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Chapter 22

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...

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