Ironic, since he seemed to be the only one in this town who had any idea what was actually going on. He’d been studying the Butcher for years, ever since he’d figured out the killer’s pattern.
There were so many unanswered questions about the case. So many mysteries still unsolved. Sam’s own theories had slowly developed over time, as his obsession with the case had grown. If there was a Butcher of Manchester expert, it was him.
And now the Butcher was here, right on his doorstep. It was as if Sam was somehow woven into this, destined to be involved in some way. It was fate, or the hand of God, maybe.
The thought made him shiver.
When he looked up, about to kick his foot back onto the pedal, the stretch of field to his left caught his eye. It looked…empty. Sam passed the field on the way to school almost every day, and it was usually full of livestock.
He frowned, moving closer, until his palms were pressed against the roughly hewn wooden fence surrounding the pasture. It wasn’t that it was empty, he realized, but that the entire herd of black-and-white dairy cows were lying on the grass.
Cows, Samuel knew, generally did not lie this way, with their legs splayed in the air like broken fence posts. He stared, openmouthed, at the sight. It was bizarre, a sea of black and white stretching halfway across the field.
The field continued to be silent and still, and it hit him a second later.
“Oh shit.” He jerked his bike back up out of the ditch and jumped on, pedaling until his thighs burned, heading straight for the station.
When he arrived, he was surprised to find only half the desks occupied. He’d expected his dad to call everyone in. Murder required a little overtime.
When he walked in, the sergeant was speaking to one of his men, arms crossed over his chest. “Send someone to clear out the stone circles. I don’t want it roped off any more than it has to be. Hurts tourism if they’re afraid to stumble over a dead body at any second. No need to create a panic.”
“But, sir, we’re going to have to call in—” The officer broke off when he spotted Sam, and his father turned, brows raised.
“Samuel. Why are you here?”
Sam forced a smile. “Ma got me to bring your lunch in. You left it in the fridge. Listen, Dad, the Kellys’ farm—”
“We know.” The sergeant waved him off. “We’ve already had three calls and I haven’t even had my coffee yet. I’m sending someone over. You can put my lunch on my desk.” He turned back to the officer, and Sam nodded and ducked by, making his way down the narrow hallway to the back.
He slipped into his father’s office and crouched by the open door, setting his backpack on the floor.
“Look,” his father was saying, “it’s probably someone trying to throw us off the scent. Maybe they poisoned the cows, too, to make it seem like there’s some kind of lunatic running around. The judge had enemies, right? She put loads of people away.”
Sam froze momentarily, shocked. His father had to mean Judge O’Toole, the woman who sat in the back pew of the church every Sunday. She was a steely-faced woman and not particularly friendly.
But she’d been retired for years. Why wait this long to kill her?
“It had to be revenge,” the sergeant continued. “He does a little internet search, finds the nearest serial killer, scratches that damned sign into something and, wham, you got everyone sniffing after a decade-old case.”
“Wham,” Sam muttered to himself, and pulled the first Tupperware container out of his bag. Leftover stew from last night. He’d gone back and grabbed it out of the fridge. His mother hadn’t exactly asked him to bring it over, but he knew the sergeant was going to be busy today. He was just taking some initiative. And if he happened to overhear something while running the errand, well…
He walked over to the desk, footsteps light, and set it on the top. He could hear the officer protesting from next door.
“Sir, shouldn’t we call it in? I mean, a murder—”
“Accident. We don’t know it was a murder.”
“Well, we don’t know it was an accident either, sir. It wasn’t like she fell onto her shearing scissors a half dozen times, now is it?”
“Watch your mouth.”
Sam set the stew down and walked back to the bag. He was impressed the man was still arguing. His father had a way of plowing over any protests.
Next out of the bag was a ziplock baggie with a couple of dinner buns in it. His father was saying loudly, “There’ll be questions, of course, all those rubberneckers on the way past. Have Bertie release a statement to the media.” He cleared his throat. “No foul play.”
His officer must have given him a look, because he sighed. “Just to avoid the panic. You’ll see, it’ll be someone who just got out of jail and had a few drinks to work up his courage. Then panicked and tried to make it look like a serial killer.”
That, Sam thought, was still the very definition of foul play. Apparently the other man agreed with him, because there was only a bad-tempered grunt in reply and then the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
Sam placed the dinner buns on top of the container just as his father opened his door. He gave the sergeant a grin and held up a spoon. “Thought I’d lost this in my bag. Didn’t think you’d appreciate eating with your hands.”
His father gave him a long look as he set the spoon down on the desk, then Sam turned back to him, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“Everything okay? Morgan says her mam drove past quite a scene in the stone circle.”
“Of course, it’s already spreading,” his father grumbled, and stalked over to his desk. “It’s nothing. Some addict, probably. We’ll have it cleared up in a few days.” He gave Sam a sharp look. “Don’t you go reporting anything to your little friends. This is a godly town. This type of thing doesn’t happen here, and I won’t have you spreading rumors.”
“Of course not.” Normally Sam would have been annoyed by the casual scorn in his father’s voice, but right now he was too eager to find out more. “Did they die in one of the circles or did someone dump them there?”
His father scowled. “That’s none of your concern. You think it’s right, to think about these things? You think God would approve?”
Sam bit back a retort that his father maybe should think a little harder about these things. Instead he replied, “I better get home. Lots of reading to do for Bible study.” His father didn’t answer, just cracked open his laptop and began typing furiously, so Samuel turned and made his way down the hallway, stealing a few jelly beans from Bertie’s desk at the front. The older woman gave him a wave without looking up from her work, her round face pale.
The poor woman had probably never written up a press release like this one.
Sam rode home, his mouth full of jelly beans, already planning what he was going to post on the forums.
CHAPTER TEN
MEINER
The car ride over had tested the limits of Meiner’s patience.
They’d carpooled, and of course Cora had claimed the passenger seat, keeping up a steady stream of chatter. She got in some subtle jabs at Meiner and managed to bring up the fact they’d dated briefly, darting a furtive look at Dayna in the rearview mirror.