Chaingang

“We couldn't find Mr. Sinclair listed in the phone directory, either, and his number had been disconnected."

“Again—it was just a timing thing. He was working out of that office temporarily. He lives in New York. He goes where the job is. Mr. Perkins would have had all those facts and so on, you see. And I suspect that some of his personal effects must have been lost, because he had a clear and comprehensive understanding of the way our company was set up and how this Ecoworld project would be brought to fruition."

“Where is Mr. Sinclair?"

“In the Orient,” Fisher said, easily. He glanced at the expensive-looking watch on his wrist. “Sound asleep, as we speak, I should think. I think there's a real problem here, but we're not part of it."

“What do you mean?” Mary asked.

“Folks, I think we have to face facts: an awful lot of missing persons in a small community, and within a short time, are very suspicious.” Tell us about it

, Royce thought. “We've been in touch with the authorities too, as I'm sure you know by now. When they reached us about Mr. Perkins, and the Poindexter family, we sent our own investigator in, and his report in a nutshell is this: there's the possibility a serial murderer has targeted the Waterton area.” For a moment neither Royce nor Mary spoke. Then they both tried to speak at once.

“How—"

“Why—” Royce nodded and said, “Go ahead."

“How do you know that?"

“The murders at your town pharmacy yesterday seem to confirm it. But there are some things you may not know. And I'm in a rather ticklish situation here. I want to help you folks, but I've been asked by the chief of police not to divulge certain information our investigator obtained from another law enforcement agency.

“There is evidence of more than one murder. Near Waterton. And I think we all understand and sympathize with Chief Kerns wanting to keep the lid on what could be a panic-inducing situation, but on the other hand, you folks have a right to the information, it seems to me, because of Mr. Perkins."

He told them a lot more. Voluble, helpful, straightforward, and surprisingly forthcoming, Royce thought. After having obtained Mary's and Royce's word they'd not repeat the information, he shared the corporate investigator's report.

It was typically company-oriented and task-oriented, aimed not so much at determining what happened to the missing persons, but whether or not their absence was going to have an ill effect on the Ecoworld project. The summary was as Fisher had stated: It appeared that a serial murderer was killing and/or abducting random persons from the Waterton/Maysburg area. While the report did not have the data on Rusty Ellis, or the conclusions on the fire at Butchie's, it did contain the “Smith-Truett-Kelly-Doe” murders from Maysburg's police department, which indeed seemed to confirm the existence of a brutal serial murderer on the loose.

For the first time, Royce was not so certain about the land deal having been the focal point that linked the missing persons, Sam in particular. Inarguably, there was a serial killer who was taking lives at random.

“What did you think?” Mary had asked him as soon as they were in the vehicle and homeward bound, Royce behind the wheel, his mind going a mile a minute. He was trying to sort out two parallel worlds, make that three, at once.

“You mean Fisher?"

“Mm."

“Seems like a decent guy. Nice guy.” His voice saying something else altogether.

“Something's going on here, right?” Mary was no rocket scientist, but she'd always been proud of her ability to size things up. After all, this was the woman who'd loaned a former junkie lover five thousand dollars. What do the banks call it—unsecured? She trusted her BS detector—always had.

“Yeah."

“Well?"

“I don't know."

“Come on, Royce. Talk to me."

“I don't know, babe. What can I say? It looks bad. It's going to get a lot worse. And it probably is a helluva lot worse than that, but nobody's telling us. There. That pretty well do it?” She just looked at him. “Sorry,” he sighed, letting out air. “I—"

“But ... do you think...” she really didn't want to articulate it “Sam is..."

“Yeah."

“The idea of a serial killer in Waterton—it's ridiculous. Unthinkable. But why wouldn't we have found Sam if that was it?” The concept of a serial murder case in a town of less than seven hundred people, a town so rinky-dink, it grows 50 percent larger when the migrant workers come through, was absurd!

“Let's just talk about the things we know, Mary. We've got enough to try to sort out without running through hypothetical situations. Sam is missing. He's not dead. We're not sure. Let's remember that.” Funny. Him telling her this. As if she didn't know.

“Yeah. But you think he's dead too, don't you? Be honest."

“Yes. I do,” he said quietly, after a few seconds. It seemed noisy in the silence of the car. “I have nothing more to base it on than the others being missing. But I think he's gone.” He reached over and patted her arm. She felt stiff.