"I just made some tea. Come on in."
Cheryl turned away from the door and stepped back inside the little porch. She likes making tea, Devetko jotted on the corner of his notes, holding it up so Kristeva could see it. "Nice to feel useful," Kristeva replied aloud.
"Pardon...?" Cheryl glanced over her shoulder, puzzled.
"Nothing," Kristeva said, as they entered the living room. The Singer house was relatively small--much smaller than Kristeva's--somewhat cluttered, and seemed stuck in a previous decade, the late Seventies or early Eighties; he had to wonder if Singer's disappearance had anything to do with the way time seemed frozen there. The walls and furnishings were decently maintained but it looked like nothing had been updated in years; if he hadn't known the circumstances of the former inhabitants he'd have assumed it was intentionally retro.
Cheryl gestured at the two chairs on one side of the coffeetable and each detective took one; the table itself was taken up by several scrapbooks and photo albums. "Be back in just a minute," she said, hurrying out of the room and leaving them alone.
Devetko leaned forward and flipped open one album. "She showed me this the last time I was here." He turned a few pages and Kristeva saw the old photos within. Various shots of Cheryl and her aunt and uncle, sometimes together, sometimes alone. "She dug all of their photos out of the attic and put them in these books. Works on them a little bit every evening. I get the feeling she wants to hold on to every little bit she has left."
"You think that's so strange?"
Devetko frowned at him a little more than Kristeva thought was warranted. "I didn't say that, did I?"
Cheryl reappeared in the doorway, carrying a pitcher and mugs. Devetko shut the album and nudged it aside as she started setting things down. "Sorry about the mess," she apologized, pouring tea for them both and putting the mugs in their hands without asking. "It's nice to see you both here together," she said as she sat on the small couch on the other side of the table. "Det. Kristeva never mentioned he had a partner when I first met him. It's good he doesn't have to do all this work by himself." She turned to Devetko. "I don't know how much he's told you? He's done a whole lot more than anyone's done with the case in years. I don't blame them at the police station, I know it's cold and there isn't much left to go on and they have bigger things to work on now...it's just...you know, I figured, when a police officer is involved, it's important, you know?" She ducked her head a little and brushed back a lock of hair. "I'm sorry if I sound pushy. Anyway, I think maybe they just forgot about his case for a while, but Det. Kristeva looked into it again when nobody else wanted to. I don't expect anybody to work any miracles or anything. Just knowing somebody's looking into it again helps."
"I noticed your aunt never filed a missing persons report," Devetko said; Kristeva frowned at him, then cast what he hoped was an apologetic glance in Cheryl's direction. Cheryl looked down at her mug of tea.
"Um...yeah. She never really thought he was missing. So I guess that's why she didn't report it. They didn't get along very well most of the time I lived here. I'm not sure how much I told Det. Kristeva? It was pretty obvious there was someone else...Aunt Brenda was right about that, at least...but I know he wouldn't have just run off with her, because he said..." She trailed off, looking down into her tea.
The two detectives sat and waited. "What did your uncle say, Ms. Singer...?" Devetko asked after a moment of silence.
Cheryl swayed the cup to swirl the tea. Cleared her throat. "He said...he told me once that, when the case was over, he and Aunt Brenda were going to get a divorce...and I could live with him...and I think he meant this other woman he was seeing. That's the thing though, I'm not sure who she was. But she wasn't that lady he was getting info from, that informant or whatever. He meant someone else." Kristeva looked at Devetko at the same time Devetko looked at him; he knew they were both thinking the same thing, that this was news to them. "That informant, I think what happened with her was a mistake, he never talked about it much for obvious reasons, he was worried about her but he didn't love her. Aunt Brenda, I know he loved her, once, but things just went downhill...she...wasn't really right in the head, you know? She had to go into hospice care toward the end...she wasn't really lucid most of the time. She thinks he ran off on us but I know he wouldn't, because he still had that case to work on, and he still had me." She cleared her throat again and seemed to shake herself out of it. "Sorry...I just...want to make sure you both know what kind of person he was. He never even blamed Aunt Brenda for what she thought of him, you know? He always forgave every mean thing she said or did...and she did some mean things. But anyway...I know that's not why you're here. You said you had a couple of followup questions?"
"You already know about the skeletal remains the state troopers found not far from the Souris Narrows Bridge*..." Devetko started to say.
"Yes, you showed me that necklace..." Cheryl's eyes grew. "You've ID'ed it--? It's...it's him?"
"Actually, the only way the remains can be positively identified is with a DNA match."
"Oh..." Cheryl's face fell a little, and Kristeva bit the inside of his mouth. "I figured the necklace would be enough. I'm positive it's his, he wore it all the time."
"The necklace is good circumstantial evidence, but we have no way to prove how it ended up where it did. And also, it may have been a mass-manufactured item, meaning anyone could have had an identical necklace. Things like that were popular at the time, mandalas, astrology, that sort of thing."
Cheryl's expression turned vaguely skeptical. Kristeva saw her stare shift just slightly toward him, and realized she must be looking at his own necklace. He felt like hiding it in his shirt but the gesture would be too obvious by now. "I guess," was all she said, after a moment. She sat up a little. "I...I don't know too much about DNA. I know you have to have a relative to compare it to? I'm just his niece, would it still be enough of a match--?"
"Between an uncle and a niece there would be about a 25% match," Kristeva said, "give or take. Your uncle's DNA isn't anywhere on file...and you're the only remaining blood relative we know of..."
"...So, if I'm a 25% match to this skeleton, then that means it's probably him." Cheryl swallowed, then nodded. "Okay...so, what do I do?"
"If you stop by the county building any time during the week they can take a blood sample and hand it over to the medical examiner directly. He's the one who'll be processing any DNA he can get from the skeleton. If any is still viable."
"'Viable'?"
Kristeva paused a little too long. "Given that the remains are almost two decades old, and have been submerged under water for an extensive period, there might not be any DNA available to test," Devetko explained. "It could be too degraded to make a comparison."
"Oh." Cheryl looked down at her mug. "Well...I'll stop in there tomorrow, anyway. Can't hurt to try, can it?"
"I'm sure Dr. Steiner will do everything he can to try to get a sample," Kristeva said, since he couldn't think of anything else to say.
"I know...just..." Cheryl sighed. "It'd be kind of a disappointment to get all this way and then nothing comes of it...you know?"
"I know...that's why we'll keep looking into it. Just in case there are any leads aside from the DNA." Kristeva noticed Devetko sipping his tea, then took a drink of his own since he realized he hadn't even touched it yet. Cheryl stood and they followed suit.
"Well...I don't want to keep you too long from it, I guess. I know you have other things you have to be working on too." She set her own mug down and reached out for their own; they handed them over, Kristeva feeling a little bit guilty that he hadn't drunk much of the tea, though she didn't seem to notice. "Thanks for keeping me up to date on it all, by the way. Even if you don't find out much, it's good just to know somebody's looking into things again after all this time..."
"Oh." Devetko said this as Kristeva stared to turn away, and cast him a slightly accusatory look which Kristeva didn't quite understand. "That's right, we almost forgot," he said, in a tone of voice that indicated he hadn't almost forgotten anything at all. "You told Det. Kristeva that you and your uncle were close, right?"
"That's right." Cheryl turned to the kitchen with the mugs. "After my parents died...he was pretty much like a dad to me. I think that's probably why he told me a little more about his work than he probably should have. Why, was there something else you wanted to know?"
"We were just wondering if you and your uncle ever used any kind of code with each other."
Cheryl halted in the kitchen doorway. She turned back to look at them, one mug in each hand, furrowing her brow.
"Code...?"
"What my partner means," Kristeva said, casting Devetko a look of his own, "is if your uncle ever...wrote to you in any kind of shorthand, or something."
"I don't know shorthand," Cheryl said. She looked at Devekto. "I'm sorry, just...how do you know about the code?" When Kristeva and Devetko glanced at each other, then back at her, she took a step back into the room, lowering the mugs a little. "You have something Uncle Fox wrote--?"
A pause. "Some notebooks," Devetko finally said. "His notes on the case he was working on at the time."
"His notes?" Cheryl's brow furrowed again. "I figured you had those all along, why are they coming up now--?"
"Until now we only knew the whereabouts of the final version of Det. Singer's notes. We..." Devetko trailed off, seemed to ponder whether he should say anything further. "We had reason to believe certain information had been left out of the final version," he said at last.
"Why would he leave anything out?" Cheryl asked, looking even more confused. "That doesn't sound like Uncle Fox at all."
"Actually, it was the officer working on the followup to the case who advised that some information be withheld from the public," Kristeva said. "The information was still supposed to be in the final report. It was just misplaced." He hesitated just the briefest second before saying, "misplaced," and hoped she wouldn't notice, since had hadn't planned on going into such detail.
"But...why withhold..." Cheryl cut herself off, bit her lip. "You said his notebooks were misplaced...you found them?"
"Apparently your uncle wrote everything in some sort of code," Devetko said. "We'll be able to compare the notebooks and the longhand notes, and figure out the rest from there, but it'll take some time. We don't know anybody else who would have known the code themselves...when you said that you and your uncle were close..."
Cheryl stood staring at them. After a moment she looked down at the mugs, turned, and headed back into the kitchen. She came out a moment later, wringing a small towel in her hands.
"We...sometimes, when Aunt Brenda was in one of her moods, it wasn't easy to talk," she said quietly, "about anything. Sometimes it was like she'd use anything as an excuse to get mad. Uncle Fox would only argue with her when I wasn't in the room, maybe he thought I couldn't hear them. Sometimes it was easier to just write things down. He gave me cards sometimes and he wrote in them...he taught me the code. I didn't know it was shorthand." Her face lit up a little. "I think I still remember most of it. I can write it down, if you want." She turned quickly and disappeared into the kitchen again, reappearing a moment later with a pad of paper and pencil. She sat on the couch and started scribbling.
"It's not really like an alphabet," she said, "it's more...phonetic, I think the word is? Different sounds. And a few signs for words. He might have had some special ones he used for his police work, he wouldn't have taught those to me, I don't think." She tore the sheet of paper off, blushing a little as she held it across the table. "There's what I remember of it...I hope it helps save you some time."
Devetko took the piece of paper and put it in his folder. "We appreciate it," Kristeva said. "When you stop by the county building, make sure to let them know who you are and why you're there, and things should go a little smoother."
"How long will it take to find out if there's a match or not?--if he gets any DNA from the...the skeleton, that is."
"We're not sure...it could take a while."
Cheryl let out a soft sigh. "Well...I'm used to waiting, I guess." She hurried ahead of them to the front door when they turned to it. "Please let me know if there's anything else I can help with. Any time. I don't mind at all. I just wish I had something more useful..."
"You've helped quite a lot so far, thank you. We'll let you know if we get any results."
Kristeva offered a halfhearted wave to Cheryl as she peered out of the porch door, their car pulling to the end of the driveway. He looked at the street ahead. "Turn left, will you--?"
"Station's the other way," Devetko said with a frown.
"I know. I wanted to try to get a look at something, first. Left, please?"
Devetko rolled his eyes but changed the turning signal from right to left. "I really doubt that matters--" Kristeva started to say, only to jerk to the side when the car pulled out so abruptly the tires squealed. "Careful, next thing you know you'll be performing illegal U-turns, and it's only a short step from that to homicide."
"What exactly is it you have to get a look at, right this minute?"
"Just turn onto Seventh and head straight until I say stop, all right?"
Devetko looked like he wanted to say some choice curse words, but refrained and scowled at the windshield instead, wipers sloshing away the rain. The already sparse housing dwindled even more until they found themselves driving through an area of mostly empty fields lined with a few scraggly trees and the occasional small, rather dumpy house. Kristeva saw the look that came to Devetko's face, and realized he'd figured out where they were; he didn't need to point out where to slow the car down, since Devekto did it on his own. They drew to a stop opposite a rutted driveway with two gnarled trees near the road, and stared toward it for a moment.
"Not what I was expecting to see," Devetko said.
"Me neither," Kristeva frowned. They opened the doors and got out, Devetko opening his umbrella, and made their way up the driveway, careful to avoid stepping in puddles. Devetko almost slipped in the mud once, Kristeva catching his elbow; they halted where the driveway ended. Just beyond it lay the remains of a house's foundation; a glance around them showed faint evidence of what had once been a yard, a tree stump out front, the stumps of bushes near where the house's front door likely would have been. Beyond was nothing but empty field.
"So this is that 'squatters' house," Devetko said.
"Sure didn't leave much behind, did they," Kristeva replied. He stepped up to the foundation and looked it over. "Not that it was much to start with...at least from what I read. Ace said you could even reach under the floorboards if you wanted."
A honk from behind drew their attention and they glanced back to see a white police cruiser pulled up at the driveway's end, the Sheriff's Department logo on the side. Kristeva made a slight face but they left the empty lot behind and approached the car anyway. He shielded his eyes to try to get a better look when the passenger window rolled down and the deputy behind the wheel leaned toward them, but he didn't recognize him.
"Help you with something?" he called over the noise of the rain and the car.
"We were just wondering about the house that used to be here," Devetko called back.
"Private property."
"We know. We're with the city." Kristeva lifted his arm. "Gonna show you my ID, okay?" He fished out his badge case and flipped it open, holding it toward the window. The deputy squinted at it, then shut off his engine.
"Oh--sorry. Just that we get a lot of weirdos out here and have to make sure they don't put any of that weird shit on the trees or anything anymore, right? Not that I need to explain that to you, obviously you've heard of it."
"You two work together?" Devetko asked.
"Nah, I came along after he left."
"Devetko."
"Halvorson." The deputy gestured at Kristeva. "Everybody knows him. Why you looking at the place now? Haven't gotten any reports today about any dumbasses messing around with it."
"We just weren't aware it was...missing," Devetko said; Kristeva was too busy trying not to grimace at the knowledge that everybody knew him.
"Yeah, torn down last year. Guess they got tired of all the shit that kept showing up on the walls. That big mess was years ago, you figure people would've moved on by now, yeah? But no. I guess some folks need hobbies."
"What kind of shit kept showing up on the walls?"
"Oh, you know, same shit as always, like that stuff at the Falcon's Nest. Ask him, he knows all about it." Waving at Kristeva again.
"Considering that we only just found out the house is fucking gone, I think I don't really know all about it," Kristeva snapped. "Maybe explain it like we're five years old."
Deputy Halvorson raised his eyebrows. "Sorry...figured you were the expert on this stuff. But it's like I said. Same stuff like at the Falcon's Nest. Stars and circles and crosses, edgy teenager shit."
"Any dead animals under the floorboards?" Devetko asked.
Halvorson made a face. "Wouldn't know about that. But I don't think so. Most of that really weird shit stopped when those assholes went to jail. The rest of the kids around here, they're just messing around, nobody really believes any of that devil stuff."
"You ever talk with any of them personally?"
"Not really..."
"Then I guess you aren't really qualified to speak about what they believe or not, are you...?"
Halvorson's expression turned vaguely sour and he restarted the car. "Dickhead," Kristeva could've sworn he muttered just as it roared back to life.
"When's the last time you guys got a report about this place--?" Kristeva nearly had to yell over the noise.
Halvorson revved the engine and for a moment he figured he wouldn't get an answer. "Hasn't been for at least a few months now," the deputy said. "But before that, was maybe at least once or twice every week or so. Like I said, not the same kind of shit as way back then. Just kids' stuff. Stupid graffiti. Moving sticks and rocks around to look all spooky. So, probably not the same guys who were doing stuff here before. Unless maybe I'm assuming too much again...?" A pointed glare in Devetko's direction.
"If you hear anything else, you'll let us know--?" Kristeva fished out a card and held it through the window.
Halvorson stared skeptically at the card for a moment before taking it. "I'll think about it," he said, and, rolling the window back up (Kristeva had to quickly pull his hand out), pulled back into the road and headed toward town. They stood and watched the car vanish before turning back to their own.
"What?" Devetko said as soon as they slammed the doors and reached for their seatbelts.
Kristeva raised one hand in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't say anything, did I--?"
"You were thinking it, so spit it out."
Kristeva shrugged. "I was just thinking, it's a nice change of pace to not be the one on the receiving end of being called a dickhead." He buckled himself in and added, "Guy had it coming, though."
Devetko's own expression had been growing sour, but he paused and looked vaguely uncertain, as if expecting some kind of backhanded comment to follow up. "We should probably get some other work done," Kristeva said instead; this time he expected a retort, but Devetko merely started the car. They both glanced at the empty space where the house had been before pulling away in the direction the deputy's car had gone.
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