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Aug. 5th, 2005 12:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seymoure“Killing the Messenger”
“Is this the same killer as 10 years ago?”
“Why does he choose these boys?”
“Is this some kind of ritual sacrifice?”
“Why is the F.B.I. not represented here today?”
These questions and a bunch more were shouted at Pappy as he came through the door. He chose not to even try to answer any and, instead, moved to the long table set up against the wall.
There he saw the mayor, Sebastian Freemont, and the unelected board who really ran the town. Eli Barsimmon and his sister June, Gus Seton (Grandson of the town namesake) and his wife Tilly. There was also someone he didn’t know.
The stranger looked to be about 50, weighed in at a little under 200 pounds and dressed like, if he wasn’t going to a funeral, he expected one to be going by. He had on a black suit and tie, with a hat sitting on the table before him. His face looked like was awaiting installation on Mt. Rushmore.
The questions only got louder as he walked to the empty chair at the end of the table that he assumed was for him. As he sat he removed his hat and put it on the table before him.
Freemont gestured for the reporters to take their seats and this thing would get started.
The first figure was recognized and stood. It was a lovely blond woman from a local radio station. “Mayor Freemont, why has it taken so long to bring Mr. Agamemnon back into this case? And, why are the F.B.I. not involved?”
“As to your second question, you’ll have to ask them about that. And, I think I’ll let Pappy take that first one.”
Hannibal looked at the Mayor as if his head had just fallen from his shoulders and fallen into the soup tureen. He had no idea why it had taken them so long to bring him in, and he didn’t want to be here now. But as Sebastian sat, he realized all eyes were on him.
“I don’t know,” He said to a rush of laughter, “I would rather be fishing, but they . . .” Everyone around the table looked panicked and he rephrased, “I supposed that they figure they
have enough information to link this crime to the one 10 years ago that I headed the investigation on. Perhaps they were just looking for a new set of eyes to look at it with.”
This seemed to mollify the audience, so Pappy turned to sit. He sidled up to Freemont and whispered, “You ever leave me hanging like that again I’ll tell them all how you got the nickname Sissyman.”
The look on the Mayor’s face showed the threat was well taken.
The rest of the conference went on like that, with questions asked and less than deftly sidestepped. After 10 minutes it was adjourned, with no one feeling satisfied about anything.
Pappy got up from the table and walked, without a word to anybody, back out to the car. Tooley was inside with the air-conditioning running and the radio playing Buck Owens.
“Where to Pappy?” The Deputy asked.
“Let’s look at the evidence we’ve got from the first time and this time.” The old man said, with an air of hopelessness about him. He hoped he could pull something out of this, but he really doubted he could. © 2005 by C. Wayne Owens
