winter except Miss Deb. She teach me English, to read. Soon, I become citizen.” A tear welled up in his right eye and he wiped it away. “You find who kill her. You find the man and you hurt him.”
Reese looked at Peck.
“You make him pay,” Paco said.
Reese and Peck stood up and left Paco alone. Just before the door closed, they heard him say, “You make him pay.”
Peck closed the door from the outside and paused for a moment to listen to the sound of Paco crying. Peck looked at Reese, who shook his head. Together, they walked to the waiting cruiser.
Riding back to town in Peck’s cruiser, Reese said, “Our man could have been scouting the house by snowmobile. Paco arrives in his truck and our man heads for the woods, returning after the coast is clear.”
“Which brings us back to the killer wasn’t a stranger theory,” Peck said. “If Deb let him in of her own accord. He waits for Paco to leave and knocks on the door. Deb answers and sees a friendly, familiar face and lets the guy in. Maybe he told her he ran out of gas, whatever. The point is he got in without using force. That means we’re not looking for a stranger.”
“Right,” Reese fell silent for a moment, and then said, “In a town this small, that is at least something.”
Peck looked at Reese. “Yeah, what?”
Peck parked the cruiser in front of the municipal building. He and Reese exited and stood on the curb. Reese checked his watch.
“You wouldn’t have anything in the way of a nightcap, would you, sheriff?” Reese asked.
Peck added a log to the woodstove in his office, and then sat behind his desk.
Reese warmed his hands over the fire, rubbing them together, and then took the chair opposite Peck’s desk. Peck opened a drawer and removed the bottle of scotch. “One finger or two?”
“Two,” Reese said.
Peck poured scotch into plastic cups and set one on the desktop for Reese. “Sorry, no ice.”
“These things take time,” Reese said, picking up his cup. “A murder investigation can grow cold, be forgotten and then resurface and be solved six months later.”
“After he kills again, is what you’re saying,” Peck said.
Reese took a gulp of scotch and nodded his agreement. “Let me ask you something, sheriff? If you don’t mind.”
Peck lit a cigarette, took a sip of scotch. “Ask.”
“What’s the worst case you ever worked?” Reese said. “The absolute worst horror show, nightmare of your career.”
Peck searched his memory for the one standout. “A two year old baby girl was found in a garbage dumpster. She was raped and sodomized before the sick bastard suffocated her with a plastic bag and stuffed her body in a cat carrier.”
Reese was speechless as he sipped from his plastic cup. Finally, he said, “Was she colored, the little girl?”
“She was.”
“Did you ever catch the man responsible?”
“The boyfriend of the mother,” Peck said. “He didn’t want the responsibility of paying for the child. Sadly, neither did she. They planned the murder together, even taking the time to find a dumpster, which wasn’t emptied very often. They reported the baby kidnapped, but I suspected them right away because twenty years ago, who kidnaps a black baby in a poor neighborhood? It didn’t add up so I took a closer look at the parents. The rest just fell into place.”
“My worst, or at least the one which stands out in my mind,” Reese said, “was in fifty five. A farm worker employed by the owner of a potato farm in Aroustic County didn’t get the raise he wanted after a poor crop season. He took an ax to the farmer, his wife and two kids, the dog and cat and buried them all in the barn.”
“You caught him?”
“No. He made it to New Hampshire where he hung himself in a five dollar a night motel room. He left a suicide note explaining what he did and why. We excavated the barn for the remains. What a mess.”
Peck finished his drink and poured another ounce into his
Reese looked at Peck.
“You make him pay,” Paco said.
Reese and Peck stood up and left Paco alone. Just before the door closed, they heard him say, “You make him pay.”
Peck closed the door from the outside and paused for a moment to listen to the sound of Paco crying. Peck looked at Reese, who shook his head. Together, they walked to the waiting cruiser.
Riding back to town in Peck’s cruiser, Reese said, “Our man could have been scouting the house by snowmobile. Paco arrives in his truck and our man heads for the woods, returning after the coast is clear.”
“Which brings us back to the killer wasn’t a stranger theory,” Peck said. “If Deb let him in of her own accord. He waits for Paco to leave and knocks on the door. Deb answers and sees a friendly, familiar face and lets the guy in. Maybe he told her he ran out of gas, whatever. The point is he got in without using force. That means we’re not looking for a stranger.”
“Right,” Reese fell silent for a moment, and then said, “In a town this small, that is at least something.”
Peck looked at Reese. “Yeah, what?”
Peck parked the cruiser in front of the municipal building. He and Reese exited and stood on the curb. Reese checked his watch.
“You wouldn’t have anything in the way of a nightcap, would you, sheriff?” Reese asked.
Peck added a log to the woodstove in his office, and then sat behind his desk.
Reese warmed his hands over the fire, rubbing them together, and then took the chair opposite Peck’s desk. Peck opened a drawer and removed the bottle of scotch. “One finger or two?”
“Two,” Reese said.
Peck poured scotch into plastic cups and set one on the desktop for Reese. “Sorry, no ice.”
“These things take time,” Reese said, picking up his cup. “A murder investigation can grow cold, be forgotten and then resurface and be solved six months later.”
“After he kills again, is what you’re saying,” Peck said.
Reese took a gulp of scotch and nodded his agreement. “Let me ask you something, sheriff? If you don’t mind.”
Peck lit a cigarette, took a sip of scotch. “Ask.”
“What’s the worst case you ever worked?” Reese said. “The absolute worst horror show, nightmare of your career.”
Peck searched his memory for the one standout. “A two year old baby girl was found in a garbage dumpster. She was raped and sodomized before the sick bastard suffocated her with a plastic bag and stuffed her body in a cat carrier.”
Reese was speechless as he sipped from his plastic cup. Finally, he said, “Was she colored, the little girl?”
“She was.”
“Did you ever catch the man responsible?”
“The boyfriend of the mother,” Peck said. “He didn’t want the responsibility of paying for the child. Sadly, neither did she. They planned the murder together, even taking the time to find a dumpster, which wasn’t emptied very often. They reported the baby kidnapped, but I suspected them right away because twenty years ago, who kidnaps a black baby in a poor neighborhood? It didn’t add up so I took a closer look at the parents. The rest just fell into place.”
“My worst, or at least the one which stands out in my mind,” Reese said, “was in fifty five. A farm worker employed by the owner of a potato farm in Aroustic County didn’t get the raise he wanted after a poor crop season. He took an ax to the farmer, his wife and two kids, the dog and cat and buried them all in the barn.”
“You caught him?”
“No. He made it to New Hampshire where he hung himself in a five dollar a night motel room. He left a suicide note explaining what he did and why. We excavated the barn for the remains. What a mess.”
Peck finished his drink and poured another ounce into his
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