Adios Angel by Mark Reps

the break we’ve been seeking.  Let’s have a look at your map.”
    Removing a pencil from her desk drawer she handed it
to Zeb who pressed the rubber eraser head against the map and drew a box. 
County Roads 6, 11 and 14 marked the eastern, southern and western borders. 
The northernmost boundary angled off to the northeast and formed an imaginary
line through the jutted out southeastern tip of the San Carlos Reservation. 
The map clearly showed there were no marked roadways in this area.
    “Joe Escarte, from the phone company, told me that
inside this area they are still getting some static from the downed lines.  He
thinks the noise is transformer resistance complicated by some sort of a dual
coupling problem or an electrical technical issue that I didn’t really
understand.  He says those poles out there all need to be replaced.  The ones
that got blown down were termite infested.  He said not only were they old, but
had not been treated correctly with creosote.  The way he has it figured is
this--somebody shortchanged the county when they sold them the poles.  He asked
me to look into that issue.  I referred him to the local purchasing agent for
the county.”
    Kate studied the sheriff’s drawn outline.  The area
inside the box was twenty by forty miles. The eight hundred square miles seemed
huge until Zeb reiterated a point the phone company man had made.
    “There are less than one hundred phones serviced by
that line.  Some of them are shared lines, party lines, but almost everyone who
uses that line lives on County Road 6.”
    “It looks like we’re going to do some legwork and
knock on some--”
    Deputy Steele’s comment was interrupted by a shout
from Helen.
    “Sheriff.  Line one.  It’s the man who made the bomb
threat.  He wants to talk to whoever is in charge.  He won’t give me his
name.” 
    Zeb Hanks stepped quickly toward his office.  As he
passed Helen’s line of sight he silently signaled her to record the call.  He picked
up the phone as Helen pointed to the already turning tape recorder.
    “This is Sheriff Hanks.”
    “Are you policia in charge?”
    “Yes, I’m in charge.”
    Zeb’s mind raced.  He had the murderer of his deputy
only a phone line away.  Was this man a psychopath checking to see how the
sheriff’s office was reacting to the loss of one of its deputies?
    “I hear on radio your deputy die.  I am terrible
sorry.”
    The man’s voice was heavy with remorse. Could it be
genuine?  Sheriff Hanks did not believe it for even half a second.
    “I want turn myself in.  I go to jail for calling in
bomb threats.  Can you do that?  I didn’t kill no one.   I promise I don’t kill
no one.”
    The man on the other end of the line began to sob. 
Sheriff Hanks was not only stunned by the man’s confession, but by his tears. 
He sounded soft, sincere and contrite.
    “That can be arranged.  What is your name?”
    The man on the other end of the line suddenly froze. 
Anxiety arose in the sheriff’s chest.  He did not want to lose the killer now.
    “We can come and pick you up right now.  Just tell us
where you are.”
    The crackling on the line increased dramatically.  The
man’s voice became barely audible amid the hissing.  His next words became
incomprehensible as the static turned to white noise before dying.
    “Damn it!” said Sheriff Hanks slamming the phone. 
“The line went dead.”
    “Maybe he’ll call back,” said Deputy Steele.
    “We can only--.”
    A shrill ring interrupted her comment.
    “Please.” Deputy Steele’s voice was but a whisper. 
“Please.”
    The sheriff and his deputy hurried to Helen’s desk. 
They hovered over her, listening in silence as she picked up the phone. 
    “It’s him again.  He apologized for the line going
dead,” said Helen.  “He wants to talk to you again, Sheriff Hanks.”
    The man was already talking as Zeb took the phone from
Helen’s hand.
    “If you come and get me, that be