Didn’t bother Sarah. She was used to being analyzed.
Down the hall, Karen cleared a couple of chairs in her office. “Have a seat.” She shed her coat and hat, then settled into the chair behind her desk. “Where would you like to start, Sarah?”
This was certainly original. A cooperative cop?
Yeah, right.
More like a cordial cop who had been given a strict script.
“I’d like to be brought up to speed on whatever your investigation has uncovered. Particularly the parts not released to the press.”
Surprise flared in the deputy’s eyes.
Well, she’d asked.
If Sarah got even a fraction of that, she’d be overjoyed. But, she knew from experience that what she would get was what they wanted her to know. No matter how cooperative the deputy appeared, she wouldn’t be any different from all the rest.
“Good deal.” Karen leaned over her desk and shuffled through the files there. “Here we go.” She opened a folder and spread it on the desktop between her and Sarah. “We got copies of the reports made by the chief and the other folks involved in the investigation. Interviews with family members and friends, Valerie Gerard’s as well as Alicia Appleton’s.” She shuffled through a couple more pages. “Forensicreports from the scene and possible related cases from the surrounding area. Though, so far, none seem even remotely similar.” She leaned back in her chair and gestured to the pile. “That’s what we’ve got.”
Sarah shuffled through the reports, skimmed the neatly typed accounts of what each investigating officer had seen and/or discovered that day and since. Just as Sarah had suspected. Whitewashed just for her. “Where are the crime-scene photos?” She watched the deputy’s eyes and expression for signs of the lie she was very likely about to pass off as the God’s honest truth.
The deputy made one of those faces that said she didn’t understand why the question had been posed. “I haven’t been authorized to show those to you just yet.” She gestured to the file again. “This is, as I’m sure you know, a good deal more than we’re required to share in the middle of an ongoing investigation.”
Not an outright lie, but nothing Sarah hadn’t expected. “That’s a shame. I was really hoping to get a feel for the scene as it was when the victim was discovered.”
“If the chief gets here before you leave,” Karen offered, “we can ask him for authorization. I got no problem with it. The sooner we get this ugly mess solved, the happier I’ll be. But I will warn you, that level of cooperation isn’t likely to happen.”
Deputy Karen Brighton gave every appearance of being sincere about wanting to share more were she not restricted by the rules. Sarah didn’t buy it for a second. “Why don’t you walk me through what’s been going on in the community for the past week or so, since the first girl went missing.”
Confusion lined Deputy Brighton’s forehead, but her eyes gave her away. She’d just locked down like the Pentagon during an unexpected alert. “I’m not sure what you mean. I think you’ll find everything you need in the reports there.”
The proverbial Mexican standoff.
Conner repositioned in his chair twice in the ensuing silence.
This was going to take a while. “Let’s see ...” Sarah plopped her bag on the floor by her chair, then unzipped her coat and shrugged it off, letting it drop onto the back of her chair. “Talk in the village is that this case is related to the one twenty years ago. One reporter interviewed five Youngstown citizens and got the same story. The new property development coming to town awakened a curse the village founder predicted would befall anyone who desecrated sacred ground. Sacred, apparently, primarily translating into whatever he held dear.”
Karen glanced at Conner. Sarah waited patiently for her to decide how she intended to evade giving an answer.
“It’s true,” she said finally. “Thomas Young, Youngstown’s founder, warned the settlers some two hundred fifty years ago that a horrible fate would befall the village if its history was disregarded or otherwise disrespected.” She shrugged noncommittally. “Some believe the development going in on the Young estate has spurred that curse. They point to the out-of-season storm we experienced a few weeks ago as the first warning.”
“Like twenty years ago,” Sarah suggested. “The unearthing of a cemetery set off a chain of events that culminated in murder.”
“That was a mistake,” Conner chimed in. “The cemetery wasn’t recorded. No one knew it was there. The high school expansion was well underway before the problem was discovered. What happened after that was no curse, Ms. Newton. It was just a run of nasty weather and bad luck that ended in tragedy.”
“But the murders,” Sarah countered, “were somewhat similar to Valerie Gerard’s.” Earlier, Conner had argued they weren’t, but that wasn’t exactly accurate.
Again that look was exchanged between the deputy and the newest village councilman. “The similarities aren’t consistent with a repeating MO,” Karen allowed, “even though on initial examination they might appear to be.”
“How so?” Sarah wasn’t giving up until she knew all that the police knew. If Deputy Brighton wanted to test her staying power, she could have at it.
The deputy pressed her lips together for a moment, ensuring she appeared to give ample thought to the question before responding, when her real intent was to keep the unauthorized answer from popping out. “All the victims”—she looked straight at Sarah—“then and now, were mutilated. But not in the same ways. This kind of murder is never pretty, but the hack-and-slash act of killing doesn’t mean that every hack-and-slash case is related.”
Now she was patronizing. “No evidence then or now. It’s my understanding the killer didn’t leave a message last time.”
Another of those she-couldn’t-possibly-know-this shared glances. “According to what we’ve been told by the chief,” Brighton said carefully, “who was involved in the investigation twenty years ago, there was no message left by the killer back then. The files on that case were lost in a fire in the old Public Safety building.”
Sarah might have considered that rather convenient except that the timing didn’t really lend itself to a conspiracy. “But this time was different,” Sarah prompted. She resisted the urge to lean forward in her intense examination of the other woman. Karen Brighton wasn’t a very good liar; it would be easy to spot. “This time the killer left a message.”
