Mac set his cup down on the table and leaned back in his chair. I wasn't very good at reading people, and not knowing what he was thinking only added to my already high level of anxiety. He leaned forward and still staring at me, grinned. "Shouldn't the question be what, if anything, have they found at the cabin?"

I wasn't in the mood for an interrogation but knew he wasn't going to let up. "As far as the cabin goes, I doubt Barney Fife could find his way out of a room with three walls and two open doors. Right now, I just want to know what you know about Dad."

Mac laughed. "Don't underestimate Detective Reilly. Arlington may be a small town but Reilly's a darn good homicide detective. If there is anything to be found, he'll find it."

That was the second time Mac avoided answering my question.

The sound of the door opening momentarily distracted me. Several obviously cold, wet, and disheveled people came into the restaurant, each stomping their feet. I glanced out the window as thick pellets of rain slammed against the glass, blurring the yellow headlights of cars passing by.

Thoughts bottled up in the darkest recesses of my brain fought frantically for their rightful place at the top of my growing list of questions. Although the cabin remained somewhere in the middle, it was clear Mac had his own agenda and if I wanted his help, I'd have to play by his rules. For now, he was the one controlling the direction the conversation was taking. I silently acquiesced, telling myself, "Let the game begin."

The sound of Mac snapping his fingers caught my attention. I pushed my thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand.

"If I recall correctly, you're the one who told me you couldn't discuss an ongoing investigation."

Mac grinned again. "Under the current circumstances, I think we have progressed beyond casual conversation. Besides, you look like someone carrying a heavy load. I thought a little give and take might just be the incentive you need to loosen up."

It was my turn to grin. "Okay. You go first, what did they find at the cabin?"

Mac sat back and, appearing to weigh his words carefully, spoke in a deliberate and monotone voice. "Although it is still too early in the investigation to determine precisely what took place, there is evidence a violent altercation occurred inside the cabin. Despite an obvious attempt to clean up, the perpetrator was sloppy, leaving significant blood spatter on the walls and ceiling. This tells me he is either very confident and planned to come back at a later time to finish cleaning up, or, he is just plain stupid."

"Dad's not stupid."

"James, of course your dad is a suspect, but we can only go on the evidence collected. We have to keep all options open."

Not in the mood to play word games, I rolled my eyes and in a voice not intended to please, said. "You and I both know 'who' we are talking about, and we both know he is not stupid. Arrogant, yes, but not stupid. What else did they find?"

"What makes you think they found anything else?"

"C'mon, Mac. Just answer the question,"

The expression on his face turned serious. "They found clothing  belonging to a female partially burned clothing in the fireplace . A plastic bag containing a ring, silver chain, and a St. Christopher medal was found under a floorboard in the kitchen." He paused, and then added, "I won't be surprised if your father's prints are identified as those on the plastic bag."

He took a sip of coffee before continuing. "James, this is all circumstantial, and without a body it is going to be difficult to make a case against your dad."

That sick feeling I had earlier was back. It was strange how things that once meant nothing suddenly took on importance when looked at from a different view. Call it gut instinct, bad vibes, or just plain common sense, but I already suspected I knew who the victim might be. My heart began to race, and that damn knot in my stomach felt like someone had poured gasoline on it and set it on fire. "You might want to look into an old missing person case."

I had Mac's full attention. "About a year ago a neighborhood girl, Mary Ellen Campbell, disappeared. After a less than stellar investigation, she was declared a runaway."

"What makes you think her disappearance has anything to do with this case?"

"When the police canvassed the neighborhood, Dad went out of his way to avoid them for three days until they finally caught up to him at work. I thought his behavior was strange, but Dad was not someone we ever questioned."

Realizing what I just said, I abruptly stopped talking.  A wave of sadness settled over me.  Mac was practically a stranger and the circumstances under which we met were bizarre to say the least.  But I felt more comfortable talking to him than I ever did with Dad. I didn't undersand why I felt so at easy with the tough cop sitting across from me. I quickly pushed the strange and infamiliar  emotions swelling up inside me aside. I had more important things to think about.

"Like I already said, call it whatever you want; gut instinct or bad vibes but you need to take a closer look at Mary Ellen's case file. She also fit the profile of all Dad's victims; seventeen, good student, pretty, and long brown hair."

That sick feeling was getting worse.  For all I knew, the evidence they found pointed to more than one victim.  Dad already had twelve murders to his credit, it wouldn't surpise me if there were a dozen more.

Again Mac snapped his fingers bringing me back to the moment.

"I'll definitely check her out. But, without a body, we don't have much."

"C'mon, I'm not stupid. You and I know Arlington has some of the best cadaver dogs in the state and getting use of ground penetrating radar is just a phone call away."

Mac burst into laughter. I didn't see the humor. "James, have you considered going into law enforcement? Got any other helpful suggestions on how to proceed with this investigation?"

"Yes, in fact I do. The first thing you need to do is determine if you can obtain DNA from the blood spatter and then compare it to Mary Ellen. I am sure if you can't find a toothbrush, or hair follicle her mother would be more than willing to allow you to do a mitochondrial DNA for comparison. Maybe I'm wrong and it isn't Mary Ellen, but my gut tells me it is."

"Well, who am I to ignore your gut?"

Again, I wasn't amused.

Mac's nonchalant attitude told me he was way ahead of me. I hated to admit it, but he was the pro, I was just an annoying kid.

Mac tapped his fingers on the table. "Now that you've gotten that out of your system, it is my turn. Why do you want to know about your dad's life in Bellingham? What are you not telling me?

* * ** ***

Tom did his magic and restored the entire book.  Three cheers for Tom!!!!