Chapter 9
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"Ma'am? That FBI guy, Agent Foley's here to see you."
Grantsville's sheriff looked up from behind her desk as the duty sergeant ushered Dean into her office.
"Thanks Dan...Have a seat Agent Foley. You won't mind showing me some ID?"
"Sure. Here you go sheriff."
While the sheriff gazed carefully at the ID Dean handed her, Dean himself took stock of the sheriff. An attractive woman, he guessed her age to be somewhere between late thirties to early forties. She wore her dark blond hair short and spiky and, when she looked up at him again, he saw that she had pale green eyes framed by black narrow rimmed glasses, out of uniform she would be a head turner. Dean was interested to note she wore neither an engagement nor a wedding ring. He turned on the smile as she handed him back the fake ID, his smile wasn't returned however.
"Tell me what you're doing here."
Dean let his surprise show.
"Oh, right. Sorry, I assumed Dan would've filled you in?"
"He did, but I want to hear it from you before I make my decision. This is a very sensitive case as I'm sure you must appreciate. I might also want to speak to your superior. Would that be a problem?"
Dean shook his head.
"No Ma'am, though I'm not doing this as part of any official FBI investigation."
The sheriff gave a tight smile.
"Yes, so I understand. So, again, what are you doing here?"
The charm offensive already having been dropped, Dean became Agent Efficient, changing tactics to closer match the sheriff's style. The sheriff listened in silence while Dean spoke, never offering any small sounds of comprehension or encouragement, leaving Dean with no way of gauging whether she was accepting his story, or not. With little to lose, Dean decided it was time to name drop.
"Cards on the table Sheriff. If I was you I'd be wonderin' who's this off duty douche who thinks he can come in here actin' like he's decided you an' yours ain't up to the job an' he's gonna show you all how it's done? But honestly? It's not like that. I'm just offerin' to help out, be an extra pair of hands. I'll give you my superior's number so you can check me out, no problem. Or I can give you somethin' even better. I've regularly worked alongside two of your own on various unusual cases. I can give you both their direct numbers if you haven't already got them. There's Sheriff Jodie Mills in Sioux Falls, and Sheriff Donna Hanscum in Stillwater, Minnesota."
Dean's gamble paid off and at last the Sheriff broke her silence.
"I've not met Sheriff Mills but I know she's got a stand out rep. I have met Sheriff Hanscum...Tell you what, Agent, you wait out in the main office and I'll give Donna a call. I've got her number thanks. Once I've spoken to her, I'll let you know my decision. Is that acceptable to you?"
Dean stood up.
"No problem at all Sheriff. I'm positive Donna will be able to reassure you."
Joel sat in his favourite armchair in the living room, balancing a large tumbler of whiskey on the chair arm and staring into the empty fire grate. For so long he'd wanted Hope to stop her silence, stop shutting herself away from him, let him help her adjust, learn to live with what she was, but her words to him that day made him wonder if it was too late? Hope had all but said outright that she was going to challenge him, maybe not this period of full moon, possibly not even the next, but it was definitely coming. Joel was almost sure he would come out of it the victor, in both human and werewolf form he was so much bigger and heavier than his niece. He also had many years experience behind him. But Hope was fast, she was wily and, more importantly, she was angry. He couldn't help wondering what would happen to him if somehow Hope did actually manage to get the upper hand? Would she have the self control or, indeed, the will to back off and accept his loser's affirmation of her new status as Alpha? Or maybe she hated him so much that, during his supplication, she would move in and rip his throat out? Joel emptied his glass in one and went to pour himself another generous amount of the single malt. He wouldn't, couldn't accept that the only blood family he had left hated him to that extent...Or had he unknowingly created a true monster when he turned Hope?
Map safely put in his inside jacket pocket, Sam left the visitor information centre having said his goodbye's and promising a phone call to Annie that would never actually happen. Sam felt bad about getting the girl excited about a possibility that didn't exist, in reality, but lying was part of the job description for a Hunter and Sam would still rather be able to feel some guilt about it than have hit the point of being completely de-sensitised. A fast glance around the customer car park showed no sign of the Impala. Deciding what to do next, Sam felt his stomach rumble despite having had a breakfast banquet earlier, and so he cast around for somewhere to grab a sandwich for himself and one for Dean. Pulling out his phone he hit Dean's number.
Sitting outside the sheriff's office felt way too much like all those occasions he'd been sent to the principal's office at various schools and had to sit waiting to be called in for some boring lecture about his behaviour, or his attendance, or him wasting his abilities/opportunities/talents. It was pretty much the same speech whichever school he had been temporarily enrolled at.
Finally, the office door opened and the sheriff popped her head out. Dean instantly knew Donna had done a good job because the woman actually smiled at him.
"Ok Agent Foley. Let's talk. Would you like a coffee?"
"That would be great."
The sheriff called across to one of her deputies who was at that moment sat at his workstation scowling at his PC.
"Matt? You mind fixing up a tray of coffee and bringing me anything we've got on paper about the Moonlight case? Thanks."
"Glad to ma'am."
Sitting back down at her desk, the sheriff shuffled her monitor closer.
"Grab a chair Agent and come sit beside me. Even out here in Grantsville we've been reluctantly introduced to the computer age, so now a lot of our info is stored electronically. Where exactly would you like me to start?"
Sitting himself down, Dean smiled pleasantly at the sheriff.
"Well, first, how about you call me Dean? Then, can you give me a brief rundown on each of the vics? I'm curious to know if there's any common factors amongst them like age, occupation, lifestyle, relationship status, or anything else you've picked up on? Oh, an' what about how they died? Is it always the same M.O., or have there been differences?"
The sheriff nodded.
"I can certainly bring all that up for you."
As the Sheriff sat and briefly talked about each victim in the order that they died, it soon became clear to Dean that the only really common link between the cases she had covered so far was that they were all dead and, Dean was now certain, they all came to be that way courtesy of a werewolf. While the Sheriff was speaking, Dean's phone rang. Looking at the caller ID he saw it was Sam.
"Um, sorry sheriff. Do you mind? I'd like to take this, it's family."
The Sheriff stood up,
"No problem. I'll go see where our coffee's disappeared to."
Dean waited until the office door closed behind the Sheriff before speaking.
"Hi Sam. Everythin' ok?"
"Yeah. Wondered if you wanted a sandwich is all. How's stuff goin' your end?"
"Good, the Sheriff's givin' me the low down on the vics, don't seem to be anythin' linkin' them."
"Except they're all dead."
"Thank you Captain Obvious! I'm not quite done here yet, I'll ring you when I'm out. See you back at the hotel?"
"Sure. What about the sandwich?"
"No thanks, not for me. See you later."
"Later dude."
The Sheriff appeared with coffee and cookies just as Dean ended the call.
"Everything ok? No family crisis I hope?"
Dean grinned.
"No, no crisis. You wanna hand with that?"
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Reviews/comments very welcome
Chick xxxxxxx
