Free Time Release by Martin J Smith

dying elephant that in field research jargon was identified only as Male 40, or M40. The researchers tracked M40’s last tortured walk to a clearing, where during the elephant’s final agonized hours they witnessed behavior that scientists had never before seen. As M40 lay there, helpless and unable to stand, the younger males who’d followed him began, one by one, to mount him in a spirited show of dominance.
    He’d laughed when Silverwood posted the story on the department bulletin board and scribbled, “Make reserva­tions now for Grady Downing’s retirement party!” He’d even laughed when somebody left the little brass M40 on his desk two days later. But nobody ever took credit, which he thought gave the whole thing a darker, meaner edge. Truth be told, it cut close to the bone.
    His wife answered after the tenth ring, like she always did from bed on the nights he forgot to call.
    â€œVery nice, Grady.” He knew the rasp in her voice.
    â€œYou asleep already? It’s…” He checked his watch again, as though she could see the gesture. “Jesus, Trix, I’m sorry. Just got—”
    â€œForget it.”
    How many nights had they had this conversation? How many times had she tamped her anger and disappointment down with that simple response and rolled over again into fitful sleep? How long until she went berserk some night and carved his heart out while he dozed on the couch?
    â€œHe’s killing again.” He paused, waiting for a prompt.
    None came. He knew she’d need no explanation or context, so he just continued. “About an hour from here, in Greene County. Near Outcrop.”
    â€œI wondered. Not Primenyl again?”
    â€œNo, but cyanide.”
    Silence. Ten seconds. Twenty. He’d meant to tell her in person; now he knew he should have.
    â€œWhat are you thinking?” The tremble in her voice told him this was going to be tough.
    Deep breath. “Still waiting for more details. But if it looks like Corbett was involved, I’m going to DeLillo with my repressed-memories idea. Or maybe I’ll just take it straight to Kiger.”
    â€œThe chief? DeLillo will love that.”
    â€œGoing over his head would be tricky, but I may have to. Kiger wasn’t here in ’86, so I’ve got no baggage with him.”
    No reaction. And he needed to talk. Proceed with caution.
    â€œGot five months left, Trix. And I think Kiger’ll go for it, especially if I can convince him Corbett’s involved in this one. But I’ll argue to reopen even if he’s not convinced. We know a lot more about how memory works than we did in ’86. Corbett’s wife is still around. So’s Sonny, his youngest kid. Trix, they must have known what went on in that house. Maybe if I can get them thinking about it again, it’ll nudge them enough. I’m sure the memories are in there. Getting them out is the tricky part.”
    â€œGrady—”
    â€œIt was like somebody dropped a bomb on that family, Trix. The killings start, and within a couple weeks three of the four family members are a few shrimp short of a cocktail? You tell me what the fuck they saw Corbett doing.”
    The line hummed, electronic silence.
    â€œHow’s it going to end?” she said, her voice flat but not emotionless. It made him uncomfortable, mostly because he wasn’t sure what she meant. “After it’s over, are you ready to deal with it either way? Win or lose?”
    â€œTrix—”
    â€œI mean, if you reopen this case, Grady, it could happen to you all over again. And I’m not sure I can help you through it this time. I never understood why you got so involved, because it never happened before or since. But I see it happening again. The way you talked just now. It takes you over. I know part of you died with those people, but you did your job. You just can’t make witnesses out of clay. You can’t