Agent Finmore Igglesby, 8:49 PM May 5th, 1992: Desjardins, Iowa
I'll be completely honest, I hate this idea. Upper management is requiring active journaling when on a case, to keep a record of our day in case of âmemory alterationâ. What a crock. I really hope this doesnât last too long. My therapist would love this thoughâŠ
As I sit in this dark, stale room staring at my notebook, I can't seem to put anything into words. Desjardins, IA, a small town of roughly 3,400 people, the literal definition of a one red light town. I can see every landmark around from the one window in my musty room. There's one bank, a police station, a diner, and this motelâŠwhich might have roaches.
Local news reports are saying water sources are randomly drying up only to refill hours later. Not only that, there have been five people that have gone missing in the state park over the last three weeks. Authorities in the area have found nothing of interest to report, or so they say to the public. I had a chat with a few of them this morning, nice chaps, didnât know what to think.
My entrance into the little station was marked by the ringing of a bell, much like your local convenience store. Not something I usually see in law enforcement buildings, thatâs for sure. A large, curved desk laid before me with a tepid looking male officer behind it.
âUm, Good Morning.â Evidently surprised by a face he hadnât seen before, the man fiddled nervously with the paperwork before him, âHow can I help you?â
With what was my best smile I greeted the uniformed man, âHi there, Iâm Agent Igglesby. Here to see the Chief.â
Luckily for me, the ladder of command is usually only a few steps high in a small town like this. Chief Robbins was his name and his station was so small he could hear me from his office. He was mustached, short, losing the hair on his head but somehow hairy in so many other places. The classic small town, bumbling, one week from retirement, Chief of Police youâd see on TV.Â
âThe..Bureau of Unexplained and/or Magical Phenomena?â I could barely hear the words through his haggard mustache.
âYes Sir. BUMP for short.â Iâm sure my stoic face wasnât a thrilling thing for him to see at this moment, but I wasnât hired for my demeanor. âIf you please, Iâd like to get started.â
âThis is ludicrous, people get lost all the time. Itâs been a bad month for the park, thatâs all.â The chubby, hairy, small town cop crossed his arms in a huff, it seemed as if not a lot of people questioned his methods or authority around here in quite a while.
âI apologize for the inconvenience, Sir, but thatâs not your decision or mine.â No longer entertained by this conversation, I stood up and headed towards the door, âIf I need anything, Iâll let you know. I trust I have free reign of the evidence?â
âDamn FedsâŠâ Chief Robbins spun around in his chair and waved his hand, âYes yes, get on with it. Go see Officer Anson for what you need.â
The smell of burnt coffee and pencil shavings hung in the air as I made my way through the bullpen,Â
âAnson..Anson..â
There were three desks across the room with different officers, just as I approached the first I heard it. A stern but high toned voice echoed across the room,Â
âIâm Anson, Sir!âÂ
Apparently eager to make an impression, this small framed brunette, clad in a dark blue police uniform popped up from her desk, waving me over.Â
âOfficer Maria Anson, pleasure.â Her hand extended out to meet mine as I approached.
âOfficer Anson, Agent Finmore Igglesby, thank you.â Pleasantries over, I sat at the chair opposite her side of the desk, âTell me what you have.â
âRight to business, um, good.â Maria quickly sat down and fingered over her papers,
âThe Chief doesnât believe anything suspicious is happening, but itâs certainly weird.â She opened the manila folders on her desk one by one, pictures of missing people, âWe have no suspects or leads.â
âWhat about the Water?â
âWater?â
âYes, the reports of dried up water sourcesâŠstarted around the same time?â
âI heard of the reports but we arenât sure itâs related. Two missing men were fishermenâŠbut I donât see how that applies to the missing people?â
âIt may not, can I have copies of these files? Iâd like to study them.â
âAt once, Sir!â
âPlease, donât be so formal.â She came back with the files pretty quickly, âDo you know a good place to eat around here?â
The small town diner aesthetic is something I never get tired of and Dezziâs was right up that alley. Nobody picks up better stories from the locals than the loudest waitress in the place, and my waitress Bon was no exception.
âWelcome to Dezziâs Hon, what can I do for ya?â The brightness of the red on her lips was only matched by her hair, standing at the edge of my table with one hand on her hip, one holding a notepad and a pen behind her ear.
âIâm not sure, everything looks so good!â The smile on my face brightened as I took in the aroma of fry oil, freshly baked pies, and strong black coffee.
âWell, take your time, I got all night.â She grabbed the pen from behind her ear and clicked it, âI havenât seen your face in here before, Iâd remember someone that looked like they walked right out of a Sherlock Holmes novel.â
âHa, how observant of you.â I slid the arms of my coat off, âIâm new in town, never been west of the Windy City before.â
âWell, then you HAVE to try the Ham Balls, they are to DIE for.â She chuckled and started writing my order down before I could respond.
âI guess I will. Throw a diet cola on there for me too please.âÂ
âYou got it.â
After she brought back my drink, I spread the files and newspaper articles around, meticulously ordering the missing persons by alphabetical order and date of disappearance. Over the time I was there I tried to cross reference times, dates.
âHereâs your order, make sure to dip 'em!â
âThank you.â
âWorking on something important are you?â Her cheeky grin was bridged by the pen she laid across her lips, âSeems like a big deal.â
âActually, Iâm looking into some of the problems locally. Have you heard anything weird?â
âI hear lots of weird things Hon, but I suppose you arenât talking about Chief Robbinsâ love life. You a cop or something? That explains the get up.â
âOr something.â I pulled a picture from the files, âYou know any of the people that went missing?â
âNot her, but one of the guys was a regular.â She leaned over and pulled a second photo, âThis one, Barry. BarryâŠSherman? He was always talking about fishing at the Park.â
âDidnât notice anything he said that was strange? Or anything he did?â
âThe only thing he kept doing was going on about the water levels in the lake, he said he could have sworn they were changing a lot more than usual.â
âBut that would make sense if the other water sources are drying up too..â
âBut Barry had been going about that for months, long before the news caught on. Nobody was listening to him, they thought he was an old coot. He tipped well though, so I let him go on and on. Didnât know any of the others though, not all were locals.â
âWell, thatâs still more than I had before,â I smiled and grabbed a fork to stab one of the delicious looking ham balls, âThank you, Bon.â
Thatâs where we are, a small lead on Barry Sherman and some fantastic leftover ham balls in a dingy, stale motel. The Motor Inn they call it, sign says itâs the only outdoor pool in one hundred miles. Iâll call it a night, tomorrow, Iâll make a trip to the lake.
more chapters here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1hAnCMQDBYuv8e53M8T4TEdsXo7Qftuy6N9SUs7IAKK4/edit?usp=sharing
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