In the bleak midwinter asacm-1

by M. R. Sellars

  At this point, she was relatively certain that not a single inch of the basement had gone without being fully inspected by sight, sound, and touch. The glass block windows were mortared in, solid and almost fully covered by debris from the outside. The remains of the old furnace were immovable. There was nothing behind them or in them, and the area below the stairs was also free and clear. There was no place to hide, and the only ingress or egress was from the upper floor. The only other thing she could imagine doing was to have a forensics team search the yard around the structure using ground-penetrating radar, but she knew that wasn’t about to happen.

  Constance lowered the tire tool carefully to her side then let loose with a heavy sigh. Her breath formed a jet of cloudy frost in the wide beam of the flashlight.

  Deputy Slozar cleared her throat and then with a bit of trepidation offered, “This has all been checked before, ma’am.”

  Ma’am… Great… Like I don’t already feel old enough at the moment, Constance thought. However, what she said was, “I know it has, Deputy. This is really just to satisfy my own curiosity…”

  Several languid seconds passed before the young woman spoke up again. “So…how do you think he does it, ma’am? Gets in without us ever seeing him, I mean…”

  “That’s one of the things I’m here to find out,” Constance replied, then looked over at the deputy. The uniformed woman’s face was faintly visible in the unfocused residual glow from the flashlight. Not only did she look painfully young, but at the moment she also looked as though she was bordering on terrified. It was hard for Mandalay to blame her though, given what this house seemed to do to people who spent too much time within its walls. There was also the fact that her own stomach was filled with a healthy swarm of butterflies, but she thought it better to keep that fact to herself.

  “How long have you been a deputy for Sheriff Carmichael?” Constance asked.

  “Three years, ma’am.”

  “So then this isn’t the first time you’ve been through this ordeal with him.”

  “No, ma’am, it isn’t.”

  Constance gave her a knowing nod and breathed, “But it just never gets any easier, does it?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Constance waited a beat, then clucked her tongue and said, “So how do you think he does it, Deputy?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “I’m asking your opinion. I’m open to theories if you have one.”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t,” she replied.

  “Then I guess we’re both in the same boat.”

  “I suppose so, ma’am.”

  Do me a favor, Deputy Slozar,” Constance said. “Stop calling me ma’am.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Constance gave her head a small shake but let the slip go without further comment. Were it not for the gravity of the horrors that had occurred here-and were likely to occur again very soon-the young woman’s unconscious habit would have been almost comical.

  Turning, Mandalay began to wander slowly across the basement. The deputy stayed close behind, flashlight aimed forward to illuminate her path. When she reached what she thought was roughly the center, Constance stopped and waited.

  “Turn off the flashlight, please,” she instructed.

  Confusion and fear were both thick in the young officer’s voice when she stammered her reply. “Off, ma’am?”

  “Yes, Deputy. Off,” she said. “And then just stand still if you would.”

  The young woman fumbled with the black, metal cylinder for a moment, then the light finally extinguished. Constance listened intently once again, but this time she wasn’t really sure what she was trying to hear.

  The first thing she noticed was the whooshing sound of her own blood echoing in her ears as her pulse began to race. Behind that came the thin rasping of her shallow breaths. She stared into the darkness, physically seeing nothing, but in her mind, she allowed it to become the tangle of blue, black, and gray from her nightmare.

  While she stood there motionless, the seconds ticked past, turning into a full minute and starting into another. Since there had been no sunshine to speak of over the past two days, the house hadn’t soaked up any warmth. Therefore, even below grade here in the basement, the frostbitten night seeped in with its relentless chill. By all accounts, this was pretty much just how it had been on this same night in nineteen seventy-five. Merrie Callahan had likely spent untold fearful hours down here in the frigid darkness, alone except for that terrible drunken monster who would come down those stairs and brutalize her on his sickening whims. It was a miracle she had survived… A Christmas miracle… As trite as the phrase seemed, Constance couldn’t help but allow it to dominate her thoughts.

  She felt an unnatural chill ripple along her spine and wondered silently if it was merely a physiological reaction to the cliche, or if in some bizarre way, Merrie Frances Callahan was here with her right now.

  “Talk to me, Merrie…” The words came out of her mouth as an almost involuntary whisper.

  Deputy Slozar cleared her throat and muttered an uncomfortable, “Umm, what was that, ma’am?”

  Before Constance could answer, Skip’s voice echoed from the doorway above as a tight shaft of light was aimed down the stairs. “Mel? Constance? You two okay down there?”

  “We’re fine,” Constance called out, breaking out of her sudden melancholy. “I was just checking something.”

  As he descended the top few stairs, the hard sound of the sheriff’s shoe soles against the wooden planks echoed from the basement walls. The noise sent a fresh chill along Mandalay’s backbone and set the swarm of butterflies in her gut to flight.

  How many times had Merrie heard that sound and tried to hide from the pain and horror she knew it was bringing? She wondered silently.

  A moment later she was bathed in a yellowish swath as Skip crouched down with a grunt and shone his light between the uprights of the wobbly handrail.

  “Find something?” he asked.

  “No,” Constance replied, shaking her head and squinting against the light. “It’s all clear.”

  “Same thing up on the main floor,” he replied, quickly shifting the beam so that it was no longer aimed into their faces. “Johnson’s checking the attic like you asked.”

  “Go ahead and turn your flashlight back on,” Constance said to the deputy next to her.

  The business end of the cylinder in the woman’s hand blazed to life before the last syllable had tumbled from the FBI agent’s mouth. Slozar’s thumb had probably been pressed tightly against the button the entire time.

  “Done down here?” Skip asked.

  “Yeah, we’re coming up,” Constance replied.

  He swung his own flashlight’s beam toward the bottom of the staircase. “Watch that first one.”

  Constance felt a sharp twinge in her bruised shin and said, “Yeah. I remember…”

  CONSTANCE aimed her gaze down the hallway, staring along the flashlight’s yellow beam to check the scope of her view. The corridor emptied into a room at the far end of the structure, and the light splashed an amoeba-like puddle on the moderately distant wall. Even through the streaked, multi-year patina of dirt, the glass panes of the old wooden sash window bloomed with shiny glare points as the light struck them. On just the other side of the glass she could make out the wide grain of age-grayed plywood boarding it over from the outside, just like every other window in the house.

  Sheriff Carmichael panned the beam back along the hallway. There were two doors on the right side and one on the left. The latter was the one that most concerned Constance, because it opened onto the stairs that took you down into the basement where everything was supposed to happen.

  As the sheriff turned his hand, dragging the shaft of light along the wall, an archway was revealed on the right hand side as well. It was much closer to them and led into the front room. The only other way into the house was through the back door, which was here in the kitchen with them.

 
; Unless the killer was a certified genius that had figured out the secret to matter teleportation, he-or she-had no way in or out of the basement without crossing through Constance’s line of sight. That was exactly how she wanted it.

  Skip shone the beam around the kitchen then held it so that its glow dimly illuminated them both. With a shake of his head he harrumphed. “Best seat in the house, I guess.”

  “Seems to be,” Constance replied.

  “You sure you don’t want company? I’m happy to stay, or I can pull Slozar back in with you.”

  Constance replied. “No offense, but I don’t think Deputy Slozar has the constitution for this.”

  “Yeah,” he grunted. “She’s a good kid, but you’re right. Like I said though, I can stay.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she told him.

  “You’re sure?” He pressed.

  Constance wondered why he seemed so intent on her not being alone in the house but decided not to ask. She had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t get a straight answer even if she did pose the question.

  “Positive,” she expressed, adding a bit of sternness to her voice. “I’d really prefer you and your deputies keep everything covered from the outside.”

  He waited a beat before saying anything, as if he were calculating a different approach. But when he finally spoke-though reluctance was still apparent in his tone-he stopped pushing.

  “We always do,” he said. “And we always see the same thing, which is a whole lot of nothing.”

  “The killer has to get in here somehow, Skip. So does the victim for that matter.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. But I’ve said it before, I’ll be damned if I know how.”

  “Hopefully I can figure that out,” she replied.

  “Good luck with that,” he grunted. “No offense, but you aren’t the first Fed to say that to me.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll be the last.”

  He let out a patronizing half-chuckle. “Heard that one before too.”

  “You have a better idea?” she snipped.

  Skip shook his head. “No, Constance, I don’t. And don’t take what I said personally. I’m just not getting my hopes up. I’ve been let down too many times.”

  She softened a bit. “Okay… Well then, it looks like I’m all set. I suppose everyone should get into position.”

  “You realize it’s probably not even nine o’clock yet, right?”

  Constance pushed back her coat sleeve and checked her watch. “You’re correct, it’s eight thirty-two.”

  He snorted. “Okay, have it your way, sugar. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told all the other G-men. You’ve got a long damn night ahead of you. I speak from experience.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “I’m trying to tell you that this is gonna happen whether you sit here all night, or you walk in ten minutes before. Whether you’re quiet as a church mouse, or having a party. It always does.”

  “I understood what you meant, Skip.”

  He looked at her and absently combed his mustache before giving his head a shake. “Yep. Stubborn as all hell, just like my oldest.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Yeah… I kind of meant it that way…” he replied. “Okay… So, you’ve got your radio?”

  “Yes,” she said, holding the device up in the light between them. “Already tested. We’ll do an hourly check-in unless something crops up in between. Sound good?”

  “Yeah, it might keep you from getting too bored,” he said with a nod. Tilting his hand, he aimed the flashlight beam at the counter beside them and dipped his head toward it. The shaft of illumination fell across a brown paper bag and a gray metal thermos. “It’s not exactly catfish, Nehi, and RC, but there you go.”

  “Excuse me… Not exactly what?”

  “Yeah, I guess Brother Dave was a little before your time wasn’t he…” Skip said.

  “I still don’t follow.”

  “Forget it. Bad joke. Either way, what I was trying to say is there are a couple of egg salad sandwiches in the bag, and you’ve got coffee. Should hold you for a while.”

  Constance reached over and snatched up the thermos bottle by its handle then held it out to him. “I appreciate the thought, but you’d better just go ahead and take the coffee with you.”

  “You don’t want it?”

  “Want it, yes, but it’s probably not a good idea,” she told him. “Like you said, it’s going to be a long night, and contrary to your metaphorical observations about me when we first met, I’m not really capable of writing my name in the snow.”

  C HAPTER 24

  12:04 A.M. – December 25, 2010

  632 Evergreen Lane

  Hulis Township – Northern Missouri

  “Checking in,” Constance whispered. “All clear.”

  She was holding the two-way close, with the microphone pickup just inches from her mouth. She knew she was probably being overly cautious, but so be it. There was an old saying about discretion, and while valor might not necessarily play a part in her current situation, in her mind stealth most certainly did.

  She released the talk button and heard a quiet chirp, followed by a quick hiss of muted static. She had the volume on the device tweaked barely into the audible range, so she pushed it up closer to her ear and just listened since she was number one on this Hit Parade.

  The ordered cascade for the hourly check-in began, and the reports burped from the speaker, just as they had three times before. Status was announced starting with her, then Deputy Johnson, then Deputy Broderick, and ending finally with Sheriff Carmichael. Each of the men outside relayed a message that echoed hers: “All clear.”

  Although it was horribly dark, it wasn’t completely pitch-black on the main floor of the house. Not like it seemed in the basement. There were several now noticeable gaps in the boards covering the windows, so a small amount of light was seeping in here and there, coming from the not-too-distant streetlamps positioned along the lane outside. It wasn’t much light at all, but once her eyes had adjusted, it was enough that it allowed Constance to make out shadows and shapes. That was all she really needed to see for the moment. Of course, a pair of night vision goggles would have been nice under the circumstances, but you made do with what you had.

  She gently settled the radio onto the counter next to her, close enough that she didn’t have to fumble for it. Then she folded her arms across her chest and cupped her hands around her elbows. Twisting slowly at the waist, first right, then left, she proceeded to tense her muscles then relax them through several slow repetitions as a way of stretching with an economy of movement. The last thing she needed was to stiffen up and get a muscle cramp.

  Not quite four hours had passed since Skip had reluctantly left her alone here in the house. She still wasn’t exactly sure why he had seemed so nonplussed about the arrangement, but at least he had finally dropped the subject without too many objections. His pushing had certainly been enough to make her suspicious of his motive at the time, but the more she thought about it, the less she felt it was enough to elevate him to suspect status.

  Especially after enduring those first two hours alone.

  They had been the worst so far, at least where her nerves were concerned. Sitting by herself in the cold and dark wasn’t a completely new experience. She had worked surveillance under disagreeable conditions before, but the history behind this house wasn’t exactly your garden variety unpleasant. She knew her own imagination was responsible for the majority of the uneasiness, but she couldn’t help the feeling that Merrie had never really left this place. Maybe that was why Skip had wanted her to have company. He had to know those feelings and thoughts himself. After all, he had been dealing with this for far longer than she.

  Constance felt a sudden involuntary contraction in the muscles of her jaw and knew immediately what was coming. She reached up with her hand and stifled the wide yawn as it began. While that first two hours might have been the wor
st on her nerves, each subsequent minute since then had been a bolus of pure boredom injected straight into her veins. Unfortunately, the tedium was building in her system, and that could easily allow her exhaustion to take over. She knew from all-too-recent experience where that could lead.

  Shoving her hand into her coat pocket she dug around then pulled out a small plastic bottle of caffeine pills she had tucked in there earlier. She had forgotten about having them until she had set about digging her flashlight from out of the glove compartment of her car and come across the container. Although she kept the stimulant on hand for emergencies, she tended to put it out of her mind because she actually hated using it. Unfortunately, sometimes it was the only option available, and right now seemed to qualify as one of those “sometimes.” She carefully popped the cap on the bottle and held her palm over the opening as she tilted it. If she remembered the directions correctly, one of the caplets should be approximately the same as a strong cup of coffee. Considering how little sleep she’d had, that probably wasn’t enough. By feel, she used her thumb to work two of them into her hand, then went ahead and swallowed both of them just to be safe.

  After recapping and stowing the bottle, she pulled out her cell phone. Christmas Eve had come and gone in a town where the holiday was avoided like the plague. That was just one more thing about all of this that didn’t feel right to her, even though she knew it was just her emotions talking. Still, she didn’t have to allow their disdain for the day to stop her from at least acknowledging it.

  Cupping one hand over the display, she thumbed the keypad, sparking it to life. It seemed incredibly bright to her under the circumstances, so for a second she found herself almost squinting. She selected Text Message, and then Ben’s cell number. She was keeping her right hand ungloved, just in case she needed to draw her weapon, so with practiced dexterity, by the glow of the display, she rapidly keyed in, “MERRY CHRISTMAS. LOVE YOU, C.”