Chapter 8: Fake Smiles
This is Chapter 8 of "Hanson Devil: A Forbidden Cone", a drama-mystery book I’m publishing chapter by chapter
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 7 - Professional Courtesy
Chapter 3 — The Choir Of Shadows
A new lead arrived before noon.
It always did.
Bea was mid-sentence, talking to Hanson, when a uniform appeared at the edge of her desk, holding a printout as if it might burn him.
“Possible match,” he said. “County sheriff just called it in.”
Bea took the paper.
Missing goat.
Private farm.
Security camera footage.
An ice cream wrapper was found near the fence.
Her jaw tightened.
“That’s our M.O.,” the uniform added, hopeful. “Sheriff thinks it’s the guy.”
The guy, Bea thought, was becoming a very flexible concept.
She nodded. “Thank you.”
As the uniform left, the precinct energy shifted, subtle but real. Chairs moved. Voices lifted. The word finally passed from desk to desk like a shared relief.
Bea felt the pull of it.
Twenty years of nothing made any something feel like a breakthrough, but still…
She turned toward Hanson. “We’ll need to…”
He didn’t interrupt.
He simply didn’t move.
She paused.
Hanson was looking at the printout, but not the way the others had. Not at the wrapper. Not at the timestamp.
He was staring at the farm name.
“Something wrong?” Bea asked.
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not.”
She folded her arms. “That’s not helpful.”
He smiled faintly. “Give me ten seconds.”
She didn’t like the request.
But she gave him the paper.
Hanson studied it again, then glanced at the board. His eyes tracked one of the red strings. Not the newest one, but an older line branching off the original case.
“Same county as the 2005 disappearance,” he said.
Bea nodded. “Yes.”
“And the wrapper?”
“Yes.”
“And the camera footage?”
“Yes,” she said again, sharper now. “All matches.”
Hanson handed the paper back.
“That’s the problem,” he said.
She stared at him.
“When criminals want to get caught, they leave signatures,” he continued calmly. “When they want to stay hidden, they erase them. This?” He gestured lightly. “This is generous.”
“Or sloppy,” Bea countered.
“Sloppy criminals repeat mistakes,” Hanson replied. “This one repeats themes.”
She felt it; the shift in perspective, unwelcome but undeniable.
“You think it’s another copy-cat,” she said.
“I think it’s a performer,” he answered. “Someone reenacting the crime, not committing it.”
Around them, the precinct buzzed louder. Someone laughed. Someone cursed. A phone rang unanswered.
Bea exhaled slowly.
“Why now?” she asked. “Why give us anything at all?”
Hanson leaned back against the desk. The case, to him, felt like something else entirely.
Like the old comics he used to read under blankets with a flashlight: panels full of grinning villains, each claiming to be the real one. Masks stacked on masks. Chaos as camouflage.
A pool full of Jokers.
Too many smiles.
Too much laughter.
All of it designed to make the watcher dizzy.
“Because confusion buys time,” he said finally. “And attention.”
Bea studied him.
“You’ve seen this before.”
“I’ve seen versions,” he replied. “Different crimes. Same psychology.”
She glanced at the whiteboard, at the growing mess of red and blue, the way certainty dissolved the closer you looked.
“So what do we do?” she asked.
Hanson met her gaze.
“We don’t chase the loudest laugh,” he said. “We watch who benefits from the noise.”
Before she could respond, another voice cut in.
“Detective.”
Bea turned.
Captain Rourke stood a few feet away, arms crossed. “Sheriff’s pushing for action. Media caught wind of the goat.”
Of course they had.
Bea nodded. “We’re evaluating.”
Rourke’s eyes flicked briefly to Hanson, then back to her. “Don’t take too long.”
As he walked away, Bea felt the familiar squeeze of pressure. Public. Political.
She looked back at Hanson.
“You might be wrong,” she said.
“Absolutely,” he agreed.
“And if you are?”
“Then we lose a few hours,” he said. “If I’m right, we avoid stepping exactly where someone wants us to.”
She held his gaze, searching for arrogance.
Found none.
Only patience.
“Fine,” she said. “We don’t move yet.”
A ripple of irritation moved through the nearby desks as word spread. Bea ignored it.
She uncapped a marker and wrote one word in the corner of the board, far from the others.
WHY
Hanson watched her do it.
Somewhere, far away, someone was smiling, but in a merry way.