“Shit,” Mike said under his breath. He pulled forward a couple of feet to give the officer room to pull up alongside, and then give himself enough room to resume his escape. A bang from the front of his car drew his attention, and Mike whipped around to see if he had hit anything.
He discovered that something had hit him. Officer Sutliffe stood in front of his car, having just slapped Mike’s hood. The policeman rounded Mike’s car and motioned for him to roll down his car window.
“Where you going?” he asked.
“I have to get back to the university,” Mike lied.
“That’s great,” said Sutliffe. “We don’t have any record that you’re working this case.”
“I was just brought in this morning,” said Mike. “Maybe word hasn’t gotten around.”
“This case is being run by Bob Farrell,” said Mike. “If you think any decision about this case is not going through Bob, then you’ve clearly never worked with Bob before.”
“Okay,” said Mike. “My mistake. Thank you for your time.”
Now that Sutliffe wasn’t blocking Mike’s path, Mike was free to pull ahead and then make his getaway.
“I think we’re going to have to take a little trip back to headquarters,” said Sutliffe.
“I don’t have time for that,” Mike protested, still trying to make his way out of the situation with just pure denial.
“You’ll just need to make time,” said Sutliffe. He pulled open Mike’s door.
Mike felt helpless facing the big man. He reached over and unbuckled the seatbelt.
“Am I under arrest or something?” he asked.
“Nope,” said Sutliffe. “Not yet.”
Sutliffe gripped Mike’s elbow as he got out of his car.
AT HEADQUARTERS, THEY SAT MIKE ALONE in an interview room and left him for close to an hour. When they finally entered, he had become both scared and angry.
A man wearing a button-down shirt and suspenders entered first, followed by a uniformed officer. They both sat opposite Mike and laid out notebooks and folders before addressing him.
“So, Mr. Markey,” began the man in plain-clothes.
“Doctor,” Mike corrected.
“Yes,” said the man. “My mistake, Doctor Markey,” he continued. “My name is Pat Farnham, and his gentleman is Red Bisson. “What was your intention at the crime scene today. Officer Sutliffe said he caught you examining a footprint?”
“Yes,” said Mike. He wondered if he should demand to have his lawyer present, but he didn’t want to incur any more hourly charges to his already expensive defense fund.
“And then you pretended to be a member of the investigation team?”
“Yes,” said Mike. “But I was just trying to find an excuse to leave.”
“Why was that important to you?” asked Pat Farnham, hooking a thumb under one of his suspenders.
“I thought I had seen a footprint like that before,” said Mike.
“What brought you to that house?” Pat asked quickly.
“I saw the footprint on TV. I saw it on channel six,” Mike clarified.
“Channel six,” Pat commented. “Where were you when you were watching TV?”
“At home,” said Mike.
“So you were at home,” he said, consulting a paper on the table, “almost a hundred miles away, and you saw something on TV that made you drive all the way up here so you could look at a footprint?”
“It looked like a pretty unusual footprint,” said Mike. “Big, you know? I’m a scientist, and I study mutations and species and stuff. Footprints that big are really interesting to a guy like me.”
“Let’s get right down to it,” said Pat. “Tell us what you were doing at the scene of a brutal murder—how you came to be there, and more importantly, why. Interfering with an investigation is incredibly easy for us to charge, so you better have some really good answers.”
“I found the house because I know where the guy started from,” said Mike, abandoning all pretense.
“Okay,” said Pat. “Where?”
“I found another footprint the guy left behind on a hiking trail, west of Campton. When I heard that there was another murder in Montville, I figured out what road he must have taken. Once I drove by the place, it would have been hard to not know where the murders took place,” said Mike.
“Never hear of a phone? Never think to call us and let us know your information?” asked the officer.
Mike shrugged and tried to choose just the right words—“I’ve investigated this type of thing before, and my experience has shown me that people in your position are sometimes averse to receiving unusual theories.”
“It sounds like you’re suggesting that I don’t know how to do my job,” said Pat. “Perhaps you can explain that a little further.”
“Okay,” said Mike, trying to sound even-tempered and rational. “I investigate paranormal events. This footprint, and where I found it, suggested a paranormal source. I didn’t think it would be very helpful if I called you up and said ‘I know who killed the guy in that house—it was paranormal being.’”
Pat pushed back from the table and smiled with only the corners of his mouth. “That’s perceptive,” he said. “So how about you give me an explanation that I can believe.”
“But that’s it,” said Mike. “That’s my only explanation. I think something paranormal is heading east, and it happened to kill your guy a couple of days ago, and maybe this pair in Montville sometime today. There must be similarities in the cases. Aren’t there?”
“I can’t discuss the details at this moment,” said Pat.
“Okay, sure,” said Mike, “but you must have run across at least one footprint like the one I saw today. And I can take you up to that hiking trail I was talking about. It’s called The Ledges. I’ll show you the footprint that I found last Thursday,” he assured.
“That’s great,” said Pat. “We had a giant thunderstorm last weekend. The trail almost certainly got soaked. Probably washed that footprint down to the river. I’m guessing you knew that already,” said Pat.
“No, I hadn’t heard,” said Mike.
“So what exactly am I to do with you?” Pat looked over at his uniformed associate as he asked. The man shifted in his chair, but stayed silent.
“Maybe you could show me the scene in Montville?” asked Mike. “I am a very experienced paranormal investigator. I might be able to see something that your other officers overlooked.”
“Well,” said Pat. “Here’s the thing about your paranormal investigations: I’ve been on the phone with Rockingham county a few times this afternoon. When they heard that I was trying to nail down the credentials of Dr. Mike Markey, I found out there were a number of people down in Rockingham who already had an opinion on the matter.”
“Oh?” asked Mike. He struggled to think of anyone who might know him from that county.
“Yes,” said Pat. “Turns out that their sheriff, Sheriff Murphy, has a fully-developed opinion about Dr. Mike Markey. In fact, he seems to think that you’re a grave-robbing charlatan.”
“Come on,” said Mike, rolling his eyes. “That guy is an ignorant hick. He wouldn’t listen to any of my evidence.”
“Stop right there,” said Pat. “That ignorant hick happens to be one of my in-laws.”
“Shit,” said Mike.
“You said a mouthful,” said Pat.
Mike leaned back in his chair, trying to think of something to help him win some credibility. He took a deep breath and considered starting from the beginning, spilling his whole story, but he released the breath and idea almost immediately. Some people were intelligent and pragmatic, but had no imagination for things they couldn’t explain. Mike figured he currently sat in front of one of those men.