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Chapter 7

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.

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