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Chapter 9

Charlie Quinn sat at his desk which was covered with evidence reports from the Zoller murders. He probably knew them all by heart, but he kept looking, hoping that something, anything, would help him find a connection to the killer. Rick Mathies had been interviewing anyone who had even talked to a member of the Zoller family, and he too had come up with nothing. “Maybe I’m just not asking the right questions,” he had said to Quinn. Maybe there are no right questions to ask, Quinn had thought. He could see that the case was eating Mathies’ up inside. He had been working almost non-stop on the case, and the stress was really starting to take its toll. Mathies had looked more haggard in the past few days than Quinn had ever seen him, and Quinn had finally convinced him to take the afternoon off. “I can cover for you,” Quinn had said. “A little rest will help you to clear your mind, see things you might miss when you’re worn out.” Mathies’ had reluctantly left an hour ago, and Quinn had fielded his calls from those people whom Sherri was unable to discourage. Luckily, the number of calls had started to diminish. For some people, apparently no news was good news. The murderer hadn’t struck again, so maybe he had left, or it was a one time thing. They’re deluding themselves, thought Quinn. This guy isn’t going to stop. He enjoyed his work too much...

The front door opened and a middle-aged man walked in. He had iron grey hair and a thick mustache, and wore jeans with a long-sleeved t-shirt that was a little tight over his protruding stomach. He saw Sherri and walked over to her. She looked up at him, and then glanced over at Quinn.

“May I help you, sir?” asked Sherri.

“Uh, yes. I’m looking for Sheriff Rick Mathies.”

“I’m sorry, he’s not in the office at the moment. Perhaps I can help you?”

“Well, I...I have some information that might be helpful to the Sheriff on one of his recent cases.”

Quinn perked up. This might be interesting. Then again, it could just be another crank.

“I’ll handle this, Sherri,” said Quinn. He walked over to the stranger and extended his hand. “Deputy Sheriff Charles Quinn.”

“Brian Cambry.”

“Now Mr. Cambry, what sort of information do you have?”

“I read about your case in the newspapers, the one where a family was murdered, and it seems a lot like a case we had down in southern West Virginia about 12 years ago. I was a deputy who worked on the case then.”

Quinn looked at Sherri and he could see his own hope reflected in her expression. Maybe this is the break we’ve been looking for,he thought.

“Alright, Mr. Cambry, why don’t we go discuss this.” Quinn opened the door to Mathies’ office. “Please, come in and have a seat. Sherri, you know the routine.” Cambry walked into the office, and Quinn followed and shut the door.



Sherri stared at the closed door for a moment then resumed her work. She glanced at the door every few minutes, wondering what being discussed behind it. Was it possible that something like this really had happened before? Was it possible that the same person was responsible for both crimes? Most importantly, was it possible to catch this person with the information from such an old case?

Sherri’s thoughts were interrupted by Leo Marsten, local business owner and part time animal control officer. He walked in the front door and greeted her with a dazzling smile. She smiled back, the visitor momentarily forgotten. Marsten was a young man with striking features, old-school charm and a knack for business as well as public relations. Since moving to Winstead five years ago, he had taken a run down hardware store and turned it into a successful enterprise, had earned the respect of many of the town’s “old-timers” and was rumored to be thinking about running for a county commissioner seat in the next election. He even made the nefarious job of “dog catcher” seem like a benevolent civil duty.

“Hello Sherri. How are things going?”

“Fine, Leo. It’s calmed down a little since last week.”

Marsten nodded. “Terrible thing, wasn’t it? Have you had any more luck on the case?”

“No. Rick and Charlie have been working themselves to death, but still nothing...” She glanced towards the closed office door.

Marsten followed her gaze, and gave her a questioning look. “Is Rick in? I have some paperwork for him to sign.”

“No, he’s out of the office. Charlie is meeting with someone...”

“Without Rick? Must be urgent.”

“It’s...someone who might have some information to help with the case.”

“That’s great! You guys look like you could use a little help at this point...if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“We’re not sure how good his information will be yet. Please keep this to yourself, will you Leo? We don’t want anyone to get too excited.”

“No problem, I understand. Look, I’m about to head out for the weekend. I’m going to do a little spring fishing, and I’ll be out of town for a couple of days. I’ve got someone to cover for me, don’t worry.” He pulled out a roll of papers from his inside coat pocket. “Could you get Rick to sign these for me when he comes back in?”

“Sure, no problem. Have a good weekend, Leo.”

“You, too, Sherri.” He flashed another dazzling smile and walked out the door. Sherri gazed after him for a minute, and with a sigh returned to her paperwork.



Quinn was not quite comfortable using Mathies’ desk, so he sat in one of the two armchairs on the far side of the office, and indicated that Cambry should take the other.

“Well, Mr. Cambry, what makes you think these two cases are similar?”

Cambry was impressed with man’s directness. This might be a little easier than he thought.

“In the paper, it said that six members of a family had been murdered in an isolated area, and that the bodies had been mutilated and ‘arranged in a manner of religious mockery’. I assumed that meant, uh, crucified. Almost twelve years ago, in Pine Mountain, we had a similar case: the Eastman family. Same type of location, same sort of victims, and same sort of positioning of the bodies.”

“Why hasn’t anyone else come forward? Why wasn’t your case in any of the databases?” asked Quinn.

“Our sheriff, Jacob Darrow, was very good at keeping the press out of police business. He can be a very intimidating individual. Another reason is that the case appeared to be closed almost immediately. One of the other members of the family was found with the supposed murder weapon in hand, standing over the last intended victim. He was shot by one of the other officers when he did not respond to a verbal warning. At the time, I thought Darrow’s rush to close the case was a way of protecting that officer, and there was nothing else to indicate that he was wrong about who committed the murders.”

“So you think this case is a copycat,” said Quinn, his excitement waning.

“Maybe, but I don’t understand how they got the details. Nothing was published in the papers. The only people who knew anything about the real facts of the case are either dead, retired, won’t or can’t talk about it. Anyway, I’m not sure it’s all the same. There were some details that weren’t in the papers. I came here because I wanted to see if the cases really did match, and I figured if I called I would just be dismissed as a nut.”

“And there were no survivors?”

“Actually, there was. It was the youngest daughter, Eleanor Eastman. She was taken to the hospital in really bad shape, with multiple broken bones, slash and stab wounds, and almost died. The doctors were frankly amazed that she survived, but said that she suffered from ‘severe post traumatic stress,’ and her mental state did not survive.”

That sounds familiar, thought Quinn with bitterness. Just like poor Mark Zoller.

“Where is she now? Could she have eventually told someone?”

“She disappeared from the hospital, one day before she was to be transferred to a long-term care psychiatric facility.”

“Disappeared? How can someone disappear from a hospital?”

Cambry looked slightly flustered. “Well, I suppose the security was not what it should have been. But there was no sign of a struggle. It almost looked like she just got up and walked out. Physically she was almost healed. I guess everyone thought that since she wasn’t really ‘there’, they wouldn’t have to keep as close an eye on her. After she disappeared, we had search teams out, but never found anything.”

“Did anyone come to see her that might have had something to do with her disappearance?”

“Well, there was one man who came by to interview her. Apparently he was some sort of psychological profiler, and was looking for information on the killer to help with his study. He didn’t have all of the details of the case either, from what I could gather. I talked to the man afterwards, and he said she was completely unresponsive. But that was a couple of months before her disappearance. ”

“Did she have any other family?”

“She had a guardian, but I’m not sure of the family connection. He was named in the Eastman’s will as their children’s caretaker. I think I only met the man once, and I don’t think he visited her very often. He sent his lawyers to take care of most of the estate business. Although, come to think of it, he was the one who authorized her transfer to the other hospital.”

Quinn was silent. This case was interesting. But were the two really connected?

“OK, Mr. Cambry, would you mind sharing the detail that you think was withheld from the papers that might connect the two?”

“Weird symbols, matching no known source, painted on the bodies with what was probably their own blood.”

Quinn felt the blood drain from his face. Cambry looked at him, and Quinn saw that response mirrored by Cambry.

“We need to get Mathies’ in here to hear this,” said Quinn, “but he’s out to get some much needed rest, and I...”

“I understand,” said Cambry. “Perhaps we can all get a fresh start on this tomorrow...that is if you’re willing to let me help.”

“Absolutely,” said Quinn, feeling some real hope for the first time in days.

“Can you recommend a place to stay in town? It was a long drive up here.”

“Sure, but it’s not in town, unfortunately. There’s a small bed and breakfast about 4 miles outside of town on Highway 8. Winstead Manor, it’s called. You probably passed it on the way in. I’m pretty sure they’ll have a room available. The only other places are farther out, by the river.” And I’m not giving Grayson Manning any more business than I have to,thought Quinn darkly. He rose from his chair, and Cambry did the same. He extended his hand again.

“Thanks a lot, Mr. Cambry, I think this may just be the break we’ve needed.” Cambry grasped his hand and gave it a hearty shake.

“Please, call me Brian. I’m glad to be of service, Deputy Sheriff Quinn.”

“And please, call me Charlie. We’re glad to have you here, Brian.”

Quinn walked to the office door, opened it, and walked out to the main office with Cambry. He walked to his desk, found a card, and handed it to Cambry.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

Cambry nodded, smiled at Sherri, and walked out the door. Sherri saw the look of relief on Quinn’s face, and finally felt a true surge of hope.



Across the street from the sheriff’s office, the killer watched Brian Cambry climb into his truck and drive off towards the outskirts of town. The killer knew full well what Cambry’s visit meant to the sheriff’s case. Well, well, Tiny, thought the killer. There’s one loose end you neglected to tie up for me. Your mistake. The killer climbed into a pickup truck that idled at the curb, put it in gear, and slowly followed the same path out of town.

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