M. Sellars - In the bleak midwinter

She strolled slowly past the drink coolers, inspecting the selections, and then paused. She still had a little over three hours left before she would roll into Saint Louis. Although she’d slept well last night, she still didn’t feel like she was caught up, so she was definitely going to need caffeine to get her through the upcoming stretch of highway. After a brief moment of indecision, she settled on a bottle of green tea that was boasting “all natural” on the label. She didn’t fully buy into the advertising by any stretch, but she figured her body would appreciate green tea more than a soda, or even coffee.

After paying for the drink, she headed back out to the first row of pumps. Since she had left her coat on the passenger seat of her car, she hurried-heels again tapping out a sharp cadence, this time against the grimy, salt-frosted pavement. She had already topped off her tank and paid with her card before seeking out the restroom, so she quickly unlocked the door and climbed into the driver’s seat, then settled the bottle of tea into the console cup holder. As she reached over her shoulder for the safety belt, she heard a warbling chime issue from her side.

Abandoning the belt, she reached into her jacket pocket and retrieved her cell. The screen displayed, UNKNOWN, and for the number, a row of ten zeros, separated by strategically placed dashes. She frowned and consciously creased her brow, wondering at the odd data and whether to even bother answering. After a moment, the device ceased to jiggle, and the vibrato tone stopped. Problem solved.

Constance moved to slide it back into her pocket when it suddenly began to tickle her palm and sing the same generic tune to her again. She pulled it back up and found the same message on the screen. Giving in, she thumbed the answer button and tucked the cell up beneath her hair and against her ear while she used her other hand to fish her sunglasses from the visor.

“Hello?”

An unfamiliar woman’s emotionless and curt voice asked, “SA Mandalay?”

Constance frowned again. “Yes, this is SA Mandalay. Who is this?”

“Please hold,” the woman replied.

A dull silence instantly filled the earpiece. Constance let out a displeased harrumph but continued to wait. Several seconds later, there was a click and a new voice came on the line.

“SA Mandalay…” a calm, almost soothing male voice said. “I trust you are doing well today?”

Now she wasn’t just displeased, she was confused and starting to edge toward somewhat angry.

“Who is this?” Constance demanded, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice.

There was a quiet chuckle at the other end. “Forgive me, I suppose I should have introduced myself first. I’m Assistant Director Jack Graham.”

Constance fell mute, the earlier aggravation now turning into a bewildering sort of alarm. She knew the name wasn’t likely to be a coincidence, not after everything she’d just been through.

After what seemed to be a forever period of silence she managed, “Good afternoon, sir…”

“Good afternoon, SA Mandalay,” he replied. He was, in a sense, restarting the conversation from square one.

“What can I do for you, sir?” she asked.

“I’m simply checking in with you,” he told her. “I know that you were just assigned to a rather difficult case at my direction, and I wanted to make sure you came through it okay.”

“So far,” she replied, still stunned. “Thank you for the concern, sir.”

“That’s good to hear,” he replied. “You should take some leave when you get home. A few days for yourself to rest up. Perhaps spend a belated holiday with your significant other, Detective Storm.”

The comment was as subtle as a hammer, but she willed herself not to flinch, verbally at least. Instead, she replied, “I still need to file my report, sir.”

“The report can wait, SA Mandalay.”

“But-”

“Trust me,” he said, cutting her off, “your report can wait. I insist you take a few days for yourself. I’ll be calling your supervisor with the authorization. After what you’ve seen, you deserve it.”

Obviously she was being left no other choice. She just wasn’t entirely sure why. Therefore, she said the only thing she could: “Thank you…”

“You’re very welcome,” he replied. “Besides, I’m sure you could use a little time to think about what you plan to include in your report.”

“Sir?”

“You came into possession of somewhat sensitive information during this case…” he said, allowing a verbal sword to dangle above her head.

“Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! I never should have dragged Ben into this” she thought to herself. “God, what if they come down on him for this too…”

Apparently her pause was long enough to evoke another quiet chuckle from AD Graham. “Relax. Who do you think sent you that file and text message, SA Mandalay?”

She realized that she had been holding her breath and now allowed herself to exhale slowly then take in a fresh lungful of air.

“May I ask why, sir?”

“To help you understand,” he replied.

“I’m still not certain that I do.”

“Hence your need for some time to think.”

Constance waited a heartbeat then asked, “What are you wanting me to put in my report, sir?”

“What do you think you should put into the report?” he asked.

“No disrepect intended, sir, but it seems to me the bureau has been hiding something for thirty-five years.”

“What do you think that might be, SA Mandalay?”

“I’m not entirely sure, sir. However, I can’t help but wonder if everyone in that town is involved.”

“They are, Special Agent, but not in the way you imagine.”

“Sir?”

“There is no conspiracy among the people of Hulis. You can trust me on that.”

“Then that only leaves…”

He filled in her pause. “As I said, you need to think about it.”

“If that is the case, why didn’t you send Rowan Gant with me? The paranormal is his forte.”

“I have my reasons, SA Mandalay.”

The tone of his voice told Constance that any further questions were unwelcome at this time. She hedged her bet and replied, “Yes, sir.”

“By the way…” Graham added, “it might help you to understand if I tell you that Joseph Wayne Garrity was missing from his cell early yesterday morning. Vanished without a trace.”

“Joseph Wayne Garrity, sir?”

“Check the file, SA Mandalay,” he replied. “I look forward to seeing your report once you’ve had a little time to recuperate.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

Without further comment or even a farewell, the call ended. Constance pulled the cell phone away from her ear and stared at it for a moment. Finally, she snapped it shut, stuffed it into her pocket, then hit the trunk release and climbed out into the chilly wind. Her laptop case was nestled in between her suitcase and gear bag, so it didn’t take much to dig it out.

Back inside the car she pulled the notebook computer out and flipped open the clamshell, simultaneously slipping a thumb in between to press the power button. Once it had booted, she sent her finger dancing across the touchpad and brought the mysterious emailed file up on the screen.

Constance began paging through the rap sheets she had already studied for hours, but then with far less sleep under her belt. Still, even then it hadn’t escaped her notice that Detective Sergeant Addison Carmichael was listed as the arresting officer on each of the reports. What she hadn’t noticed before was that some of the sheets had been tagged as “missing.” A gut feeling told Constance that she didn’t even need to count. The tagged predators in the file would add up to seven. That same feeling also told her she knew exactly where they each had gone.