In the bleak midwinter asacm-1

by M. R. Sellars

  His voice was cautious, as was his expression. However, there was a hint of curiosity showing in his eyes. Constance reached into her blazer and withdrew her badge case, displaying it with an easy flip of her wrist as she returned, “Special Agent Mandalay, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  Doctor Poe settled a pair of readers onto the end of his nose and inspected the credentials, then gave her a nod as he returned his gaze to her face. “I was told you want to speak with a patient?”

  “Yes, Doctor,” she replied, stowing the leather badge case back inside the folds of her jacket. “Edgar Virgil Reese. I’m given to understand he checked himself into this facility for observation yesterday afternoon.”

  “Well, I’m afraid that it goes against policy to allow visitors during a seventy-two hour observation period, not to mention that it’s rather late…”

  “I understand that,” she said, cutting him off. “The nurse already told me the same thing.”

  “Good, then you are aware of our policy.”

  “Yes, Doctor, I’m well aware, but as I told her, I can’t accept that.”

  “She was just doing her job, Miz Mandalay.”

  “Special Agent Mandalay, Doctor,” she corrected. “And I understand her position. That is why I’m now talking to you instead.”

  He nodded and replied with a guarded, “I see.”

  Constance couldn’t help but think about the fact that if Ben were here he would be cracking a joke about the psychiatrist’s stereotypical choice of words. She’d heard the detective rib his own sister over such things. Fortunately, Helen Storm was very good-humored where that was concerned. Something told her, however, that Doctor Poe didn’t share that trait.

  This wasn’t her first go around with someone like him. She suspected that he was already profiling her as an insecure woman who was overcompensating because of her rampant penis envy. She’d been told something very similar once before by a psychiatrist who had stood between her and the resolution of a case. He hadn’t stood there much longer after that.

  But right now she didn’t care. Doctor Poe could think whatever he wanted. The truth is, she had already profiled him as a mid-level administrator with a God complex, so technically they were even.

  He fell silent and simply stared at her on the heels of his two-word commentary, seemingly sure that he had the upper hand. Constance mirrored his gaze and kept her own mouth shut. She had played this version of chicken before and with people far better at it than him. Psychiatrist or not, he was actually the one at a disadvantage in this stare-down test of wills. She had paid close attention to his face when she’d flashed her badge. Federal credentials almost always made people nervous, even when they were innocent, and he was no exception to that rule. He may not realize it yet, but he had already blinked before they ever started.

  Silence filled the waiting room as an unseen second hand swept around a figurative clock. A minute passed, then a minute plus one-half. It never made it as far as two.

  Doctor Poe shifted in place then cleared his throat and followed with a nervous-sounding cough. “May I ask why you want to speak with Mister Reese, Special Agent Mandalay?”

  “It’s simply part of an ongoing investigation,” she replied.

  “Is he a suspect in this investigation?”

  “More like a person of interest.”

  The doctor seemed unsatisfied with the answer. “I need to know if he poses a danger to the other patients.”

  “Wouldn’t you be the one to answer that question?” she replied.

  He appeared to ponder her return quip for a moment, then began to object, “Special Agent Mand-”

  Before he could finish, Constance interjected, “I just want to ask him some questions, Doctor, that’s all.”

  “Mister Reese is here for a seventy-two hour observation and evaluation.”

  He regurgitated the same line she’d already heard a dozen times since her arrival here. Obviously he wasn’t going to easily give up his attempt to stonewall.

  “Voluntary,” Constance added. “You and I both know that the Missouri revised statutes guarantee him the right to visitors unless you have good cause to deny such. Do you?”

  “I believe it also states, at reasonable times,” he added.

  “Hospital visiting hours don’t end until nine, Doctor,” she replied. “It’s only eight.”

  “Those are general hours. The psychiatric wing hours end at eight.”

  “I was here at seven-fifteen and you kept me waiting,” she countered.

  “I’m very busy.”

  “I’m sure, as am I.” Constance nodded then tried to relax her posture slightly, making a slightly conciliatory appeal. “Listen, Doctor Poe, I understand your situation, not to mention that it’s Christmas. Believe me, I’ve been away from home since the twenty-second. I’d rather not be here either, but with a little cooperation this can be relatively painless.”

  “I’m sorry,” he replied, shaking his head. “Visiting hours are still at our discretion.”

  “This is official, Doctor.”

  “My hands are tied, Special Agent.”

  “Okay, then,” Constance huffed as she reached down and retrieved her cell phone from her coat pocket. “Let me see if I can untie them for you. I’ll make a call and get a court order.”

  “If you could do that you would have already had a court order in hand,” he rebuked.

  She replied, “Do you really want to take that chance?”

  He stared at her again, and she held his gaze, thumb hovering over the keypad of the cell. Finally, she keyed in a speed dial code and placed the device up to her ear. After a trio of rings it was answered at the other end.

  “Yes, SSA Greene, this is Mandalay… Yes sir, Merry Christmas to you too… Yes, sir… Yes, that’s where I am right now, and it’s actually why I’m calling. I’m very sorry to be bothering you at home, but I’m meeting some resistance from Doctor Poe here at the hospital. Yes, sir… Yes, exactly… Yes, I think we might need to obtain a court order… Yes, sir… Yes, I’ve tried… Yes, sir, I know… All right, just a second…”

  She lowered the cell for a moment. “What is your full name, Doctor Poe? The judge is going to want it for the warrant.”

  “Wh-wh-why my name?”

  “It’s just procedure,” she told him. “We like to have a paper trail in case there are any significant turns in the investigation, you understand.”

  Doctor Poe quickly waved his hands and instead of answering said, “Slow down… Just… Let’s back up…”

  Constance raised an eyebrow then pushed the phone back up to her ear and said, “I’m sorry, sir, could you hold for another minute? Thanks…”

  She lowered the device again and stared questioningly back at the doctor.

  He huffed out an exasperated sigh and said, “We don’t even know if Mister Reese is willing to take a visitor.”

  “Why don’t you start with asking him?” she said.

  He regarded her quietly for a moment before finally huffing again and all but spitting her title as if it were poison to his tongue. “All right, Special Agent Mandalay, we’ll do it your way. You don’t need to get a court order. But if Mister Reese refuses to speak with you, that isn’t my fault.”

  “I understand. Thank you,” she replied, then pressed the phone back to her ear. “I’m sorry about that, sir… No, it actually appears that I bothered you for nothing. Doctor Poe has changed his mind. Yes, sir… Yes, sir… I will. You too… And Merry Christmas to your family… Sorry again for bothering you… Goodbye.”

  Constance thumbed off the phone and breathed an inner sigh of relief. Given that she’d just carried on a one-sided conversation with her own answering machine at home, she was thankful the doctor hadn’t called her bluff.

  “Follow me,” Poe said, turning to lead her toward the door from which he’d entered earlier. “I still want you to understand that this is highly irregular.”

  She answered immediately w
hile gathering up her coat, and mimicked his earlier tone of distaste with her title. “That’s okay, Doctor, this is a highly irregular investigation.”

  CHAPTER 30

  11:43 P.M. – December 25, 2010

  Sheriff’s Department

  Hulis Township – Northern Missouri

  “Either two thousand-seven best director… That make sense to you?” Sheriff Carmichael asked aloud, not looking up from the crossword puzzle on his desk. “Four letters… Starts with C.”

  “Coen,” Constance replied, her voice cold and flat. “C-O-E-N. Joel and Ethan. They’re brothers and they shared the award in oh-seven for No Country For Old Men.”

  Still not tearing his gaze away from the puzzle, he asked, “Good movie?”

  “I liked it.”

  “Hmmph,” he grunted, and then muttered to himself as he ticked off the letters in the small boxes. “C… Down… Yeah… It works… Never saw that movie. Guess I should take Kathy out a little more often.”

  Constance watched quietly from the doorway as he filled in the blanks, then purposefully scratched through the clue in a column off to the side of the puzzle. He scanned the crossword box while reaching up and absently combing through his mustache with his fingers. After a languid pause, he laid the paper to the side then tossed the stub of a pencil on top of it before rocking back in his chair and locking gazes with her.

  “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to come in and sit down?” he finally asked.

  “I think I’ll just go ahead and stand this time, Sheriff,” she replied.

  She was leaning to the side with her shoulder against the doorframe and her coat carefully draped over her arm. Her eyes were hard beneath a creased brow and her lips were a tight, thin line. Other than that, her face was a tired, emotionless mask.

  Skip waited a beat, never taking his eyes off her, then drew in a deep breath and exhaled a heavy “Suit yourself, Special Agent.”

  “I have to admit,” she said after her own short pause. “I was surprised to see your cruiser parked out front when I passed by. I wasn’t expecting to have this conversation with you until tomorrow.”

  “Been waiting,” he grunted. “I was hoping you’d show up.”

  Constance cocked her head to the side. “Were you really?”

  “Sugar, I could be home in bed right now. Hell, if you were anything like your predecessors, I damn well would be, because none of them ever bothered to stick around this long.”

  “How did you know I didn’t just go ahead and leave like the others?”

  “I didn’t, for sure…but I had you pegged as different from the day you showed up, so I had my hopes.”

  “More of your uncanny powers of observation?”

  He shrugged. “Actually, more like a gut feeling on that one. Oh, believe me, I had a moment of self-doubt when I drove by the Greenleaf earlier and saw your car was gone. But I checked with Artie and he said you hadn’t officially checked out, and the desk clerk said you weren’t carrying any bags when you left.”

  “Do you have any idea how creepy it is that you people spy on everyone like that?” she asked.

  “Small town, Constance. That’s just how it is. Most of the time everybody knows your business and you know theirs. Hard to keep a secret in Hulis, trust me.”

  “It almost makes me wonder if there’s a hidden camera in my shower too,” she quipped, sarcasm so heavy in the words it double-underscored the comment.

  Skip replied, “Depends. Which room did they put you in?”

  She raised an eyebrow and glared, but said nothing.

  “Kidding, sugar. I was just kidding.”

  “I’m not really in the mood for jokes right now, Skip.”

  “Yeah…” he grunted. “I guess you wouldn’t be, would you.”

  Thick silence fell between them. The staring contest continued, but unlike the doctor in Mais, Constance didn’t see Carmichael as the type to cave because she made him nervous. She knew better than that. She also had a feeling he was thinking the same thing about her.

  Before the standoff could turn into a prolonged stalemate, the sheriff spoke up, breaking the silence with an offhanded announcement. “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

  He slowly rocked the old desk chair forward on the complaining springs, and then leaned to the left and tugged open a drawer. Without further pomp or comment, he reached in, withdrew a sealing-wax-dipped bottle of bourbon, and settled it on the desk blotter. He followed that by extracting two short tumblers from the depths of the drawer and placing them next to the fifth of booze.

  Carmichael shoved the drawer closed with a thump, then unscrewed the cap on the bottle, tipped it up, and carefully poured a measure of the dark amber liquor into one of the glasses. When he finished, he gave Constance a questioning look and nodded toward the empty tumbler.

  “What the hell… Yeah…” she muttered, pushing away from the doorframe and stepping over to the straight-backed chair opposite him. She draped her coat over the back then parked herself.

  “If you want ice, you’ll have to check the break room,” Skip told her as he filled the second glass and then spun the cap back onto the bottle. He pushed the three fingers of booze across the desk to her before picking up his own tumbler. He took a healthy sip then cradled it in his hands as he allowed his creaking chair to rock back once again.

  Constance emulated the latter two actions: sipping, and then using the bulk of her coat as a cushion for the hard back of her chair as she leaned against it. She stared at her hands, contemplating the bourbon for a moment, and then finally she sighed and looked up across the desk at the sheriff.

  “I just came back from Highland County Hospital in Mais,” she said.

  “Yeah…” Skip nodded. “Not surprised. I figured you might decide to talk to Edgar after all.”

  “He had some interesting things to say about December twenty-fifth, nineteen seventy-five.”

  He snorted, but there was no derision, just sullen acceptance. With a shake of his head he added, “I’m sure he did.”

  “Should I assume he was telling me the truth?”

  “Guess that depends on how much sense he was making at the time.”

  “What if he wasn’t making any sense?”

  “Him, or what he told you?” he asked in return. “There’s a difference.”

  “Yes… I suppose there is.” Constance sipped the whiskey again and let its smooth burn run down the back of her throat, spreading warmth in its wake. Then she asked, “Okay, then; why the lies, Skip?”

  “Like I said this morning, you wouldn’t have believed me until you saw it for yourself. Just like you wouldn’t have believed Edgar if he’d told you his story yesterday instead of today.”

  “But what about the rest of it? You could have filled me in this morning. Especially after what you showed me at the crime scene.”

  He shook his head. “Neither of us was in any shape for that and you know it. That’s why I came by the Greenleaf this evening. I figured once you and I had both had some sleep we could talk about it and you wouldn’t think I was completely insane.”

  “Fair enough,” she agreed. “Well… I’m here now, and I’ve had that sleep. I assume you have too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then I’d like to hear your version,” she said. “I think you may be able to fill in some of the blanks Edgar left.”

  “Yeah…” he said. “You know, you’ll be the first since Agent Graham, and he thought I was crazy.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  Skip looked at the tumbler in his hands, then brought it to his lips, tipped it up and drained it in a single gulp. Rocking back forward, he refilled the glass with another healthy measure of the amber alcohol and then carefully brushed his mustache, apparently pondering his words. After a long pause, he pursed his lips and sighed, then settled back in the chair once again and swallowed hard. His eyes were vacant and fixed. He was no longer staring at Constance
, he was staring through her; looking thirty-five years into the past as if it were happening before him right now.

  He cleared his throat and began, “Everything I’ve already told you about the abduction and finding Merrie is true; I think you’ve already seen that… It’s just some of the things since that have been altered a bit…to protect the innocent, as they say…”

  “Yes,” she agreed softly. “And there are the things you left out.”

  “Yeah,” he breathed. “That’s the part I’ve been trying my damnedest to forget for thirty-five years.”

  “Go on…” Constance urged.

  He drew in a deep breath and continued. “Our first concern that morning was Merrie, of course. She needed immediate attention, so I actually didn’t join the search for Colson right away… Fact is, I went with her to the hospital and stayed until her parents arrived. By the time I got back, Sheriff Morton, and Edgar, and everyone else had canvassed several blocks and found the house on Evergreen.”

  “Why didn’t they just follow Merrie’s tracks back to it?” Constance asked.

  He stifled a thoughtful snort. “Edgar didn’t tell you? There weren’t any.” He took a swig from his drink and contemplated the tumbler for a moment before continuing. “Well, anyway, I arrived to a crime scene crawling with Missouri Highway Patrol and Feds, as well as just about everyone from our department. Sheriff Morton was waiting for me when I got there, and the first thing he asked was if I was absolutely positive the little girl I’d picked up was Merrie. I told him yes, and he just asked me the same question again. I was starting to think the old man had lost it because he had seen her before we left for the hospital… He knew damn well it was her…but…then he took me inside.

  “Well… You know what it looked like in that basement. You saw it this morning yourself. Not exactly how you want to introduce a green cop in a small town to a murder investigation, that’s for sure, but I held my coffee down, which was more than I can say for some of the State guys.”

  Skip paused, falling silent once again. He continued to stare through her as he had been at the outset. His face masked with grief, he was obviously playing it all out in his mind in vivid color, just as he probably had for an untold number of times throughout the years. Constance couldn’t help but feel compassion for him.