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Mrs. Cumming’s eyes narrowed.
“No,” she replied, slightly confused. “I was called to the morgue, and when I arrived all I saw of my Tim was his head.”
It was Brenda’s turn to get confused.
“Sorry, did you say ‘morgue’?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Cumming replied, nodding emphatically. “Why would you think I found him in my car?”
“Nothing,” Brenda replied quickly. She tried to keep her face calm to prevent Mrs. Cumming from getting agitated. However, her mind was spinning in dizzying circles. The police report on Tim’s case stated that his head had been found in her car’s trunk. Brenda had had her suspicions about the local police. Their attitude toward getting to the root of these crimes were just too nonchalant. Mrs. Cumming seemed to be confirming them.
“Do you remember who called you to the morgue?” Brenda asked.
“Yeah, I met him there at the morgue, though I can’t remember his name.”
“Can you give me a description?”
“Well, he said he was a detective somebody. He was short-ish, didn’t look nice.”
“Boyce? Was his name Boyce?”
“Yes, that’s him. Detective Boyce.”
“He told you what happened to your son?”
“Yes. A detective like him had killed my son.”
“And what happened to this detective?”
“I don’t know. He said the detective was on the run, but they would soon bring him to heel. He’d complained to me about it being one of the dangers of bringing in people from outside.”
“What do you mean?”
“The detective that killed my son, he isn’t from here.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Yes, I wouldn’t forget his name, ever. He goes by the name, Mack. Detective Mack. Detective Boyce couldn’t provide a surname.”
“Mack was here?” Brenda blurted out. Her eyes were wide with surprise.
“Yes. We’d thought he was going to put an end to the crimes happening here. We didn’t know he was a heartless murderer with a police badge,” Mrs. Cumming froze. “Do you know him?”
Brenda quickly got the import of that question. Besides, she didn’t know for sure if that was the Mack she knew. It could just as easily be someone else. Mack wasn’t really a unique name.
“No,” she replied. “No, I don’t know him.”
Mrs. Cumming relaxed.
“Detective Boyce was really kind.” Brenda restrained herself from laughing. “It’s just so sad that he found himself in a den of corruption.”
“You think the cops are corrupt?” Brenda questioned.
“Of course they are,” she said, leaning forward and widening her eyes. “Everybody knows. What else would explain all the cases of missing people—children and adults alike—even while the police are issuing out promises to ‘look into it’ like candies on Halloween.”
Things were falling into place for Brenda.
“Detective Boyce advised me to leave, for fear that the detective that killed my son might be after my life.”
