While she stood there motionless, the seconds ticked past, turning into a full minute and starting into another. Since there had been no sunshine to speak of over the past two days, the house hadn’t soaked up any warmth. Therefore, even below grade here in the basement, the frostbitten night seeped in with its relentless chill. By all accounts, this was pretty much just how it had been on this same night in nineteen seventy-five. Merrie Callahan had likely spent untold fearful hours down here in the frigid darkness, alone except for that terrible drunken monster who would come down those stairs and brutalize her on his sickening whims. It was a miracle she had survived… A Christmas miracle… As trite as the phrase seemed, Constance couldn’t help but allow it to dominate her thoughts.
She felt an unnatural chill ripple along her spine and wondered silently if it was merely a physiological reaction to the cliche, or if in some bizarre way, Merrie Frances Callahan was here with her right now.
“Talk to me, Merrie…” The words came out of her mouth as an almost involuntary whisper.
Deputy Slozar cleared her throat and muttered an uncomfortable, “Umm, what was that, ma’am?”
Before Constance could answer, Skip’s voice echoed from the doorway above as a tight shaft of light was aimed down the stairs. “Mel? Constance? You two okay down there?”
“We’re fine,” Constance called out, breaking out of her sudden melancholy. “I was just checking something.”
As he descended the top few stairs, the hard sound of the sheriff’s shoe soles against the wooden planks echoed from the basement walls. The noise sent a fresh chill along Mandalay’s backbone and set the swarm of butterflies in her gut to flight.
How many times had Merrie heard that sound and tried to hide from the pain and horror she knew it was bringing? She wondered silently.
A moment later she was bathed in a yellowish swath as Skip crouched down with a grunt and shone his light between the uprights of the wobbly handrail.
“Find something?” he asked.
“No,” Constance replied, shaking her head and squinting against the light. “It’s all clear.”
“Same thing up on the main floor,” he replied, quickly shifting the beam so that it was no longer aimed into their faces. “Johnson’s checking the attic like you asked.”
“Go ahead and turn your flashlight back on,” Constance said to the deputy next to her.
The business end of the cylinder in the woman’s hand blazed to life before the last syllable had tumbled from the FBI agent’s mouth. Slozar’s thumb had probably been pressed tightly against the button the entire time.
“Done down here?” Skip asked.
“Yeah, we’re coming up,” Constance replied.
He swung his own flashlight’s beam toward the bottom of the staircase. “Watch that first one.”
Constance felt a sharp twinge in her bruised shin and said, “Yeah. I remember…”
CONSTANCE aimed her gaze down the hallway, staring along the flashlight’s yellow beam to check the scope of her view. The corridor emptied into a room at the far end of the structure, and the light splashed an amoeba-like puddle on the moderately distant wall. Even through the streaked, multi-year patina of dirt, the glass panes of the old wooden sash window bloomed with shiny glare points as the light struck them. On just the other side of the glass she could make out the wide grain of age-grayed plywood boarding it over from the outside, just like every other window in the house.
Sheriff Carmichael panned the beam back along the hallway. There were two doors on the right side and one on the left. The latter was the one that most concerned Constance, because it opened onto the stairs that took you down into the basement where everything was supposed to happen.
As the sheriff turned his hand, dragging the shaft of light along the wall, an archway was revealed on the right hand side as well. It was much closer to them and led into the front room. The only other way into the house was through the back door, which was here in the kitchen with them.
Unless the killer was a certified genius that had figured out the secret to matter teleportation, he-or she-had no way in or out of the basement without crossing through Constance’s line of sight. That was exactly how she wanted it.
Skip shone the beam around the kitchen then held it so that its glow dimly illuminated them both. With a shake of his head he harrumphed. “Best seat in the house, I guess.”
“Seems to be,” Constance replied.
“You sure you don’t want company? I’m happy to stay, or I can pull Slozar back in with you.”
Constance replied. “No offense, but I don’t think Deputy Slozar has the constitution for this.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “She’s a good kid, but you’re right. Like I said though, I can stay.”
“I’ll be fine,” she told him.
“You’re sure?” He pressed.
Constance wondered why he seemed so intent on her not being alone in the house but decided not to ask. She had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t get a straight answer even if she did pose the question.
“Positive,” she expressed, adding a bit of sternness to her voice. “I’d really prefer you and your deputies keep everything covered from the outside.”
He waited a beat before saying anything, as if he were calculating a different approach. But when he finally spoke-though reluctance was still apparent in his tone-he stopped pushing.
“We always do,” he said. “And we always see the same thing, which is a whole lot of nothing.”
“The killer has to get in here somehow, Skip. So does the victim for that matter.”
“Yeah, that’s true. But I’ve said it before, I’ll be damned if I know how.”
“Hopefully I can figure that out,” she replied.
“Good luck with that,” he grunted. “No offense, but you aren’t the first Fed to say that to me.”
“Well, maybe I’ll be the last.”
He let out a patronizing half-chuckle. “Heard that one before too.”
“You have a better idea?” she snipped.
Skip shook his head. “No, Constance, I don’t. And don’t take what I said personally. I’m just not getting my hopes up. I’ve been let down too many times.”
She softened a bit. “Okay… Well then, it looks like I’m all set. I suppose everyone should get into position.”
“You realize it’s probably not even nine o’clock yet, right?”
Constance pushed back her coat sleeve and checked her watch. “You’re correct, it’s eight thirty-two.”
He snorted. “Okay, have it your way, sugar. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told all the other G-men. You’ve got a long damn night ahead of you. I speak from experience.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“I’m trying to tell you that this is gonna happen whether you sit here all night, or you walk in ten minutes before. Whether you’re quiet as a church mouse, or having a party. It always does.”
“I understood what you meant, Skip.”
He looked at her and absently combed his mustache before giving his head a shake. “Yep. Stubborn as all hell, just like my oldest.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Yeah… I kind of meant it that way…” he replied. “Okay… So, you’ve got your radio?”
“Yes,” she said, holding the device up in the light between them. “Already tested. We’ll do an hourly check-in unless something crops up in between. Sound good?”
“Yeah, it might keep you from getting too bored,” he said with a nod. Tilting his hand, he aimed the flashlight beam at the counter beside them and dipped his head toward it. The shaft of illumination fell across a brown paper bag and a gray metal thermos. “It’s not exactly catfish, Nehi, and RC, but there you go.”
“Excuse me… Not exactly what?”
“Yeah, I guess Brother Dave was a little before your time wasn’t he…” Skip said.