by Sydnie MacElroy
[MD1, in the office]
>Jim was the first to arrive, followed by Vanessa, then Martin. >Zenya and Leo drifted in a few minutes later and they had all >sat down at their desks to catch up on their morning emails. >Before Jordan had a chance to grab the team's attention, something >on CNN captured it first.
"And in International News, Crosstech's CEO Thaddeus Cross was >visibly grief-stricken as he attended the funeral of his grandnephew, >Clifford Cross. Clifford was an unfortunate passerby who was shot >during a drug war shootout that occured last week in Buenos Aires."
>"This was the 2nd tragedy that has occured in the past week for Mr. >Thaddeus Cross, the first being the miscarriage of his grandneice, >Rebecca Cross, just this past Monday. Mr. Cross had this to say to >the murderers of his grand-nephew.....
Zenya's attention had first been captured by the painting that was still hanging on her section of the wall. She had been pondering lately whether to throw it out or give it away, but either way, she had determined to get rid of it. Walking into the office - in particular walking in with Leo, because she suspected had she come in alone or with anyone else, her perception would have been slightly different, even though the thought had very little to do with him directly - she changed her mind completely and decided to keep it for a while. It was still the ugliest damned painting she had ever seen, but for some reason, she could suddenly see the symbolism in it. Maybe not exactly the message Valery had intended when he painted it, but rather something more personally meaningful.
When the news story about the Crosses came on the television, it cemented the idea. She watched the story with a feeling of cold anger that wasn't quite hatred. The Crosses, in her view, were so far beneath contempt that hating them would be a waste of energy that could better be spent in sympathy for anyone unfortunate enough to come into contact with them.
When it was over, she looked back at the painting, and the stupid stylized sunflower that was its focus. It was about the promise of triumph. At the time he'd given it to her, he'd said that it was about triumph over oppression, and the reason he had chosen this particular gift, though he hadn't said so, was that, in his eyes, she was selling out to the oppressors, becoming one of them. Whatever.
The painting was going to stay exactly where it was until Zulu triumphed over the Crosses.
>"We have a new case. The folders are on your desk. It involves several >murders done by juveniles in a small town called Castle Rock, Montana. >It's small and very out of the way. Details so far are sketchy, but whatever's >in the folder is what we have to go on so far. We leave for Billings in 2 >hours, and it's going to be another 2 hour drive to Castle Rock. Look over the >file and meet you at the airport in an hour."
*****
[on the plane]
>"And the killers don't remember anything?" Zenya asked.
>Jordan laughed, "This is what you get when you specialize in >the odd."
Zenya smiled. "Well, I'll believe their story *after* we have a chance to talk to them."
"You think they might be faking it," Leo asked.
"I'm reserving judgment, but it's certainly a possibility worth keeping in mind."
"There's nothing in the reports about any of the killers being examined by psychologists," Vanessa observed. "It seems like the sheriff just took their word that they don't remember anything."
"Even if they don't remember anything about the murders," Jim said, "they might remember something that could be helpful."
"There must be some kind of connection between these kids. Other than all of them living in Castle Rock, and I assume attending the same high school," Martin said.
"Or a connection among the parents," Zenya said thoughtfully.
*****
[Castle Rock]
>"That's the sheriff," Jordan told them.
>Vanessa looked out of her window, and she frowned. "How do >you know its the Sheriff? You recognise him by the look, the >uniform, or the fact that he is right now being absolutely >surrounded by about 30 cows?"
The agents got out of their cars and wound their way through the maze of cattle toward the sheriff. The odor in the streets was not a pleasant one. The cows more or less ignored them, milling around, mooing and looking almost as bewildered as the sheriff who was staring at them. The sheriff glanced up at the agents, acknowledged them with a nod, and turned his attention back to the livestock.
"Sheriff Dolan? Do the cows normally have the run of the town around here," Jordan inquired, amused.
Dolan looked up, almost as though surprised to see them. "Huh? Oh, you must be the FBI people. No, I have no idea where they could have come from." He removed his hat and scratched his head thoughtfully. "Must've come from the Laughton place, I suppose." He shook his head and put his hat back on. "Well, come on in and let's see if we can shed some light on things."
"What about the cows," Vanessa asked. "Shouldn't someone do something about them?"
Dolan looked at her with a strange expression on his face, turned and led the group through the door of the sheriff's office. Inside, he barked a command to a young patrolman who was seated at a desk typing something at an astonishing speed that could not have exceeded five words per minute. "Prentice, get Laughton or someone on the line and have them do something about the cows."
"If he does all their typing, it explains the length of the reports," Jim muttered.
The patrolman looked up, startled. "Cows, sir?"
"Yes, cows. Might be a good idea to at least take a look out the window from time to time."
The young man blushed and muttered a response.
"Well," Dolan said once they were all packed into his tiny office, "you've got my reports. You might have guessed, this isn't the sort of thing we handle every day. Folks around here are scared, and I can't say as I blame 'em." He cast a furtive glance at a photograph on his desk, a typical family portrait that included two teenage girls. "Anything I can do to help, name it, but I got to admit, this is way out of my league."
"That's why we're here," Jordan said. "Is there anything you can tell us that wasn't in the reports?"
Dolan sighed. "I can probably tell you more than you want to know about the people involved. When you grow up in a town this size, it's impossible not to know everyone. And everyone's business. About the crimes, I can't tell you much more than what you already know. The evidence is pretty straightforward. Two of the kids were found with the weapons still in their possession."
"Is there any evidence of drug use," Martin asked, echoing his comment earlier.
"Not that's come to my attention. It's possible, I suppose."
"What about abuse in the families," Zenya asked. "It's a common factor in cases of parricide."
Dolan shook his head. "Nope. Nothing like that."
"Where are the kids now?"
"The two boys are in the jail," Dolan said. "Since we don't have adequate facilities, I released the girl to the custody of my deputy. I didn't like the idea, but they're cousins." He shrugged. "If he wants to take responsibility for her, it solves one of my problems."
Just then, the patrolman, Prentice, burst into the office. "Sheriff, you better come take a look at this."
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NRPG: Ah! Well, I'm back from an almost week-long self-imposed exile from the internet. It felt more like a month! You're all my witnesses here - I swear by all that is sacred and holy that I will *never* procrastinate in writing speeches or research papers again. Of course, I say that every time I get an assignment, so... ;)
I couldn't decide if Prentice wanted the sheriff to look at something involving the kids or the cows or something else all together, so I'll let someone else take it.
BTW, not that it really matters or anything, but Dolan and Prentice are characters from a novel I started a long time ago (but feel free to abuse them.) I threw them in here 'cause the novel was set in a little town in Montana. :) I only mention it because if anyone's curious or interested in reading a three hundred page, half finished novel, I'll throw it up on my web page. :)