“And Colson was that Santa Claus,” Constance offered, nodding. “That was in the report.”
“Yeah…” Carmichael grunted. “He was going by John Carter, which we found out later was apparently a known alias of his. How that sonofabitch got hired I don’t know. Of course, back then there wasn’t a sex offender registry, so I guess he just flew under the radar… Anyhow, about twenty minutes or so after Merrie took her sister next door, a clerk came rushing over to Norris’s looking for Elizabeth. Rebecca was standing in the middle of the dime store in hysterics, and all they could get out of her was that Merrie had taken Santa away, or some such. Of course, as we know, it was the other way around, but sometimes five-year-olds see the world differently than the rest of us.
“At any rate, Merrie was nowhere to be found, and no one except Rebecca had seen a thing. Colson had supposedly gone on a break, but he never returned and couldn’t be found in the vicinity, so he instantly went to the top of the list of people we wanted to interview.”
“‘We?’” Constance asked.
“Yeah… ‘We.’ Thirty-five years ago I was a commissioned deputy in this very sheriff’s department,” he explained.
“So, you didn’t just retire here,” Constance said. “You’re originally from Hulis.”
He nodded.
“That wasn’t in our files,” she puzzled aloud.
“I told you we needed to talk.”
“Obviously. Go on.”
“Well, back then I was green. I’d been on the department for less than a year, and we’d never had anything like this happen in Hulis. If you had a kid go missing, you found ‘em at a friend’s house, or they were skipping school and just forgot to make sure they came home in time to not get caught. But I knew this was different almost right from the minute I arrived.
“I was the first one on the scene. Both Sheriff Morton and I figured it was a nuisance call when it came in, but I rushed on over anyway. The minute Missus Babbs started filling me in I had a gut feeling that there was more to it. Then, I found the shoe.”
“The shoe?”
He nodded. “Colson apparently took Merrie out the back, through the stockroom. Since he parked his car behind the store in the employee area, that made it even easier for him to slip away unnoticed. When I was searching for her, I noticed some things that led me in that direction, and when I went out onto the back lot, I found one of her shoes. That’s when I knew for sure she’d been taken.
“We set up road blocks and organized a search, of course. I think just about everyone living here at the time helped look for her. There were even some State Highway Patrol officers sent in. Tom-that was her dad-and Elizabeth were basket cases, understandably, what with their little girl being stolen like that.” He shook his head and stared out the window for a moment before continuing. “I still remember my mom going over and staying at their place to help out with Rebecca, and just to make sure they had someone there.
“Anyway, we searched the rest of that night, even through the snowstorm that was hitting us. We didn’t stop. The searching went on all day the next and into that night too. By then we’d found out about the alias and pulled a complete background check on Colson, so we knew about his record, including the sexual assault on a minor charge. I’m here to tell you that information didn’t do much for our spirits.”
“I understand.”
Sheriff Carmichael drew in a deep breath and then puffed his cheeks in a drawn out sigh. “There was no such thing as an Amber Alert, but we got the word out to all the agencies, including yours. And then there was the media. They jumped all over it too. Next day was Christmas Eve,” he said. “We figured by that point Colson had probably gone across the state line into Iowa, or maybe even east into Illinois, so APB’s went out in every direction. But we kept lookin’ around here anyway. We weren’t about to give up. Of course, we still couldn’t find a thing. Not a trace of either of them. So…later that afternoon I went home and caught a nap. I had a regular shift coming up and I’d been running on next to no sleep. That evening I headed in for my regular overnight duty shift. Next mornin’ is when I found her.”
“How?”
“Luck, I guess,” he replied. “I’d just been sittin’ there in the office and twiddlin’ my thumbs the whole damn night. Soon as my shift ended, I figured I’d go out and cruise. You know, have another look even if I was just covering old ground. I was out for an hour…maybe a bit more…and everything just started to catch up with me. It was pushin’ five A.M., so I decided to go on home and hit the sack. I was out on the west side of town. Turned a corner to loop around the block and there she was. Standin’ in the middle of the road.”
He paused and Constance could see the fresh pain of an old memory creasing his face. He started to speak again, but his voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee before finishing the story.
“At first I just thought I was seeing things,” he offered. “You know…that the lack of sleep was causing me to hallucinate or something… But… I wasn’t. It was her. She was covered in blood. Didn’t find out till later that wasn’t all of it hers. She was wearing her school uniform, or what was left of it. It was torn…just ripped up by that sick bastard. But I guess she’d put it back on after…well…you know.
“There was a good eight inches of snow on the ground, with even bigger drifts, what with that blizzard having blown through. Temp was in the twenties… But there she was, torn clothes, one shoe, and just standing there in the middle of the road, starin’ off into space. She wasn’t even shivering.” He hesitated momentarily as the vivid recollection welled inside him, gathering pressure before escaping via his tortured voice. “The ungodly things that bastard had done to that sweet little girl…cigarette burns…cuts…bruises…and… I… I… I just can’t even… I…”
“It’s okay,” Constance soothed. “I understand.”
“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “It’s not okay. And unless you’ve seen it…I mean really seen it…then you don’t understand.”
“You’re correct,” she replied. “I don’t, really.” There was no reason to argue.
“Long as I live… I just…” Sheriff Carmichael stopped and blew out a heavy sigh. “Anyway…I wrapped her up in a blanket and called it in. She never said a word the whole time. Just sat there in my cruiser and stared out the window. They hustled her off to the hospital over in Mais while we started searching the neighborhood looking for Colson. About two hours later we found what was left of ‘im in the basement of a vacant house. It was a few blocks from where I found Merrie. It had been checked the day before. Or it was supposed to have been-nobody was sure-but if it was, where they were prior to that is still a mystery.
“At any rate, he was dead, of course. He’d been hacked up good with an axe. It was layin’ right there next to him, along with an empty bourbon bottle. Axe handle had small, bloody handprints all over it, and the fingerprints we pulled matched Merrie. Then, like I said, we found out that a good bit of the blood on her was his. She never told us what happened… I don’t honestly believe she even remembers. But the coroner’s report showed his blood alcohol was through the roof, so with the evidence at hand, the assumption was that he got liquored up, passed out, then Merrie found the axe and did what she thought she needed to do in order to escape.”
“Quite the feat for a ten-year-old girl,” Constance mused aloud.
“You know what they say about fear,” he replied. “It’s the great motivator.”
“True. And it does sound like a logical conclusion under the circumstances,” she offered. “So, what happened after that? The file had notes to the effect that Merrie is currently institutionalized?”
The sheriff shook his head and answered. “She never really recovered. For the longest time she was almost catatonic. She was well into her teens before she showed any improvement at all, but even then it was like she was mentally frozen in time. Stuck at ten years old forever. A little girl in a g
rown up body. Tom and Elizabeth took care of her even as they got older, but about ten years ago they were both killed in a head on collision out on the two lane. Merrie couldn’t take care of herself, so she pretty much lives at the retirement home. Between her inheritance and the good hearts of folks here in town, it’s covered.”
Constance cocked an eyebrow. “What about her sister?”
“Nobody’s seen or heard from Rebecca for a long time. Coming up on a decade I guess.” He gave his head a shake that exuded sadness in the very motion. “Merrie had become Tom and Elizabeth’s world, and I think Rebecca ended up resenting her for that. She’d been off to college and was living her life in Omaha before the accident anyway. She visited quite a bit. She came back for the funeral and then hung around long enough to dissolve the estate.” He shrugged. “Then she set up a trust fund for Merrie, took her half of the inheritance and left. She was back a few times after that, but each time it was shorter and farther between. Eventually, she just stopped showing up. Shoulda been something in your file about it. All of ‘em that came before ya’ tried to track her down but never had any luck.”
“Unfortunately for us, if someone really wants to disappear and they stay out of trouble, it’s easier than most people think,” Constance said.
“That’s a fact,” Sheriff Carmichael agreed.
He looked down at the plate of food in front of him. A visible, dull skin had formed on the surface of the rapidly cooling gravy, and the inviting gloss the butter had given the bright green peas was all but melted into oblivion. It didn’t matter. His appetite had disappeared thirty seconds into the story anyway.
He pushed the plate aside, then reached for the napkin dispenser only to discover that he’d been clenching one of the folded paper rectangles in his fist the whole time he’d been recounting the thirty-five-year-old horror. He carefully wiped his mouth, then brushed out his mustache with his fingertips as he tossed the crumpled napkin aside.
“So, tell me,” he began, turning his emotionally spent gaze toward Constance. “Now that you’ve heard all that, do you still feel it’s absolutely necessary to talk to Merrie?”
Constance nodded shallowly and returned a grim expression. “I’m afraid so. I realize it must be hard, so I can just go myself, if you’d prefer.”
“No, no… I’ll be going out to visit her anyway. I always do. Besides, she’s probably expecting us. Bringing her a new visitor on the twenty-second seems to have become a twisted little tradition where you Feds are concerned.”
“Sorry.”
He shrugged off the apology. “She’s not big on strangers either, but she’ll be okay with you if she sees us together and I introduce ya’.” He reached up and massaged a spot above his eyebrow with the side of a crooked index finger. “All right then. Let me go ahead and collect that piece of pie and run it back to Clovis, and make a couple of calls, then I’ll take you over there.”
CHAPTER 10
Constance stood on the sidewalk in front of the sheriff’s office while he went inside, the collar of her long coat turned up against the breeze. The temperature was hovering in the upper 20’s, but the occasional gusts that surged along the street made it feel much colder. If the sun was out it might not be so bad, but a heavy blanket of gray clouds formed a low ceiling overhead, casting the small town of Hulis in a visible dullness that served to enhance the dark funk that already permeated it to the core.
Her cell phone speaker trilled as she held it pressed against her ear with a leather gloved hand. After the fifth ring a recorded male voice announced without identification or ceremony, “Leave a message.”
Constance rolled her eyes as a sharp tone followed, then began speaking. “Drew, this is Mandalay. Hey, I know it’s the holidays and all, but I got handed the ‘Christmas Butcher’ case and I’m up here in northern Missouri. I just finished a really interesting conversation with Sheriff Carmichael. Apparently our file on this whole situation is incomplete… Actually, that’s an understatement…but…anyway, since you were the last agent assigned, I wanted to run a couple of things past you. Do me a favor and give me a call back on my cell when you get this. Okay? Thanks.”
She stabbed off the device, then punched in a speed dial code using her ungloved hand, which she then promptly shoved back into her pocket once the requisite task was complete and nimbleness of digits was no longer required. Tilting her head to the side, she tucked the cell beneath a cascade of brown hair and pressed it to her ear once again. On the second ring a gruff but far more familiar voice issued from the speaker.
“Homicide. Detective Storm…” the voice said.
“Hey, Ben,” Constance half-cooed. “How is your day going?”
“Pretty damn quiet at the moment,” he replied. “But that’ll change. It always does.”
“Unfortunately,” she agreed. “I’m sorry we couldn’t connect before I had to leave town.”
“Yeah, got your message. Shit happens.”
She could hear the shrug in his voice, but underneath it she could detect a clear note of disappointment as well. They’d both been busy with their respective jobs, and getting together just hadn’t been in the cards as of late.
“So, how ‘bout your day? Where’d they send ya’ off to this time?”
“Hulis, Missouri.”
“Hulis… Where the hell’s that?”
“About four hours north of Saint Louis. Almost right on the Iowa border.”
“Ahhh… North Podunk Cornfield, eh?”
“Sort of. I hate to sound cliche, but quaint definitely fits…in a weird fashion.”
“Whadda they have ya’ workin’?” he asked, then added with a chuckle, “Grand theft scarecrow?”
“I wish. It’s a seriously screwed up case, actually…” She left her words dangling on the chilled air.
“That bad, eh?”
“In a word, yes.”
“Okay…” he said. “You’re soundin’ all depressed. Spill it. What’s wrong?”
She hesitated to answer. After all, why ruin his mood too? But it took only a few seconds for her reluctance to wane, and in the end she just couldn’t keep herself from sharing. “Unfortunately, I just finished listening to a detailed account of a child abduction, abuse, and sexual assault from thirty-five years ago. A ten-year-old girl named Merrie Callahan. It was heartbreaking.”
“Jeezus…” Ben muttered. “Yeah… I can see where that’d royally fuck up your mood. Did they at least catch the sick bastard who did it, or is that why you’re there?”
“They didn’t have to, actually,” she told him. “The little girl he took escaped after he got drunk and passed out. But rather than take any chances, she hacked him to death with an axe first. On Christmas morning, no less.”
“Jeez… Awww… Just… Jeezus…” he moaned. After a brief pause, in a somber tone he added, “That’s one tough little kid. Well at least she got away.”
“But not before he’d tortured and raped her over a period of three days.”
“Yeah… Well, if you ask me, the sick fuck got what he deserved.”
“At the cost of the girl’s sanity, apparently. She never recovered, mentally.”
“That’s fucked up…” he muttered, then fell silent.
She could hear him breathing on the other end of the line. As jaded as he could sometimes be about homicides, no matter how gruesome they were, if a crime involved a kid, he melted. Any act of violence against children pierced his armor instantly and without fail. Part of what made it hit closer to home for him was that he was a father himself.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I really didn’t mean to call and depress you too,” Constance offered.
“S’okay,” he replied. “I’m the one that asked. B’sides, can’t be easy for you ta’ deal with either.”
“No, it isn’t…” she agreed.
“Gotta have someone you can talk to or it’ll make ya’ nuts.”
“Uh-huh. Thanks for listening. I really
appreciate it.”
“Any time, hon. So… Stupid question. Why’re you in North Podunk lookin’ at a thirty-five-year-old closed case?”
“Because seven years ago, a man’s body turned up here on Christmas Day, also hacked apart with an axe. Since then, same thing every Christmas morning. Man’s body, hacked up with an axe, and the external genitalia missing. Just like the incident in nineteen-seventy-five.”
“Damn…” he muttered. “That’s some twisted shit. Somebody out there’s a certified wingnut.”
“Seems like it.”
“One body a year, eh? That’s some serious downtime for a serial.”
“True, but an annual cycle isn’t unheard of. Also, the murder is always preceded by a Christmas card delivered to the sheriff’s office on December twenty-second, which is the anniversary of the day the little girl was abducted.”
“Well, not that ya’ needed any more proof, but that pretty much clinches your triggering stressor, right there, doesn’t it?”
“I’d say so.”
“And it’s been goin’ on for seven years now?” There was a hint of incredulity in his voice.
She responded in kind. “I know… Tell me about it.”
“Who the hell’s workin’ lead on this?”
“That’s just it. Nobody. Or maybe me, I guess. I’m actually the fifth agent that’s been assigned over the course of the case thus far. And it’s never a team. Just a single agent.”
“You’re kiddin’ me.”
“I wish I were. It doesn’t make sense.”
“No it doesn’t… Well… Lucky you, I guess.”
“Uh-huh, lucky me,” she spat.
“Well, I’m sure I don’t need ta’ even say this, but you’ve looked at family, right?” he suggested.
In the bleak midwinter asacm-1 Page 9
