The Mask, Chapter 10
10.
October 9th, 20194:00 PM
Sheriff Baker sat at his desk and stared at the yellow notepad before him. Since October 4th - five days ago - he'd filled it with more notes, but none of them made any sense, or connected together in any meaningful sort of way. Even so, he read the ones he'd made since Sunday once more.
There had been two more incidents at Hillside Cemetery like the one Jud had shown him Sunday afternoon. Corpses disinterred, and - as best as they could tell - the remains devoured by something (they still didn't want to admit the human-like teeth marks found on all the bones).
Jud was getting hot in his britches, demanding Baker post guards at his cemetery, because if not, he'd sit up with a shotgun and take care of matters himself. Somehow, he'd been able to talk Jud down with promises of a watch as soon as he could get Mr. Phillips and the Town Board to approve overtime pay.
The second notation was his most recent visit to the Riley farm, Monday afternoon. This time, he found no one. In addition to Joan and Jasper, Jody and Jack Jr. weren't around, either. Neither was the truck they'd been working on.
The whole family's absence complicated matters. He'd been about to call both county and state police and officially list Jasper Riley as a missing minor. But now, with the whole family gone - vehicles gone, also - he knew neither the staties nor the county boys would go for it. They'd point out the whole family being gone, suggesting they were on a trip, or maybe even running out on their various debts.
This morning, he'd finally tried calling Margaret Seaver's only living relative, Connie Williams. No answer at her home phone, and her cellphone went straight to voicemail. Until he heard back from Ms. Williams, that was now a dead end, also.
Baker slapped the notepad and exhaled noisily. His head hurt, and he was tired. He was about to call it a night when his smartphone rang. He picked it up, saw it was the forensics department from Utica PD, and answered it right away. "Hey, Jeff," he said by way of greeting. "What do you have for me?"
Clifton Heights didn't have forensics equipment or forensics personal of their own. The Town Board had claimed for years they were looking into expanding the police department's budget to meet that need, but it hadn't happened yet, and Sheriff Baker wasn't holding his breath.
Until then, they'd worked out an agreement with Utica PD to send crime samples to their forensics lab. Given the strangeness of Clifton Height's cases, Jeff Anderson and Baker had gotten to know each other very well, if only via telephone and email.
"What I've got for you is an enigma, my friend. This is one of your weird cases, isn't?"
"Yep," Baker replied glumly, "starting to look that way." "Well, I'm afraid it's not going to get any less weird. You were right - in a way - in thinking that lump of stuff you found was hardened rubber. But our tests didn't find any synthetic chemicals or compounds. What we found was a base of polymers made up of the organic compound isoprene and several forms of polyisoprene, most abundantly, elastomers."
Sheriff Baker frowned. "English, Jeff. You know me. Barely passed my science classes at community college." "What I'm saying is this: yeah. it's rubber. Of a kind. But not MAN made rubber. This is organic, Chris."
"Wait. Organic. You mean like...alive? Like from something occurring in nature?"
"Depends on your definition of 'alive,' but yeah. And this stuff, Chris? I have no idea how the hell it got to Clifton Heights. Because this stuff comes from across the world. Like Thailand across the world, my friend."
Sheriff Baker clucked his tongue with his teeth. "Well," he said, "shit."
October 9th, 20194:00 PM
Sheriff Baker sat at his desk and stared at the yellow notepad before him. Since October 4th - five days ago - he'd filled it with more notes, but none of them made any sense, or connected together in any meaningful sort of way. Even so, he read the ones he'd made since Sunday once more.
There had been two more incidents at Hillside Cemetery like the one Jud had shown him Sunday afternoon. Corpses disinterred, and - as best as they could tell - the remains devoured by something (they still didn't want to admit the human-like teeth marks found on all the bones).
Jud was getting hot in his britches, demanding Baker post guards at his cemetery, because if not, he'd sit up with a shotgun and take care of matters himself. Somehow, he'd been able to talk Jud down with promises of a watch as soon as he could get Mr. Phillips and the Town Board to approve overtime pay.
The second notation was his most recent visit to the Riley farm, Monday afternoon. This time, he found no one. In addition to Joan and Jasper, Jody and Jack Jr. weren't around, either. Neither was the truck they'd been working on.
The whole family's absence complicated matters. He'd been about to call both county and state police and officially list Jasper Riley as a missing minor. But now, with the whole family gone - vehicles gone, also - he knew neither the staties nor the county boys would go for it. They'd point out the whole family being gone, suggesting they were on a trip, or maybe even running out on their various debts.
This morning, he'd finally tried calling Margaret Seaver's only living relative, Connie Williams. No answer at her home phone, and her cellphone went straight to voicemail. Until he heard back from Ms. Williams, that was now a dead end, also.
Baker slapped the notepad and exhaled noisily. His head hurt, and he was tired. He was about to call it a night when his smartphone rang. He picked it up, saw it was the forensics department from Utica PD, and answered it right away. "Hey, Jeff," he said by way of greeting. "What do you have for me?"
Clifton Heights didn't have forensics equipment or forensics personal of their own. The Town Board had claimed for years they were looking into expanding the police department's budget to meet that need, but it hadn't happened yet, and Sheriff Baker wasn't holding his breath.
Until then, they'd worked out an agreement with Utica PD to send crime samples to their forensics lab. Given the strangeness of Clifton Height's cases, Jeff Anderson and Baker had gotten to know each other very well, if only via telephone and email.
"What I've got for you is an enigma, my friend. This is one of your weird cases, isn't?"
"Yep," Baker replied glumly, "starting to look that way." "Well, I'm afraid it's not going to get any less weird. You were right - in a way - in thinking that lump of stuff you found was hardened rubber. But our tests didn't find any synthetic chemicals or compounds. What we found was a base of polymers made up of the organic compound isoprene and several forms of polyisoprene, most abundantly, elastomers."
Sheriff Baker frowned. "English, Jeff. You know me. Barely passed my science classes at community college." "What I'm saying is this: yeah. it's rubber. Of a kind. But not MAN made rubber. This is organic, Chris."
"Wait. Organic. You mean like...alive? Like from something occurring in nature?"
"Depends on your definition of 'alive,' but yeah. And this stuff, Chris? I have no idea how the hell it got to Clifton Heights. Because this stuff comes from across the world. Like Thailand across the world, my friend."
Sheriff Baker clucked his tongue with his teeth. "Well," he said, "shit."
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