk that promised at least 8 hours worth of work. Whoever said teaching was an easy job has never actually taught, she thought. Or dealt with the paperwork. Finally, her mother finished chatting and walked over to Bonnie.

“Do you really have to leave so soon? Please, stay, we can go to the cafe for lunch. Maybe do a little shopping.”

“Sorry, Mom, I would love to, but I really do have a lot of work to do. Next month, I promise.”

“But Mrs. Iverson invited us. She’s such a lovely woman, and so active in the community. You know, she has a son, about your age, and—”

“Mother!”

“Oh, all right. I just want you to be happy, you know, and—”

“Mom, I’m fine, I don’t need you or Mrs. Iverson to play matchmaker. I need to go. I’ll call you next weekend.”

“Thank you, honey, for a wonderful visit. Please drive carefully. You know how much I hate that twisty back road you insist on taking. Why don’t you take the highway? I know it’s longer, but—”.

“Mom, I’m fine. I could drive it with my eyes closed.” She gave her mother a hug. “I’ll see you in a month.” She walked over to her car, climbed in and drove off, waving to her mother as she headed north out of town.



Half an hour later, Bonnie was driving along a narrow two-lane road that twisted through the far western foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. She really did love this road. There was never any traffic and some of the views from the various ridges were spectacular. It was usually a peaceful drive, and it gave her time to think and plan what she needed to do when she arrived at her apartment. She steered her car carefully around a particularly sharp curve, only slightly worried about the lack of a guardrail, and saw that just ahead another car was pulled off on the side of the road. The driver, dressed in a black rain suit, had the hood of the car open and was standing in front of the car, staring down at the engine. The dejected droop of the driver’s shoulders indicated that the problem was not easily fixable, and since Bonnie knew it was unlikely that anyone else would drive past for several hours, she pulled off to the other side of the road to offer assistance. As she approached, she was surprised when she recognized the driver.

“Hey there,” she called. “A little outside your territory, aren’t you?”

The driver turned toward her voice. “Ah, hello Bonnie! It’s so nice to see you. I guess you’re on your way back home from visiting your parents?”

“Yes, I am. What seems to be the problem?”

“I really have no idea. It just died on me. I can’t find a single thing wrong. To top it off, I left my cell phone at home, so I can’t call for a tow.”

“You probably couldn’t get a signal out here anyway, but let me try on mine.” She turned to walk back to her car. The sudden blow from behind knocked her to her knees. She knelt on the road, dizzy, trying to comprehend how such a thing could be happening. The second blow knocked her completely to the ground, and as the world faded to black, she had one last conscious thought.

I really should have listened to Mom...

The killer stared down at the unconscious woman lying on the road with a distinct feeling of elation. The plan had gone exactly as predicted. Poor, sweet, unselfish Bonnie, you always were willing to help those in need. Didn’t I once tell you it never pays to be a good Samaritan?

Chapter 18    table of contents  

Pendergast opened the door of Glinn’s van and stepped out, the valise in one hand and the briefcase tucked under one arm. He placed the bags on the front seat of the truck and then returned to the van. As he was stowing the camping gear in the back of the van, Glinn spoke to him without turning around.

“There has been another small bit of information returned by the program.”

“Yes?”

“The killer is intent on keeping focus off the case. The program suggested he may try other diversionary tactics.”

“I see. I take it these tactics will be directed at the police.”

“It is highly likely.”

“Then I shall anticipate maintaining an investigation which is completely separate from local law enforcement.”

Glinn smiled thinly. “From you, Dr. Pendergast, I would have expected no less. I shall also expect a report from you as soon as you have met with Mathies and ‘settled in’.”

Pendergast nodded, slammed the door, and stepped away from the van. He watched as Glinn steered the van out of the lot and down the road back towards town. Pendergast climbed into the truck and removed the case file from the briefcase. He studied the file in silence. After almost an hour, he placed the file back in the case, started the truck, and drove off.

Thirty minutes later, Pendergast pulled into the lot in front of the Black Hollow General store. He stepped out of the truck and strode to the front door. The proprietor looked up as he entered, and Pendergast saw a look of relief cross the man’s face. The other occupant of the store was the same man that had been there on the previous visit. He appeared to be asleep in his chair by the stove.

“Ah, Mr...Pendergast. How was your stay?”

“Enlightening.”

“Oh. Did you see anything...interesting?”

“Yes. I believe I spied Glaucomys sabrinus fuscus. A rare occurrence, so I have been led to believe.”

Gus looked rather bewildered.

“I see. Uh, anything else?”

“I also encountered Falco peregrinus and Haliaeetus leucocephalus. Each a truly magnificent sight. ”

“Um, OK, whatever you say. You didn’t have any problems, did you?”

“No, the accommodations were more than adequate.”

“He wants to know if you met that nut Ravenwood,” called a gruff voice from the corner of the store.

Pendergast turned towards the man by stove.

“No, I did not. However, I did come to appreciate the solitude of the mountains, and I can completely understand his desire to live there, outside the hectic nature of the modern world.”

Hank raised an eyebrow and stared at Pendergast for a few moments. His expression seemed to say Yeah, that’s because you’re both nuts. Pendergast gazed back impassively. Finally, Hank dropped his eyes, shrugged, and went back to his nap. Pendergast turned back towards the counter.

“Speaking of Mr. Ravenwood, I would like to purchase one of his carvings if you still have some left.”

“Uh, sure, they’re down there. Plenty to choose from.” Gus pointed to the display shelf. Pendergast walked over to it and bent to examine the carvings. After a few minutes of deliberation, he selected one which depicted an eagle with wings spread in flight.

“Good choice. I always liked those eagle ones myself,” said Gus.

“Indeed.”

“Will there be anything else?”

Pendergast glanced at a stack of newspapers on the corner of the counter. As he read the headline, a thoughtful expression crossed his face. He picked up a paper from the top of the stack and laid it on the counter next to the carving. Gus glanced at the headline.

“Oh, that. Isn’t that terrible? I can’t believe how people so corrupt could keep getting elected. I’m glad we don’t have people like that running this place.”

“I’m quite sure the officials of Black Hollow are pinnacles of integrity, as well as the citizens at large. Thank you for your hospitality. I’ll be sure to recommend your establishment to any friends who may be passing through.” Pendergast paid the bill, gathered up the paper and the carving, and walked out of the store. Gus was quite relieved to see him go.

Pendergast sat in his truck for a few minutes, reading the paper he had just bought. The front page article detailed all of the less-than-legal workings of the local government of Pine Mountain, West Virginia. The story claimed that the source of the information had been an “anonymous package of documents” which contained proof of the nefarious dealings. The list of infractions was impressive: racketeering, drug dealing, real estate fraud, even murder was attributed to Darrow and his associates. Statements of denial from several co-conspirators were included in the article, as well as indignant attacks by other local officials. After reading the whole piece, Pendergast was sure of one thing: the emergence of this information was definitely a diversionary tactic. He also suspected that this would not be the only one. After re-reading the article, Pendergast folded the paper, started the truck and headed for Winstead.

After almost an hour of driving, Pendergast turned the truck down a rather rough country road. The road was dotted with potholes, and he was able to avoid most of them, but he managed to hit one particularly nasty spot and the truck was badly jolted. He heard a loud thump from the bed of the truck and immediately pulled to the side of the road. He cut the engine and listened. Finally, he exited the truck, walked around to the back, and opened the door of the cap. He stared at the contents for a few moments and then smiled thinly at the strange sight that met his eyes.



Bonnie Mathies slowly opened her eyes and peered into the semi-darkness. The pain at the back of her head was excruciating, and she closed her eyes again while taking slow, deep breaths to stem her nausea. After a few minutes, she opened her eyes again and as they adjusted to the low light, she was able to take stock of her surroundings. The cold, slightly damp floor where she lay was hard packed earth, and the closest visible wall appeared to be made from rough cut stones. She tried to rise to a sitting position and was alarmed to discover that her wrists had been shackled behind her. She tried to roll forward but was brought up short by a sharp tug at her wrists and ankles. After some maneuvering, she was able to rise a little, resting on one hip and elbow with her arms and legs folded uncomfortably behind. She looked across the small room and spotted a set of stairs. Seated on the steps was a figure holding a lantern. The lantern was mostly hooded, and the figure’s face was cloaked in shadows. Suddenly the memory of the morning’s events came flooding back, and Bonnie choked back a sob. Why is this happening to me? she thought, panic rising.

“Hello, my dear Bonnie. Did you enjoy your nap?”

Bonnie gasped. The voice was not the one she expected to hear.

“Who are you?”

“You don’t remember me? I’m hurt, Bonnie, truly I am.”

“You’re not—”

“Oh, but I am. Things are not always as they seem.” The figure rose from the steps, walked over to Bonnie and knelt down in front of her, just out of reach. Bonnie stared at her captor and then gasped when she finally recognized the face staring complacently back at her from the darkness.

“You! What in the hell are you doing here? Is this some sort of sick joke?”

“It’s no joke, dear Bonnie.”

Bonnie fought to keep the fear out of her voice.

“Why are you doing this to me? I’ve never done anything to you! I haven’t even seen you in...Christ, almost 12 years. Why, after all this time?”

“Well, you know what they say about revenge. But it’s not revenge I want, Bonnie, and it’s not anything you have done. Nothing specific, at least. It is what you represent.”

“What I represent?”

“A distraction.”

“A distraction?!? What the hell are you talking about?”

“A distraction for your dear father. I suspect he might be getting too close to cracking a very important case. He needs something to keep him occupied so I can finish what I started.”

“What you started...?” With growing horror, Bonnie realized to what her captor was referring.

“The Zoller murders? You killed them?” Dear God, thought Bonnie, this is insane.

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“That, my dear Bonnie, was revenge.”

“I...I don’t understand—”

“No, you wouldn’t. But no matter, I know why I did it, and why I must finish what I started. However, you father and his deputy sheriff are endangering my plan, making connections I don’t want them to make. I need to draw their focus away from the case so I have given them something else to worry about: your mysterious disappearance, to be precise.”

“Your plan? You’re going to kill more people? The Zollers were just the beginning?” Bonnie couldn’t control her voice any longer. She had never been so frightened in her life.

“Yes and no. I’m going to kill more people, but the Zollers were not ‘just the beginning’. I started this a long time ago.”

Bonnie drew a long shuddering breath. The matter-of-fact one of her captor’s voice was chilling. She asked the question she had been dreading to ask since she had awoken.

“You’re going to kill me too, aren’t you?”

Her captor gave a short harsh laugh. “My dear Bonnie, don’t you remember some of our old conversations? There are things worse than death. We used to speculate on them at length. The story of this place gives a prime example of such a fate.”

“What do you mean?” Suddenly, Bonnie could no longer support herself. She collapsed back to the floor and lay there gazing up at the smiling face of her captor.

“You’re a teacher, so I’m sure you’ll appreciate a history lesson. This property was once a stop on the Underground Railroad. The original owner was a staunch abolitionist, and he was glad to help those who wanted to escape to the north. This place was perfect for that purpose: isolated, off the beaten track, yet close to a major crossing point. He hid them in this root cellar, provided them with food, clothing, and shelter from the authorities. He helped perhaps 100 of them across the Ohio River and gave them help finding the next stop. His eldest son, however, did not have such an altruistic nature. He was less interested in helping the slaves to freedom and much more interested in the rewards for their capture. As long as his father was alive, however, he had to go along with the practice of helping those in need. Finally, 5 years after he had helped the first slave to safety, the father passed away. The son pretended to continue to offer the place as a safe haven, but instead when he brought the slaves down here, he had them chained to the wall, just as you are now. Because his mother and wife were still supporters of the Railroad, he hid his activities from them. He would bring the slave hunters here in the dead of night to collect the slaves and to receive his rewards. This went on for several years, but one night, as he was coming down to check on his prisoners, one of the stairs near the top gave way and he fell to his death. His wife and mother had just left to visit a relative for two weeks, and when they returned, they found his body, as well as the bodies of three slaves he had chained to the walls. The family was horrified, and in order to cover their shame, they buried the bodies of the slaves in the floor of this cellar and had it sealed over. Afterwards, people reported strange noises and lights around the place at night. The family couldn’t keep hired help, and friends and relatives stopped coming to visit. Eventually they could no longer stand it and moved to a new home some distance away. Eventually the place was forgotten by everyone except the wife, who recorded the events in her journal. I uncovered that manuscript during a search of the historical society’s archives, and I removed it. After reading the journal, I was able to find this place fairly easily. No other living person knows of its’ existence.” Her captor rose, walked to the staircase, and turned back towards Bonnie.

“So you see, my dear Bonnie, I won’t really have to kill you, will I? No one will ever find you here. You’ll be just another mystery, and you father will never know what really happened to you. That, as you once said, really would be a fate worse than death.” Her captor turned and started up the steps, carrying the lantern. As the light started to fade, Bonnie cried out in a quavering voice.

“Please...don’t leave me here alone.”

“Oh, don’t worry Bonnie, I’m sure you won’t really be alone.” Bonnie heard the door at the top of the steps open and then slam shut. The darkness in the cellar was absolute, and with the darkness came a mindless blinding panic.

The killer stood outside of the door listening to Bonnie’s anguished screams. Ah, dear Bonnie. You always were a sucker for a good ghost story. Such an educated mind, and yet so gullible. The killer gave a low dry chuckle. Once again, you gave me something to use against you. What fun...

Chapter 19    table of contents  

“Where in the bloody hell did you learn how to drive?”

Pendergast raised an eyebrow and gave Tigg a quizzical look. She was sitting on the truck’s lowered tailgate, rubbing her head and looking quite disgruntled.

“Wherever it was, you must have failed the PHD.”

“PHD?”

“Pot Hole Dodging. You hit that sucker head on.” She glared at Pendergast for a moment and then sighed and dropped her eyes.

“I guess you want to know what I was doing in the back of your truck.”

“I trust you have found your ‘damn good reason’ for leaving your home.”

“You could say that.”

“Last night you gave the impression you were unwilling to leave. Why?”

“I knew you would take me straight to Eli. He would have his own way of having me assist with the case. I...I like to do things on my own terms.”

Pendergast smiled thinly. “I can understand that. But why make such a show of resistance?”

“I knew you would relay my reaction to Eli. He’s very good at reading people, so I needed you to believe what you were telling him.”

“You need not have worried. Mr. Glinn has as much difficulty ‘reading’ me as he apparently does ‘reading’ you.”

Tigg gave Pendergast an amused look.

“You must be one of the select few.”

“Indeed. Tell me, how did you know about his plan to motivate you to leave the mountain?”

“It’s fairly simple, really. I’ve known him a long time, and I know how he thinks. He believes people are inherently predictable, and he has expectations for behavior based on that logic. In doing so, he has made himself inherently predictable. When I found out he sent you and why, I had to think what else he was planning and how he was expecting me to react.”

“And when you determined his motive, you acted in the opposite manner, thus continuing to make yourself unpredictable.”

Tigg gave Pendergast a wry smile.

“You catch on fast.”

“I see. So you are willing to help with this case. What makes you think I will allow you to do so?”

Tigg sat in silence. She stared at Pendergast, trying to read his expression. Finally, she spoke.

“Because...you agree with Eli. I should be helping.”

“Mr. Glinn has reconsidered his plan. He now feels it may be too dangerous for you to be a part of the case.”

“What happened to make him change his mind?”

“What do you know about Jacob Darrow?”

“Tiny Darrow, the ‘Sheriff of Unusual Size’? Enough. He’s the bastard who let everyone believe my brother was responsible for what happened. He didn’t even bother to investigate further. ‘The murderer was killed at the scene. Case closed.’ Why do you ask?”

“He was murdered two days ago.”

Tigg looked startled. After a few moments, she collected herself and looked at Pendergast.

“And what does this have to do with the case? I’m sure there are plenty of people ready and willing to waste him. He is...was as crooked as they come.”

“Mr. Glinn believes the murder is connected to the case. He feels that the killer is watching those involved in both investigations and is eliminating those who could make connections.”

“Did Darrow come forward with information?”

“No. His reaction when the old crime was mentioned was...disconcerting.”

“Then I don’t see a connection, unless the killer has decided to eliminate everyone associated with the old crime. Have there been any other incidents?”

“Mr. Glinn did not mention any others.”

“What is your take on the situation?”

“I will need to gather more data before forming an opinion. If the killer is indeed monitoring the progress, it would be wise not to draw attention to yourself.”

“I don’t plan to.”

“What, pray tell, is your plan?”

“I want to help, but on the sidelines. You’ll be gathering information, and I can help your sort through it. Eli gave you a list of people associated with both towns and both families, right?”

Pendergast gave her a look of mild surprise.

“How did you know that?”

Tigg waved his question away.

“I told you, I understand how Eli thinks. Anyway, I can help you go through that list. I’ll know if anyone is important enough to interview. After all, it was my family. I can see a connection that you might not.”

Pendergast gazed thoughtfully at Tigg. She seemed slightly nervous under his gaze, but did not break eye contact, and the determined look on her face had not faltered.

“I am still curious as to your motivation.”

Tigg gave an exasperated sigh, jumped down off the tailgate and stepped up to Pendergast. She drew up to her full height and looked him straight in the eye.

“Look, I couldn’t do anything to save my family. I’m not even sure I could have prevented the murders from the present case, but I am damned sure that I need to do something to stop this bastard from killing again. If that means cooperating with you and even Eli I will do it. I chose my approach because I am doing what I think is best, and despite what Eli believes I am not crazy or unstable. Believe it or not, I have thought this through rationally, even though my past actions may indicate otherwise. I am putting a great deal of trust in you, Mr. Pendergast, and now you will have to do the same. We can work together on this, I’m sure of it. Are you?”

Pendergast gazed at Tigg thoughtfully. After several moments, he nodded.



Amelia Harding parked her car in the lot behind the Sheriff’s Office and headed for the back door. Detective Gregory had warned her over the phone not to drive her cruiser in to the office, and not to park out front. This was just after he had requested her presence at the office, immediately. When she had driven past the office to get to the back alley, she noticed a large number of people milling around out front. Upon closer inspection, she realized that they were members of the local and state press.

Wonderful, Amelia had thought. That explains Gregory’s mood.

Before she could unlock the back door, it swung open and a young state trooper ushered her inside. When she entered the main office, Detective Gregory stopped pacing the room and turned to her, his face livid.

“It’s about damn time!” he shouted. Amelia stared at him with what she hoped was an impassive look. She had made up her mind on the way over that she would not let him get to her.

“What seems to be the problem, Detective?”

Her calmness seemed to infuriate him even more. He stomped over to one of the desks, grabbed a newspaper and practically shoved it in her face.

“What do you know about this?”

She took the paper and scanned the headline: Corruption Rampant in Pine Mountain. Puzzled, she started to read the story. As her eyes swept over the page, she felt a chill go down her spine. My God...

“Well?”

“I...I never knew about any of this. I wasn’t exactly in Darrow’s confidences. To him, I was just an employee.”

“Then maybe you know something about how the press got a hold of this information. Someone kindly provided them with a whole packet of evidence on Darrow and his associates.”

The break-in, thought Amelia. Darrow must have kept his records in the office and someone knew exactly where to get them. The same person who murdered him.

“I already told you, I didn’t know anything about this.”

“So you said. Would you happen to have any idea who would have known about this?”

Amelia thought for a minute.

“Honestly, no, I don’t. All of his friends that I know about are mentioned, too. I can’t see any of them in the role of whistle blower.”

Detective Gregory glared at Amelia. He seemed to be struggling with the thought of asking the next question. Finally he spoke.

“Did Sheriff Darrow seem worried lately? Upset? Depressed, even?”

“Not that I...wait a minute. You think that he—?”

“We’re trying to cover all bases. In the meantime, the case will remain open. I’ve spoken to the District Attorney, and in light of these recent events, this office and will be placed under investigation and these allegations will be thoroughly examined. While the investigation is being conducted, this office will be under the control of the state police. All current employees will be placed on administrative leave until the matter is resolved.”

“Wait a minute, I—”

“Leave your gun and badge with Office Keckley, and make sure you’re available to answer the investigator’s questions.”

“But I—”

Without another word, Gregory turned, walked into Darrow’s office, and slammed the door.



Tigg sat cross-legged in the back of the truck, reading the list Glinn had provided. She was waiting for Pendergast, who was off on some unknown errand. After their confrontation, they had both climbed back into the truck and Pendergast had driven down the god-awful bumpy road for what seemed like an hour, finally stopping in front of a small dilapidated barn. Pendergast had instructed Tigg to stay in the back of the truck, out of sight, and promised to return shortly. As soon as he had left, she had gone to the front of the truck, found the list, and returned to her hiding place. The list was fairly short, with only ten people included, and only four of the names were familiar. Not much to start with, really. Her thoughts were soon interrupted by the sound of metal scraping lightly against metal. She looked up as the door of the truck cap opened, and gasped in surprise. A stranger with bushy brown and grey hair, a thick moustache, brown eyes, and wire-rimmed glassed was peering into the back of the truck. Tigg scrambled backward out of the stranger’s reach, grabbing her knapsack as she went and reaching for a suitable weapon. The stranger gazed at her with faint amusement and then looked own at the list she had dropped in her haste.

“I believe I told you to stay back here.” The stranger’s voice was familiar, with the honeyed drawl of a southern gentleman.

Tigg blinked in surprise.

“Pendergast?”

He nodded. Tigg crawled forward to take a closer look.

“What’s with the get-up?”

“As I previously mentioned, we believe the killer is keeping close watch on the investigation. If anyone who was involved with the first case suddenly appeared at the site of the second case it might agitate the killer, causing him to abandon the site and reducing the likelihood that he could be apprehended.”

“So you don’t want the killer to recognize you and take off to parts unknown. You might have clued me in, you know. I don’t like surprises.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes, indeed. Where did you get that stuff? Eli?”

“Some of it. I made my own arrangements for delivery of certain supplies after our meeting.”

“A regular boy scout.” She stared at him for a moment, studying the details of his disguise. Damn, this guy is good.

“So, what’s next on the agenda?”

Pendergast lowered the tailgate and placed a small leather case in front of Tigg. She eyed it suspiciously and then opened it. She stared at the contents, and then met Pendergast’s gaze.

“You have got to be kidding.”



Rebecca Jenkins checked the patient’s vital signs, made a notation on the chart, and gathered up her things to leave. She paused, then went back and looked at the man’s face carefully. He really did look familiar, and she was quite sure she had seen him somewhere before. She just wasn’t sure where. Cambry...Cambry...I know that name, too. Think, Becca, think. The question had been nagging at her all day. She shook her head and walked towards the door, pushing her cart in front of her. The door opened just before she reached it and Marilyn Carson, one of the other nurses stuck her head in.

“Ah, there you are Becca. Nicki needs to see you, she says it’s ‘important’.”

Great. ‘Important’ to Nicki usually translated to ‘I need you to work another shift’.

“Who called in sick this time?”

“Sonja. She’s still recovering from the ‘flu’.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. I’ve been here since 6 AM, I have an hour left on my shift, and I really don’t want to stand in for another eight hour shift, even if it is overtime. Can’t she get someone else?”

Marilyn shook her head. She opened the door wider to let Rebecca pass through and then looked over at the sleeping patient.

“How’s he doing?”

“The same. Dr. Aubrey gave you the special instructions, right?”

“Yep. I can’t for the life of me figure out why someone would want to kill a retired cop.”

“He’s a cop? Where did you hear that?”

“One of his former co-workers called to check on him, a woman from some little Podunk town in West Virginia. Pine Mountain, I think it was.”

With a start, Rebecca realized why Cambry looked familiar. She had met him once, at the hospital where she had gone to see...

“Becca, are you ok? You look a little pale.” Marilyn was staring at her with a look of concern on her kind, careworn face.

Rebecca shook off the memory with a shiver. She really didn’t want to think about that right now.

“Sorry, it’s nothing. I better go talk to Nicki. I guess I’ll see you later, especially if she has any say in the matter.” Rebecca gave Marilyn a weary smile and headed down the hall towards the nurse’s station.



An hour later, Rebecca walked to her car to retrieve her cell phone so she could call her husband. She knew he would not be happy, but there really wasn’t anything she could do about it. Nicki had listened to her arguments regarding the extra shift, but was apparently unmoved. When Rebecca reached her car, she unlocked it and climbed into the driver’s seat. She opened the glove compartment, removed the phone, and started to dial. Chris answered on the third ring.

“Hi honey, are you on your way home?”

“No, I’m sorry, I got stuck with another shift. I won’t be home until after midnight.”

“Again?!? Christ, Becca, they’re working you to death!”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You know, you really should...hang on, someone’s at the door. I better go answer it. The kids are still out in the back yard. I’ll talk to you later.”

Rebecca lowered the phone from her ear and turned it off. Damn you Nicki, and damn you, too Sonja. I just want to spend a little time with my family.



Chris Jenkins hung up the phone with a feeling of disgust. Those people just walk all over Becca, and she lets them. This is ridiculous. He was tempted to call the hospital and give that bitch Nicki holy Hell. He started to reach for the phone when the doorbell rang again. He walked through the living room to answer it and when he opened the door he found the last person on Earth he expected to see standing on the front porch. He stared for a moment and then stammered a greeting.

“Well, uh...hi there. Long, uh, long time no...uh...It’s been a long time.”

Yes, thought the killer, it certainly has.

Chapter 20    table of contents  

“Was there a full moon out last night or what?”

Sherri looked up from her stack of files, surprised at Quinn’s sudden outburst. He was sitting at his desk with his own pile of paper work, filling out reports from the incidents he had investigated that morning.

“We had five cases of vandalized property along Old Route 8 between here and Carterville, a domestic disturbance on Oak Ave, and a case of shoplifting at the Dollar Store on West Maple. Who the hell steals from a Dollar Store, for Pete’s sake?”

“What was vandalized on Old Route 8?”

“Mailboxes.”

Sherri suppressed a smile. Welcome to small town America.

Quinn signed the last report, stuck it in the folder, and placed it in the OUT box on the corner of his desk. He was about to start ranting again when the front door opened and a pair of strangers walked into the office. The elder of the two men had bushy brown hair, a thick moustache, wire-rimmed glasses, and was dressed in a tweed jacket with patches at the elbows. The younger man had thick black hair, a full beard, glasses with smoke grey lenses, and was dressed in an old army jacket and baseball cap.

“May I help you?” asked Sherri. The older man turned to her and smiled.

“I certainly hope so.” He took his wallet out his pocket, opened it and extracted a business card, which he handed to her.

“My name is Dr. Daniel Prescott. I am a professor of psychology and sociology at Bluestone State University, and this is one of my graduate students, Mr. Jack Crow. We are here to do field research for one of our projects. I was hoping to speak to your sheriff.”

“He’s very busy right now Dr...” She glanced at the card. “Prescott.”

“Please, I won’t take up too much of his time.”

Sherri sighed, rose from her desk, walked to Mathies’ office door and knocked.

“What kind of research are you doing?” asked Quinn suspiciously.

“We are doing a psychological, sociological, and economic assessment of the effects of violent crime on rural towns.”

“Effects? I can tell you the effects! People are scared shitless!”

At that moment, Mathies opened the door of his office. He glanced over at Quinn, then looked at the two strangers and asked, “What is going on here?”

“Ah, Sheriff Mathies,” said Prescott, “I was hoping to have a few minutes of your time.” He removed another card from his wallet and handed it to Mathies.

“As I’m sure Sherri here has told you, I’m very busy, Mr...” Mathies looked down at the card and stopped.

“Dr. Prescott. So pleased to make your acquaintance.” Mathies continued to stare at the card in silence.

“He’s here to do research,” offered Sherri. She looked back and forth between the two men. Prescott appeared calm, while Mathies looked startled, a mixture of emotions crossing his face. Finally, his expression cleared as he looked at Prescott with relief.

“Yes, Dr. Prescott,” said Mathies, “I do believe I can spare the time. Please, step into my office.”

Quinn could not contain himself any longer.

“Rick, what are you doing? We don’t—”

“Charlie, I need to speak with you, too. Just a minute.” Mathies opened the door wide in order to allow the two men to enter his office. “Please have a seat. I’ll be right there.”

He walked over to Quinn, put one hand on his shoulder, and said in a low voice, “Charlie, look, I really think you could use a break. You’ve been overworked lately, and frankly the stress is really starting to show.”

“But Rick, I don’t think—”

“Everything will be fine here, don’t worry. Why don’t you take a day or two of vacation? It’ll do you good. I’m sure you could use a rest.”

“What...whatever you say Rick.”

Mathies patted him on the shoulder, turned and walked back into his office, closing the door behind.

Quinn stared at the door, seething. I may take a day or two of “vacation”, but I’ll be damned if I’ll rest. There are just too many questions to be answered, and it looks like I’m the only one asking. After a few moments, her turned to Sherri and said, “Well, I guess I’ll see you in a day or two.”

“A day or two? Where are you going?”

“Rick thinks I need a break. I guess he’s right.” Quinn grabbed his coat and headed out the door.



Mathies studied the two men seated across from him. They didn’t look like profilers but perhaps this was all part of Glinn’s plan to keep a low profile.

“Thank you for coming. I...well, we’re really in a bind here. It’s been almost two weeks since the murders, and we have no leads. No physical evidence, not witnesses, not even a possible motive.”

The elder of the two men nodded.

“Mr. Glinn provided a copy of the case file. I must admit, the situation is perplexing.”

“Eli said that you would be able to help...” Mathies glanced at the younger man, “although I was under the impression that he was only sending one person.”

“Mr. Crow has certain skills which may prove to be crucial for analyzing the data that I collect.”

“Eli did mention to you the, ah, special situation surrounding this case?”

“Yes, and not to worry. Mr. Crow is completely discrete. However, I would appreciate if you would not mention his involvement to Mr. Glinn. He tends to frown on nepotism.”

“I see...”

Prescott removed a notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. “Now, Sheriff Mathies, do you have any new information for me?”

“Well...there was one thing that might be related to the case.”

“Yes?”

“A couple of days ago, a man came to the office to talk about the case. He said he had worked a similar case about 12 years ago. I didn’t talk to him but my deputy, Charlie Quinn did. Charlie said the man’s description of the case matched this one. He set up a meeting for the three of us but unfortunately the man was in an automobile accident that morning. He’s in the hospital. Charlie believes the wreck wasn’t an accident.”

“The man’s name?”

“Cambry. Brian Cambry. He said he was from a little town in southern West Virginia called Pine Mountain.” Mathies looked at the two men. Prescott seemed mildly interested as he jotted a few notes. Crow was as expressionless as before, but Mathies noticed that the young man’s knuckles were white from gripping the arms of his chair.

“Interesting,” said Prescott. “Is Mr. Cambry expected to recover?”

“We’re telling everyone he’s still unconscious and in very bad shape, just in case it really wasn’t an accident, but the doctors think he’ll be OK.”

Prescott nodded. He flipped to a new page in his notebook.

“Can you tell me anything else about the victims? Any personal knowledge or observations?”

“There’s really not that much to tell. The Zoller family moved here about ten years ago. They bought a farm out by the state forest and started raising grain and cattle. The seemed to be the perfect family, close knit and loving. Mr. and Mrs. Zoller were not all that social but they did do a lot of work for their church. As far as I know, the kids were all good students and never had any discipline problems in school. They were involved in community service through their church. They’d ‘adopt’ a senior citizen who had no local relatives and check in on them, take them on outings, cook, do yard work, that sort of thing. The two oldest boys received athletic scholarships to college, and the girls were working for an extra year between high school and college to earn some extra money. I talked to their employers, and they never had any problems with the work the girls were doing. I’ve never had any problems with the family. I don’t think any of them ever got so much as a parking ticket.” Mathies sighed. “There was no apparent reason for anyone to kill them, especially that way.”

“Were they involved in any activities outside of school or church?”

“Scouts, 4-H, community choir and band. I’ve talked to the fellow members of those organizations and no one remembers any problems.”

“What about outside of town? The old two boys were at college. Did you have the opportunity to question anyone with that connection?”

“They were separate colleges out of state. I did talk to their roommates, but they weren’t aware of any problems, either.”

“Are there any members of the community that you feel were particularly close to the family?”

Mathies thought for a moment. “There is one of the seniors that the twins spent a lot of time with who might be able to help you. Mrs. Willamette. She told me that the Zollers were more like a family to her than her own.”

“Her address?”

“She lives in that shotgun house on the corner of Water Street and West Maple.”

Prescott made another note.

“Tell me about the survivor.”

“Mark Zoller. He’s still in Good Samaritan. One of the neighbors found him running from the scene, screaming, and brought him in. The doctors say he’s suffering from severe Post-Traumatic Stress and is not really responding to treatment. He doesn’t have any immediate family in the area, and so far we’ve been unable to locate any elsewhere.”

“Have you considered the possibility that he...”

Mathies glared at Prescott.

“If you knew Mark, you’d know that’s impossible. That is about the only thing I’m certain of with this case.”

“I see. Would it be possible to visit the young man?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Anything else?”

“Not at the moment.” Prescott snapped his notebook shut and returned it to his coat pocket. Mathies waited until he was finished before asking the question that had been on his mind since the beginning of the meeting.

“Now, Dr. Prescott, can you tell me exactly what you’ll be doing to help?”

“I assure you, Sheriff Mathies, we have a plan, but it is rather difficult to articulate at this time. I will be able to give you more details after we have collected some data.”

“You think this ‘plan’ will work? We’ll be able to catch this bastard?”

Prescott nodded.

“How will you keep me updated on your progress?

Prescott handed him a sheet of paper. “This is the address where we will be staying. We can meet later this evening to discuss our progress.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Sheriff Mathies?”

“Yes?”

“Make certain you are not followed.”

“Uh, yes, of course.”

“In the meantime, I’ll need the crime statistics from the past month. We need to keep up appearances.”

“Certainly.”

“Thank you Sheriff Mathies. I look forward to working with you.”

Prescott rose from his seat, shook Mathies’ hand, and turned toward the door. Crow stood up and shoved both hands in his pockets. As he turned to leave, his coat caught a pile of file folders that had been sitting on the corner of Mathies’ desk. With a grumbled curse, Crow knelt down and began collecting the scattered files. He placed the retrieved back on Mathies’ desk, muttered a brief apology and followed Prescott out of the office.

Sherri looked up as the men stepped through the doorway. Mathies’ expression betrayed none of what had been discussed, but he gave her a brief smile.

“Sherri, have you complied the crime statistics for this month?”

“No, not yet, I’m afraid. Why?”

“Dr. Prescott is in need of a copy for his project.”

“Oh, okay. I could have them for you by tomorrow morning.”

“Splendid,” said Prescott. He turned to Mathies. “Thank you, Sheriff. Your information has been most beneficial.” He turned and strode out of the office. The surly young man with him gave Sherri one final look before following reluctantly.

Sherri watched the two men leave and turned to Mathies.

“Rick, what was that all about?” Mathies gazed after the men for a moment before replying.

“Research.”

Chapter 21    table of contents  

When they returned to their vehicle, Pendergast turned to Tigg with an expectant look.

“What?” she asked as she removed her smoke grey glasses and turned to glare at him.

“Your thoughts?”

“Not worth a penny.”

Pendergast raised an eyebrow.

“About Mr. Cambry.” Tigg thought for a moment.

“It looks like Eli is right. The killer doesn’t want a connection.”

“Anything else?”

“Not really.”

Pendergast regarded her thoughtfully.

“In the office, you reacted to Cambry’s name. Did you know him?”

Tigg stared at the floor for a few minutes and then reluctantly answered.

“Yes, I knew him. He’s a decent man, unlike the rest of that department.”

“Care to elaborate?”

She sighed. “He would come to see me in the hospital. His wife was one of my nurses, so he used that as an excuse to be there, but he would stay after visiting with his wife. He would sit and talk to me, hoping I would respond. I think he genuinely wanted to know what happened. Not that he didn’t believe the ‘official’ story, but based on the questions he would ask, he seemed like he wanted to understand the situation better.”

“For how long did he make these visits?”

“A couple of months, I guess.” She turned to Pendergast with anger in her eyes. “Until Tiny Darrow put and end to them.”

“How did he do that?”

“One day while Officer Cambry was there, Darrow showed up at my hospital room. He yelled at Cambry and told him to stop wasting time on a ‘lost cause’. Then he launched into a tirade where he said the most...vile things about my family, especially my little brother. He said that the man who shot him, Officer Sherman, ‘did the town a favor by wasting the little creep and saving the taxpayers the expense’. Then he said that it was too bad that Sherman hadn’t let my brother finish the job.” Her voice shook with rage. “Darrow truly hated me, so I suppose it shouldn’t have been a surprise. After Darrow left, Cambry apologized for what Darrow had said, but I hardly saw him again after that incident. I guess Cambry was just as afraid of Darrow as everyone else.”

“Why did Darrow harbor such animosity towards you?”

Tigg was silent for a few minutes. “That’s rather a long story. Let’s just say that his usual intimidation tactics didn’t work on me.”

Pendergast thought for a moment while Tigg drew several deep breaths to regain her composure.

“Interesting”, he said. “One would almost think you could have killed Darrow yourself.”

Tigg shot him a dirty look. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Merely an observation.” He drew out his notebook and scanned his notes. “Now I believe it is time to collect more data.”

“Mrs. Willamette?”

“Not yet. We require a broader range of opinions at this point.”

“So where will we find that?”

Pendergast pointed to a small restaurant directly across the street from the Sheriff’s Office.

“A diner?”

“Yes. I have discovered that such establishments have a certain draw for the locals and that they tend to gather at such place to, ah...exchange information.”

“You mean gossip.” Tigg regard the place with faint unease, she gave a short chuckle. “I’m not sure I can handle eating something I haven’t had to kill first...but I’ll try to manage.”

Pendergast nodded. They exited their vehicle and walked across the street.



Rick Mathies watched the two men leave with a feeling of trepidation. He didn’t like being “out of the loop” concerning his own investigation, and he was tempted to call Glinn to question his choice of personnel. Mathies went into his office to retrieve Glinn’s business card, and was about to dial the number when his cell phone rang. Surprised, he removed it from his pocket and checked the number. He recognized it immediately.

“Hi, honey. What’s going on?”

“Rick?” His wife, Joy, sounded upset. “Have you heard from Bonnie?”

“No. Why?”

“Her friend Lauren called. She hasn’t been able to get ahold of Bonnie so she called me to see if she was still here. I told her that Bonnie had left this morning and should be home by now. Lauren said that she had gone by Bonnie’s apartment but she wasn’t there. I tried her home number and her cell phone number myself after I talked to Lauren. She isn’t answering. Did she mention to you that she wouldn’t be going straight home?

“She didn’t say anything to me about it. Maybe it was a spur of the moment thing. You know Bonnie...”

“Maybe, but I’m worried, especially after...” Her voice quavered. “Maybe...maybe she had car trouble. She could be stuck somewhere where her cell phone doesn’t work. Could you...?”

“I’ll have someone check her usual route. Now don’t worry, Joy, I’m sure everything is fine.”

“You’re probably right. It’s just that—”

“I understand. I’ll see you tonight, okay? Goodbye, honey.” He pressed the END button and set the phone on his desk. He stared at Glinn’s card for a moment, sighed, and then picked up the phone.

“Sherri, can you call Patrick Campbell at the State Highway Patrol office? I need to call in a favor.”



Natalie Archer looked up from her task of refilling the coffee pot just as the two men entered the diner. She was slightly surprised to see new customers at this time of day. Sunday afternoons were generally slow and the diner was empty, except for a group of local men, regulars who were currently ensconced at their normal corner booth. Natalie was more surprised by the fact that she did not recognize these men. She knew just about everyone in Winstead, and out-of-towners tended to dine at the more upscale Café two streets over. She recovered from her surprise quickly, put on her professional waitress smile, and walked around the counter to greet them.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Would you like a booth or would you prefer to sit at the counter?”

“A booth, please, miss,” replied the elder of the two men.

“Right this way.” She led them to a booth near the middle of the diner, in front of a larger window that offered the best view of the street. As they approached, the group of men in the corner turned to watch the newcomers with mild curiosity. After the two strangers were seated the group resumed their conversation at a lower volume.

Natalie handed the men their menus and said, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you gentlemen in here before. Just passing though?”

The man who had spoken before replied.

“We’re here in Winstead to do research.”

“Really?” asked Natalie. “What kind of research?”

“We are examining the sociological, psychological, and economic effects of a certain, ah, phenomenon on small towns.”

“Phenomenon? What sort of phenomenon?”

“Mass homicide.”

The diner was suddenly quiet. Natalie looked over at the group in the corner. Then men were now openly staring at the two strangers. Natalie looked back at the elder stranger, who was gazing at her impassively as if such a thing was a completely ordinary topic of conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the younger man start to slide lower in his seat.

“Uh...I see”, stammered Natalie. “Well, uh...that’s interesting.” She noticed movement in the corner and turned. One of the group, a large menacing looking man dressed in camos and sporting a crew cut, had risen from the table and was walking toward her. He stopped in front of the table, crossed his muscular arms, and glowered at the two men.

“Mass homicide? You mean the Zoller murders, don’t you?” he growled.

“Yes”, said the stranger. “I do believe that was the name of the family. Did you—?”

“Are you cops? Feds? Investigating the murders?”

“No, no, we’re not investigating the murders themselves. We’re merely researching the effects of such an occurrence.”

“Effects? I’ll tell you the effects! People are scared sh—”

“Yes, yes”, interrupted the stranger. “We’ve already been informed of that. We’re more interested in the details. How the crime has affected the community economically and socially, not just, ah, psychologically.”

“Economically?” piped up one of the group, a paunchy, balding man with a thin reedy voice. “Bob here knows all about the ‘economic’ impacts. His business has been booming lately. He’s regaling making a killing. Ha, ha! Get it? ‘Killing’.”

“Shut up, Arthur!” growled Bob. “That’s not funny, just like it wasn’t funny the last hundred times you said it.” Arthur took one look at Bob’s expression and his jaw snapped shut. The stranger looked up at Bob with interest.

“What sort of business do you run, Mr...?”

“Peterson. I have the guns and ammo shop next door.”

“Ah, yes. In the face of such an event, people have a sense of lost security. The purchase of weapons for home and personal protection is quite a common reaction.” He pulled out a notebook from his jacket pocket and scribbled a few lines. “I would like to discuss this with you at a later time, if I may?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Peterson’s initial suspicion and anger seemed to be waning.

“Spendid. I’m Dr. Daniel Prescott, and this is my graduate student, Mr. Jack Crow. We’re from Bluestone State University—” Prescott was interrupted by Crow, who had succumbed to a sudden coughing fit.

“Are you okay, honey?” asked Natalie. Crow covered his mouth and nodded, still coughing. She brought him a glass of water. “That sounds like a nasty cold you have there. I’ll bring you some chicken soup, okay?” She hurried away, happy for an excuse to leave the conversation.

Prescott stared at Crow for a moment, then turned back to Peterson.

“Are you familiar with any of the other businessmen in the area? I would like to interview others as well.”

Peterson pointed to the rest of the group. “There’s some right there. Arthur Spiker owns the portrait studio and camera shop on the other side of my store.” The paunchy man smiled and waved. “Tony Vincenza has the auto repair business behind the Sheriff’s Office.” A young man with an olive complexion and piercing black eyes smiled thinly and nodded. “Steve Barton used to own the hardware store on the other side of this diner. Now he just works there part time, but I bet he knows more about what’s going on there than the new owner.” An older man with white hair and bright blue eyes laughed heartily at the comment and was joined by the rest of the group. “And last but not least, Harrison Carter owns the bowling alley and skating rink over on West Maple.” A light skinned African American man raised his hand in a mock salute. “I’m sure they could all give you an earful.”

Prescott finished writing in his notebook and looked up.

“I noticed a book store two doors down. Who owns it?”

“Jed Harlow,” said the men in unison, and then laughed.

“Crazy Old Jed,” said Barton. “I’m sure he’ll give you more than an earful.”

“If you’re lucky,” said Peterson, “he might also tell you about the time he found evidence of Bigfoot out at his farm. Called one of the biology professors from out at the college to verify it.”

“What did the professor conclude?” asked Prescott.

“Said he was full of sh—”

“Bob!” came a rough voice from the kitchen. “What have I told you about using that kind of language in here?”

“Sorry Sam,” said Peterson. He turned and smirked at the other men who were shaking with suppressed laughter.

“If you’re really lucky,” said Carter, still laughing, “he might even tell you about the time he and his friends were down in Point Pleasant and were attacked by the Mothman.”

“Friends?” asked Barton with a chuckle, “Which friends might those be? Johnny Walker and Jack Daniels?” The group roared with laughter.

“More likely is was just his girlfriend, Mary Jane,” said Vincenza, and the men laughed louder.

Prescott gave Peterson a puzzled look, and Crow starting coughing again.

“And if he’s feeling particularly talkative,” said Spiker, “he might even tell you about the satanists hew saw out in the state forest.”

The men became silent at once.

“Shut up, Arthur”, snapped Peterson. “You don’t need to be repeating that crazy crap.” Spiker turned pink.

“Satanists?” asked Prescott. Then men looked at each other uncomfortably.

“Jed said he saw someone dressed in black out in the state forest, near the Zoller farm, a few days before the murders,” said Spiker. “He said the person was performing some sort of ritual.”

“Did you report this to the Sheriff?”

“Jed did, and they checked, but they didn’t find anything,” said Peterson, glaring at Spiker.

“I see,” said Prescott. “Yet another common occurrence. People look to these, ah, fringe groups for scapegoats. Interesting.” He made another note and then glanced at his watch. “Goodness, is that the time? We need to be going. Miss?” he called to Natalie, who emerged from the kitchen with a steaming bowl on a tray. “Could we get that order to go? Make it for two, if you please.”

“Uh, yes, certainly sir.” She disappeared back into the kitchen. Prescott turned to Peterson.

“Thank you for your input, Mr. Peterson. It was most enlightening. We’ll be in touch.” Prescott rose from the booth and shook Peterson’s hand, then walked toward the register. Crow rose and followed after a backward glance at the group of men.



Sherri Watson knocked on Mathies’ office door and then opened it.

“Rick, Officer Campbell from the State Highway Patrol is on the phone. He says he has some information for you. Line one.”

“Thanks Sherri.” Mathies picked up the phone. “Hello, Pat. What do you have for me?

“We found your daughter’s car abandoned on the side of Route 133. No sign of your daughter. We think she might have failed to get a cell signal out here and tried to walk to find a phone. We’ll be checking with all the houses in the vicinity. I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Pat.” Mathies placed the phone back on the receiver with a sinking feeling. It’s just car trouble, he thought. She’s okay. She has to be. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Sherri opened the door and stuck her head in. Mathies looked up and when he saw her expression he felt a chill go down his spine.

“What is it, Sherri?”

“Ed Brandt called. He’s out at the Jenkins’ place. He says you need to come right away, you and Charlie. He says to bring the crime scene kit.” Sherri’s voice cracked. “He also said you should...you would probably want to call Dr. Crosslin in for this one...”

Oh God, thought Mathies, Not again.

Chapter 22    table of contents  

From across the street, Pendergast and Tigg watched Mathies rush out of the Sheriff’s Office, jump in his cruiser, and take off down Water Street at high speed.

“Now where do you suppose the good sheriff is going with such urgency?” asked Pendergast.

“Crime scene,” muttered Tigg.

Pendergast turned and gave her a sharp look.

“Uh...I’m guessing,” she stammered, shifting uncomfortable under his gaze.

Pendergast continued to stare at her. Tigg decided to change the subject.

“So, what did you get out of our diner visit?”

Pendergast turned away from her.

“I believe we have an appointment to keep.”

He started to walk across the street to their truck. Tigg followed, trying to keep up with his long strides. They climbed into the cab, Pendergast started the engine and guided the truck away from the curb and down Water street in the opposite direction the sheriff had taken. They rode in silence for several miles.

“What do you think we learned from our ‘diner visit’?”

“Excuse me?” asked Tigg, startled by the question as well as the break in silence.

“I would like to hear your evaluation. Tell me what you ‘got out of it’.”

“Besides chicken soup?”

Pendergast nodded slowly. Tigg debated his question for a minute.

“I didn’t recognize anyone, if that was the purpose for the visit.”

“Partially. What else?”

“If the killer is keeping tabs on the Sheriff’s Office, he would need an inconspicuous location from which to do so. The diner is right across the street and offers a good view of the Office, but there are several other businesses from which the killer could make his observations, either as a regular customer, an employee, or owner. Strangers are automatically noticed, so the killer is someone who is known to the locals and accepted.”

“Anything else?”

“Characters like that Harlow guy would be kept under closer watch. The killer has to appear to be relatively normal.” Tigg glanced over at Pendergast.

“However, those who aren’t busy fitting into a cookie-cutter existence may prove to have some very interesting insight into what really has been going on in this town. I have a suspicion that sometime in the near future we will be paying a visit to a certain whiskey-drinking, pot-smoking bookseller.”

Pendergast smiled thinly.

“You catch on fast.”



Julia Manning was having a really bad day. Sunday was supposed to be her day off but her father had insisted that she come in to the office to wait for a special renter. The man was supposed to arrive “sometime” that afternoon. Her father also insisted that she prepare the cabin for the renter, even though he normally felt that her cleaning skills were less than perfect. She had arrived well before noon, performed a more-thorough-than-normal cleaning job, and had the cabin ready and waiting by 1 PM. Now, here it was, almost closing time, and the man had not yet arrived. However, she was quite certain he would be there. Less than an hour after she had finished cleaning the cabin, a delivery truck had arrived with packages for the renter. A delivery driver who worked on Sunday was surprising enough, but the source of the packages was even more curious. They appeared to be from several gourmet food stores in Columbus, containing items that were pretty much unheard of in rural southeast Ohio. No extra business for the lodge dining room from this guy. That’s not going to make Dad happy, she thought with a wry smile. Her father had been increasingly difficult to live with over the past few years, ever since her two older brothers had declined to follow in his entrepreneurial footsteps. He desperately wanted them to join the family business and, much to his chagrin, he had to rely on Julia. Her dreams of pursuing a career in art had been dashed, as her father felt such a career was frivolous at best, and expressed his displeasure with the idea at the slightest provocation.

Now, instead of enjoying some free time, here she sat, stuck in this boring job. Since her father was not in today, she had snuck her sketch pad into her purse and brought it with her. She had spent most of the afternoon letting her imagination flow and her pen follow, but still could not feel as free as she liked with the threat of her father showing up unannounced and passing judgement on her activity still looming.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the bell attached to the front door and she quickly shoved her sketch book out of sight. She looked up to see a bushy-haired gentleman walking through the front door, followed by a younger, bearded, and sulky looking man. She put on her professional smile and rose to greet them.

“Hello. You must be Mr. Prescott. I’ve been expecting you.” She held out her hand. “I’m Julia Manning.”

“Dr. Daniel Prescott, and this is Mr. Jack Crow, one of my students.”

“Pleased to meet you.” She shook Prescott’s hand, and then offered her hand to Crow. He did not offer his in return, and appeared to be staring at her through his dark tinted lenses. Julia tried to fill the awkward silence.

“Some, uh, packages have arrived for you, Dr. Prescott. I had them moved to your cabin. Everything is ready for you, so I just need you to fill out the registration and renter’s agreement.”

“Splendid.”

She walked to her desk and the two men followed and seated themselves in the chairs in front. She slid the paperwork across the desk to Prescott and offered him a pen. He immediately began filling out the form, while Crow sat staring at her in silence. It was beginning to creep her out. Finally, she turned and openly stared at Crow, hoping to get a reaction. He immediately turned away and began looking around the office. She turned back to the other man.

“So, Dr. Prescott, my father tells me you’re here on important business.”

“Yes, Mr. Crow and I are here as part of a research project.”

“That sounds...interesting.” Julia had noticed that Crow now appeared to be staring at a wooden carving on a shelf above her father’s desk. Slowly he rose from the chair and started to walk towards it. Deciding that she better run interference, Julia got up from her chair and followed. When she reached him Crow was staring closely at the carving.

“Beautiful piece, isn’t it?” she asked in a loud voice. Crow jumped a little, then slowly nodded.

“It’s by a rather renowned Appalachian artist, John Ravenwood. He specializes in Native American folk art. Are you by chance familiar with his work?”

Crow nodded again, this time turning to look at her. Julia sensed an opportunity to display her knowledge of art, a rare treat in Winstead.

“I got this for my father at a gallery in New York. The agent said it was part of a series he called ‘The Crying Eagle’. If you look carefully, you can see the tears carved just below the eyes, standing out from the feather detail.” She pointed to the area on the carving. Crow turned his head to see where she was pointing. Julia continued with her description.

“The gallery owner said that Mr. Ravenwood never indicated what the series signifies. I suspect it’s a historical reference, a tribute to his Cherokee heritage and the Trail of Tears. I think the tears the eagle sheds express the sorrow of that event very well, don’t you?”

Crow turned back to stare at her, but neither spoke nor nodded his head. She looked at Prescott and saw that he was watching them with interest.

“All done?” she asked, keeping a wary eye on Crow.

“Yes, I believe so. If you would be so kind as to direct us to the cabin? We’ve had a rather long day.”

“It’s a bit a of a drive, so you can follow me in your car, and you can let me know if you need anything else after you see the cabin.”

“Lead the way.”

Julia walked to her desk to gather her purse. Prescott rose to follow her, joined by the still silent and staring Crow.



When they arrived at the cabin, Julia unlocked the front door and held it open while the two men passed through. The cabin had a large two story great room with a stone fireplace flanked by two doors that led to the bedrooms on opposite sides. The now well stocked kitchen was on the right as they entered. Crow set his knapsack down near the table, and both men inspected the cabin while Julia talked.

“Everything you need is here. Each bedroom has a private bathroom and a fully stocked linen closet. There’s a stereo and a TV with cable and a DVD player, and you can borrow those from the office if you want. The kitchen is fully equipped. There’s a phone in the kitchen if you need to make local calls.”

“Everything looks perfect,” said Prescott, returning to the front of the cabin. Crow silent walked to a bay window and gazed out at the woods.

“Let me know if you need anything,” said Julia.

“We will. Thank you so much for your trouble.” He took the key from her and handed her a folded bill. Surprised, Julia quickly transferred the money to her pocket.

“Enjoy your stay.” She stepped out the door and walked quickly to her car, glad to finally be heading home.



After Julia had left, Tigg walked to the front window and watched her drive away. Pendergast sat at the kitchen table and opened his briefcase, watching Tigg out of the corner of his eye as he did so.

“I’ll say one thing for you, Pendergast,” she said, still staring out the window. “You can create an effective disguise.”

“You know her?”

“We were at school together. She wanted to be an artist.”

“She appears to still have an interest in art. She’s quiet a fan of Mr. Ravenwood,” said Pendergast as he removed his laptop and placed it on the table.

“Yes,” said Tigg, her hoarse voice even softer than usual. “But she’s wrong about a few things.”

“What kind of things?”

“John wasn’t Cherokee. His ancestors never walked the Trail of Tears.”

“I see.”

“He also didn’t carve the ‘Crying Eagle’ series.”

Pendergast looked up, surprised. Tigg was still staring out the window. She remained silent for a few minutes. When she spoke again, her voice was lower than before.

“Last but not least, she was wrong about the tears. They aren’t being shed in sorrow. Or joy. Or even physical pain.” Without another word, Tigg withdrew from the window, retrieved her napsack and went to one of the bedrooms, closing the door softly behind.



Rick Mathies pulled into the Jenkins’ driveway and killed the engine. He looked out the window at the small neat sign swaying in the breeze: Jenkins Tax Services, Christopher R. Jenkins, CPA. He shook his head, trying to clear the troublesome thoughts creeping in, and pulled out his cell phone. He tried Quinn’s home number, then his cell. No answer at either. Damn it. He called the office.

“Win—”

“Sherri, this is Rick. Have you—?”

“I called Dr. Crosslin. She’s on her way.”

“Have you been able to get a hold of Charlie?”

“No. Maybe he went home for his ‘vacation’ and just crashed. He’s probably still asleep. Do you want me to send someone over to wake him?”

“No...yes, I do. ASAP. Thanks, Sherri.”

Mathies got out of his cruiser and walked toward the house, a small rambler set back against a large grove of trees. A non-descript blue pickup was parked in front of the garage. He saw Ed Brandt walk around the corner of the house as he approached and went over to him.

“Rick,” said Brandt, looking past him at the driveway. “Where’s Charlie?”

“Out on leave, but we’re sending someone to get him.” Mathies nodded towards the blue pickup.

“Who found them?”

“Leo Marsten.”

“Where is he now?”

“Er...puking, I think.”

Mathies lowered his voice. “How bad is it?”

“Bad. Worse than the Zollers, but...” Brandt looked troubled, as if he were unsure of how to continue.

“But what?” asked Mathies.

“It’s... different. Some similarities, but it’s not as, well, neat as the last one.”

“Not as careful?” asked Mathies. Maybe we’ll get something this time. Maybe he’s slipping.

“Not exactly. It’s—.” He was interrupted by the appearance of Marsten from the far side of the house, wiping his mouth and still looking a little green. Marsten spied Mathies and a look of relief crossed his face as he walked towards them.

“Later,” muttered Mathies. “Let me deal with this first.”

Marsten stopped in front of the two men. His normally ruddy, cheerful face was now drawn and grey, with dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in a few days. Mathies suspected he would really be spending a few sleepless nights after this.

“Rick,” said Marsten. His voice was subdued.

“Leo. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I came over to get my chainsaw. I got home from my fishing trip this morning and there was a tree down in my backyard so I decided to cut it up. I remembered that Chris had borrowed it a few weeks ago. I rang the doorbell but no one answered, so I peeked in the garage window and saw that Becca’s car was gone. I thought that maybe they had all gone out somewhere. I figured that Chris would have put the saw in his toolshed so I decided to go get it and I’d leave him a note telling him what happened. I walked around back and that’s when I saw...” He took a deep shuddering breath. “ I saw them.”

Mathies nodded sympathetically. Discovering murder victims was not something he would wish on anyone. Marsten took another deep breath and continued.

“I called Ed. I figured it would be faster that way.”

“Did you touch anything?” asked Mathies. Marsten turned green.

“No...no, I didn’t get that close. I knew that they were—.” He put his hand over his mouth and made a mad dash for the far side of the house. Mathies watched him disappear around the corner and then turned to Brandt.

“He said Rebbeca Jenkins’ car is gone. Did you check into it?”

“I called the hospital. They said she’s there, covering an extra shift.”

Thank God.

“Any idea when she’s supposed to get home?”

“Nicki said she was covering a ten-hour shift, so she’d be done at midnight.”

Well that’s one less thing to worry about, thought Mathies.

“OK. I’ll go talk to her after we finish here. I guess I better get started.” He walked to his cruiser and retrieved the crime scene kit from the trunk. He carried the kit back up to the house, set it on the ground, and turned to Brandt.

“Who else have you contacted?”

“Frank Andrews, since he was at the last scene. Bill Watson and Colin Sheehy are also on their way. Who else do you need here?”

“I—.” Mathies was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. The checked the number before answering.

“Hello, Sherri. Did you get a hold of Charlie?”

“No. I asked Bill to check on him. He said Charlie’s cruiser is in the driveway, but his personal car is gone. Bill checked the house and said it looked like no one is there.”

“Damnit. Where in the Hell could he be?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he took you seriously on that vacation thing.”

Mathies swore under his breath. Great timing, Charlie.

“Keep trying to find him. In the meantime, keep this current case quiet. We really don’t need a panic on our hands on top of everything else. Thanks, Sherri.” He hit the END button on his phone and slipped it into his pocket. He turned to Brandt.

“When Leo comes back, impress upon him the need to keep quiet about this. We have enough problems as it is.”

“Got it. Are you going to start on the scene now or wait until Charlie gets here?”

Mathies sighed.

“I’m not sure when he’ll get here. I’ll wait for Bill and Colin to start processing the scene.”

He turned towards the back of the house and decided that he really couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Right now I’m going to do a quick survey of the scene. Keep an eye on the kit for me, will you?”

“No problem.”

Brandt looked relieved that he wouldn’t have to return to the scene so soon.

As Mathies made his way to the rear of the house, he tried to put himself in the right frame of mind for what he was about to see.

Don’t think of them as people you knew. Don’t think about Chris Jenkins, always ready to help out with a budgeting or tax question. Don’t think about Robin Jenkins, pitching a no-hitter in last year’s Junior League final game. Don’t think about little Caitlyn Jenkins and how much she reminds you of Bonnie at that age.

He stopped.

Bonnie...

He shook his head, trying his damnest not to think about that nagging worry in the back of his mind.

You’re at a crime scene. There are victims who need your full attention. They deserve at least that much. They deserve to have their killer found.

Mathies stepped into the backyard and stared at the tableau that met his eyes. All his thoughts, worries, and reasonings were immediately forced from his mind. All except one.

Oh Dear God...

Chapter 23    table of contents  

Rick Mathies stood by the Jenkins’ house, clipboard in hand, surveying the work that was being done on the scene. Ed Brandt and Bill Watson had finished “walking the grid” and were now setting up scales and markers to take photographs of the victims in situ. Frank Andrews had just returned from searching the house. These initial searches, both of the house and the yard, had produced nothing. Mathies hoped that something would turn up during Dr. Crosslin’s examination of the bodies, but he wasn’t holding forth too much hope. The killer was careful enough not to leave a trace, even though he wasn’t careful about some other things, thought Mathies. His thoughts were interrupted by his police radio.

“Rick? Are you there?” Colin Sheehy, who had lucked out and drawn guard duty, sounded nervous. His normal traffic patrol duty hardly prepared him for something like this.

“Yeah, Colin, I’m here. Maintaining radio silence,” said Mathies with more than a touch of sarcasm.

“Oh, OK. Can you come out here? There’s...uh...someone here to see you.”

Idiot. What part of ‘maintain radio silence’ does he not understand?

Without responding, Mathies returned his radio to his belt and waved to Brandt. Brandt finished placing a marker and walked over.

“What’s the matter, Rick?”

“I need to go out front. Can you keep the log here for a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

Brandt took the clipboard and walked back towards the bodies. Mathies made his way to the front of the house. When he rounded the corner, he saw that Dr. Crosslin had arrived with one of her assistants and were idly chatting with Sheehy. When Dr. Crosslin caught sight of Mathies she raised a hand in greeting and walked over to him.

“Hello again, Sheriff Mathies.”

“Dr. Crosslin, thank you for getting here so quickly.”

“I must say, I was rather shocked that you needed me again so soon. I’m starting to wonder if maybe there is ‘something in the water’ down here.”

“I’m starting to wonder the same thing.”

Dr. Crosslin removed a folder from her clipboard compartment and handed it to Mathies.

“As luck would have it, I found this on my desk when I went in to gather our equipment. It’s the final toxicology report for the last case. I’d be happy to go over it with you after we finish here.”

“Final report? Took them long enough.”

Dr. Crosslin gave him a reproachful look.

“Now Sheriff, you know that the Tox Lab is always backed up. Every case that comes through our office is required to have a chemical autopsy, even if we don’t do a physical one. They do the best they can.”

“Oh...yes, of course.”

“Are you ready for us now?”

“Yes. Follow me.”

Dr. Crosslin and her assistant picked up their respective scene cases and followed Mathies to the back of the house. When the scene finally came into view, Mathies heard a sharp gasp from behind him. He turned around and saw that Dr. Crosslin was standing, frozen, staring at the bodies, a look of horror replacing her carefully crafted neutral expression.

“Dr. Crosslin?”

Her assistant was looking at her with concern. She jumped a little at the sound of his voice, then shook her head. After a brief moment her normal professional calm had returned.

“Craig,” she said, with a slight quaver to her voice that belied her expression, “why don’t you start unpacking the equipment. I need to have a word with the Sheriff.”

Craig looked at the Sheriff, shrugged, and carried his case over to the other side of the yard.

“Dr. Crosslin? Is everything all right?” asked Mathies, worried that he had missed something crucial.

“You didn’t tell me there were children involved,” she said through clenched teeth.

“I...I’m sorry,” stammered Mathies. “I thought...Are you okay?”

Dr. Crosslin took a deep breath.

“I prefer to be informed of such things ahead of time. It gives me the chance to...get in the correct frame of mind.”

“There’s a ‘correct frame of mind’ for this?” blurted Mathies before he could stop himself.

Dr. Crosslin turned and gave him a weary look.

“Not really. But I...I have to achieve a greater level of detachment. Adults, we see all the time. We get used to it. But children...” She thought for a moment. “You know, our laws are supposed to ‘protect the most innocent members of society’. When I see something like this, it just brings home to me how utterly those laws have failed us.”

“Will you be able to—?”

“Yes. Just give me a few minutes.” She knelt down and opened her scene case. She appeared to be checking over the contents, but Mathies knew she had other things on her mind. After several minutes had passed, she snapped the case shut, rose to her feet, and looked up at the darkening sky.

“We better get started. It looks like it’s going to rain.”

“Right. I’ll make sure Ed and Bill are finished.”

Dr. Crosslin glanced at the two men who had been working on the scene with surprise.

“I would have though you’d want a crime scene tech with more...ah...experience for a case like this. Where is Char...Officer Quinn?”

That, thought Mathies, is a damned good question.



Charlie Quinn guided his car down the rough dirt road, narrowly avoid several large potholes. He stopped the first mailbox he had seen since turning onto the road and checked the address. Before leaving Winstead, he had contacted an old friend, another “retiree” from the NYPD who now worked for the West Virginia State Highway Patrol. The man had been quite happy to help Quinn track down a certain female deputy in Pine Mountain.

When Quinn had made sure that the address on the mailbox matched the one he had been given, he turned his car down the driveway which proved to be even rougher than the road. After about 500 yards, he stopped in front of a small but neat clapboard house. A small grey car was parked in front, and the tail end of a police cruiser with Pine Mountain Sheriff’s Office in bold letters across the trunk was sticking out of a small detached garage about 20 yards from the house. The house was shuttered tight. Quinn decided to check and see if anyone was home anyway. He climbed out of his car and walked up the front steps to the porch. He was about to knock when the front door swung open. Quinn suddenly found himself staring down the twin barrels of a shotgun. He slowly raised his hands and directed his attention to the person holding the gun: a woman, mid-thirties, with short light brown hair and angry hazel eyes.

“What the Hell do you want?” she snarled.

“Are you Amelia Harding?” asked Quinn cautiously.

“Who wants to know?”

“I’m Deputy Sheriff Charles Quinn from the Winstead Sheriff’s Office. We spoke yesterday on the phone...”

A look of panic crossed the woman’s face.

“Let me see some I.D.” Her voice was shaky.

Quinn slowly reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the leather wallet that held his badge and identification. He opened the wallet and held it out to her. She snatched it from his hand and read it, glancing up at him every few seconds. Finally she lowered the shotgun and stepped out of the doorway, a mix of emotions crossing her face.

“What are you doing here? Is this about Brian?”

“I’m here about Mr. Cambry and the reason he came to visit Winstead.

A look of shear terror appeared on her face almost instantly. She stared out into the yard behind Quinn, her eyes darting back and forth, searching the darkening woods at its edge. She stepped back into the house and motioned for Quinn to follow. He walked through the front door, and she took one last look into the yard before closing the door and locking it.

“How is Brian? Is he—?”

“He’s going to be fine.”

Amelia’s shoulders sagged with relief. Thank God. At least there’s one less thing to worry about. But for how long?

“You shouldn’t have come here. Brian should never have come to see you. This is all a mistake.”

Quinn gazed at her, a series of thoughts running through his head. Finally, he spoke in a low voice.

“You’re worried that what happened to Brian and to Darrow is going to happen to you. You don’t want to be involved in connecting two cases that just might get you killed.”

Amelia looked at him with shock.

“How did you—?”

“Let me tell you what I know. Twelve years ago, a family is murdered in this town, and the suspect is killed at the scene. The details are kept out of the papers, and the case is buried. Several months later, the sole survivor disappears. A search is made, but she is never found. Two weeks ago, another murder occurs in another state, and this time word gets out. One of the people who worked the original case notices the similarities and comes to Winstead to compare notes, believing at first that it is probably a copycat who somehow found out about the first murders, but later finds out that the modus operandi is virtually identical. Unfortunately for this well meaning individual, the killer is keeping an eye on the Sheriff’s Office and when he arrives, recognizes him from the previous case. The killer decides to silence him by cutting his car’s brake line and causing him to have a terrible accident. The man’s appearance in Winstead has made the killer very nervous, so the killer decides to eliminate the only other person who could connect the two cases, Sheriff Darrow. How am I doing so far?”

Amelia stared at Quinn with a sinking feeling. This was not going to end well, she was sure of it. Quinn stared back at her for a brief moment and the continued.

“After this terrible car accident involving Mr. Cambry, one of the officers from the scene of the second murder starts to get suspicious. He calls the Pine Mountain Sheriff’s office to talk to Mr. Cambry’s old co-workers and gets the Royal Brush-Off. This officer is now completely convinced that there is a connection between these two murders and decides that what he really needs to do is come down here himself and find out just what exactly the Hell is going on. Now, have I missed anything?”

“Just the fact that by coming here the officer has now put himself and anyone he talks to about the case in serious danger,” snapped Amelia. “If the killer does find out, his life and theirs won’t be worth a plugged nickel.”

“Ah, yes,” said Quinn. “But since this officer is quite aware of this fact, he makes sure no one knows that he came here and that he wasn’t followed. He’s also fairly sure that given the circumstances, a certain employee of the Sheriff’s office is well aware of the dangers to herself and others and realizes that the only way to stop living in fear is to help the officer catch the killer. She would also be the best person to ask about who would provide the information the officer needs and still be ‘completely discreet’, reducing, if not eliminating the danger to all concerned.”

Amelia leaned back against the door as she realized this situation was not going to be avoided.

“You’re playing with fire. You realize that, don’t you? And in this case, I mean that literally.” She walked over to a small desk in the corner and removed a photograph which she handed to Quinn. He looked at it with surprise.

“What is this?”

“I found it in my desk yesterday morning. That is, or was, Darrow’s shed. The killer left me a very clear message.”

Quinn turned the picture over and read the statement.

“‘The Eastman Case is closed.’ Well, not for me, it’s not.”

Amelia slammed her fist against the wall, making Quinn jump.

“You just don’t get it, do you? Darrow was the biggest, meanest son-of-a-bitch I ever knew, and this guy took him out with ease. Do you really think we can stop him? We’ll never see him coming!”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Darrow got taken out because he wasn’t expecting it. Brian was an easy target because he wasn’t expecting it. We know what’s out there now, so we can protect ourselves. We can fly under the killer’s radar because we know it exists!”

“But what if he is already aware that we know? He could be out there right now, ready to pick us off as soon as we leave here.”

“I seriously doubt the killer is still in Pine Mountain.”

“What makes you say that?”

“That picture. Its purpose is to maintain your silence. Now the killer isn’t worried that you’ll talk to anyone, and therefore doesn’t need to be here to watch you. Right now just keeping an eye on the Winstead office is going to be the main concern. I didn’t come straight here from the office. I know no one followed me. What we do here will be secret, as long as whoever we talk to will keep a confidence.” Quinn suspected his words were finally beginning to get through to her. “Do you really want this hanging over your head for the rest of your life?”

“No...”

“Well then, help me. Tell me who we can talk to about the old case. Help me find the killer. If I can find a connection, it might lead me to her.”

“Her? You think the killer is a woman? Why?”

“Just a suspicion on my part. I’ll fill you in, I promise, as soon as we get something more concrete.”

“‘We’? What’s this ‘we’ crap?”

“I can’t very well go talking to people here by myself. They know you and they’ll be much more willing to talk to you than some stranger.”

He has a point there, thought Amelia. Christ, this is crazy, but I guess I don’t have much of a choice.

“Fine. I’ll go along with you here, but I’m not leaving the town. I can’t...”

“Because you’re currently on the short list of suspects in Darrow’s murder.”

“Damnit, do you just know everything?!?”

“I have a friend who works for the state police.”

“Great. Why don’t you get that ‘friend’ to help?”

“Because I need your help. Do you know who we can talk to?”

Amelia thought for a moment.

“There’s always Mr. Woodward.” She checked her watch. “Actually, if we hurry we can catch him before he and Matilda head out for their evening walk.”

“Let’s go.”



Tigg woke with a start. The room was dark and she automatically reached for her lantern on the small nightstand that stood next to her bed. When she couldn’t find it she sat up in panic. Suddenly the memory of where she was came back to her: a rental cabin in Winstead, working with Pendergast. Ah...Hell. She looked over at the clock next to the bed as was surprised to discover she had been asleep for several hours. When she had left Pendergast in the living room and had locked herself in, she had immediately gone into the bathroom to remove her disguise. After trying unsuccessfully to wash off all of the makeup in the sink, she had decided to take full advantage of having access to a real hot shower after almost eleven years. Then, wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe from the “fully stocked linen closet”, she had lain down in the bed, telling herself she was just resting her eyes before getting dressed and going out to apologize to Pendergast for her abrupt exit. Now, several hours later, she wondered what he had been doing in her absence.

As she rose from the bed to get dressed, a remnant of her jumbled dreams, a phrase relayed in a high unnatural voice, played in her mind. She shook her head, trying to shake the voice. After her initial attempts at Eli’s suggested ‘dream journal’, Tigg had made it a point to try and forget her dreams. All they ever did was cause her mental anguish. None had ever been helpful, and any attempts to make anything out of them had only resulted in frustration. For years, she had been successful. But now it seemed they were coming back. Still unhelpful, though, especially when the only thing remembered was a single phrase. Not all that significant, really. What could it mean? Nothing. It could even apply to her current situation, a subconscious warning that she should never have left the safety of Black Mountain. Silly to think it could have been a clue from the event that had changed her life forever.

She opened her knapsack, found a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, pulled them on, and stalked off to the bathroom to brush her still-damp hair. As she combed, brushed, and then braided, she stared into the mirror, something she hadn’t done much of in the last few years. No big loss. You weren’t really all that wonderful to look at then, and you certainly aren’t now. Her eyes slowly followed the twin lines of scars across her face to the white streak in her hair. Suddenly, unbidden, the voice from her dream played across her mind once again.

You’re not supposed to be here!

Chapter 24    table of contents  

Charlie Quinn guided his car down the steep gravel driveway and parked in front of the garage doors of the moss-green split level house. Amelia Harding sat in the passenger seat, her eyes scanning the darkening yard.

“Matilda isn’t here. They must have gone off for their walk already.”

“She isn’t? How do you know?” asked Quinn.

Amelia pointed towards an empty dog kennel, the door swaying slowly in the breeze.

“Oh.”

“We can wait until they return. I’m sure it won’t be long, as neither one of them is all that spry anymore.”

“Fine.”

The two of them sat in silence. Quinn went through the questions he wanted to ask, carefully planning so as not to alarm or offend. Briefly his thoughts strayed to what Mathies would think of this whole escapade, which made him even more determined to return to Winstead with something to show for his travels.

“What makes you think the killer is a woman?”

Quinn quickly turned to Amelia, startled by the suddenness and directness of her question.

“What—?”

“You heard me. Why a woman? I would think the level of violence would indicate a male.”

Quinn could tell he was being needled.

“Just a hunch.”

“So you said before. What exactly is the basis for this ‘hunch’?”

“Something funny from the old case.”

“Such as?”

Quinn turned to face Amelia. Her hazel eyes were regarding him with a mix of suspicion and amusement.

“I don’t buy the whole ‘disappearance’ of the survivor thing. I can’t believe that someone who was supposed to be mentally out-to-lunch could just walk out of a hospital unnoticed and disappear.”

“So...you think the killer came and took her, and that a woman in the hospital with nurses all over the place would be less likely to be noticed?”

“Not exactly.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow.

“Well? What then?”

“I don’t think the ‘survivor’ was mentally out of it. I think she planned her escape before someone really figured out what happened. I think she was the killer.”

Amelia stared at him for a moment, then threw back her head and laughed. It was a genuinely beautiful laugh, and if it hadn’t been at his expense, Quinn would have enjoyed listening to it. Instead, he sat in stony silence, waiting for her laughter to subside. When she finally regained control of herself, Amelia turned to Quinn with a chuckle.

“And they say cops don’t have a sense of humor.”

Quinn glared at her and she swallowed a smile.

“You’re serious? That kid, kill her whole family? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“No crazier than thinking the other kid killed them all, now is it?”

“But...she was attacked, too. Badly injured. Surely you don’t think she did that to herself?”

“Of course not! I think her brother attacked her after he saw what she was doing. Maybe he escaped before she got to him. He had some injuries, right?”

“Well, yes, but the police assumed it came from his fight with his sister...”

“I’m sure he did, except his wounds were the defensive wounds, or from getting the knife away from her. He was actually subduing her when the cops showed up and shot him. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“But...that still doesn’t explain the new killings. Why wait 12 years, and why kill a whole other family if she had already eliminated her own family?”

“That’s part of what I hope to find out.”

Amelia stared at Quinn and shook her head. How the Hell do I get myself into these things?

“I don’t buy it. You still haven’t explained how it couldn’t be an outside killer who abducted her from the hospital.”

“If it was another person, why would they have waited until she was fit to get rid of her? Why not take her out when she was much more vulnerable? It’s obvious the hospital security was pretty lax. If she was in such bad shape it would have been easy to do something and it might even have been written off as natural bad luck.”

“But...” Amelia struggled to find another aspect of this crazy idea to question. “What about a motive?”

“No one needed a motive when they believed it was the son. They all thought he ‘just went crazy’. Maybe she just went crazy instead. Only her insanity is much more controlled. And long term, because she’s still killing.”

“I...” Amelia noticed a flash of light at the top of the driveway. “I think you better keep this idea to yourself for now. Mr. Woodward thought very highly of the Eastmans. He might not be too helpful if you start accusing their youngest daughter of serial murder.”

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

Amelia opened her door and climbed out of the car. Quinn followed suit, and saw that two figures were now descending the steep driveway. As they drew close, he could see the first was a dark shaggy beast of indeterminate parentage. It started to bark ferociously.”

“Quiet, Matilda,” said the other figure in a deep, rather gravelly voice. The barking stopped abruptly. The figure stared at Quinn for a moment and then turned to Amelia, removing his red knit cap and bowing slightly.

“Greetings, Miss Harding. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hello, Mr. Woodward. This is my...an acquaintance of mine who is, uh, looking into a certain event in the history of Pine Mountain. I told him that you could provide him with some...background information. He would like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right?”

Quinn was surprised to notice that Amelia’s normally brash voice was now quiet and respectful.

Mr. Woodward turned to Quinn and regarded him with deep-set, heavily lidded eyes. Suddenly Quinn had the impression that he was back in school again and was about to be questioned over some violation of rules he had carelessly committed. He shifted nervously.

Mr. Woodward slowly extended his hand.

“Ralph Woodward.”

Quinn cautiously shook the man’s hand.

“Charles Quinn.”

“Will this be a lengthy interview, Mr. Quinn?”

“I...I believe so, yes.”

“Fine. Let us go inside and be comfortable. As I understand, they are predicting storms for later tonight. We would not want to be caught out in them, correct?”

“Uh, no, Sir.”

“Good. Come along, Matilda.” He turned and walked towards the house with Matilda following along behind, her bushy tail waving jauntily in the stiffening breeze. Quinn looked at Amelia, who shrugged, and they both followed the pair up the front steps and into the house.



Mathies watched Dr. Crosslin’s assistant slam the door on the Medical Examiner’s van. The removal of the bodies from the scene had taken less time than expected, but the job appeared to have exhausted the young man. He turned to Dr. Crosslin with a weary look.

“All ready to go, boss.”

“Thank you, Craig. I need to speak with Sheriff Mathies for a moment. Why don’t you go take a break?” Dr. Crosslin looked exhausted as well, but Mathies knew she would be working through the night. He doubted she would be able to sleep anyway.

“No problem.” Craig walked to the front of the van and climbed inside.

“What’s on your mind, Dr. Crosslin?” asked Mathies after Craig was out of earshot.

“I obviously can’t give you anything definite until I get back to the office and...have a closer look, but there are some things about this that don’t add up.”

“Like what?” Mathies was afraid he already knew what she was going to tell him.

“While the general...display of the bodies was similar, there were several differences. These people were simply tied to the cross-pieces, while the others were actually tied and nailed to them. The cuts made on the bodies do not appear to be as deep, and are from a different angle.”

“How different?”

“As if a different hand made them. The first scene was done by a right-handed person, while this one appears to be the work of a left handed person.”

“Go on.”

“The bodies at this scene weren’t drained. There’s much more blood, and appears that their throats were cut after they were placed on the crosses. I can’t be sure until I examine them more closely, but I think the children may already have been dead when their throats were cut.”

Jesus.

“Any...anything else?”

“You know this just as well as I do: no symbols.”

All the details we kept out of the papers. Something an outsider would not have known. Ah Christ, this is just what we need.

“You think this was done by someone else. A copycat.”

She looked up at him with and expression of sadness edged with fear.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Christ. What kind of person would want to...imitate such a thing?”

“That’s a good question. Almost as good a question as ‘who would do such a thing in the first place?’ I’m guessing that you still haven’t been able to answer that question?”

“Not yet. We’re working on it.” And now we have “help”. God, I hope Glinn knows what he’s doing.

Dr. Crosslin looked up at him and sighed.

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate of me to say. You are doing your best, and I know how frustrating this kind of work can be. You really didn’t need this kind of complication.”

“No, we didn’t.”

They stood in silence for a few minutes. Finally Dr. Crosslin spoke.

“I guess I better get going. We’re going to have a lot of work to do tonight. I’ll have the results of the autopsies for you as soon as possible. Take care, Sheriff Mathies.” She walked over to the front of the van and climbed in.

Mathies watched the van head slowly down the driveway. He turned and walked around the house to the back yard where the rest of his men were finishing up. He waved them over to where he was standing.

“What’s up?” asked Brandt.

“I don’t think I need to remind you all about maintaining your silence about this case. We truly do not need a panic. Talk to no one, understand? Not even your family.”

“What did Dr. Crosslin have to say about the case?” asked Watson.

“She... we believe that this is the work of a different killer.”

“Oh that’s just fucking great!” exploded Brandt. “Two nutcases on the loose!”

“One or two, it doesn’t matter. We need to catch them both, but we don’t need to give them any more of a motive to continue. At least one of them wants attention. We need to keep the focus of the public off these cases, or we may have more. Understand?”

The men nodded.

“Fine. Let’s pack up and get out of here. I’ll deal with...Mrs. Jenkins.”

“I don’t envy you that,” said Watson.

Neither do I.

Thunder rumbled and lightning streaked across the darkening skies.

“We better hurry. It looks like it’s going to rain any minute.”

The men gathered up their equipment and carried it out to Mathies’ cruiser. After the equipment had been packed securely in the trunk, the men climbed into their respective vehicles and drove off. Mathies climbed into his own cruiser and shut the door. He opened up his clipboard and saw the report Dr. Crosslin had brought.

Damnit, he thought. I forgot to have her explain all this. I guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow. He sat for a moment, thinking, then pulled out his cell phone and tried to call Bonnie again.

Still no answer.

He was about to call the office when the phone rang. He checked the number.

Good timing.

He pressed the SEND button to answer.

“Pat. Have you found her?”

“Sorry, Rick. We checked at all of the houses within a five mile radius. No one has seen her. Maybe she was able to call a friend and get a ride home?”

“She’s not home, and she’s not answering her cell phone. I just checked. Could you—?”

“You know the rules, Rick. She hasn’t been gone for 48 hours.”

“Screw the rules! You know what we’ve been dealing with down here. What if her disappearance has something to do with our case?”

Campbell was silent on the other end. After a few moments, he spoke in a much lower voice.

“I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, you really sound like you could use a rest.”

“You think I can rest, when—?”

“I understand. Really, I do, but you’re not doing her, your case, or yourself any favors in that condition.”

Mathies sighed.

“I’m sorry, Pat. I know you’re trying to help. Please, do what you can. And thanks.”

“You’d do the same for me, Rick. Take care.”

Mathies pressed the END button on his phone and snapped it shut. He sat in silence, mentally preparing himself for the task that lay ahead.

What can you say to someone in a situation like this? I need to lessen the blow, but is that really possible?

He reached down and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, and he guided his cruiser down the driveway, just as the first large drops of rain spattered the windshield.



Bonnie Mathies lay on her back, one hand resting against the stone wall, listening to the thunder as the storm drew nearer. After her initial bout of screaming panic she had passed out. The pain in her arms woke her, and the realization of her situation had almost caused her to scream again. Instead, gritting her teeth against the pain, she had struggled to free her wrists from the shackles that encircled them. Finally, after what seemed like hours of twisting her hands back and forth against the iron bands, she had managed to free one of them, scraping it badly in the process. The pain helped to clear her head, and after resting for a few moments, she had gone back to work on freeing the other hand. Finally, with both hands free, she had been able to sit up. She had tried to free her ankles from the shackles as well, but that proved to be impossible. The cellar was pitch black, save for a thin shaft of light which barely illuminated the top of the steps on the other side of the room, and she had been unable to find something that might be used to pry open the iron rings. She had crawled as far as she could toward the stairs, only to be brought up short by the shackles. Now I know what a dog on a chain feels like, she had thought. Exhausted and frustrated, she had finally collapsed by the wall, trying to ignore the pain in her throat from her screaming and from thirst.

You’re such an idiot. How could you have allowed yourself to be scared by such a stupid little “ghost” story. You’re an adult, Bonnie. You’re too old for such nonsense. What’s worse, you gave that...asshole the satisfaction of seeing you freak out. You should have known better. You should have listened to Mother and taken the highway. If you had, you never would have wound up in this mess.

Bonnie’s mental self punishment had not helped her mood, and after awhile, she realized that while it was pointless, it was also mostly untrue. Eventually, now mentally as well as physically exhausted, she fell asleep.

Several hours later, she had awoken to the sound of thunder. Now she lay, looking up into the dark, counting the seconds between the rumbles of thunder and trying to figure out how close the storm was. The ridiculous nature of her occupation suddenly came to her, and she almost laughed.

Here you are, essentially buried alive, and you’re worrying about a stupid storm. Get a grip, Bonnie.

Eventually she heard the patter of rain on the door that led to the cellar. She listened, thinking how that sound had always been comforting to her. Now it simply reminded her of how thirsty she was. Suddenly something hit her forehead, and she almost screamed. She felt exquisitely stupid when she realized it was just dripping water. Water...

She moved her head so she could catch the drops in her mouth. The first tasted like mud, and she nearly spit it out.

Don’t be such a wimp. It’s better than nothing.

As she caught the next few drops and grimaced at the taste, a memory rose in her mind. It was of her father, laughing as he encouraged her to catch snowflakes on her tongue, both of them standing out in the first snowfall of the season. It seemed like a century ago.

Oh Dad. If anyone could find me here, it’s you. Please...

Once again, that nagging voice of self-admonition returned.

You wouldn’t be in this situation if you had listened to your parents. You should have known better...

No, thought Bonnie. I couldn’t have known. There’s no way I could have known that one of my closest college friends would turn out to be a serial killer.

Chapter 25    table of contents  

“Are you sure about this, R.J.?”

R.J. turned to Jessie and gave him a look of disgust.

“You’re not chickening out now, Jessie. We’re all in this together.”

“But R.J., what if we get caught?”

“We won’t get caught if you keep your mouth shut about it! We’ve all got our alibi: we went to the movies down in Bluefield. We’ve got the ticket stubs to prove it.”

“But what if someone saw us sneak out? I could have sworn—”

“No one saw us. I checked. After we finish here we just have to go back to the theater and wait for the movie to get out, mix in with the leaving crowd and make sure someone knows we were there. Simple. As long as no one...” He gave Jessie a menacing look. “No one freaks out and slips up.”

“But what about our fathers...”

“They’re meeting with that jerk tonight. They’ve got their alibis, too, they just don’t know they’ll need one.”

Jessie was about to ask something else when he was interrupted by the arrival of Brad and Brent, each carrying an empty carboy.

“All done?”

“You bet, R.J. We soaked the place good,” said Brad.

“The car, too?”

“Yep. Time for a little bonfire or two,” said Brent with a grin.

R.J. smiled, but there was no humor in it.

“Let’s go.”

“But R.J.—?”

R.J., Brad, and Brent all turned to glare at Jessie.

“What now?”

“What if she’s in the house?”

“That’s the idea, Jessie,” said R.J. Brad and Brent shifted nervously.

“But that’s...” Jessie didn’t dare say the word murder.

“What she did to Uncle Jake, isn’t it?”

“I’m really not sure about that, R.J. I mean, come on, you don’t really think that she—?”

“I do.” R.J. looked at Brad and Brent, who nodded. “Any other questions?”

“Uh, no, I guess not.”

“Good. Now let’s get to it.” R.J. started walking towards the house and withdrew a cigarette lighter from his pocket as he did so. “That bitch is going to pay.”



Quinn and Amelia followed Mr. Woodward into the house and down the stairs to the lower level. The room they entered was lined with book shelves on three sides and contained an old leather sofa, several chairs, and a large carved wood desk.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Woodward took their coats and disappeared down the hall. Quinn settled onto one end of the sofa while Amelia chose a wing chair opposite the desk. Quinn looked around the room and was gazing at the pictures on the far wall when he felt something gently lean on his leg. He looked down and saw the dog was sitting in front of him with an expectant look in her dark brown eyes. He reached over and started to scratch behind one of her ears. She laid her graying muzzle on his knee and closed her eyes with a look of complete contentment.

“At least Matilda likes you.”

Quinn looked up at Amelia. She was gazing at the pair with an amused expression, but Quinn thought he heard a note of sadness in her voice.

“So it seems.”

“I’m not sure what her owner will think of you when he hears what you came to talk about.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, so you said.”

Quinn was about to retort when Woodward returned, carrying three cans of ginger ale. He handed one each to Amelia and Quinn and then set his own on the desk. He brought his desk chair around to face the two of them and sat down.

“Well, I see at least Matilda is comfortable,” said Woodward with a dry chuckle. He turned to Amelia.

“I was sorry to hear about your...work situation, Miss Harding...Amelia. I certainly hope everything gets resolved quickly.”

“Yes, so do I,” said Amelia in a low voice.

“Well, Mr. Quinn, what part of Pine Mountain’s history is of interest to you?”

“I’m interested in a rather, ah, tragic even that occurred here about 12 years ago. There was this family that was...murdered, and—”

“The Eastmans,” said Woodward, staring at Quinn with a strange look on his face.

“Yes, that’s the family. I’m looking for some background information on them as well as the event.”

“Why are you interested in this ‘event’?”

“I’m...ah...writing a book on the subject.”

“I see.”

“I was hoping that you—”

Woodward leaned forward in his chair and stared at Quinn, his heavily lidded blue eyes boring into Quinn’s own. After several moments, Quinn dropped his gaze. Woodward leaned back in his chair and regarded Quinn thoughtfully before speaking.

“What has Amelia told you about me, Mr. Quinn?”

“Um, not much...sir.”

“Then I shall enlighten you. I’m a former history teacher. I taught high school for twenty years. After that, I was a vice-principal for five years and a principal for fifteen. During that time I dealt with all sorts of students and heard all sorts of stories from those students when they had to try and explain their behavior. One thing I gained from that experience, Mr. Quinn, was the ability to immediately detect when someone is being less than truthful with me. Now, would you like to tell me again why you are so interested in the murders of the Eastman family?”

Quinn flushed with embarrassment. He glanced sideways at Amelia, who biting her lip and appeared to be trying not to laugh. Finally he was able to look up at Woodward, although he did not dare try to meet his eyes.

“I’m interested in the case because I don’t believe the official story. I don’t believe that the youngest son went crazy and killed them.”

“You and I are in agreement there, Mr. Quinn. What else?”

“A couple of weeks ago, there was a family that was murdered in my district. Over the course of the investigation, I learned of the case that happened here 12 years ago, and that certain aspects of the two cases were virtually identical. After eliminating the possibility of a copycat, I had no choice but to conclude that the same person was responsible for both.”

“So why do you need the...information you are seeking from me?”

“I need to find out what the Eastman family was like so I can find a connection between the two cases. I’m certain the murders are linked, and the information could prove to be useful. You knew the Eastmans. Please, tell me what you can. We may be able to prevent future murders if I can find the connection quickly.”

Woodward stared at Quinn for a long time, his face unreadable. Finally, he spoke.

“What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about the family.”

“Very well. Isaac Eastman was a veterinarian who mostly dealt with the livestock, and also raised sheep, goats, and rabbits. He generally traveled to see his patients, but he had a small clinic on his farm. Marie taught English at the college thirty miles north, Reliance University. She was much more outgoing than her husband, but they were both wonderful people, very dedicated to the community and to their family.”

“What can you tell me about the children?”

“They all attended my school. All except the youngest, of course. Zachariah, the eldest son, intended to follow in his father’s footsteps and was in vet school. Rita, the eldest daughter, was the practical one in the family. She had quite a head for business, and helped her father with his practice doing the paperwork and also basically ran the household. Michelle and Matthias, the twins, were in college studying nursing and agriculture, respectively. Michelle was the beauty of the family, and sometimes had her head in the clouds, but she was a good kid. She always wanted to help people. Matthias was a tinkerer, as my father would say, and was always fixing stuff around the farm and for other people. Lucas, I didn’t know all that well because he attended a school for the deaf in Charleston and was usually only home every other weekend. When I saw him with his family, he always seemed happy. They were close, despite him being away so much.”

“There was another child, wasn’t there? What can you tell me about her?”

“Eleanor was...well, exceptional. She spent most of her childhood in the library, according to her mother. She was always looking for information, always asking questions, always exploring. She also had quite a talent for repairing things, mostly radios and other gadgets. Eleanor excelled during her years in primary school, and she received special permission to start taking college classes when she was just thirteen. That worked out well, because our school didn’t have the advanced level classes she should have been taking. It kept her from being bored.” Woodward chuckled at the thought.

“She wanted to go full time, but her parents decided that she was too young to go away to college and they didn’t want her to skip high school. She attended in the morning and took one or two college classes each semester. In between all that she managed to find time to help out other students, tutoring them in math and science. She was about to graduate from high school and was planning to finish college in New York where she would be working part time at an engineering firm.”

Quinn wrote furiously, trying to keep up with the narrative. He thought a moment, then continued with his questions.

“Did any of the kids have any problems at school?”

“Problems?”

“Threats, fights, anything like that?”

“No, they were all well behaved, well liked...but there was one incident. It was relatively minor.”

“What happened?”

“When Eleanor was a junior, one of the members of the football team decided to...touch her inappropriately while she was walking through the hallways. She retaliated, and the young man required a couple of stitches.” Woodward chuckled dryly. “She was absolutely mortified by what she had done. She claimed it was a reflex action learned in a self-defense class, and apologized to the young man profusely. He decided to let the matter drop.”

“What was his name?”

“Jason Marshall.”

Amelia gasped. Quinn turned to her in surprise.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I used to work with him and... he never mentioned that incident.”

“Well maybe we should ask him about it.”

“You can’t. He’s dead.”

“What?!” Quinn almost shouted. Matilda opened her eyes to see what the commotion was all about and gave Quinn a reproachful look.

“It was a hit and run, a couple of months ago. No witnesses, no conclusive evidence.”

“Who did the investigation?”

“Darrow.”

Woodward watched their exchange with a worried expression.

“An unfortunate accident. Police work can be quite a dangerous profession,” he said, trying to defuse the situation.

“I don’t think—” Quinn caught himself.

“Right. Anyway... Did anyone in the family ever have any problems with someone from outside the town, or in the town even that has since left?”

“Not that I am aware.”

Quinn decided to take a gamble.

“Did the Eastman family have anything to do with a family by the name of Zoller?”

“Zoller...Zoller....no. They never mentioned anyone by that name, at least not to me.”

Damn it.

“Wait a moment. Zoller. That was the family that was killed in Ohio a couple of weeks ago. Is...that your case, Mr. Quinn?”

Quinn nodded.

“But they were crucified. The Eastmans weren’t killed like that.” Mr. Woodward turned to Amelia with a pained expression. “The sheriff here reported that they had just been...stabbed.”

“Apparently Darrow felt that the details of the crime should remain quiet. I don’t think he wanted the publicity.”

Woodward’s face was ashen. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Amelia glared at Quinn.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Woodward,” she stammered. “We really didn’t mean to come here and upset you.”

“I had...no idea. How awful.” Matilda raised her head and gazed at her owner. After a moment, she left Quinn and walked over to Woodward where she rested her chin on his knee. He stroked her head absently as he stared off into space. Quinn shifted uncomfortably under Amelia’s gaze.

“Those poor people, I can’t even imagine anything more horrible... No wonder Eleanor was so traumatized. I can’t imagine how terrible it could have been for her if she witnessed such a thing.” He spoke in a low voice, almost to himself. He was silent for several minutes. Finally he was able to look at Quinn.

“Is there anything else you need to know?”

“I—”

“No, thank you Mr. Woodward, I think Mr. Quinn has all he needs,” interrupted Amelia. “We appreciate you taking the time to answer the questions, and we’re very sorry you had to hear such upsetting news tonight.”

“It’s all right, Amelia. I’m sorry that the truth was hidden for so long.”

“One more thing, Mr. Woodward,” said Quinn. “I’d appreciate it if you would not mention this...visit to anyone. Our case is still under investigation, and, well, we need to keep as much under wraps as possible.”

“I understand.” He rose from the chair, and Quinn followed suit.

“I’ll go get your coats.” He walked down the hallway out of sight.

“What the Hell is the matter with you?” whispered Amelia through clenched teeth when Woodward was out of earshot. “You didn’t need to upset him like that!”

“I didn’t think—”

“Obviously not!”

“Look, I...forget it. I’ll explain later.”

Woodward re-appeared, carrying their coats. He silently handed them to Quinn and Amelia.

“Mr. Quinn, there is one more thing I need to tell you about the Eastman family.”

“OK.”

“Twelve years ago, a young pup was found running down the road near the Eastman’s property. She was in bad shape, and it looked like someone had tried to do surgery on her without the benefit of anesthetic. Eleanor found her, brought her to her father, and the two of them fixed her up the best they could. Eleanor was going off to college, so she couldn’t keep the dog. She brought her to me. My wife had recently passed on, and I... was not handling it well. Eleanor knew this, and she said she thought the pup and I could help each other deal with terrible things that had happened. She was right.” He paused, and looked down at Matilda. “It was one of the best things someone could have done for me. I suppose it sounds a little silly, but it really did help. Eleanor’s act of kindness won’t be forgotten.”

Quinn looked down at his feet, trying to hide the mix of emotions he was feeling.

“Now, Mr. Quinn, could you do something for me?”

He looked up at Woodward. Those piercing blue eyes were now filled with sadness.

“Yes?”

“Find who did this. Bring them to justice. That’s all I ask.”

“I...I’ll do my best, Mr. Woodward.”

Woodward led them up the stairs to the front door. When they had passed through, he shut the door behind them, and returned to his study. He withdrew a photo album from one of the shelves and carried it over to his desk. He flipped through the pages until he found the one he wanted. It showed a teenaged girl, laughing as the furry puppy in her arms was licking her face. A man and woman were standing behind her, looking on with expressions of amusement, pride, and a little sadness. Woodward stared at the picture for a long time, then glanced down at the dog at his feet.

“Bring them justice, Mr. Quinn,” he whispered. “That’s all we ask.”

Chapter 26    table of contents  

Tigg cautiously opened her bedroom door a crack and peeked out. She could see that Pendergast was still seated at the kitchen table with his back to her, his attention focused on his opened laptop computer. When she was sure no one else was present, she quietly opened the door further and slipped into the living room. Her bare feet made no noise on the hardwood floor as she made her way to the kitchen. She had almost reached the table and was trying to get a glimpse of the computer screen when Pendergast turned around. He regarded her calmly and his ice blue eyes held a look of mild amusement. With as much dignity as she could muster, she walked around the table and lowered herself in the chair opposite Pendergast. They stared at each other for a minute before Pendergast spoke.

“I trust you have found the accommodations to be satisfactory?”

“Yes...thank you. Look, Pendergast, I—”

“I hope you remember that the sheriff will be stopping by some time this evening.”

“Yeah, well, I can just go back to my room. He doesn’t need to see me.”

“True.”

“I guess you will need a bit of time to get ready to see him yourself, otherwise you, uh, might have a little trouble explaining your...color change.”

“I find the contact lenses to be rather uncomfortable.”

“Oh...Well, anyway, I need to—”

“While we are waiting for Sheriff Mathies, I believe we will have sufficient time for a light repast. You may stay there, and I will prepare it.” He rose to the table and walked towards the refrigerator.

“You can cook?”

He nodded.

“Oh, sorry, that was...not polite. Speaking of, uh, rudeness, I need to apologize for my behavior earlier. I was...”

“Distraught?”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Understandable, considering the circumstances.”

“Uh, yeah, right.”

Pendergast withdrew several items from the refrigerator and set them on the counter. He worked in silence and Tigg’s attention turned to the pile of documents next to the computer. She noticed a small wooden carving sitting next to the pile. She recognized it immediately, and pondered the reason for its’ presence. She then turned back to the pile of documents and carefully removed the first sheet of paper on top of the pile. It was the list she had seen earlier, containing the names of people connected to both her family and to Winstead. She studied it again, hoping to recognize more names, but the four she had noticed before remained the only familiar ones. She set the paper aside and reached for a thick folder which now sat on top of the pile.

“I do not think you are ready to view that yet.”

Startled, she snatched her hand away and turned around to find Pendergast standing behind her, a plate of food and some silverware in each hand. He placed one setting in front of her and carried the other around the table where he placed it in front of his own seat. Tigg looked down at the layers of red, green and white on her plate.

“What’s this?”

“Insalata caprese.”

She examined it carefully and then cut off a small piece and tasted it. She looked up at Pendergast, who seemed to be enjoying his own insalata and continued eating. Suddenly, she realized how hungry she had been and soon her plate was empty.

“I see the caprese was to your liking.”

“It was...a nice change from fried rabbit.”

Pendergast collected the dishes and carried them to the sink. He returned to the table and sat facing her once again. He nodded at the list.

“Have you found anything useful?”

Tigg pointed the first name she recognized.

“This one you already know about: Julia Manning.” She pointed to two other names. “These two also were at school with me. I guess you’ll want to go talk to them?”

Pendergast nodded.

“Anyone else?”

Tigg pointed to the fourth and final name.

“He went to school with my brother.”

“I see.”

“I seriously doubt any of those people had anything to do with either crime.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

Tigg started to retort but thought better of it. Instead, she stood up, reached across the table, and picked up the wooden carving. She set it down in the middle of the table and looked up at Pendergast for several moments. Finally she spoke.

“Let us talk about this, shall we? I’m going to guess that you purchased it from Gus Bridgier at the general store back in Black Hollow, probably after you spoke with me. Correct?”

Pendergast looked at her thoughtfully and nodded.

“You left it in plain sight, certain I would see it. You hoped I would decide to talk about it. Either you wanted to determine if it was worth what you paid for it...” Pendergast smiled thinly.

“Or you hoped it would serve as some sort of focus piece to prompt me to ‘open up’. I would start talking about my time on Black Mountain, and then, with a little gentle prompting and some carefully crafted questions, you would get me to reveal to you would you couldn’t glean from my journals.”

Pendergast’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“You don’t need to use any tricks with me, Mr. Pendergast. I said I would help, and I will. I’ll tell you what you need to know when and if I see it or remember it.”

Pendergast said nothing and continued to gaze a Tigg with an expression she couldn’t read. Exasperated that she had been unable to prompt some sort of action from him, she continued.

“As of right now, I don’t really have anything for you. I’m hoping something will click soon. I want to catch this guy as much as anyone. If that means reading something you think I am not ‘ready’ to see, I’m willing to do so.”

Pendergast appeared to contemplate her statements. They sat is silence for several minutes. Finally he spoke.

“I will prepare the file for your viewing. Please excuse me for a moment.” He picked up the file and walked to his room. Tigg sat at the table, drumming her fingers on the surface, and mentally smacking herself for the way she had handled the situation. Unable to sit still any longer, she got up and started to clean the kitchen. The process of performing such a mundane chore helped to calm her nerves. When she was finished, she turned back towards the table and was surprised to see Pendergast seated there, watching her with an unreadable expression. He rose from his chair and held out the file.

“This is the case report from the Zoller murders. I have removed some of the more...unsettling photographs. You may now peruse it at your leisure.”

“Uh...thank you. I’ll see what I can do.” She walked to her room and glanced back at Pendergast. His back was towards her and he appeared to be absorbed in something on the computer screen. She walked into the room and quietly closed the door behind. She stood with her back to the door for a moment, mentally preparing herself for what she was about to do. She walked over to the bed, set the file down on it, and reached for her knapsack. She withdrew several worn books from the sack, placed them on her bed next to the file, and then opened the file. She opened the top book, set it down next to the file, and began to read.



As he pulled out of the driveway, Quinn glanced over at Amelia. She was staring straight ahead, her arms were crossed over her chest and she looked pissed off. He decided not to press his luck by talking to her. Quinn started to go over the information he had gotten from Woodward in his mind as they drove back to Amelia’s house. The mixture of emotions he had felt when Woodward made his request remained: embarrassment, anger, disgust, and doubt.

What if I am wrong? If there is someone else, I don’t even know where to begin. I’ll never live this down, and I’ve made at least two people very angry with me. Nice going, Charlie. So much for cop instinct.

He was starting to think how he would make amends to Amelia when he saw a sign for the Pine Mountain Methodist Church and Cemetery. Something clicked in his memory, and he decided to pull off into the small parking lot and stop. Amelia turned to him with a look of anger mixed with curiosity.

“Going to pray for forgiveness?”

“Were the Eastmans Methodist?”

“Yeah...why?”

“Are they buried here?”

“Do you really think there are two Methodist cemeteries in a town this small? Of course they are. Why do you care?”

“The Zollers were Methodist, too. Maybe this is some sort of...religion thing.”

“Seems a bit of a stretch, even for you.”

He ignored her comment and looked through the open gates into the cemetery beyond.

“I think...I’m going to go find their graves.”

“What the Hell for?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I will ask them for forgiveness.”

“You don’t need to take that tone with me.”

“Sorry. It’s just something I need to do. It might help me make a connection.” Quinn got out of the car and started walking towards the open gate. Amelia gritted her teeth, opened her door and followed.

“I’ll show you. It’s over this way, near the south wall.”

They had walked for maybe a hundred yards when Quinn saw a large black tombstone with the family name carved across the top.

As they approached the family plot, Quinn could see that it had been well cared for, and what appeared to be fresh flowers had been carefully placed on the base. He stopped in front of the large tombstone and read the inscription.





“ ‘KBTG’? What does that mean?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. It was added about five years ago when she was declared legally dead. Her guardian apparently requested it, but didn’t give an explanation.”

Quinn was staring at the stone again when something else occurred to him.

“Lucas isn’t on here. Why not?”

Amelia sighed.

“There was a big outcry from some influential members of the community. They didn’t want a ‘mass murderer’ in the same bone yard as their beloved relatives. The minister was also worried about vandalism. I guess the people handling the estate decided it would just be easier to have him buried somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“I have no idea. Now, can we go, or do you want to get out your Ouija board and question them, too?”

Quinn turned and gave her a dirty look.

“Have you always been such a smart-ass?”

“Have you always been such a...never mind. Let’s go.” She stalked off towards the car and Quinn followed.



They drove in silence for a couple miles. Finally, Quinn spoke.

“Are there any relatives of the Eastmans left in town?”

“No, why? Did you want to harass them, too?”

Quinn ignored her barb.

“Someone has been taking care of the family plot. I was just wondering who it was.”

Amelia wondered if it was wise to give Quinn any more information. Finally she decided to answer.

“He’s not a relative, but when they were alive he was practically part of the family. “

“Who?”

“Gabriel Montgomery. He was Eleanor’s...friend from high school.”

“Where does he live?”

“Just south of Charleston. He comes down here every weekend to visit and tend to things.”

“How far—?”

“We’re not going up there tonight. You can call his office in the morning and make an appointment.”

“What does he do?”

“He works for the Department of Children and Family Services.”

“He’s a social worker?”

“Yeah. A very well respected one, too.”

“I guess I’ll have to borrow your phonebook when we get back.”

Amelia gave him a dirty look.

“You can call from your hotel room. I’m sure they’ll have one.”

“I...don’t have a hotel room.”

“Then I guess you better find one.”

Quinn was about to retort when he decided he deserved that. He drove on silence until he saw the sign for Amelia’s road. Quinn guided the car around the corner and was almost run off the road by a car going at high speed in the opposite direction. He pulled off onto the shoulder and looked back, trying to catch a glimpse of the license plate.

“Damn kids,” muttered Amelia. “They must know it’s open season with the cops so busy and all. I—.” She heard Quinn’s door open and turned to see him stepping out of the car, his gaze fixed on the woods several yards away.

“What are you doing?” She got out of the car and followed his gaze. The tops of the trees were illuminated by a strange orange glow that seemed to originate just beyond the woods.

“What the Hell?” Suddenly, she realized she could smell something burning.

“Is that—?”

“Let’s go,” said Quinn, and they climbed back into the car and took off down the road towards Amelia’s house. When they reached her driveway, they could see flames shooting up above the trees. Quinn drove as close to the house as he dared and stopped just in time to see the flames completely engulf the building. Amelia stared, open-mouthed and speechless with horror. Without a word, Quinn jammed the car in reverse, backed down the driveway, and accelerated away from the house with a screech of tires against the gravel.

I was wrong, thought Amelia. Yesterday was not the worst day of my life.



Mathies stepped out of the elevator onto the fifth floor of Good Samaritan and walked towards the Nurses’ Station. He went over what he was going to say, knowing full well that there was no easy way to break such news to someone. He always had hated doing notifications, delivering bad news and standing uncomfortably while the recipient struggled to comprehend. He knew this notification was going to be particularly difficult.

“Well, hello there Sheriff Mathies. What brings you here this evening?”

He turned towards the voice and saw Marilyn Carter, one of the senior nurses. She was looking at him with an expression of friendly concern.

“I need to speak with Rebecca Jenkins. In private.”

Marilyn’s face fell. She knew exactly what such a request meant.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“There’s been...an incident. I really need to talk to her.”

“I...I’ll go and get her.” She walked down the hall and disappeared around a corner. Mathies waited, feeling more and more uncertain that he would be able to handle this.

Soon he heard the squeak of rubber soled shoes on tile and turned to see Rebecca Jenkins walking towards him with Marilyn following close behind, a look of extreme worry on her careworn face. Rebecca raised her hand in greeting and froze when she saw Mathies expression.

“Mrs. Jenkins,” began Mathies, “I’m terribly sorry to have to tell you this, but...your family...”

Suddenly, as if struck, Rebecca collapsed to the floor. Mathies rushed forward.

“Mrs. Jenkins? Rebecca?”

Marilyn knelt beside Rebecca, trying to awaken her. Mathies knelt down next to Marilyn and looked at Rebecca with deep concern.

“What happened? Will she be all right?”

“Not for awhile,” said Marilyn in a shaky voice. “This was just too much for her. Don’t worry Sheriff Mathies. We’ll take care of her.”

“I...I’ll need to speak with her eventually,” he said, feeling worse with every second.

“I know, Sheriff,” Marilyn said sadly. “I know.”

Two other nurses had rushed to the scene and were staring at Mathies and Rebecca. Marilyn turned to them.

“Well, what the hell are you gawking at? Go get a gurney. We need to get her downstairs. Move!”

The nurses scurried away. Marilyn turned to Mathies.

“I...think its best if you left now, Sheriff. She’s not going to be ready to see you any time soon. You really don’t want to make matters worse, do you?”

I don’t think that’s possible.

“You’re right. Please let me know when she’s ready, will you?”

Marilyn nodded slowly. After one last look at the crumpled figure on the floor, he turned and made his way back to the elevator.



For a long time, Mathies sat in his cruiser, unmoving, the scene in the hospital playing over and over in his mind. He slammed his fist into the steering wheel in frustration and anger.

No one should have to deal with that! No one!

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. With a feeling a trepidation, he withdrew the phone from his pocket and checked the number. A flood of relief rushed over him and he immediately flipped the phone open and pressed the SEND button.

“Bonnie Lynn Mathies, where in the Hell have you been?! Your mother and I have been worried sick about you!”

Silence.

“Bonnie?”

A low, hoarse chuckle emerged from the other end. It sent chills down Mathies spine. After another moment of silence, a voice he had never heard before spoke.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff, Bonnie can’t come to the phone right now. She’s a little...tied up.”

“Who is this?” asked Mathies in a croaking whisper.

“Oh, I think you know, Sheriff. You’ve been looking for me for quite some time. Almost two weeks, in fact.”

“You—!”

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

“Fun! Because of your ‘fun’ two innocent children are dead!”

“Children? I’ve killed no children, Sheriff. Surely you must be mistaken.”

“A copycat. Another decided to do the same thing, thanks to you!”

The killer chuckled again.

“I see. Someone was inspired. Well, you know what they say: imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“You sick bastard!” Mathies could barely control the fury he felt.

“Tut, tut, Sheriff. Such brash insults hardly become you. You mustn’t...jump to conclusions. Besides, shouldn’t you be concentrating on something else? Dear, sweet little Bonnie.”

Mathies felt as though his veins had suddenly been filled with ice water.

“Where...where is she? What have you done to her?”

“Oh, nothing special. I’ve just been giving her a history lesson. But then again, I don’t really know how she’s faring now. Poorly, I suspect. How long, do you suppose, someone can survive in that state? No food, no water. Nothing but darkness.”

“You—!”

“Let us see how good your investigative skills really are, Sheriff. If you can find her, I won’t stop you from taking her back. If you find her. Focus on that, Sheriff. After all, one’s own family is the most important thing, right? Forget your other cases.”

“I...I can’t do that!”

“Pity. I guess you’re not the father you’ve been made out to be. Poor Bonnie will be so disappointed...if she lives to find out.”

There was silence on the other end. For a moment, Mathies thought the killer had hung up, but then he heard a mocking, sing-song voice.

“My Bonnie lies over the ocean...my Bonnie lies over the sea...my Bonnie lies over the ocean...so bring back my Bonnie to...me.”

Mathies heard one more hoarse chuckle and then the connection was broken. He stared at the phone in his hand, gripping it until his knuckles turned white. After a long moment, the phone fell from his grasp. Slowly, he put his hands to his face and sobbed.

From the shadows of the hospital building, the Sheriff’s grief was visible to the one who delighted in it.

I know you’ll try to find her, Sheriff. You’ll spend your time and effort on that...and maybe on chasing down the “copycat”. You’ll be so occupied with your own tragedy you’ll never see the next one coming.

A cold, cruel smile crossed the killer’s face.

Perfect...

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