by Laura Greene
“What is it?” asks Deputy Morris in his dulcet tone.
“Look. Do you see here?” Jane points at a series of depressions and marks in the snow. “There was a struggle here.”
The snow begins to fall. Jane must act quickly to document the evidence before the snow covers it. She takes some pictures on her cellphone and then moves beyond where the glove is on the ground. “Susan Dern was grabbed here. Her glove dropped during the struggle. Then...”
“Then?” Deputy Morris inquires nervously.
“She was dragged back through the snow, past this car, and...” Jane stops and looks to her right. On the corner of Hemlock Street are several large bushes, backed by an imposing brick wall. Their leaves long gone, but the remaining jagged branches of each bush create a thick web of bony twigs.
Jane investigates on the ground, following the drag marks without stepping on the evidence, but that evidence is quickly being covered by what is now a full blizzard.
“We're going to lose this evidence,” Jane observes to Deputy Morris as the wind begins to howl.
She does her best to follow the marks in the snow in the poor conditions; leading directly to the bushes. “There's something in there.”
With a gloved hand Jane reaches between the branches, many of them catching on her coat like a nest of spiders. Retracting her fingers slowly, Jane examines her glove. It now glistened in the dim light of a nearby streetlight.
“Blood?” gasps Deputy Morris.
Jane nods. “And there's a cellphone in there, too. I'm betting it's Susan's.”
In a matter of minutes, the entire town is engulfed in a snowstorm the likes of which they have not seen all winter. The bad news spread just as quickly. The disappearance of Susan Dern becomes the talking point of the townsfolk. Despite the deteriorating conditions, large numbers of people walk the streets searching arm in arm, barely able to see a few feet in front of them. They are looking for any trace of Susan but nothing can be found, and the weather worsens to the point where they themselves are under threat if they are not careful.
As the weather becomes more menacing, Jane and her team have only a few pieces of evidence to go on. The first is the blood in the bush. Jane luckily manages to get a sample into a small plastic vial she keeps in her car. The second is the phone – a phone which Susan's family confirm as belonging to their daughter. As the depressions of snow fill up, Jane measures the size of each 10.5 footprint alongside Susan's much smaller marks. It seems clear that a man wearing boots has taken her.
The phone has been damaged in the struggle, but Jane suspects that the attacker smashed it deliberately off a curb and then ditched it in the bushes quickly. What worries Jane is that this suggests the attacker is quick-witted. A phone could be used to track Susan. Has he done this before?
Beyond the bushes in that part of the street Jane sees no footprints, which is confusing. It’s as though the perpetrator upped and vanished. Either that or he smeared the snow over to cover his tracks, but there should be evidence of that. By the time proper evaluation of the site can be made, however, the snow is falling in sheets and the wind is howling like a grim wolf. Jane tries her best to cover up the footprints with her coat. Meanwhile, Deputy Morris does a sweep of the nearby gardens on the other side of the wall behind the bushes, but the wind and snow make any accurate observation difficult. He then returns to the station to get a small forensic tent that they can set up over the marks in the snow for analysis.
Soon the wind grows ferocious, battering the snow against Jane as she stands beside the bushes. The task of preserving the imprints in the snow becomes all but impossible. Jane grits her teeth in dismay. How she wishes she had the resources once available to her when she served in Willow County! They'd have had a forensics team out there within 30 minutes. As Jane watches in horror as the weather consumes the street, she is forced to return to her car or face plummeting temperatures. Up at the Dern family's home, the lonely face of Rose Dern stares out of the window at the snow. Jane sees her and feels helpless, knowing how difficult it will now be to trace Rose's daughter's attacker at all.
The sheriff's investigative skills will have to play a much larger role than any analysis of evidence. Her thoughts return to poor Susan Dern. “Where are you,” Jane whispers from the driver's seat of her patrol car, watching the world around her disappear into a wall of swirling snow and ice.
Chapter 3
Three days pass. No one has seen or heard from Susan Dern, and the town grieves and hopes that she will return safely. Jane continues her investigation as best she can, but the blizzards are making it difficult. The townsfolk likewise do their best to search, but County Search and Rescue teams are required to be effective.
On the third night, the people of Wild Cove come together. In the town square, two streets back from the seafront Main Street, the people amass. Each resident carries with them a candle. A token of their care and worry for Susan and what has become of her.
There is a quiet calm tonight. It is as though the elements themselves have given the town a reprieve from the harsh winter. The snow still lies piled on the ground, and patches of ice cover the few sidewalks that have been cleared. It is Pastor Callaghan who leads the people of the town through the streets and to the square. The grass, which usually rules supreme, is hidden by white, as though the snow is covering the true, serene nature of the town with something callous and bitter.
The Pastor walks solemnly; the crowd parts to allow him to stand next to the Creekwood Memorial, which was erected in 1909 after a devastating mining accident claimed over 100 lives.
“It is here, at the Creekwood Memorial, where we meet to pray tonight.” The pastor looks around at the sea of familiar faces. The community is coming together for one goal. The ashen faces of Larry and Rose Dern stand at the front of the crowd, each holding a candle. Anonymous hands occasionally reach out from the community, resting on their shoulders to offer comfort.
The pastor continues, “Look to this memorial. Our town has had tragedy before, and yet our faith in God has given us all the fortitude to carry on. It provided solace and strength to our grandparents and great grandparents, and now it provides the same steel for us. We, the people of Wild Cove, have come together to offer our support to Larry and Rose Dern, to pray, and to continue our search for their daughter Susan. Let us pray.”
As the pastor leads the residents through a prayer for Susan's safe return, a voice rises above the crowd. It’s Larry. He sees something in the crowd. His yell is not one of surprise or praise for God. Instead, it is seething anger boiling up from a pit of spite.
“You!” he cries, lunging forward into the crowd.
Before the pastor has a chance to stop him, Larry has his hands around the throat of someone in the crowd. He pulls and grabs at a man who is pale and slight, but odd-looking. The man gasps for help and Arthur, the owner of Arthur's Bar, who is a friend of Larry's, intervenes - not to stop Larry from strangling the man from the crowd, but to assist Larry in pulling the man to his feet.
“Please! Leave him alone, Larry!” yells the pastor.
Larry, breathless and smelling of stale beer, points at the man he has dragged from the crowd, who looks up with a shy and frightened expression. “We all know this fella. We all know he's odd. I've seen him walking around at strange times. You've heard the rumors. He ain't one of us! Where's my daughter?!”
“Yeah, where is she?!” cry several voices. The crowd, through misplaced grief and anger, close in around the man. A sea of hands which, just moments before, were comforting, now turn violent. Someone lunges from the crowd and strikes the man on the cheek.
The pastor yells, but it’s no good. The town wants answers, and they are being consumed by the dangers of mob justice.
A gunshot rings loudly. Jane Scott marches forward, her revolver in the air, with the tall figure of Deputy Morris alongside her.
“We will not allow paranoia and rumors to destroy our community!” Jane says over t
he crowd, who is now only whispering in murmurs.
Marching forward, Jane puts her hand gently on Larry's shoulder. He staggers momentarily, clearly drunk, his eyes red with tears.
“It's okay, Larry,” consoles Jane quietly.
Larry, in turn, lets go of the man he grabbed, and rests his head on the sheriff's shoulders. “I just want my daughter back...”
“I know,” whispers Jane. “Let me take you home. I think all this has just been too much, too soon for you.”
The crowd parts. The pastor and Deputy Morris will escort the accosted man home. Jane quietly instructs the deputy to question the man about why Larry is suspicious of him. A proper interview down at the sheriff's office will be organized the next day. Jane now walks with Larry to her patrol car on the edge of the square. Rose Dern watches on, but she decides to stay with the townsfolk and pray.
“I know that strange man has something to do with this, Sheriff,” Larry says as he gets into the patrol car. “I can feel it. He ain't right.”
Larry works himself once more into a fervor from the passenger's seat while Jane drives through the empty, icy streets. He is full of conspiracy theories and accusations against a number of people living in Wild Cove. All of them are recluses. All are people not intimately ingrained in the community. To Jane, their only sin is wishing to be left alone.
The only way Jane can get Larry to calm down is to agree to look into the gentleman he has pointed out. His name is Henry Wright, and Jane isn't familiar with him. But Larry says he has a prior charge for something, and there are always rumors about him having an… unnatural interest in teenage girls. Considering Susan has been missing now for three days Jane can't turn down any lead, even if it is most likely the product of a worried mind.
Larry then says, “I'm just glad my brother is in the ground.”
“Don't say that,” replies Jane.
“I mean it. He loved his niece. He had enough to fight with the cancer and all. With Susan disappearin', it would have made his end even harder than it was.”
“I know you've had a rough time, Larry...”
“Are you about to ask me about my drinkin'? I've got a handle on it. Don't worry.”
But Jane is worried. Larry does not have his drinking under control. She can even smell it from him in the car as though it is seeping from his pores. Booze gives the allure of a good servant when relaxing, but a poor master during harder times. Jane feels so sad for the Derns, knowing that if Susan is dead her father will quickly follow, curled up at the bottom of a glass.
As Jane turns onto Old Mill Street, she says, “I promise I'll look into him, but you have to promise me you'll stay away from him until I do.”
Larry screams, "Look out!"
Something looms ahead in the night. Jane slams on the brakes, but the car does not behave. It slips on the icy road, moving relentlessly toward the shadowy figure standing in the middle of the street. Clawing the steering wheel to the left, Jane pads the brake as the car thumps into a large snow pile on the sidewalk. Finally, the car comes to a seething rest.
"You okay, Larry?" asks Jane.
Larry nods. "I'm thinking I need a drink."
"You've probably had enough of that, Larry." Jane looks out the window to the street. The figure is gone.
Stepping out of the car, Jane tells Larry to stay put. The cool air bites once more at Jane's nose as she faces the night, something she has become accustomed to during the winter in Wild Cove. She often wonders how one place can be so welcoming in the summer and yet so foreboding in the winter.
"Hello?" Jane says loudly into the empty street.
Somewhere nearby she hears the sound of feet crunching in the snow, and with it, a chill runs up Jane's spine. She follows the sound and, as she does so, she begins to have the eerie feeling that she is chasing down Susan's attacker who is once more on the prowl to find a new victim. Nervously, she pushes on, drawing her gun as she trudges left onto Maple Street.
But there’s no one there. A thin wisp of snowy powder slides along the surface of the road, as the houses on either side stare on in eerie silence.
A door creaks open nearby on the other side of the street. Jane spins around with her gun pointed at the sound, her finger moving towards the trigger.
She sighs in relief. It’s only Owen Marsden. “Sorry, Sheriff. She got out again,” he shouts.
Owen is a kindly, big fellow who works at the packing plant. His mother, the old teacher Mrs. Marsden, is becoming an increasingly difficult case to manage. She wanders the streets at night due to worsening dementia. Poor Owen has his hands full trying to keep her inside. On several occasions Jane has recommended that Mrs. Marsden be admitted to a nursing home, but Owen wants to keep her in the community as long as possible.
“That's okay, Owen,” says Jane, holstering her gun. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah. She unlocked the door while I was in the other room and must have gotten out. She just came back in because of the cold. Sorry about that.”
“Who's there?” comes Mrs. Marsden's frail old voice from inside the house. “Let me see!”
Owen turns back into his home and says calmly, “It's just Sheriff Scott.”
“The Sheriff?” says Mrs. Marsden. “My Word, is everything okay?” Mrs. Marsden then pushes her way past the imposing figure of her son. She is wearing a white dressing gown, and her gray-white hair is clearly wet and disheveled from being outside.
“Everything is fine, Mrs. Marsden. Are you okay?” asks Jane, feeling the cold creep into her bones.
“Yes... I think it's time for me to go finish my lessons, though. I have a long day at school tomorrow.” She is no doubt thinking on a hazy memory from decades ago.
“Are you okay, Owen?” Jane asks, concerned. “If you need any help...”
Owen nods. “I'll let you know, Sheriff. It is getting worse, but I can still keep a handle on things.”
The conversation comes to an end. Owen wishes Jane a good night, and Jane feels so sorry for him and his mother. They are proof that though the tragedy of Susan Dern is on everyone's minds, people like Owen and his mother still need help from the community. It is so easy to forget those who already need assistance in the wake of another tragedy.
Jane looks down at her gun, now sitting in its holster. There is also something else Jane needs to learn. The lesson for Jane is that even she is on tenterhooks. With her gun drawn, she could have shot the poor old lady wandering around. It isn't the townsfolk who are the only ones needing to calm themselves and watch out for paranoia; even the town sheriff is feeling the strain.
Taking a deep breath, Jane looks around the quiet, snow-laden streets surrounding her. It’s her duty to protect the town, and yet, she feels as though she’s failing. Did Sheriff Williams start out like this? she thinks. Someone with good intentions eventually worn down into bad, even dangerous decisions because he always wanted to protect and serve?
The night offers no answer. It merely stares back at Jane, cold, relentless, and unforgiving.
When Jane returns to the car, she finds Larry still looking bemused in the passenger seat. The car isn't totaled, but it will need towed out of the snow. Jane and Larry walk back to the Dern household a few streets away, where Larry immediately breaks for the kitchen to drink more beer, thanking the sheriff for the ride, and walk home.
Soon Jack arrives to pick Jane up in his truck, saying he will take a look at the car in the morning and fix it at his auto shop. Jane is thankful, but pressing on her mind is how Larry, the town, and even she herself have acted in the aftermath of Susan's disappearance. The town is boiling up. People are starting to see things that aren't there in the shadows at night, even accusing each other of being involved. Parents are terrified to let their own kids out anywhere on their own. Suspicion is a terrible thing.
That night, Jane realizes she is going to have to keep a lid on all of it. If not, sooner or later Wild Cove is going to boil over, and someone is going to get hurt.
> Chapter 4
The next day, the FBI appears and everything changes. A procession of four SUVs rolling over the snow pull up outside of the Sheriff's office. Jane sees them through a window, and as soon as she does, her heart sinks. It reminds her of the Willow County investigation - how she stood up against corruption, only to be hounded out of her job and labeled a snitch.
The FBI has the same trademark as Internal Affairs. Black suits, even blacker ties, and long raincoats which show they are out of their element.
Jane walks down to the front desk of the station, but before she gets there Doris Helmsworth, the 75 year old veteran officer who, after retiring, Jane allowed to man the front desk twice a week, is already facing a troupe of FBI agents.
