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Charlie was right about one thing. Will felt strangely isolated in those hills. There was a bleakness to the winter on a farm. It felt to Will like the world was holding its breath, waiting for winter’s worst before spring followed.
Will considered the farmhouse as they approached.Far better kept than Gina’s farmhouse,he thought.Either Mac is a stickler for perfection, or he likes to keep a façade. The house is unhealthily clean. I think I can even smell bleach from out here.
Charlie stepped onto the first of four stairs outside the house. But the second he did so, a voice spoke from behind the front screen door.
“That’s far enough,” the voice said. “I got a gun on ya. So don’t think about any funny business.”
Charlie gave Will a look of:See, I told you.
“We’re not here to cause any trouble,” Charlie said loudly. “We’re investigators with the FBI. There’s been a murder at the next farmstead.”
“Oh, is that a fact?” the gruff voice said.
The screen door opened to reveal an elderly man with patchy, white stubble and a grubby, flannel shirt.
He takes care of his home but not himself,Will thought.Interesting.
“If you’ll allow me to show my ID …” Charlie began saying.
But another voice joined them from the corner of the house. “Nothin’ fast,” a man in his twenties with blond hair and tanned skin said with a shotgun in his hand.
Will felt the nerves bubbling up from inside. No matter how many cases he'd been on now, he still hadn't gotten used to the danger. He doubted he ever would.
“We really mean no harm,” Will said. “Wearewith the Federal government, and there may be a killer on the loose.”
“And what’s that got to do with Mr. Gleeson?” the man with the shotgun said.
“I’m afraid you may know one of the victims,” Charlie said.
The elderly man now stepped out of the house and onto the wooden porch. “I hope it wasn’t Maggie … I ain’t seen her today.”
The old man turned to the other with the shotgun; they looked at each other anxiously.
“She was supposed to be here,” the younger of the two said. “I tried phonin', but she wouldn’t pick up.”
“This lady ... Maggie,” Charlie asked. “Did she have a tattoo on her wrist? One that saidPost Tenebrus Lux?”
There was a silence. As if in answer to Charlie’s question, an icy howl of wind blew past. Will pulled his collar up against the biting cold, looking around nervously at the barren hills. He felt like they were staring back.
“God dammit!” the young man said, dejected. He lowered his gun.
Charlie took the chance and now showed his ID. “I’m Agent Carlson, this is Doctor Will Cooper. I’m very sorry for your loss, but if you could help us, we’d like to discuss what happened to Maggie with you.”
“I think out here will be far enough,” the old man said. “I’m Mac Gleeson, take a seat.”
He waved his hand at a bench on the wooden porch as he grabbed a winter coat from the doorway of the house and then sank into an old wicker chair outside.
“Harry, put that thing away,” he then said to the younger man, pointing at the lowered shotgun in his hand. “Yer liable to take somebody’s eye out with it.”
Charlie and Will stepped up onto the porch and sat on the bench. Will had the feeling that Mac Gleeson was a man used to having things his way. He’d point; you’d sit. Not a healthy disposition to have over people, but an effective one at times when in a position of power.
Will looked across from his position on the porch. A large field, flat and impeccably manicured, sat on the opposite side of a dirt track. On it, several horses roamed, kept from the wilderness surrounding them by large wooden fences.
“Those animals really are magnificent,” Will said to Mac.
“I guess,” Mac said. “People like pretty things. I like money. When those stallions are ready, they’ll make me a good income.”
“The victim ... Maggie,” Charlie began.
