As Little As Possible, Chapter 1
John Norbert tapped at the keyboard of his computer, occasionally checking the time. How much longer do I have to wait? he thought. This could be major. It could be…
“Hey,” John’s partner, Blake Stevenson, said, nudging him lightly. “Do you really think this could be related to the Dalton case? Do you think it might be--”
“--I don’t know,” John interrupted. “And I don’t want to assume anything until I hear back from forensics.”
Blake nodded and pulled his chair up next to John. “So, who’s working on it from the forensics end?”
“Robin Terrance.”
Blake nodded. “She’s good.”
“Yeah, which is why I’m worried that I haven’t heard anything after two days.”
“Good work takes time. Robin knows what she’s doing. Hey, if it’ll make you feel better, you want me to run and get you a coffee or something?”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Blake.”
“No prob.”
John watched Blake hurry off and smiled a little to himself. He and Blake had been partners at the station since John had moved from Oakdale to Iris Grove. That had been… let’s see… twelve years ago. It felt like a lifetime. He remembered how, at his going-away party at the Oakdale station, one of his coworkers told him, “John, in Iris Grove, just try to do as little as possible. They’re a small town, close-knit. You don’t know what people like that could be capable of.”
At the time, he’d laughed it off, but now, it didn’t seem as funny. One of his own neighbors could possibly be a murderer and had managed to cover up a crime long enough for the corpse to become little more than a skeleton.
He closed his eyes, remembering the investigation. It had been one of his earliest assignments. It had seemed like a simple missing person case.
He had arrived at the Dalton house, and the older daughter had opened the door. Abigail, that’s what her name was. She smiled that nervous, awkward smile that he came to recognize when people knew something was wrong but didn’t want to show it.
“Hello, Mr. Norbert. I mean, Officer Norbert…” she had said.
“Don’t worry about formalities, Abby,” he had said, trying to reassure her. “You know Stevenson and me.”
Abigail had nodded then, looking slightly relieved. “Dad’s in the living room,” she had told them. “Anything I can get for you two? Coffee? Tea? Water? Soda?”
“No, but thanks,” Blake had responded.
Here, John frowned. Abigail’s eyes had been pink-rimmed, bloodshot. She had been crying a great deal recently. Her fingernails and even the tips of the fingers themselves were nibbled on. In short, she had been going through a lot recently.
The telephone rang, jarring John from his thoughts. Is it? he thought, picking up the phone.
“Iris Grove Police Department, Norbert speaking.”
“John, it’s Robin,” the low, pleasant voice on the other end replied. “It took a while, but I have some information for you.”
“Oh, thank God!” John gasped. “Well?”
“Female, Caucasian. About five feet, seven inches tall. Probably in her mid- to late-thirties.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah… she only has two wisdom teeth, and it doesn’t look like they broke off or anything. I’ve posted pictures with dental society resources. Hopefully, one of them will know who she is.”
“Great. Thanks, Robin. I’ll start comparing those details to the various missing people in a fifty mile radius.”
“I’ll call if I get anything else,” Robin responded. “Take care, now.”
“You, too.” Jon hung the phone up and leaned back, looking up at the ceiling.
Blake walked in, coffee in hand. “What’s up?” he asked. “You look like you’ve just been walloped.”
“It might be,” John said slowly. “It might be her.”