Hallow Springs

Twenty-Five

There are times during a case where you get the sense that you are finally on to something. Finding Jeremy's cell phone was the first time I felt that way during the case. We all live on our cell phones. They in a sense become a part of us, so much so that I felt like we were finding a part of Jeremy. Every person's cell phone is a treasure trove for that person's identity. Whether it be reading someone's text messages, searching their internet history or even seeing what apps they spend most of their time on, there is no tool more beneficial for psychological profiling then a cell phone. AT&T had finally released the location data to us after an official court order from Judge Harrison himself.

Sherriff Rogers met me at my door as I pulled my car into park amid the Department's fleet of police cruisers.

"Graves."

"What do we got?"

"According to the phone carrier, the cell phone was within 100 feet of this spot." I spun on my heel and surveyed my surroundings. Our cars were pointed down an alley wedged between St. Jude's and The Lumber Mill. Across the street was the Soda Shoppe where Jeremy had professed his love to me so many years ago.

"Okay great. When was the last time it was pinged by satellite?"

"The night of the disappearance. The phone has since run out of battery. It goes straight to voicemail every time we call."

"How long have they been looking?"

"We just got here." Peters, Sykes and Grimes all approached, awaiting orders.

"Okay... Peters and Sykes take the alley. Sheriff and Grimes take the Main Street Cafe. Ask Judy Daniels if she saw anything. She's still running the night shift, isn't she?" The team confirmed emphatically. I was glad to hear the legend of Judy Daniels was still among us.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking the Lumber Mill."

"Little rough for a girl like you, ain't it?" It was Sykes, who refused to miss his opportunity for a quick chauvinistic jab. I had learned that in these situations it was more important than ever to show strength. Acting like prey is the first way to become it.

"I like it rough..." their eyebrows arched at hearing this. Of course, the innuendo was intentional. "... besides a yacht club member like you wouldn't last a minute in there."

The others couldn't help but chuckle as they broke from the small huddle. I headed for the front door of the Lumber Mill, knowing that Sykes was frozen to the spot with no comeback in mind. It was 5:30 so the happy hour crowd was just now gathering for a long night of beers, pool matches and bike talk.

The front door creaked open and I walked over hardwood floor into the Lumber Mill. Neon signs covered the walls alongside the occasional poster of a half-naked model with a beer pitcher. A row of dart boards and pool tables filled one room, while bar tables and booths filled the second. Dollar bills were pinned up behind the bar with hand written messages over them. A profanity-laced one caught my eye, marked with a bold 'F' and a 'You' to follow. There were only a couple of small windows in the Lumber Mill so it was only dimly lit by hanging fixtures and the low glow of the neon beer signs.

I mentioned before that Hallow Springs had two bars. The Corner Bar, a family friend bar with Trivia nights on Tuesday and Karaoke on Thursdays, and then the Lumber Mill, where the bikers and blue-collar hooligans of the town would get drunk and then get in fights. Needless to say, Jeremy Wilson did not fit in here. I highly doubted that he was here on the night of his disappearance. The most plausible explanation at that moment was that his kidnapper frequented the bar and ditched the phone here. And so, I realized I was surrounded by potential suspects.

A man behind the bar was rubbing his hands with a dish towel as he walked up to me. He had large prescription glasses, a cleft lip scar and long hair, pulled back into a pony tail.

"May I help you?" he asked politely, seeing how a girl like me didn't fit into a place like this. I noticed the man from one of the usual suspects folders. He moved to Hallow Springs six years ago and had already got on most people's bad side. He was a man I had heard of multiple times since arriving back to town. Someone who save a legal technicality would be standing behind bars right now, rather than his bar. Charged for dealing drugs to minors, he had snaked his way out of a conviction. Some believed he had paid off the judge, others believed he was innocent as the evidence was somewhat circumstantial and Sam was after a big name bust to boost his reelection campaign. Regardless, he was standing there now in front of me and this was the first time I met Ansel Mason.

"Ansel, right?"

"That depends on who's asking," he waited kindly, wanting an introduction.

"Detective Amanda Graves." I flashed my badge and then a sideways smirk at him.

"Well in that case..." he slung the rag over his shoulder and reached a hand across the bar. "Ansel Mason at your service." I was initially taken aback by his immediate charm.

"Happy to see me?"

"Running a place like the Lumber Mill, you never know who's going to walk in through that door. A cop is the least of my worries." He laughed to himself.

"I see...do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" Someone just banged on the jukebox to cue up a Megadeath head banger song.

"Not a problem." He leaned in and spoke louder over the music. "Would you like to come upstairs to my apartment to chat?"

This was the second time I was taken aback by him in the short conversation. I had to wonder why a two-bit drug dealer would invite a detective into his apartment so freely. Maybe he wasn't guilty. Or maybe he was lowering me up to his apartment to knock me out, tie me up and throw me in a closet next to Jeremy. Regardless, I could learn more about him by seeing where he lived and I had my Beretta holstered to my hip with enough ammo to take out the whole biker gang if I needed to.

"Sure. I'm more of a Metallica fan anyway." Ansel chuckled and waved for me to follow up the back staircase. I thought I heard him sing a song lyric on his way back.

"Off to Never, Never Land..."

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Off to Never, Never Land is a song lyric by Metallica from the song, 'Enter Sandman'. 

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