“The Smiths are gone.” 

These words greeted Deputy Gracey when he strode through the door of the Investigative Division of the Ashbrook Police Station. He paused before continuing to take off his overcoat. The one who imparted them? Well, that was his long-time partner - the forever rookie - Deputy Lawrence. 

Currently, a newspaper inhabited the place usually reserved for his bright and shining morning face. Lord knew, one of them needed one. And it wasn’t coming from Gracey’s mug. Lawrence sat with his feet crossed on his desk and his chair leaning haphazardly off-kilter. He was the very definition of lackadaisical. Deputy Gracey didn’t have to see his face to know that he was sporting his habitual mustache, unless his kids shaved it off in his sleep again.

 Unlike Lawrence, who looked far younger than he actually was, the years had not been kind to Gracey. He picked up a drinking habit after serving in the War a few years back and was never able to kick it. It was his way of dealing with the shell-shock. And his way of dealing wasn’t conducive to married life and children. Deputy Lawrence had a wonderful wife to take care of him though. No one took care of Gracey. 

“Is it for sure now?” Gracey lit a rolled cigarette, feeling the sting of smoke travel down his throat to his lungs. He sat down at his desk, pushing aside a few piles of paperwork to get a reasonably clear ditch in the mounds that sprung up over the past week. He’d never seen so much paperwork in his life. 

Nothing ever happened in Ashbrook. Nothing was ever supposed to happen in Ashbrook. Until last week, that was still true. Last week, all hell broke loose. And that meant Gracey needed to have sleepless nights for the foreseeable future.

“My wife told me they didn’t want to stay even a second longer.” Deputy Lawrence had a habit of projecting his voice until it echoed off the walls. It didn’t matter that Gracey was only about 10 feet from him. Every head in the relatively small building would swivel when he opened his mouth. 

“Can you blame them?” Gracey let out thick tobacco smoke into the room. “The family that founded this place and funded most of the jobs here was murdered. If it isn’t the fear, then it's pragmatism.”

“I know. Most of the families here had someone working in that castle on the hill.” Lawrences chair squeaked under him as he shifted his weight to look at Gracey around his newspaper. “My wife’s been telling me to go back to the city.”

“You gonna do it?”

Deputy Lawrence shrugged, his paper rustling as it moved. “I’ve been giving it some thought... Not sure yet.”

“Scared?”

“Of what?”

“Black magic, demons and ghosts.”

Deputy Lawrence snorted. “There’s no such thing. Just those unlucky idiots in their big house attracted a serial killer.” That was Lawrence all around. He didn’t care too much for the filthy rich. Thought they were all self-absorbed and spoiled… Or there was something inherently non-human about them. “I’m more afraid of losing my paycheck when everyone leaves.”

“Did we confirm it's a serial killer?”

“I just saw the information when I came in this morning. It’s about 90% the same as went down in California 20 years ago.”

“That’s a long time for a serial killer to be inactive though…”

“But it isn’t long enough for a serial killer to be dead if he laid low.”

“It doesn’t seem to check out though. There isn’t any precedent…”

“We’ve got nothing else.”

“Exactly. We’re grasping at straws here.”

“It would go down better with the townsfolk if it were a serial killer than demons and witches.”

“The times we live in… when a serial killer is more welcome than the alternative.” Gracey settled into his nest of paperwork. He didn’t want to look at, let alone do it. If he could, he would burn it all. The captain already threatened to take his badge if he threw it in the fire though. Gracey didn’t see the issue. It wouldn’t make the problem go away, but it would give the illusion that there wasn’t one. 

It didn’t stop the world from turning. There was still a secretary at reception, officers manning the holding cells, investigators trying to solve the crime, and people quivering in their homes afraid that they will be next. The day had just started, but so had the pounding in Gracey’s head. It was going to be a long day.

He grabbed a pen from his desk drawer and winged it at Lawrence’s newspaper covered face. 

“Hey!” Lawrence's attempt at a fierce glare appeared above the top of his newspaper.

“Give me the case report from that murder in California.”

“It’s already on your desk.”

Gracey’s eyebrow raised as he looked down at the piles of small scripted paperwork strewn across what used to be his military-neat desk. “Where?”

“The pile to the left… no the other pile.” Lawrence pointed in the general direction of the left side of his desk, as if Gracey would just know which of the five stacks was the one that magically had a new case file on it. Gracey glowered, which wasn’t much different from his normal face, so it went unnoticed. Or ignored. He could never tell when it came to Lawrence. 

At least Lawrence didn’t hide behind the daily paper pretending the inconsequential news of a small town in the middle of nowhere was important enough to have a daily newspaper. Maybe they could get some work done today.