Page 26 of Where the Fields Don’t Reach

“No,” Nick replied after a long pause, his hand coming up to rub the stubble on his jaw. “I don’t recall a coat. Two firearms from Kalen’s cabin were collected, along with the bedding and chains. Nightgowns he bought for Missy, but no coat. Why?”

“You’re certain?”

“I’m certain I didn’t log one. I’m also certain the state team didn’t bring one in during the second sweep of the dairy farm last November. I signed off on the inventory before it was sealed.” Nick set his cup on the desk while keeping his focus on her. “Why, Hadley?”

Hadley glanced down at the lid of her cup. She’d known what his answer would be, yet she’d still needed to ask. Mason’s question wouldn’t leave her alone, though.

“Sam Cashman admitted to being in the woods the night that Emily Esten went missing.” Hadley wasn’t telling Nick anything that he didn’t already know. Granted, Sam had come forward twenty years too late. He’d been Mason’s best friend back in high school, and he’d never stepped forward with a claim that someone else was in those woods back then. “Sam swears that the figure he spotted in the woods was wearing a trench coat. One that hung past the knees of whoever or whatever was inside it.”

“Whoever or whatever?” Nick leaned forward, sliding the cup of coffee off to the side. She clearly had his full attention now. “Hadley, are you suggesting that⁠—”

“Gus told me that the only man in Cane County who used to wear a coat like that back then was Emanuel Telfort. Where is it?”

Nick was quiet until he began to tap his finger on the desk. As if he needed something else to concentrate on, he picked up the coffee he’d just pushed aside and leaned back in his chair.

“I don’t mean to derail this conversation, but do you really believe in the Threshing Man?” Nick stared at her intently, and she wondered if he expected a certain response from her. The question was the kind only outsiders asked. No one really wanted to answer. It was as if doing so gave power to something beyond understanding. “I realize that stories have been handed down from generation to⁠—”

“You believe they’re merely stories,” Hadley said quietly, rephrasing his own statement to make a point. She cleared her throat, uneasy with how a stillness had settled over his office. “I believe Sam saw Emanuel Telfort wearing a trench coat in the Cox woods all those years ago. And I think my brother would rest easier with some kind of confirmation.”

“That’s not what I asked, Hadley.”

“No, it isn’t.” Hadley didn’t have enough time in her morning to have this type of conversation. She’d prefer to bring this visit to an end so she could get on with her day. “But I grew up here, Nick. I’d say about ninety-five percent of the residents in Whistlerun have talismans in their windows. They believe in the protection, and I’ve adopted a new viewpoint in the past year. A collective mindset is a very powerful thing.”

“I guess I’ll ask another question then.” Nick wisely moved their discussion forward. “Do you still own something that you wore twenty years ago?”

“Point taken,” Hadley replied, though she wasn’t ready to just drop the subject just yet. She crossed her legs to make herself more comfortable. “I just keep thinking, though. Kalen wanted to be just like his father. He wanted to continue his father’s hunt for the perfect woman to take care of him. Wouldn’t he have hunted his sole victim the same way?”

Nick mulled over her question silently, and she appreciated his choice not to dismiss her questions. Besides, they were valid. Kalen revealed in his statement that he and his father leaned into the legend to hide their crimes.

“You could always pay Kalen Telfort a visit in prison. Ask him yourself. He’s been pretty open about everything, given the circumstances.” Nick’s gaze was drawn to something over her shoulder, through the glass window, out into the bullpen. Whatever it was couldn’t have been important, because she once again had his full attention. “All in all, I think he’s relieved that he didn’t end Missy’s life. The judge gave him fifty years, which a lot of people in this county thought was too kind for what he did to that girl.”

“Maybe,” Hadley murmured, not committing either way. “I suppose now is a good time to transition to Warren Caldwell.”

Nick’s frown deepened, and he took another drink of his coffee, as if the caffeine would alleviate his irritation. He lifted the cup in somewhat of a salute, indicating that he had braced himself for the next portion of their conversation.

“I was cleaning out Reed’s desk yesterday morning at the station.” Hadley stopped talking when someone began to yell, and she twisted in her chair to find a deputy bringing in someone who was clearly intoxicated. She turned back around once the deputy motioned that he had everything under control. “Long story short, there was a folder wedged behind one of the drawers. My name was written on a sticky note and stuck to the front of it.”

“Something to do with the Telfort case?”

“No,” Hadley responded, though she supposed she couldn’t say for certain. “Inside was a trespassing citation, written up by Reed but never issued.”

Nick closed his eyes and groaned in frustration, already having a pretty good idea of how her story ended.

“The violator is a folklore professor at the community college.” Hadley had to pause while more shouting occurred outside the office, and once the noise dropped to a low murmur, she continued. “Roland Mercer was caught trespassing in Earl Vinton’s east field last October. Needless to say, Warren requested that Reed not go through with the citation.”

“Mercer? I know the family,” Nick conceded, though his facial expression revealed that he wasn’t impressed with them. “The father works at the bank in Holloway. He’s a loan officer, though on the verge of retirement. He would be personally acquainted with Warren, so I guess the request shouldn’t surprise me.”

“Honestly, I don’t think the surname would have mattered in this instance. He—” Hadley was once again cut off when the intoxicated individual made his presence known. She stood, closed the few steps to the door, and drew it shut. Maybe that was the reason for Doris’s advice, and not some hidden message about Nick. “As I was saying, it was the beginning of October. The media was crawling all over town. Warren didn’t want to add to the chaos.”

Hadley had reclaimed her chair, but she held up a hand when Nick would have launched into a lecture about law enforcement. She was well-versed in his opinion on small-town politics, and she didn’t need another crash course.

“I don’t know why Reed wanted to bring the citation to my attention, but a teenage girl spotted someone in Vinton’s east field again just this past weekend. I spoke to Earl Vinton, and he’d like me to look into it. To cross Mercer’s name off the list, I thought I’d head to the campus to have a quick chat with him.”

“Really?” Nick asked, not being fooled by the omitted details. He sighed in resignation…and understanding? “Hadley, I wish we had more to go on in Reed’s investigation, too. But you don’t honestly think that some folklore professor murdered⁠—”

“It’s just a few questions, Nick.” Hadley glanced at the wall behind him, where a clock hung. “Mercer has a class at ten. I want to speak with him beforehand, so I should get going.”

Hadley stood, closing the distance to the door. She shouldn’t have closed it to begin with. It was too quiet inside the office, and she swore she could hear Nick’s disappointment with her decision to pursue such a weak lead.