After the kid left Paget went to check on the old man.
High on PCP he had tried to leave the house earlier, and it had been hell restraining him. He grimaced as he examined
Joshua's darkly swollen wrists. Paget knew that PCP only inhibited pain and good sense instead of giving extra strength,
but in the struggle with Joshua he had begun to doubt it.
"Crazy
old queer," he said under his breath. "Probably broke you damned wrist."
He was startled by another knock at the door. Cursing, he shut the bedroom door and went to see who it was. Through
the curtains he saw Stick Man standing on the porch.
"Cal, can you
tell---" he began as Paget opened the door.
"Caleb,
John," said Paget, barring the way. "You should call me Caleb."
Campbell frowned. "Okay, Brother Caleb. Can you tell Father Joshua I'd like to see him?"
"He's asleep."
"In the middle of the afternoon?"
"He's sick. Puked his guts out all night. I wanted him to see the doc, but he says it's just a stomach flu---that
he'll be all right in a day or two."
Joshua's sudden adoption of and
precipitous intimacy with Cal Hodges, now Caleb, increasingly alarmed Campbell. Previously, he would never
have dreamed of questioning the old man's judgment, but the last sermon made it apparent that something was horribly wrong
with the old man.
"I think I'll just look in on him a moment before I go," he said, starting inside.
"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, John." Paget grasped the door firmly, blocking his way. "I
don't want him disturbed."
The unexpected physical confrontation caught
Campbell unprepared. Intimidated at first, he hesitated, and then, rather than addressing the problem directly, he tried
to diffuse the tension.
"I won't wake him. I promise,"
he said, trying to get past Paget again.
"No. You won't,"
said Paget quietly, placing a restraining hand on Campbell's shoulder.
"Surely
it won't hurt to ---"
"You're not going to disturb him."
Paget's cold stare made him waver.
"What about services tonight?"
he asked weakly.
Paget had forgotten. The old man could never get it together in time, he thought.
"He said you should handle it. Explain that he isn't feeling well, but tell them not to worry. He'll be all
right." Without waiting for a reply, Paget closed the door in his face.
Worried, Campbell walked toward the car with a new worry. Tonight would be the first time for him to conduct services,
and he wasn't sure that he was ready. The natural unease he felt shouldering that responsibility, however, was overlaid
by a deeper concern.
"Caleb and Joshua," he muttered as
he drove away.
125.
Cal Hodges had
become Joshua's confidant with dizzying speed.
Around two in
the morning Paget awoke to the sound of a crash, followed by groaning from the other bedroom. He found the old man struggling
to a sitting position on the floor. A lamp dangled by its cord over the front edge of the nightstand.
"What's happening?" mumbled Joshua in confusion.
"It's
okay, Joshua," said Paget, helping the old man back to bed. "You just have a hangover."
"A what?" asked the old man, his mouth slack.
"Don't worry.
It happens to the best of us."
"I don't understand."
Paget gently took the old man by his shoulders, and stared earnestly into his bloodshot eyes, trying not to recoil from his
foul breath.
"John came earlier and said he would conduct services since you were sick."
"I am sick," said Joshua slowly. He may have been stating a fact or merely parroting. Paget couldn't
tell which.
"Alcohol does that."
"Alcohol?"
"Don't worry, Joshua. I covered for you. I didn't let anyone see you. We'll just keep this between
the two of us."
"Between the two of us," mumbled the
old man.
He felt weak and dizzy. As he reached back to steady himself, a stab of pain shot through his wrist, causing him to
cry out.
"Sorry about that. You fell before I could catch you. Wait here. I'll get you an aspirin, then we'll
get you ready for bed."
Instead he gave the old man a rohypnol, stripped the old man to his underwear, and sat down waiting
for it to take effect.
"Father Joshua," he said softly.
"Yesh," answered the old man weakly.
"John Campbell
wants to take the Church from you. He wants to replace you."
"No,"
he said shaking his head weakly.
"Did you hear me?"
126.
"Mmmmm."
"He wants to take
over Canaan Camp."
"Who?" asked the old man in confusion.
"John Campbell. John wants to take over the Church. He wants to get rid of you."
"John . . . wants to . . . no . . . not John!"
"Yeah he does,
Joshua. John wants to replace you."
"John . . . wants
. . ."
In mid-sentence Joshua lost consciousness. Paget sneered at the pathetic old man.
What would your flock think of their "prophet" if they could see you now?
Unnumbered Mark Twain logging trail, June 4
Their Jane Doe turned out to have perfect teeth, so there was no dental work for an easy identification. No one had
come forward to identify her, suggesting that she either came from outside the area, or had no one that was particularly worried
about her, suggesting that she might have been a prostitute, the highest risk of all potential victims. The truth was
that they didn't know jack yet.
Feeling the effects of too little sleep, Richard
bumped his car over a last mound as the logging trail petered out. The road had once gone on down the densely wooded
hill, but it had been a long time since anyone had driven further judging by the size of the saplings barring his way.
It was almost too dark to see. He should have quit an hour ago, but he wanted to check one last trail before calling
it a day.
He got out and lit up, deciding he'd have to do something about his breath before he went home. The thought of disappointing
his pregnant wife made him drop the cigarette after two deep drags. Grinding it out with his heel, he vowed once again
to drop the expensive and destructive habit. He started to get back into the car when something caught his eye downhill
to the right. It was a small patch of odd green, a color nature would never produce. When he went to investigate
he found a blanket, carelessly folded and weighted down with rocks. A shiver of anticipation ran up his neck.
127.
He found her a short distance away.
Darkness had
claimed the woods by the time the others arrived, so Shug instructed two deputies to baby-sit the scene, set a car to seal
off the entrance to the trail, and sent everyone else home to await daylight. The state of the remains called for no
urgency, but the two deputies were told to stay closer than they would have preferred in order to prevent further damage from
scavenging animals.
Richard finally went home to find Jill on the porch
in the age-old pose mothers' pose for wayward children returning late.
"It
is about time," she scolded only half in jest.
"Sorry, Babe.
Something came up."
"And you broke a finger, making it impossible
to punch in a call home?"
"Didn't think about it. We
found another body out in Mark Twain."
"Oh no. Who
was it?"
"We don't know yet. Probably not local because there's no one missing. She was killed some time ago, so identification
might take a while."
"So he does live here," she said softly.
"We already knew that."
"I did not."
Richard sat on the stairs.
"Being right isn't what it's cracked
up to be," he said. "I could stand a drink."
"A
glass of wine?" she suggested.
"Doesn't seem appropriate, but
it'll do."
"I will bring it outside if you wish."
"That's fine."
When she went inside, his mind drifted back to the scene. He had never seen a body in such a state. Decomp had
gone far enough to be more mentally than physically sickening. He had no training in forensics other than his introductory
courses at Pere Marquette, but he knew without a lab report that she had been young.
128.
"What a shame," he whispered, immediately thinking of the inadequacy of his remark.
Jill took longer than he expected, and when she came out she was carrying two large steaming mugs.
"No wine?"
"You said it was not appropriate,
so I tried something else."
"Coffee? I'll be wired all
night the way it is," he said, but took the cup.
He took a sip, and caught
his breath. "What the heck!"
"Irish coffee,"
she explained. "Well, kind of. Decaf, Irish coffee, made with the tequila we got for a wedding present."
"A little light on the coffee though, don't you think?"
"I
want you to sleep," she explained, sipping at her own. "Oh my! I see what you mean. It must be
diluted."
"No," he said, choking down another sip. "I think this might be just the ticket."
"I cannot drink this," she said, heading back up the steps.
Alone again,
he noticed the sounds of the summer night for the first time, katydids, crickets, and the cicadas that hill folks called "dry
flies." Down near the creek a screech owl wailed its quavering call, sounding eerily like a woman screaming.
A shiver ran up his spine as he flashed back. The hair was his first glimpse: blonde, and retaining evidence or
careful styling, despite exposure to the elements. He felt a lead of world-weariness that he was too young to bear.
He thought she'd had a lot to live for. She at least had a lot of living left to do.
"Like the Riepe girl," he murmured.
"What?" asked
Jill as she took a seat beside him.
"I think she was young, Jill.
Maybe no older than the girl down at Marked Tree."
Jill sipped quietly at her
drink, sickened by her realization that Richard would try to imagine the details of the murderer's actions.
Why do you have to do this? she thought resentfully.
He didn't enjoy
dwelling on the horror, but that was a necessary part of the job he wanted so desperately.
It is part of you now, she thought ruefully. Part of us.
"Jill," he said. "No one thinks it's possible, but I still think it's Paget."
129.
"Is he not Arkansas?"
"He was in Fayetteville
two weeks ago, but that's less than two hundred miles away." He shook his head. "I don't know.
Maybe they're right. Paget's handy to blame for unsolved homicides. Back in the day, they used to credit Dillinger
for simultaneous bank robberies in different states."
"You
know," he continued. "Whoever killed these women seems to be familiar with the area, and as far as anyone
knows, Paget's never been here before."
"Why do you say he
is familiar with this area?"
"That's the way it works.
Killers dispose of their bodies in locations where they won't be seen dumping them. Paget probably doesn't know the
county well enough to do that comfortably."
"He could get
a map at the National Forest office," she suggested.
"There
are two more problems: He would need a place to stay, and he would need transportation. It strains credibility
to suggest that he lives somewhere else and only comes back to dump bodies."
He didn't notice Jill shudder at the term.
"On the other
hand, the women weren't from here or we'd have a missing persons report matching at least one of them. I guess it's
only the typology that makes me think it might be Paget. These are sex crimes."
"He killed men also," she said. "It seems indiscriminate."
"The men were collateral," he said. "Only the women matter to him, and some of them matter a lot.
He took his time with the girl in Marked Tree. He fed on her suffering. He probably---no, he undoubtedly fantasizes
about killing them---imagines the details of how he does it, replays it to perfect it. He gets off on---"
Jill
got up abruptly.
"Wait. Where are you going?" he asked.
"Inside.
Discussing torture makes me ill."
"I'm sorry, Babe. I'll be
up in a minute."
She stopped at the top of the stairs. "Richard,
when you come to bed can we speak of a nursery, and toys, and playing with our child, and holiday trips, and a college savings
account? We need dreams, not nightmares."
Blue Creek, June 5
Richard thought through the implications
again as he waited for the Little Rock Field Office to put him through to agent Tanner. The second Jane Doe's hyoid
bone was broken which meant that she had been strangled. The Riepe girl had been strangled. Other than that, there
were no solid parallels other than coincidence in its strictest definition. The manners of death roughly coincided.
130.
A click on the line. Then: "This is Agent Tanner. To whom am I speaking."
"Mr. Tanner, this is Deputy Richard Carter with the Hawthorn County Sheriff's Department in Missouri. Could you
spare a few minutes to discuss a couple of homicides we have up here?"
"Official
business?"
Richard paused a moment. "Semi-official, I suppose."
"So,
the boss hasn't given his blessing. Is that it?" asked the FBI agent in an amused voice.
"That's about it. A couple of unidentified victims turned up here in the Mark Twain Forest. Have you received
information about them yet?"
"I know about them, but this office
doesn't have purview in your area. You need to contact the St. Louis field office."
"Yeah, I know. Actually, I wanted to discuss the possibility of these being related to the murders in Marked Tree."
In the silence that followed, he feared Tanner was about to dismiss him.
"What
makes you think Paget is your murderer?"
"I'm not saying
that he is, but he did disappear in this area. I was the one that found his car in West Plains. It's
just---well, I suppose I just don't trust coincidence."
"Are
you sure you haven't just developed a proprietary interest in all of this?"
It's what Richard feared the man would suspect.
"Look---Mr. Carter,
If your boss wants the assistance of the Investigative Support Unit there's an official procedure."
"The paper work."
"It's the world we live in."
"And informal contacts is not the way things are done either, whether an exchange of information is helpful or not, right?"
asked Richard more sharply than he intended.
After a moment during which he
though Tanner had hung up on him, the federal agent spoke, his voice all business, but non-committal.
"You're calling from home. If you'll stay there, I'll call you back in moment or two."
131.
"You're going to check me out?"
"Right
now I know where you are, but I don't know what you are, or even who you are for sure. You should have called
from work. This is exactly the way I ended up being quoted by a so-called journalist as an unnamed FBI agent once."
Richard thought he knew a way to speed things up. "Mr. Tanner do you know a Doctor Laurel Senter from South Bend?"
"The forensic psychologist. I met her once briefly. Why?"
"I
met her once too. Call her. She can probably tell you more about me than any paper trail you might find."
"Did you work with her?"
"In a manner of speaking.
I'd rather have her tell you. If you can't contact her, call the Lake County Sheriff's Department in Michigan."
"Okay. But if you're not on the level, don't hold your breath waiting for a return call."
Richard took his note pad, filled only with doodles, and went to the kitchen to put on coffee, a task he accomplished on autopilot,
as he imagined what Senter might be saying to Tanner.
What will you think about
a law officer who took the law into his own hands? And what will you make of a pardon for felony homicide? he wondered.
The front door opened, and Jill struggled in carrying her books and several bags of groceries.
"You should have honked. I could have helped you in."
"It
is taken care of," she said tersely. "I am accustomed to carrying everything myself."
"Anything still in the car?"
"No. Do you know what day
it is?"
"Tuesday, I think," he asked distractedly, his mind on Tanner's return call.
She shook her head and huffed past him, muttering to herself as she went to put away the groceries. He started to follow,
but the phone rang. He snatched it up and went quickly through the screen door onto the front gallery.
"You forgot my birthday," she said to the empty room. "And cannot even pay enough attention to me to
answer a simple question."
132.
"So you're the guy who ended William Boyd's career," said Tanner. "So how does it feel to be a hero?"
The flippant remark stung. If indicative of Tanner's attitude toward him, the call would be nothing but a humiliating
mistake. Richard bit back a retort.
"It sucks actually,"
he said honestly.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. It's screwed up my head, and pretty well put an end to my career."
"How's that?"
"Being a pardoned murderer makes it kind
of hard to get a job in law enforcement."
"You're working
now."
"Right. "And how soon do you think the Bureau will decide to accept my application?"
Silence for a moment, then, "You haven't actually applied?"
"I'm not quite that stupid, Tanner. Apparently I'm just stupid enough to think you would take me seriously."
After a moment, Tanner spoke again, this time his voice more business-like.
"Senter says you're good man who was either smart enough or intuitive enough to figure out what was happening."
"It wasn't that hard to do."
"Well apparently you were smart,
or lucky enough, to stop him from killing that French coed. Do you keep in touch?"
"Yeah. Why do you ask?"
"Professional curiosity.
I'm a behaviorist. Traumatic situations often result in a sort of repulsion-by-association mechanism. Seeing you
getting sliced up while you were strangling a guy isn't the sort of thing relationships are built on."
Tanner didn't know the half of it. Jill had a much better reason for never wanting to see Richard again after it happened.
"Sorry about your career, but you hit that nail on the head. You don't stand a chance in hell with the Bureau.
The political risk is too great."
Hearing someone else only confirmed what he
already knew, but it was depressing
"So, do you know enough about me
now to talk shop?"
133.
Tanner laughed.
"First tell me that you're not cowboying on this."
"I'm working on my own time, but the boss knows what I'm doing. By the way, I found the second body in Mark Twain."
"First the car and then a body. Lucky guy. I'll bet you were an ace when it came to Easter egg hunts?"
"That's the same figure of speech Deputy Rollins used when he got to the dumpsite of our second Jane Doe."
"Yeah, well, we undereducated lawmen only have a small store of metaphors---or is it similes? Anyway, we're not
very original."
Richard wasn't in the mood for banter."
"I wasn't lucky, just thorough. If other people had done their jobs properly, both would have been found sooner."
"Not every cop is an obsessive-compulsive, Carter. Cut ‘em some slack."
"Yeah." Richard wanted to get back to his main reason for the call. "Could Paget be responsible
for these two murders?"
"I have a few problems with that,
but then again, things don't always fall neatly into place. We've got five murders down here and two up there.
Let's look at motive. In Marked Tree it's probably mixed motives. Riepe was killed quickly and cleanly, an elimination
hit."
"I thought he had been beaten."
"Minor blunt trauma
facial wounds---probably rough questioning during the robbery. Paget killed the mother pretty quickly too. He
strangled her, but didn't take much time with her. With the girl he was methodical---horrible word in the context,
but that's how you have to see it if you're going to understand him. For him, she was what it was all about---mutiple
ligature marks, and he came very close to taking her body with him."
"Sadism
with definite paraphilia," said Richard. "But it started as felony situational homicide."
"Good, you know the manual. Essentially you're right: opportunistic murder during a gun heist. We think
Paget is part of a militia group, but it might be that he just tied up with someone specializing in illegal gun sales.
We'll have to pin all that down before trial."
"I'd think robbery
was the secondary crime now."
"Yeah, but motive's everything
when you're building a case."
"Now in Fayetteville," continued
Tanner, "Paget bludgeoned them to death. It looks like a drug murder, but I read mixed motives, perhaps revenge.
Or, like with Riepe, it could have been just a case of eliminating witnesses. On the other hand, the beatings were awful
severe, but that's consistent with a perp high on PCP."
134.
Richard picked up on Tanner's skepticism.
"But you don't buy that either. Why?"
"The rest of the
scene. The place was ransacked methodically, not trashed. Paget wasn't flying on dust when he did that."
"What about the woman," asked Richard, looking for a similarity to the first Jane Doe.
"Pearson's prostitute. He really worked her over with his fists. After killing Pearson with a lamp base,
he used it to finish her off."
"How did you figure the sequence?"
"Simple. His blood was mixed with the ejecta on the wall and ceiling above the bed where we found her. None
of her blood was found near Pearson's body. But back to motive a second. He beat Pearson to death, but hit her
so many times that we could only ID by her prints."
"Had she been
sexually assaulted?"
"No intercourse, but that sort of depersonation
indicates a sexual motive. It went beyond Marked Tree. What he did to her shows how much Paget hates women."
"Yeah. He kills them."
"No. He overkills
them. Merely killing isn't enough for him."
"But all three
of the women that we know he killed were treated differently. What does that mean?"
"That he grades them. Mrs. Riepe barely registered with him, the Fayettville woman enraged but didn't arouse him,
and the Riepe girl both enraged and aroused him. He's more complex than your run-of-the-mill stranger killer."
"Maybe you're wrong about the Fayetteville thing not involving PCP."
"Maybe,
but the important thing to remember about him is his victimology. His preferred victim was definitely the teenager
in Marked Tree. She's got to be close to his ideal, the imaginary woman he kills in his fantasy."
"You mean because of the means of torture was different in Marked Tree and Fayetteville?"
"Yes. In Marked Tree he did what he did with delight, while in Fayetteville he was acting in rage. My guess
is the prostitute ticked him off by saying or doing something wrong. He probably couldn't perform. Guys like him
often can't under normal conditions."
"You think she laughed
at him?"
135.
"Or
sympathizing with him. These inadequate types are easily enraged by both of those."
"So the beating wasn't acting out his fantasy?"
"No.
My guess is that he thinks all women are whores, but that whores aren't really women."
"Come again."
"He kills prostitutes because they're women,
but he brutalizes women who seem decent because that fulfills his fantasy. The beating of the Fayetteville
woman is consistent with his urge, but the fantasy elements of Marked Tree are absent. He was almost frenzied in Fayetteville,
less refined and elaborate despite the fact that he had plenty of time. I think he simply wanted to destroy
her. He beat her first---perhaps he was interrupted when the man arrived. He killed Pearson, then used the same
weapon to kill her. Then he was through. Postmortem, nothing---no posing, staging, or undoing."
"Undoing?"
"You see that in domestic homicides,"
explained Tanner. "Out of remorse they cover the face, place the body in a comfortable position---I've even seen
them washed and laid out like they were asleep. Paget didn't do any of that here. He did with the mother in Marked
Tree."
"Could he have a soft spot for mothers?" asked Richard. "Besides kidnapping her, he didn't do a thing
to Cathy Howard."
"Possible," said Tanner dismissively.
"More interesting to me is his comfort level. After he cooled down in Fayetteville, he just left the bodies as
they were, wiped down the place and then probably slept the rest of the night in the apartment."
"Why?"
"Cheaper than a motel."
"You're kidding."
"No. He thinks like that. A neighbor saw him leave early the next morning, and the coroner fixed the time
of death for both victims at before midnight. Paget spent the rest of the night with them."
Richard tried to imagine a killer sleeping at a murder scene.
"Which
means what?"
"That our man is comfortable with what he is."
"Lot of variety.
The two scenes aren't much alike."
"No. I've got to admit that
without the physical evidence, I would never have made these killings as the work of a single perp."
136.
Tanner paused, gathering his thoughts.
"Let's
go back to Marked Tree a moment. Mrs. Riepe's death is another step down from that of the prostitute. He strangled
her with a ligature, but he stood behind her. I think she was a bit player in his fantasy. He warmed up for the
daughter with her---wanted the feel of the kill, but since she didn't look like his fantasy woman, he positioned
himself so that he couldn't see her face. She was too old---he wants them young. He's not a pedophile, but his
preferred victim is young."
"Could you see our second victim
here---the first one found, I mean---could she fit into the picture of what he's been doing? She was treated similarly
to the Fayetteville woman."
"Possibly, but I don't think he's
your perp. He's not your typical strip troller out to pick up prostitutes. He actually prefers
more low risk victims."
Richard had already come to the same conclusion,
and he almost said so until he thought about how that would sound.
"How
do you make our first Jane Doe victim high risk?"
"Amphetamine traces
in the blood along with the fact that no one seems to have missed her. She's too old for a run-away. Plus your
coroner reports scarring that suggests she was a prostitute. As far as the similarity to Fayetteville," said Tanner
pedantically. "Let's think about that. If we assume they were both prostitutes and both were beaten, we still
have a problem with the posing."
"Paget posed the
woman in Fayetteville?" asked Richard, amazed that Tanner would release information to him that the police hadn't released.
"No. Your victim was posed."
"She wasn't posed,"
objected Richard. "I saw the body. It wasn't arranged suggestively, just the opposite."
"He threw her onto an illegal trash pile. He treated her like garbage because that's how he felt about her."
"That fits Paget, doesn't it?"
"It fits most of these guys, but
your perp probably isn't Paget. Your perp lives pretty close to the dumpsites, he's got transportation, and he's comfortable
traveling the area alone, which means he's familiar with the roads. Paget has no history in the area. Besides,
how would he fit in? Hell, you know what small towns and rural areas are like. Someone would notice him, especially
with his picture being shown on all the TV stations."
"Seems
like a lot of coincidence," said Richard, unwilling to let go of it. "Paget's been here. You admit that
you don't know where he's been staying. And it looks like these women were killed like your victims."
137.
"Only so many ways these guys kill. By the way, any ID on the second body yet?"
"No, but unlike our first victim, she had some expensive dental work, so it should be just a matter of matching her to
a missing persons report, unless she was a prostitute too. By the way, the cause of death may be difficult to determine
after all this time, but the coroner says she had been manually strangled."
"The hyoid bone," said Tanner absently. "That'll probably be confirmed, and you'll also get a few more
details."
"Even after all the decomposition?"
"You'd be surprised.
I think you guys may wrap your murders up pretty quickly once you have an ID on your victim. Ten to one she's a local
and you'll find someone who knew her that fits the profile. By the way, you never did say if your boss is requesting
assistance from the Investigative Support Unit?"
"He's pretty old
fashioned, but he doesn't have the kind of ego that would keep him from asking for help if he needs it."
Richard looked at the
clock, surprised that he had been on the phone as long as he had.
"Mr.
Tanner, I can't tell you how much I appreciate you giving me your time like this."
"It's what I do, Carter," he said with a rueful laugh. "About the only thing I've got a passion for according
to my ex-wife. I want to help the guys doing the real work as much as I can."
"Even deputies with overactive imaginations?" joked Richard.
"Don't
underrate imagination. Just make sure you do the hard work. It's all in the details."
He was silent for a moment.
"Sorry about your career, Carter.
Senter thinks you have a lot to offer the good guys."
"Thanks
for telling me that. I really admire her."
Blue Springs, June 6
Loose glass rattled in the door as one of the older deputies came in carrying a folded copy of the Springfield paper.
"Have you seen this, Shug?"
Richard could read the headline from across
the room: Manhunt for Ozark Serial Killer.
The sheriff held the paper
at arms length to avoid donning his glasses and began reading aloud: "Hawthorn County authorities scoured an
area of Mark Twain National Forest where the nude bodies of two unidentified young woman were found earlier in the week, looking
for the serial killer they call ‘Huck Finn.'"
"Where
did they get that?" he demanded, angrily looking around the room. "If one of my people got that started
he's going to be looking for another job."
138.
When no one ventured a word, he continued.
"I
hate cute crap like that. This is no game, and it sure isn't funny! Don't any of you say one word to news people.
If we have anything to tell them, it comes straight from me."
"Have
you got that?" he asked glaring each of them in turn.
Quick nods.
"Good. Pass the word."
Perhaps recalling the proverb about killing
the messenger, the paper-bearing deputy beat a hasty retreat, as did everyone but Richard.
"Sheriff," he said tentatively when they were alone.
"Please
don't tell me you had something to do with this," said Shively sourly.
"No,
I wouldn't joke around like that. I was just going to suggest---ask, I mean, if you had considered asking for
help from the feds. A profile might help."
"We can use all
the help we can scrounge," he allowed. "I just hate the paper work. Tell you what. It was your
idea. Write up the request, and I'll sign it. Whatever comes of it, you'll work to coordinate it and handle the
communication."
Richard nodded, pleased, but wondering what Shug would
do when he eventually found out that he had already contacted Tanner.
"Well
get on it," said the sheriff. "I'm not sure about the jurisdiction. If the murders happened
in Twain, it might be a federal case although it's in my county. Then there's the highway patrol if it's a multi-county
thing, so there's no telling how many other counties might be involved, maybe some of them in Arkansas. Carter, sometimes
federalism's too complicated for old country boy like me."
Richard
smiled at the self-deprecating term Shug usually reserved for campaigning.
"After
you formally contact the Investigative Support Unit, see what you can do with VICAP, and then keep in touch with your friend,
Agent Tanner."
When Richard's mouth dropped open, Shug smiled wryly.
"What? You thought he wouldn't contact me?"
"I
didn't mean to go out of channels," Richard began.
"Sure you did.
The only reason you're not in trouble is because I appreciate zeal. But you clear things with me from now on.
Now get online and pull up a request form."
