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Chapter 12

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.

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