In The Bleak Midwinter: A Special Agent Constance Mandalay Novel by M. R. Sellars Page A

screen. Ben was probably still in the shower right about
now, which would explain why he didn’t answer. It felt later to her
than it really was, probably because she’d already been up and
working for several hours.
    She slipped her cell back into her pocket,
then shifted in the booth and pulled a large envelope out of the
faux leather portfolio lying at her side. She’d had time for no
more than a quick glance at it earlier before getting started on
her four-hour journey north. The SAC had called her in at
oh-dead-thirty for a briefing so spotty that it gave new meaning to
the word, and until now every moment since had been rush, rush, and
more rush. In fact, when she’d first arrived in his office her hair
had still been slightly damp from her shower. Fortunately, he
hadn’t seemed to care, or even notice for that matter.
    She leaned against the padded back of the
booth’s bench seat and unwound the string on the interdepartmental
envelope. Considering what she’d been told during the meeting—which
wasn’t much—the packet seemed a bit light and that was a concern.
Starting from scratch with a new investigation was one thing, but
this one was supposedly ongoing and as she understood it, had been
for several years.
    With an involuntary frown tweaking her
features, she withdrew a sheaf of papers, most of which appeared to
be reports filed by other agents over the span of the case.
Protruding slightly from the top edge of the thin stack of official
documents was a laminated sheet. Constance thumbed through the
papers and extracted the rigid page.
    Sandwiched inside was an aged photocopy of a
section of newspaper clipping. A hyper contrasted picture took up
the majority of the page, but it was really nothing more than black
and white shapes with very little detail. The most you could tell
was that it looked like there might be one or two people, and maybe
a house pictured—then again maybe not, the quality was literally
that poor.
    There was no caption, nor was there any story
beneath the photo. Constance rummaged through the papers once again
searching for any other laminated pages, but she found none. She
then slowly flipped through them a third time, keeping her eyes
open for un-laminated copies just in case. Still nothing.
    “Here you go, hon,” the waitress’ voice hit
her ears again.
    Out of habit, Constance turned over the short
stack of documents, placing them face down on the seat next to
her.
    “Thanks,” she said, forcing a smile as she
looked up at the server.
    The woman in pink shook her head. “You work
too hard, young lady. You’re going to give yourself
indigestion.”
    “It comes with the job,” Constance
replied.
    “Well at least try to relax a little and
enjoy your breakfast.”
    “I will.”
    “Can I get you anything else?”
    “No, I think I’m good. Thanks.”
    “Okay, hon. I’ll check back with you in a
bit.”
    Constance waited until the woman was back at
the counter and busy filling a coffee mug for another patron who
had just arrived. Only then did she slip the laminated sheet out
from beneath the other papers and flip it face up.
    She held the landscape copied page by the
short edge and stared at it again. She checked the opposite side,
but found nothing, so she flipped it back over and continued
staring, purposely cocking an eyebrow and pursing her lips into a
thoughtful frown. Other than the blown-out, useless picture, the
only thing that remained on the page was a headline and the
dateline of the story. At least those words were still legible,
even though they were less than crisp around the edges; a fault of
the copier technology of the day, from the looks of them.
    The dateline below the photo read Hulis, MO -
December 26, 1975.
    The sensational, six-column, two-inch block
headline overhead proclaimed, MERRIE AXEMAS.
     
     
     

C HAPTER 8
     
    11:03 A.M. – December 22, 2010
    Sheriff’s Department
    Hulis Township – Northern Missouri
     
    “HRRMMPH…”
    The