14
Alex drove me to the police station where I handed over the cold murder case file labeled Knox, Cyrus J. to the Chief. The Chief took the file with him as he headed to the church to look in on Reverend McDonald. I sat at my desk and waited. I knew that I was missing the wedding reception, but I had to know what the Chief and the others discovered as soon as they discovered it.
“Alex, would you mind going to the reception and extending my apologies for not being there?” I asked.
“No, I suppose one of us should be there. I mean, I don’t mind if you’ll be alright here.”
“I’ll be fine. For the time being, I just need to be where the action is.”
The look Alex returned showed that he most likely understood. He gave me a kiss on the cheek and was gone.
The analysis of the wine came back quickly. Bryce brought me the results. Instead of being laced with a deadly poison, the wine had been spiked with a powerful laxative. When the Chief called in to report that Reverend McDonald had been strangled to death in his office, with a telephone cord, the whole station erupted with activity.
We had a crazed serial murderer on our hands. It was the nightmare that every police department hoped to avoid.
Bryce stopped by my desk to let me know that the Chief had called to have him help me write up my statement. I actually relished the opportunity to perform this tedious task since I thought it might give me an opportunity to organize my scattered thoughts on the three murders. We went to Bryce’s desk to use his computer. I switched positions with him after the first frustrating fifteen minutes spent trying to dictate my statement. I ended up doing the rest of the typing since I’m a much better typist than Bryce. Eventually, Bryce wandered away from his desk to work on some other aspect of the case. I guess I didn’t need that much help after all.
I was just finishing up entering my statement when the Chief returned to the station. He wasn’t alone. Behind him stalked a man in a gray pinstriped suit. Let me be clear, the man in the suit was a suit. FBI. I would have been able to spot him from a mile away.
I was printing copies of my finished report, one for Bryce and one for the Chief, when the Chief bellowed for me.
“Boston!”
I went straight to the Chief’s office carrying my reports and let myself in. The suit was sitting across the desk from the Chief.
“Boston, this is Agent Stillwell with the FBI out of Seattle,” the Chief said by way of introduction.
“Agent,” I said, nodding my head.
“Ms. Boston,” the agent replied, remaining seated and also nodding his head.
Serial killer. Federal agent. It all made sense, but how did he get here so fast?
“Is that your report?” the Chief asked, and then without waiting for a response added, “Hand it over.”
I handed the Chief both copies of my report. He handed one to the G-man. I remained standing as they read my report. Neither of them had any questions. What can I say? I write a lean and mean report.
“Chief Wallace, what have you done to track down this fake minister?” the agent asked.
“I have a list of guests to the wedding. My men will be interviewing them to see if any remember seeing the minister leave the ceremony. This will all start as soon as the crime scene involving the minister’s office has been handed over to the county investigators.”
“Good. I’ve brought our case files on Cyrus Knox with me if you’d like to bring yourself up to speed.”
“If there’s nothing else that I can contribute,” I interrupted, “I wonder if I might ask a question.”
“Shoot,” said the Chief instinctively.
The agent looked leery of the interruption.
“How did Agent Stillwell get here so soon?”
The Chief and the agent shared a knowing glance.
“I told you she’d ask,” the Chief said, rocking back in his chair.
“I was in the area on a separate but possibly related case,” the agent explained.
It was
Alex drove me to the police station where I handed over the cold murder case file labeled Knox, Cyrus J. to the Chief. The Chief took the file with him as he headed to the church to look in on Reverend McDonald. I sat at my desk and waited. I knew that I was missing the wedding reception, but I had to know what the Chief and the others discovered as soon as they discovered it.
“Alex, would you mind going to the reception and extending my apologies for not being there?” I asked.
“No, I suppose one of us should be there. I mean, I don’t mind if you’ll be alright here.”
“I’ll be fine. For the time being, I just need to be where the action is.”
The look Alex returned showed that he most likely understood. He gave me a kiss on the cheek and was gone.
The analysis of the wine came back quickly. Bryce brought me the results. Instead of being laced with a deadly poison, the wine had been spiked with a powerful laxative. When the Chief called in to report that Reverend McDonald had been strangled to death in his office, with a telephone cord, the whole station erupted with activity.
We had a crazed serial murderer on our hands. It was the nightmare that every police department hoped to avoid.
Bryce stopped by my desk to let me know that the Chief had called to have him help me write up my statement. I actually relished the opportunity to perform this tedious task since I thought it might give me an opportunity to organize my scattered thoughts on the three murders. We went to Bryce’s desk to use his computer. I switched positions with him after the first frustrating fifteen minutes spent trying to dictate my statement. I ended up doing the rest of the typing since I’m a much better typist than Bryce. Eventually, Bryce wandered away from his desk to work on some other aspect of the case. I guess I didn’t need that much help after all.
I was just finishing up entering my statement when the Chief returned to the station. He wasn’t alone. Behind him stalked a man in a gray pinstriped suit. Let me be clear, the man in the suit was a suit. FBI. I would have been able to spot him from a mile away.
I was printing copies of my finished report, one for Bryce and one for the Chief, when the Chief bellowed for me.
“Boston!”
I went straight to the Chief’s office carrying my reports and let myself in. The suit was sitting across the desk from the Chief.
“Boston, this is Agent Stillwell with the FBI out of Seattle,” the Chief said by way of introduction.
“Agent,” I said, nodding my head.
“Ms. Boston,” the agent replied, remaining seated and also nodding his head.
Serial killer. Federal agent. It all made sense, but how did he get here so fast?
“Is that your report?” the Chief asked, and then without waiting for a response added, “Hand it over.”
I handed the Chief both copies of my report. He handed one to the G-man. I remained standing as they read my report. Neither of them had any questions. What can I say? I write a lean and mean report.
“Chief Wallace, what have you done to track down this fake minister?” the agent asked.
“I have a list of guests to the wedding. My men will be interviewing them to see if any remember seeing the minister leave the ceremony. This will all start as soon as the crime scene involving the minister’s office has been handed over to the county investigators.”
“Good. I’ve brought our case files on Cyrus Knox with me if you’d like to bring yourself up to speed.”
“If there’s nothing else that I can contribute,” I interrupted, “I wonder if I might ask a question.”
“Shoot,” said the Chief instinctively.
The agent looked leery of the interruption.
“How did Agent Stillwell get here so soon?”
The Chief and the agent shared a knowing glance.
“I told you she’d ask,” the Chief said, rocking back in his chair.
“I was in the area on a separate but possibly related case,” the agent explained.
It was
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