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He'd been called into other county cases in his jurisdiction to help out, and in those—almost without fail—he spotted the holes in the previous investigator’s work within a few short hours. He’d been able to solve each case by process of elimination. It’d been his practice to study the existing work, lay it all out, identify where the leads had not been followed or the dots that had not been connected, and then it had been as simple as tidying up. In the smaller communities, it had been even easier. Most of the local forces knew who the guilty party was. They would give him their “unsubstantiated” hunches then point him after the suspect for the confession familiarity made impossible for local law enforcement to get. It wasn’t easy to get a confession out of a man who bullied you since second grade.
But Derek hadn’t missed a step or had any qualms about going for the interviews that had even the most remote connection to the case. And there wasn’t a single lead he left dangling or a hole he’d yet to fill either. Now, Max’s head throbbed, his back and neck ached like he’d grown a hunch as big as Igor’s, and he was no closer to a suspect than the sheriff had been.
Unable to stare at his files a minute longer, Max shoved up from his seat and stalked to the closet on the other side of his hotel room. Contrary to popular television, the FBI provided a decent stipend for his daily needs while on a case. He opted for a local bed-and-breakfast here, since the community was so small, and the only motel left a lot to be desired. His room was spacious and came with a decent-sized table and relatively comfortable chairs. He’d been able to set up a respectable “war room” corner with his own white board on an easel. Surprisingly, it didn’t make the space feel cramped, even with the king-sized bed, the flat screen TV, and a bathroom fancy enough to pass for a spa. But right now, he felt hemmed in by it all and needed out. As he stared at the names in his files, he worked to put faces to them all. He hoped to hell one of them would be the face of his killer.
Four hours later, he had re-interviewed with three of the names from the sheriff’s interview list and was no closer to a solid suspect than when he started. Max slid into a diner booth and reached for a menu. Maybe some coffee and a decent meal would refuel his tank and help him get a little perspective.
“Evenin’.” Sheriff Derek took a seat opposite him and reached for his own menu.
“Good evening to you too,” Max told him, unsure of whether or not he was up for company. “Grab a seat and join me,” he added sardonically. When the other man only chuckled and continued to scan his dinner options, Max let it go. He had questions and clarifications about the case anyway. Now was as good a time as any to address those.
“I hear you talked to old Melvin again. I haven’t seen him since he got sprung from the hospital. How is he?”
“He’s tough as an old work boot. His wife and about a dozen kids and grandkids were fussing over him when I got there. I think he saw me as his savior when I asked to speak with him alone.” Max smiled wryly as he said it. He enjoyed Melvin and his family immensely. They were exactly what he pictured when he thought of wholesome countryfolk. Like a modern-day Waltons.
Derek laughed. “Yeah, Mel is a fixture ‘round here. The whole town loves him. Hell, half the town is related to the old badger. He has some close ties to a few of the Amish ‘round here too. And that says a lot about his character. That’s a closed off community; they don’t make a habit out of befriending outsiders. Like to keep to themselves for the most part.”
The waitress approached then, and they ordered two of the specials, Derek’s with black coffee and Max ordered his with sweet tea.
“I gotta tell you,” Max said when they were alone again, “I can’t find a single hole in your file to try to plug up. Nor any leads to pick up where you left off. You sure as hell didn’t give me any jumping point. This case is a son of a bitch.”
“Tell me about it,” Derek replied with a quirked brow. “Why do you think I was so happy to call you in?”
“So someone else can take the brunt of an unsolved? Thanks.” He said it without rancor, and the sheriff gave him a mock-salute in welcome.
“Seriously though, I went over every note and scribble of your case. Plus, I’ve got nowhere new to go either.” Their plates came, heaping with crispy chicken fried steaks, creamy mashed potatoes, steamed fresh vegetables, buttermilk biscuits that were light enough to float, and enough gravy to drown in. “Now, tell me what’snotin the files. Give me your gut instincts and your best guess for which rock to turn over next. Because honestly, after the first three repeat interviews, I haven’t found a single new thread to tug.
The sheriff took his sweet time answering. He chewed thoughtfully between each of the two bites he took while Max waited and ate his own meal. He respected the cop for not pouncing on this chance to spew. Too many cops—in his experience, especially small-town cops—threw far too much weight behind their hunches, and in far too many cases, that blinded them from seeing the facts of a case. Prejudiced them and colored everything they saw in a light that only proved their theory, and they started rejecting or ignoring clues that disproved the solution they were set upon. It was a dangerous and slippery slope. He was glad to see the man sitting across from him wasn’t one of those.
“Well, shit.” Derek sighed heavily around a mouthful of potatoes; he looked uneasy. “I hate going here, but if you really wanted to know where I was intending to look next, I was going to take another swing at Logan. I tried to let it go, but it’s the only string I got left to tug.”
“The kid who went to the rave with the last vic?” Max asked, bringing what was in the files to the forefront of his mind. “How does he tie in with this? What did you leave out of the file?”
“Nothing concrete,” he hedged, obviously reluctant.
“That’s a given. Come on, Sheriff, spill. I know we’re leaving the land of facts and evidence. I asked for your gut, and I’ll take whatever you tell me as such.”
Derek took another bite, chewed, then wiped his mouth with his napkin before letting out a hearty sigh and sitting back. “That’s the problem. I don’t see Logan for this, but he’s lying to me about something, and I keep circling back to him. I don’t see him connected, but he’s got me distracted.”
“Why haven’t you pressed him on it?”
“Because my guess is that him and his buddy Abram might be a hell of a lot closer than Abram’s religion allows, and I’d feel like a damn fool if that’s what Logan is hiding.”
“Oh.” Max sat back, understanding.
“Yeah, oh,” Derek said, sipping his coffee. “I’m not expecting Logan to be our perp, but I’m a methodical kinda man, and it bugs me that he’s hiding something when he knows what’s at stake here.” They both sat back as their plates were cleared, and the friendly neighborhood sheriff Derek smiled warmly at the young girl, called her by name, and asked after her momma. Max shook his head in bemusement; guy was straight out of a classic western. Lone Ranger all the way.
“I’m planning to take another pass at Logan tomorrow—” Derek broke off midsentence when Max lifted his hand in a questioning gesture.
“Why don’t you let me do it?” Max asked him. “They don’t know me so won’t expect me to go light on ‘em like they would you. If I get them separately and act ignorant to their laws, maybe the Amish kid will fess up. He won’t feel like he’s being judged if he’s talking to someone who doesn’t know the rules he’s supposed to be following.”
“I don’t know.” Derek sounded unconvinced. “I’m not sure you’ve got all their reasons for keeping quiet accounted for here. It’s a lot deeper than embarrassment, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Not embarrassment, no. Well, not only. There will be some element to that for him, considering his upbringing. But I’m banking on hitting as a different species under his radar. If I come off as completely alien to him—all the while managing to get across the life-and-death weightiness of the situation—he might confide in me in order to clear his friend. See, I’ll be so foreign to his way of living it’d be like making his confession to a dog. Or a Martian. Whatever, you get the picture.” He motioned with his glass. “The point is, what will it matter to him if some outsider from the big, bad city knows his dirty little secret? Telling me won’t touch his world. Telling you, a regular and permanent part of said world, definitely would.”
“Well,” Derek conceded, “you make a pretty good argument. That being said, just because I see your point doesn’t mean they will.”
“We’ll just have to give it a try and find out. In the meantime, got any more hunches you wanna share, Sheriff?”
