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Chapter 23

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!

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