Hallow Springs

Twenty-eight

I didn't get much from tracking the cell phone other than an introduction to the town's sinner and a theological lesson from the town's saint. We met back at the station to huddle back and chart out what we knew. The Jeremy Clock read 69:50:17.

He had almost been missing for three full days. Time was winding down and our chances of finding someone missing that long were miniscule. At a certain point, you soon started looking for a body. Everyone knew it – I could tell by the sullen and silent expressions as we gathered near the corkboard.

"Alright everyone, the Sheriff and I have a town hall meeting to discuss the case, but I want the rest of you focused on this board. These are our leads. These are Jeremy's only lifelines." I had to shake off the breakdown I had in the Church and lead again as detective on the case. The team needed it – a group of men needed the strength of a woman to keep going... go figure. So, we began following the leads. "Where are we on the credit card?"

"We have been watching, but no purchases have been made since his disappearance."

"Maynard Jones?"

"His alibi checked out... He was with his mother on Tuesday eating Lasagna."

"Any possibility he still could have done it?" No answers from the unit. I yanked Maynard Jones picture down from the cork board and threw it away in the trash. "He gave us an important point though. When Jeremy dropped his car off for maintenance he was picked up by a high schooler driving a red Tacoma. Have we been able to identify the driver yet Peters?"

"Yeah, according to Principal Saunders, Paul Marple owns it. He matches the description Maynard gave us."

"Paul Marple... I know that name..." I scanned the corkboard but couldn't see anything in the notes with the name so I searched my memory. An image surfaced of his name, handwritten in a calendar square.

It was written in his daily planner. I was confused as to why an elementary school teacher would be tutoring a high schooler. Principal Saunders explained that Jeremy tutored anyone no matter the grade. High School. I snatched a piece of paper off a nearby desk and bit off the cap of a Sharpie. I wrote Paul Marple and pinned it up to the corkboard.

"This was written in Jeremy's planner Who is he? Now I hear that this same kid picked him up when he dropped his truck off at Maynard's body shop on a different day then this alleged tutoring session. There is a cardinal rule in investigation. If someone's name comes up twice, always talk to them. Donna, I want to talk to him tomorrow. Please call his parents and set up a time."

"On it," she welcomed the job and jotted a note down on her pad of paper.

"And I want to talk to the sister, Zoe. What's an update on her condition?"

"She is starting to do better and should be in good shape to talk tomorrow."

"Good!" I ripped off another piece of paper from a nearby desk and wrote another note. I slapped it up on the board. "And what about her?"

"Anna?" the Sheriff asked, reading my note, but not understanding its relevance. Peters began explaining its context.

"We tried to speak to Zoe and she just repeated this name over and over in her sleep. Did she mention anything to you before she fell?"

"No... she didn't. I don't know an Anna in town either..."

"Could be nothing, could be cleared up tomorrow," Sykes suggested. This time he was right. We could have been focused on something completely unrelated but we had to turn over every rock at this point.

"For now, it stays on the board." I nodded to the Sheriff. "What did we find at the Main Street Café?"

"We were able to question the night shift waitress, Judy Daniels – Paul Daniels, little girl," he added for clarification. "She said it was just a normal night, nothing much out of the ordinary, except one thing..."

The Sheriff's pace of speech allowed for natural suspense. He unfolded his arms across his chest and stroked his mustache. "About 10 o'clock or so, she heard the breaking of glass down the alley. Said she was worried about another bar fight at the Lumber Mill."

"Did she see anything? Anybody?" Peters asked

"No, she didn't. She couldn't figure out where it had come from," Sheriff Rogers answered.

"It was the window to Ansel Mason's apartment up the fire escape."

At the sound of his name, everyone stopped and leaned in a little for further explanation. "Ansel Mason?" the Sheriff asked with one eyebrow arched.

"Yes. Someone broke into his apartment that night and stole a jar with 500 dollars worth of tips in it." The cops before me were less than impressed with a clue sourced by Ansel Mason and immediately dismissed it. I remembered the Sherriff explaining to me that my skepticism in people was my greatest asset – that I saw people in an objective light, unclouded by friendships. I realized in that moment that my ability to not dislike someone that everyone disliked was as valuable as my ability to dislike someone that everyone liked.

"So, he's involved in this... doesn't surprise me one bit," Sykes spoke up.

"I wouldn't say that... I would say that two crimes happened on that night and they could be connected."

"Connected?"

"Jeremy Wilson asked Sam if he could borrow $5,000 – Jeremy was in money trouble. I don't know why yet? Or to who?"

"He owed Maynard Jones for a car repair."

"Yes, he did, but only for $1,500. He owed a lot more to someone else," I explained.

"So, hold on..." Sykes held out a hand. "Jeremy Wilson owed someone $3,500?"

"At least... we don't know how much he exactly owed or how many people he was indebted to – all we know is how much he asked for from Sam."

"And you are suggesting think he broke into Ansel Mason's apartment and stole the tip jar." Sykes was reading between the lines of what I was saying. "What do you think he did with the $500? Skip town?"

"I'm only suggesting that it is a possibility."

"Then how would you explain the crime scene. His apartment was overturned. We saw his blood!"

"We don't know that it was his..." I corrected him. "If he was in to someone that much money, it's not that farfetched to think he could have been confronted." Many silent moments passed as they considered the theory. The Sherriff was the first to speak.

"Okay... so let's just say this was a working theory what would be the next step?"

"We need to look at the crime scene again. We need to look for anything and everything that could have been staged. Test the blood against his DNA, you will be able to find some hair shavings in his sink. We need to disprove this theory to eliminate it... Sykes and Grimes that's you..."

I checked the clock – it was 7:55. Time to go.

"Sheriff Rogers, you and I have a date with the town... let's go." He smirked a little bit after seeing me take command. Everyone had orders and we were doing everything we could to find him. Now we needed to recruit more help.

"After you Detective."

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