“When was the last one?” Colin asked.

“Been seven years. Manchester is the murder capital of the county, but they only average about one homicide a year up there. Though a few years back, they had that whole Mister Tender mess. Not sure if you heard about that, but made national news.”

Colin indeed remembered.

“Did you assist with that?” he asked.

“Nah. But I have a couple of buddies on the job up there. Said it was a major shit-show. Never seen anything like it.”

“But the Bury murder, seven years ago?”

The expression on Sike’s face passed from mild excitement to disappointment, as if he was embarrassed Bury didn’t ever get its sensational killing spree.

“Drug deal gone bad. Out-of-town dealer meeting with his well-to-do Bury user. Dealer pumped three in the chest. Caught him a few hours later.”

“And before that?”

“Before that what?”

“Other murders.”

Sike leaned back in his chair, which squeaked in a violent protest to the assault. “Long before my time in the department.”

Colin went with his gut, knowing there was something. There was something about Bury. If not outright malevolent, then at least mysterious. Suspicious. There are no perfect communities. Every town has a stain.

“How about way back, say ten or twenty years ago?” Colin asked. “Any major crimes in Bury? Any…I don’t know…anything that got Bury a little attention beyond the town borders?”

Sike peered up into the acoustic ceiling tiles of the station, as if all the answers he ever wanted could be found in their thousands of craters. After taking a moment’s reflection, he directed his gaze back to Colin.

“Missing kid. Back in the nineties. Sixteen-year-old boy named Caleb Benner. Never found him.”

“A sixteen-year-old boy?” Colin said. “That’s not a missing kid. That’s a runaway.”

“Ayuh, that’s what most say. Not his family, though. Not his friends.”

Colin crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his fingers into his armpits. “Were you here then?”

“Manchester. But we came down to help search. Mike Patterson was the lead on the case.”

“Is he still on the job?”

Sike shook his head. “Heart attack killed him back in oh-nine.”

“Do you remember the details of the case?”

“I do indeed.”

Colin nodded over to the coffee machine in the back corner of their room.

“Buy you a cup of coffee if you tell me everything you know about it,” he said.

“Coffee’s free here,” Sike said.

“It’s the gesture that counts.”

Sike grunted, which Colin took as an affirmation. Colin walked over to the pot, still half-full, and filled two paper cups. He took a sip from one, surprised that it tasted decent.

He walked back over and handed a cup to Sike, who offered another grunt.

Sike took his own sip, tilted back in his chair, and said, “Kid went missing on a Friday night.”

It took about twenty minutes for Sike to tell Colin the story of a missing boy named Caleb Benner.

Afterward, Colin couldn’t stop thinking about it.