---

Chapter 3

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.

---