The Girl and the Black Christmas (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 11)

by A J Rivers

  * * *

  Dear Santa,

  It sure was cold out in that snow. It’s amazing how the trucks can get down such a narrow road. But that’s what snowplows are for. The drifts were so deep, I couldn’t resist. A coat would be nice this year, since I only have pieces of the other one. At least the angel looked nice. The perfect one.

  Snow keeps a lot of secrets, just like you. Nobody knew I was there until they knew I wasn’t. But when? I’ll never tell.

  You always knew when I was sleeping and when I was awake. But do you know where I am?

  * * *

  “That’s it?” Sam asks. “There’s nothing else? There’s no signature, no name, no instructions. There’s nothing. What are you supposed to do with that?”

  “The first note says maybe I can help. They’re having trouble with their Christmas list. Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to help this person.”

  “Help them how?” Sam asks. “You don’t even know who it is.”

  I read through the note again. “Maybe that’s the point.”

  “The point is helping somebody who you have no idea who they are?” he asks.

  “Finding out who they are,” I say. “This is a real letter. Obviously. But maybe it actually does tell me who it’s from. If I can figure that out, then it might help me figure out what I’m supposed to do.”

  “Alright,” he says. “Where do we start?”

  “Okay, what jumped out at me immediately is the last part. It asks if he knows where they are. So, does that mean this is a missing person? I consider Julia a missing person, so maybe that’s what this is about. Someone who’s gone missing and needs to be found,” I say.

  “That makes sense,” Sam nods. “But how do we figure out who the letters talking about? There are tens of thousands of missing people in the country. And that’s only counting the ones who’ve been reported. Like you said, Julia was never reported missing. Maybe this person wasn’t, either.”

  “We have to try,” I tell him. “It’s the only thing we have to go on. Alright,” I let out a breath. “What can we pull out of the letter? What details are in there that might give us some insight?”

  “It mentions it was cold. That there was snow,” he says. “So, that means we need to be looking for somebody who went missing during cold weather, but also somewhere where there was a considerable amount of snow at the time.”

  “Hold on,” I say. I rush into my office and come back with a notebook and pen so I can write down everything we take away from the letter.

  * * *

  Cold season

  Snowy area

  Narrow road - back road? Rural? Truck w/ snowplow came through

  Coat with pieces missing

  Angel - nativity scene? Angel sign? Billboard? Church?

  * * *

  “This really stands out to me,” I tell Sam, pointing at the screen after I’ve written down the list of details we pulled out of the letter. “It says the snow keeps secrets. ‘Nobody knew I was there until they knew I wasn’t’.“

  “What do you think that means?” he asks.

  I think about it for a second. “Maybe this isn’t a missing person like Julia. This is actually recognized as missing. And people thought this person disappeared at one time, but it actually ended up being another. A few days apart? Even an entire season, depending on the weather.”

  I add that to the list and look it over. Something about it sounds familiar, but not enough to actually tell me who it is.

  “Should I call into the station and let them know I’m not going to be able to come in today?” Sam asks. “I can stay here and help you with this.”

  “No,” I say. “Don’t do that. You need to be at the station being a sheriff and doing your job. I appreciate you wanting to help and trust me, if I can think of anything that you can do, I’ll let you know. But for now, I’m just going to do some research and see what I can figure out.”

  “Okay,” he says. “Then I should start getting ready.”

  He heads for the bathroom to take a shower, and I read through the letter again. It seems like every detail is carefully placed. These words aren’t arbitrary. Whoever wrote this letter wanted to make sure I had the information, but that they didn’t make it too easy on me.

  I go to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and one of the donuts I grabbed at the store on impulse, but I’m now glad I did. While I’m in here, I put together lunch for Sam to bring to the station with him. By the time he gets out of the shower, I am back in the living room, scrolling through results on the first search inquiry I did.

  “Did you find out anything?” he asks.

  “Not yet,” I say. “The details in the letter are really specific, and yet also really vague. We know it’s cold and snowy, but that could describe any number of places and any time between October and Spring. We know the person was on a narrow road, but that could mean just about anything. A couple of things are standing out to me, though.”

  “Alright. I have a minute. Go ahead and talk it through.”

  “It talks about the coat. This person only has pieces of the last one left. I think that’s significant. It doesn’t feel like these letters would just have random things thrown into them. Everything is carefully chosen. The other detail is the angel. It says the angel looked great. That it was perfect. I really don’t think that’s going to be a divine reference. This is something tangible the person saw.”

  “Maybe an Angel of Death murder?” Sam says.

  I give a hesitant nod and let out a sigh. “I thought of that, too. But I don’t think it fits. That’s a phrase that’s used in media and law enforcement. It’s not really something a victim’s family or friends would use, and I really doubt if we were able to have a chat with someone murdered by one of them that they would think of them as an angel. They usually kill in hospitals, nursing homes, things like that. Not outside. I guess it’s possible, but really unlikely. And that would mean a murder with a body, not a missing person.”

  “True,” Sam says. “Maybe a church?”

  “That’s my next thought. So, I’ve been doing research trying to find anything about people going missing near a church that would have any other of these details. I found one that went missing near a church and left behind a pair of shoes. And one that went missing from inside a church, but it was summer, so no snow. There is one who went missing after telling her sister she was going to church to see the nativity. She never got to the church and no one ever saw her again.”

  “That’s promising. Anything about a coat?”

  “It’s a start. The other pieces don’t really add up, but it’s something to look into.”

  He kisses me on the top of the head, and I look up at him for another.

  “You’ll figure it out. I’ll talk to some of the detectives, see if any of them have heard about a case with those kinds of markers. Why don’t you give Eric a call?”

  “I already emailed him with a copy of the letter. He’s going to try to figure out if he can source the origin of the links and run the details through databases to see if he can find anything. I’m going to call Dean later and see if he knows anything,” I say.

  “Good.”

  He smiles at me for a second, and I look up at him from the screen again.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I’m just proud of you for being willing to ask for help now. I remember an Agent Emma Griffin, FBI, who never wanted to ask anybody to get involved in anything and insisted on doing everything herself,” he says.

  “I’m persistent,” I shrug.

  “You’re stubborn as an ox and about as flexible. You’d rather chase down a serial killer with no gun and no cell service than wait for backup to get there.”

  “Sometimes there’s no time to wait for backup. And this isn’t a movie. I don’t always have my gun within fingertip reach, and it’s not going to be the first thing that goes through my mind when I need to react to something. If I have it with
me or I see it and can grab it, great. But if I don’t or something happens and I need an instant response, I might not immediately think about going and getting my gun. There are times when having a higher chance of stopping a dangerous person is more important than making sure I’m armed,” I point out.

  “I can definitely agree with that. But the point is, you are willing to let other people back you up now. That’s growth.”

  “Well, I have a posse now,” I grin.

  “I’m the Sheriff around here. If anybody has a posse, it’s me,” he points out.

  “Alright. I have a gang. An entourage?” He rolls his eyes and chuckles. “You don’t want to be a part of my entourage?”

  “I have to go to work. I love you.”

  “A squad? A crew? How about a retinue?”

  “You don’t get to play any more of Xavier’s middle of the night games,” he says, heading for the door.

  “Oh, but Can You Figure Out What Obscure Word That Has Some Vague Connection to What We’re Talking About I’m Thinking Of is fun,” I say.

  “Bye, have a good day,” he calls out from the door frame.

  “Love you,” I call after him as he shuts the door.

  Curling one leg up under me, I pick up my notebook and stare at the list of notes again. Something has to be here. I’m just missing it.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “You don’t think that this letter could actually be referencing Julia, do you?” Eric asks.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t think it’s that easy. Besides, it doesn’t link up. She disappeared from the city, not some narrow road in the snow. And this person is obviously known to be missing. It says people didn’t know she was there until they knew she wasn’t. Meaning, they became aware of her sudden absence. They found something.”

  “Probably pieces of the coat,” he says.

  “Right. I mentioned that the person writing the letter only has pieces of their coat left, so I figure that means there were some at the scene. Which is likely how they knew that was where this person went missing. The fact that friends and family knew this person was missing from that area once they realized they weren’t there means this road is close to something. It’s familiar. It’s near their house or their church or their school or something, where they would be on the road on a regular basis. It’s not just some random spot.”

  “Do you think the snowplow is significant?”

  “I’ve been trying to figure that out, too. I think all of it significant. But that doesn’t mean that everything is exactly as it seems. Talking about the snow drift very well could have just been a way to throw me off. Rather than actually being about the snowplow, it could have been to emphasize the narrowness of the road. To suggest that this wouldn’t be an area where most people would expect a snowplow to be. Which makes me wonder if it was actually a Department of Transportation snowplow, like one that’s sent out by city or town, or if it might have been a private one.”

  “That’s a good thought. That could narrow the area.”

  “What about cemeteries?” I ask.

  “What about them?”

  “The angel. We’ve been thinking about a church, but there are angels in cemeteries, right? That’s why the ones that Gran had seem a little creepy. Some of them look like they belong on a grave. Could the person have gone missing walking along a road to visit a new grave? Maybe they had just placed an angel?” I suggest.

  “I’ll look into it,” he says. “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

  “I will, too. Give Bellamy a hug for me. Is she doing okay?” I ask.

  “She’s doing fine. Trying to have some different cravings. All the sudden all she wants to eat is fried eggs and buttered toast.”

  I make a face. “That sounds delicious, but it doesn’t sound like anything she would ever eat.”

  “I have never known her to eat a fried egg until now,” he says. “But seriously I have bought like three dozen in the last week and a half.”

  I laugh. “Well, that’ll be a fun story to tell the baby. Let me know if she needs anything.”

  “We will,” he says.

  I end the call and think about that for a second. I never would have thought of Eric as the type of guy who would have used ‘we’ so freely. He’s dated women before, and even had a couple of serious relationships. But there was always a certain distance. Like he remained very confidently individual and independent from the relationship.

  But not with Bellamy. They’re both still individual people, and I don’t feel like they have melded into one homogeneous creature or anything. But being together has definitely changed something in both of them. Just like with me and Sam.

  It’s such a sign of how far our lives have come in the last few years. Before a horrific serial child abduction case brought me back to Sherwood and led me back to Sam, it was the three of us. Bellamy and Eric clashed far more than they got along. They didn’t really start communicating with each other until my assignment in Feathered Nest.

  Now our group has changed and grown, and we’re looking ahead to things like marriage and parenthood. I’ve always felt like I had to grow up fast after my mother’s murder. But now I suddenly feel like an adult in a totally different way.

  I figured I already felt like an adult and very well should, considering I tipped over to the other side of thirty and should consider myself grown by now. But it’s completely different when I’m looking at it from the path toward these major milestones.

  I don’t realize how time has slipped by until Sam gets home.

  “Have you been sitting there all day?” he asks.

  I look around, noticing the sun has set and the empty glass I was going to bring back into the kitchen when I got up to do something else is still sitting beside me.

  “I guess I have,” I say.

  “Have you eaten or anything?” he asks.

  “I had breakfast. I got up for a snack once,” I say.

  “Let me order some Chinese,” he says.

  I shake my head. “No. We just had pizza. I can’t let you go back to your bachelor days eating nothing but take out all the time. I’ll get up and make something. Or you could go hunt and gather in the pantry and see if there’s anything you want to throw together.”

  “Hey, I am still technically a bachelor,” he protests. “As was emphasized by Dean and Xavier when they started talking about throwing me a bachelor party.”

  He disappears into the kitchen, and I hear the coffeemaker fire up.

  “Dean I can definitely see throwing a bachelor party,” I say. “Xavier, though, I have my doubts. He’ll probably come up with some sort of traditional ritual you have to do, and you’re going to end up dressed in a loin cloth bonding over hunks of meat cooked in an open fire or something.”

  “You pretty much just described camping.”

  “I’ve never worn a loin cloth while camping,” I say.

  He comes in with a fresh cup of coffee for me and leans down to kiss my cheek as he hands it to me. “You’ve never been camping with me.”

  “Well, bachelor party camping with Xavier would probably be a whole experience none of us are prepared for,” I say, lifting the mug to my lips for a sip off the rich, dark coffee.

  “Actually, Xavier mentioned stripping,” Sam says.

  I pause mid-sip and stare at him over the edge of the mug. Then it clicks.

  “He was talking about furniture, wasn’t he?” I ask.

  Sam smiles and nods. “A really lovely hutch.”

  “Don’t get too crazy,” I say.

  I take one more sip before putting the cup down and turning back to the computer.

  “Have you narrowed it down any?” he asks.

  “I found a few more cases that fit with some of the details, but none of them have all of them. Eric found one, too, but Dean said he hasn’t heard of anything like that. I keep going over them, trying to figure out if there are ways to make the pieces all fit together. It�
��s like I’m just not looking at it the right way. Something is right there, but it won’t materialize.”

  “I’m going to order food, then you can tell me about them.”

  He goes to the kitchen again, and I hear him taking the menu for our favorite Chinese take-out place out of the drawer that harbors all our restaurant menus. He orders our usual assortment and comes back into the room.

  “I’m actually going to take a shower while we wait for the food,” I say. “Maybe it will help me think.”

  “Want some company?”

  I nod.

  We emerge from the shower and I pull on one of my favorite sweatsuits just before the food arrives at the door. Just like every time we order Chinese food, all the containers get opened and spread out across the dining room table so we can mound up our plates with a little bit of everything. Chopsticks in hand, I fill up my plate and then go back for my computer. I set it up beside me so I can go over everything with Sam.

  “This one, Grayson Palmer, thirty-five years old. Went out to test the new snowmobile he got for Christmas and didn’t come back. The snowmobile was found in a snowdrift with his shredded coat beside it. They never found him.”

  “No angel,” Sam points out.

  “Right. No angel, and his family realized he was missing pretty quickly because they knew he had gone out. Now this one, Mallory Taylor, fits a little better. She was twenty-nine when she went missing. She’d been having some trouble with her husband, so she went on vacation by herself for a few days. Everybody thought she had gone to her friend’s house, but they later found out she changed her mind and went to the little family cabin in the woods. They found her coat, gloves, and hat on the snow in front of the cabin. She had an angel tattooed on her back.”

  “So, maybe the angel looked perfect to whoever took her, not to her?” Sam muses.

  “It’s a possibility. But there’s no narrow road. It’s a cabin, but the road leading to it is fairly widely traveled, and it’s only when you get on the driveway to the cabin itself that it gets a little narrower, according to the map. But there’s definitely no such thing as a snowplow going anywhere near that cabin,” I say.