Coming of Winter

by Tom Threadgill

  “Everything ready for the pumpkin patch tonight?”

  “Near enough. I’ll have the boys go through the maze again when they get home from school. Changed the batteries in the flashlights yesterday, so they’ll be good for another day or so. Thursdays are always slow anyway. Tomorrow and Saturday will be the big days. Last weekend before Halloween. All sorts of ghosts and goblins be about, I reckon.”

  Paula planted her hands on her hips. “Uh-huh. And when it’s over, I expect we’ll be planning that vacation?”

  Mason pulled his ball cap down low. “Yes, ma’am. Oh, and I’m thinking about heading over to the search area. Maybe volunteer later this afternoon.”

  “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Haven’t been there yet. Don’t want anyone to think I don’t care. Might even pick up some information. You never know.”

  “If you go, hang back with the others. Don’t act too nosy. They say on those TV shows that the police watch the crowd. The suspect always returns to the scene of the crime. Can’t stay away.”

  “Well, good luck to them then. Been a good hundred and fifty folks there on most days. Oftentimes a lot more. That’s what I love about living here. People pretty much stay to themselves unless somebody needs help. Then we all pitch in. That’s what neighbors do.”

  She wiped the table with a dishtowel. “Just be careful. Don’t ask any questions. That’s how they get you.”

  He winked. “It is? Good to know you’ve got it handled.”

  She shook the rag at him. “Go on now before I have you mopping this floor. I swear, you’d think pigs ate lunch here today.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  “Still no request for assistance from the local PD?” Maggie asked. Jeremy scanned his list of emails. “Nope, but would it matter? We’re not backing off it. They’re investigating, and we’ll share anything we learn. If they ask the Bureau to come in, well, we’re ahead of the game, right? Oh, and have I said how glad I am you’re here?”

  Maggie rolled her eyes and glanced at her watch. “Not for about ten minutes. But don’t stop.”

  “Never. Now you know everything I do about missing persons, Lanny Palmer, and Troy Obion. Thoughts?”

  She tapped her finger against her bottom lip. “I don’t know, Jeremy. When you lay it all out like that, it’s not hard to imagine there’s some connection. But I could easily see the opposite as well. There’s no physical evidence connecting any of these cases.”

  He held out his hands, both palms up. “So ...”

  “So we go with your instinct. But how does that help us? Where do we focus?”

  Jeremy licked his lips and planted his elbows on the desk. “We focus on Troy. Best physical evidence we’ve got so far. We find the crime scene and go from there.”

  “And we do that how? You’ve already retraced what we know of his day. Cell phone’s turned off or dead so can’t track that. If you’ve got any—”

  Of course. “His cell phone.”

  “Yeah?”

  “When I first met Troy at Catherine Mae Blackston’s house, he told me something. Said he always took photos with his phone any time he did an investigation. Didn’t matter what it was. Said the pictures helped keep everything fresh in his mind.”

  “Don’t see how that’s very helpful without having the cell.”

  Jeremy traced his finger across the desk. “Auto backup. All of his photos were automatically saved online. He could look at them from any computer. And if he could look at them—”

  “We can too. Do you know the website?”

  He shook his head. “Can’t imagine it’d be that hard to find, though. Maybe he had an app or something that did it for him. We figure that out, and we’re halfway there.”

  Maggie pulled her phone from her jacket pocket, tapped a few buttons, and passed it to Jeremy. “Pictures of Rebecca,” she said. “Lots of them.”

  Jeremy’s heart fluttered. “I could look at her all day, Maggie.”

  “Let me have the phone.” She scrolled through a couple of apps and looked up. “Check your email on your laptop.”

  He found the message, opened it, and clicked a link. Photos of Rebecca filled his screen.

  She studied her phone for a moment. “I think it’s built into the operating system. Pictures back up to a Google site. The whole setup’s password protected, and I honestly never even think about it. Here’s the thing though—mine only backs them up when I’m connected to Wi-Fi. Saves on data usage.”

  “Then maybe Troy’s backed up to Google too. We just need his password.”

  Maggie nodded. “And hope he didn’t set his options so it only worked when he was connected to Wi-Fi.”

  “I’ve got to believe he didn’t, Maggie.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  He folded his hands together. “I’ve got no choice.”

  .......

  The crowd at the search area milled about waiting for the afternoon update and instructions. Several TV station vans sat clustered to the side, their cameras and reporters ready. A field full of pickup trucks, four- wheelers, and towed fishing boats grew by the hour. Most people wore the same attire as yesterday and the day before. Camo or jeans. Decent weather to be outside. Full sun and gusty winds. Weeks since the last rain or even a heavy dew. The briefing would include another warning from the TBI. Be careful with discarded cigarettes. We don’t want grass fires making the search that much harder.

  “How long until we hear back on the warrant?” Jeremy forced himself to keep his eyes scanning the crowd. Hard to do with Maggie standing beside him.

  She’d changed out of her business suit to jeans, hiking boots, and a sweatshirt. Her identification and Glock were attached to her belt, and a black ball cap with gold “FBI” was pulled low. He’d noticed several men cast glances her way and he sidled closer. No sense letting anyone get any ideas.

  “It takes however long it takes,” she said. “Troy’s phone uploaded his files to a folder on Google’s servers. The warrant’s issued, but Google said it could be up to two days, not that it necessarily would.”

  He pulled up the sleeves on his bright orange sweatshirt. “Sun’s getting hot.”

  She glanced at him and grinned. “Planning on doing some hunting? The space station can probably spot you with that thing on.”

  “What? University of Tennessee. Go big orange. Or something like that.”

  “Uh, yeah. Looks great on you. Really.”

  The squeaky whine of a microphone’s feedback echoed across the crowd as a TBI agent climbed into the back of a pickup truck and gestured for quiet.

  “Good afternoon,” he said. “We appreciate you coming out again. I can’t emphasize enough how important your help is, not only to us, but to the Palmer family too. We’re going to move the search area a bit farther west today. Team captains already have the grids. I assume most of you have been here before and are familiar with the process. If today’s your first day, please check in at that white tent over there. The ground’s still dry, so no problem with the four-wheelers going out, but watch the cigarettes. And remember, this isn’t a race. Speed still kills. Take your time. Look everywhere. That single piece of evidence you find could be what gets Lanny back to us. Now, before we go out, let’s ask for some help.”

  He handed the microphone to an older looking guy in faded jeans and a striped sweater. After clearing his throat, the man began to pray. Jeremy took a moment to glance around. Hats off, heads bowed. A few looked around but kept respectfully silent. Something brushed his hand, and he looked down as Maggie slipped her fingers between his and squeezed.

  When the prayer ended, another man stepped forward, his arm around a woman’s waist. Both appeared exhausted. Their clothes looked like they’d been slept in, and dark bags drooped under their eyes. Had to be the boy’s parents.

  The man took the microphone and stared at the crowd for a moment before speaking. “Lanny never hurt nobody. I know he wouldn’t just run off
. Fourteen years old. Just a boy. If someone took him, if they hurt him ...” He tried to say more but choked up, then dropped his hands to his side. The woman slipped her arm through his and took the mic from him.

  “Y’all can’t understand,” she said, “what it means to see you out here helping look for Lanny.” Her shoulders slumped, and she dabbed her eyes. “We appreciate it more than you’ll ever know. We just want our boy back home. If anyone knows anything, if you’re watching this, Lanny, please just come home.”

  She buried her head in her husband’s chest, and her sobs echoed through the speakers. The preacher stepped close and wrapped his arms around the couple.

  Jeremy closed his eyes. All around him, people were sniffling or outright crying. The family must be in agony. He understood what it was like to have people taken from you. Wife, daughter, friend. None deserved their fate. All deserved justice. Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. He’d heard it many times. Might even be in the Bible somewhere. But sometimes vengeance is too slow. And when it is—

  “Ow!” Maggie yanked her hand away.

  Jeremy looked over the crowd. Could be that Troy’s killer was here. If so, he’d better be praying for a miracle. Praying hard.

  He’d need one.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  Mason stood with a group of men from his church. They’d been assigned an area down along Epperson Creek, far from the abduction and murder site. Not that any of them knew that, of course. It’d be a boring afternoon, but you do what you have to do.

  The pastor from the Friendship Community Church was praying now. Something something protect us. Something something Jesus.

  Few people looking around. Not very reverent. At least they had the sense to keep quiet till the prayer was over.

  Huh. Cute redhead in the black FBI cap. Haven’t seen her around. Would’ve remembered. How sweet. Holding hands with her boyfriend. Seen him somewhere. Could be the agent that came by the farm. Right size and build.

  Grant us peace and favor and something something Lanny safely. Amen.

  Mason replaced his ball cap and moved toward the portable toilets. “Be right back. Gotta take care of some business before we head out.”

  The crowd moved off in dozens of directions, creating a traffic jam of bodies weaving through the field. Heads nodded as folks recognized each other. A low murmur flowed through as if everyone was afraid to speak too loudly. The mood was serious. Mason knew what they were feeling.

  Most every man there, and the majority of women too, were hunters. Brought up on it from the time they could walk. This afternoon was a new opening day to the season. Confidence and hope that they’d bag their quarry. Locate something—anything that could bring this chaos to a close and let the community return to normal.

  Rumors were out about a missing policeman. Anger and frustration was building. Fear had seeped into their little corner of the world, and no one was happy about it. Mason guessed that three-quarters of the people were armed and wouldn’t have been surprised if the number was higher. Carry permit or not didn’t matter. One way or another, these folks were going to put an end to it.

  A flicker of red in the sea of camo caught his eye, and he spotted Miss FBI again. The redhead’s boots looked almost new. Hope she doesn’t get any blisters. I’m sure her boyfriend there will help her out.

  The man glanced up and caught Mason looking his way. Had to be the same guy who talked to Paula. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but his face left no doubt. Wrinkled brow, lips pressed together and turned down at the corners. The man was working, scanning the crowd. And he was angry. So be it.

  Mason offered a polite nod and half-smile before stepping into the rankness of the portable toilet. Take care of business here then maybe introduce myself. Apologize for not being there when he came by the farm. Give him a chance to ask a few questions on neutral ground.

  Mason stepped outside and looked around. No sign of red hair and none of the half dozen orange sweatshirts marked Mister FBI. Oh well. Maybe next time.

  He picked up the pace and hustled to rejoin his church group. Such a pleasant day for a snipe hunt.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  “Told ya,” Maggie said. “Just got to have a little faith.” She scooted her chair closer to Jeremy to get a better view of his laptop’s screen.

  He angled the computer on his desk and leaned toward her until their shoulders touched. “Exactly what I’ve got. A little faith, although I’ll admit that three hours has to be some sort of record for a company to provide access to online data.”

  Jeremy typed the Google-given password and watched as photo after photo loaded. The pictures seemed to be in reverse chronological order. A large, older brick building. The county high school. No people in the photo but plenty of cars. A cornfield. Some Halloween decorations. Paula Miller and a man who was probably her husband. An oversize Blizzard in the cup holder of the Jeep, likely a combination of Reese’s and M&Ms knowing Troy. The Dairy Queen manager and his store. Dozens of other pics of trees, streams, and people, all presumably in the search area.

  “Troy likes to take pictures, I guess,” Maggie said.

  “Know anybody his age who doesn’t use their smartphone constantly? At least he’s not snapping selfies and photos of his dinner every night.”

  “Other than the ice cream, you mean.”

  Jeremy smiled. “He does—did love his Blizzards. Based on these, looks like the high school was his last stop. That’s within the range of the last cell tower that picked him up. The time stamp says he was there at 11:03. Maybe he talked to someone.”

  Maggie rubbed her hands together. “You keep assuming he’s already dead.”

  “You don’t? I saw the Jeep. The DNA’s a match.”

  “Yeah, on a blood drop. Nothing else yet. People can survive bullet wounds. Happens all the time.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “Can’t do it, Maggie. Can’t get my hopes up. Possible bone and brain matter there too. I’ve seen enough to know you don’t live through something like that. If I allowed myself to think, even for a second, that Troy’s still alive, I’m not sure I could take it when we find out the truth.”

  “Then I’ll hope for the both of us.”

  How does she stay optimistic in spite of the statistics? Not naïveté. More like innocence that won’t fade. Had he ever been like that? No. Of course not. At least not since Holly and Miranda. “Do that, Maggie. I say we start at the high school and work our way backwards.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “Sure. You say that now.”

  “Well, of course. There’s no one else around to hear me. It’s all about plausible deniability.”

  .......

  Jeremy switched his view between the photos and reality. “This looks about right. Troy took the picture somewhere in this area. Recognize any of the vehicles?”

  The high school’s parking lot was full of cars, and in another ten minutes, classes would be letting out for the day. No sign of security cameras on the side of the building. Not likely this was the crime scene. Too public. But it was possible someone had spotted the Jeep. If nothing else, it was more than they had.

  Maggie scanned the printed photo and pointed out a few cars that matched the picture. “Assuming Troy came straight to the school after leaving the farm, he’d have been here around lunch time. A bunch of the seniors probably leave then to go get something to eat. Maybe Troy talked to one of them.”

  Jeremy scrunched his mouth to the side. “Law enforcement’s been keeping a pretty tight watch over this place since Palmer disappeared. His friends all swear they don’t know anything. Troy told me he saw the police reports. Separate interviews all telling the same story. Nobody knows what happened.”

  “It’s funny. You watch this stuff on TV, and it’s the same thing. The police always say somebody knows something. We just need them to come forward. Tell us what they know.” She sighed and frowned. “Too bad that’s not always true.”

  “If Troy’s dea
th—”

  “Disappearance.”

  “If Troy’s disappearance is related to the same guy who’s grabbing people from parks, fact is that probably no one knows except the murderer himself. And unless he gets drunk enough or high enough or boastful enough to tell someone, nobody will know until we catch him. Truth is, the hard part of the investigation is already over, at least in my mind.”

  “And that is?”

  “Figuring out the killer exists. Random murders and disappearances in multiple states. If Randy Clarke hadn’t called me about his missing ex, I’d have no idea this guy was out there.”

  “I don’t get it. No real evidence your serial killer exists, yet you’re convinced he does. No real evidence Troy’s dead, but you’re certain he is. What’s the difference? I mean, if the lab confirms brain matter with his DNA, then okay. But until then ...”

  He tilted his face upward. “I don’t know. Experience? Fear? A hunch? You tell me. All I know is we’ve got to keep moving forward. Find this guy before anyone else dies. We’re close, and he knows it.”

  “And when we get him?”

  “We do whatever it takes to make sure he stops.”

  “And after that?”

  “I’m out. Done. No longer a public servant. Moving back east where my girls are. And where I’ll be free to, um, do something I should’ve been done a long time ago. Put it to rest.”

  She moved so she faced him and stared, her eyes narrow. “You’re going after him, aren’t you? Whoever killed your wife. That’s why you’re okay with leaving the Bureau. This whole thing with Cronfeld is just a convenient excuse.”

  Jeremy brushed an eyelash from her cheek. “And daughter. He killed my wife and daughter. And I swear, Maggie. This was never my plan. Never. But I keep thinking about them. How I’ve spent my whole career chasing these murderers. And since Troy disappeared, it’s gotten worse. We’ll find whoever killed him. He deserves that. But it’s not right. My wife and kid stuck in a cold case file somewhere. If I don’t look ...”