“Best guess,” LaMastra said, “is that Boyd’s trying to make it to New York. We know from his jacket that he’s well connected there. ”
“Still, no matter what his destination,” said Ferro, “the bottom line is that there are no bad guys in your town anymore. Two are dead, one is elsewhere, and therefore, Mr. Mayor, this ball game is about over. Chief Bernhardt will be following up on the investigation of who might have let Boyd into the hospital, but that’s far less important at this point. ”
Terry stared at them both for a long time, hardly breathing, processing what he had just heard, then he exhaled so long and thoroughly that he seemed to deflate. He leaned his head back and stared upward at the ceiling for nearly thirty seconds. Ferro and LaMastra exchanged a look; LaMastra shrugged.
“What about Ruger’s body?” Terry asked.
“I doubt he took it with him, so we can only assume he wanted to bury it for some reason known only to himself. One theory is that Ruger may have hidden the money and cocaine and Boyd thought he could find some record of it on Ruger’s person, a note or a lockbox key. Another theory is that he may have thought Ruger might have had some useful papers on him. ”
“Or, Boyd could just be a total nutcase,” LaMastra said.
Ferro nodded. “From his recent actions it seems clear that Boyd is mentally unstable, so I don’t really want to speculate on why he would want to do this, but there was no evidence that he took the body with him when he left Pine Deep. He just left. ”
“Well,” Terry said, “then that means you guys really are done here. What else remains to be done?”
LaMastra shrugged. “We have to tidy up all the jurisdictional paperwork, check to make sure we have all the physical evidence we need, call in the troops, that sort of thing. ”
“What about the missing money and cocaine?”
Ferro spread his hands. “Chief Bernhardt will conduct a search and contact us if he finds anything. If he needs backup he can contact the state police. Ruger and Boyd must had hidden the stuff somewhere near the Guthrie farm, or maybe in the state forest, so it’ll probably turn up sooner or later. Since your busy season is here, the chief’s going to keep the reactivated officers on for now, so there will still be extra eyes open until the money and drugs are found, and until the media circus hauls down its tents and leaves town, which I assume will be in waves. The Cape May story is still newsworthy so some reporters will linger until they’ve interviewed everyone even remotely associated with the incidents here. Eventually they’ll all be gone to cover other stuff and you’ll have your town all to yourself. Despite everything, Mr. Mayor, all of this hullabaloo may actually help bring in tourist dollars, now that the real danger is over. ”
The mayor sat there and steepled his fingers. A number of expressions came and went across his haggard face, but he said nothing for such a long time that LaMastra started fidgeting. Abruptly Terry slapped his thighs with both hands, stood up quickly, and said, “Gentlemen, I can’t say it has been a pleasure, but I do thank you for all you’ve done. Please feel free to visit again anytime you want to buy some pumpkins, watch a Halloween parade, or take a trip on the Haunted Hayride. Just don’t bring any more serial killers to my town, okay?”
Rising, Ferro gave him a wan smile. “We’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Mayor. ”
They shook hands, but there was no warmth in it.
(3)
Tow-Truck Eddie’s wrecker glided along in the line of cars waiting to make the turn at the stop sign. He was three cars away from rolling right abreast of the big display window of the Crow’s Nest, and within his mind the voice of God did not speak in words but instead pulsed with an almost sexual rhythm, though Eddie did not relate the sensation to anything sexual. Instead he felt that incessant pounding in his brain and took it for the heartbeat of his own godly inner self, his Christ self, as it rose in a different kind of ecstasy—as it prepared for the slaughter of the Beast. The Christ about to confront and conquer the Antichrist.
Another car turned and he moved forward. He could see the window clearly enough, filled with tombstones and severed limbs, draped with cobwebs and hung with bats and spiders. Eddie’s lip curled in disgust at the pagan display. Such things will fall and the sinners be brought to understanding through blood and the Sword of the Lamb. Soon enough. A pickup truck made the turn and Eddie was now almost abreast of the store. He could see two figures moving around but there was sun glare on the glass and he couldn’t make out the features. Then the last car in line made the turn and Eddie moved forward again and turned full in his seat to stare. The angle was better and there was no glare so he could see that the figure on the left was definitely Malcolm Crow. He flicked his eyes to the other, certain that it had to the Beast i
n his disguise as a human boy. He squinted, picking out details. He could see that the figure wore jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. That it was not a large figure—about Crow’s size, who was short—but the face was indistinct. He shielded his eyes, leaned forward, even cupped his hands around his eyes to shield them from any sun glare. The clothes were clear enough but the face remained blurred, like a photograph when someone has turned their head at just the wrong moment. Eddie stared and stared and then behind him a whole row of cars began nailing their horns. Eddie jumped, frustrated and angry, and took his foot off the gas, but even as the truck moved forward and again the angle of light on the glass changed to an even clearer view, the face of the second figure in the store remained blurred.
Doubt sewed threads through his heart and he turned and drove away. In his head the urgent guttural chant had stopped completely and when he spoke to God, there was no answer. Frowning, Tow-Truck Eddie made the turn and headed out of town.
When the wrecker was gone, the Bone Man stepped from in front of the window and nearly collapsed, his hands falling away from the strings of his guitar. Perhaps if he had more substance, gravity would have grabbed him and dragged him down against the ground outside the Crow’s Nest. Even so, a wave of sick exhaustion flooded through him. He tried to throw up, but he was empty, just a shell, and he didn’t even have the benefit of that release. He was thoroughly drained. Since last night, when he had played his guitar in the night to try and soothe the terrible dreams that were spreading like a plague throughout the town, he had been weak. That alone had cost him, and all day he had tried to husband what little strength was left to him, to conserve what few powers he possessed. This last act of standing between the boy and the eye of the killer in the truck made him feel as if there was nothing left. He felt less substantial than a fleeting hope.
Yet there was still a faintness of a smile on his gray lips. The wrecker had moved on. The driver had not seen the boy. Somehow the act of playing his songs while standing in the way—in harm’s way for sure—had turned the killer’s eye. Maybe turned Griswold’s eye as well. God, he thought, please let it be so. Please throw me at least that much of a bone.
Weary and sick as he was, his smile blossomed and he looked down at the lovely curves of his guitar and knew something he hadn’t known before. Is this why I’m here? He wondered. Is this why the grave vomited me back into this damn town? To save this boy?
The Bone Man raised his guitar to his lips and kissed it, his eyelids fluttering closed.
Let it be so, he prayed. God…have at least that much mercy.
(4)
LaMastra stayed in the car while Ferro went in to the hospital to say good-bye to Saul Weinstock.
“Real sorry to see you go, Frank,” Weinstock said, and meant it.
The doctor was freshly dressed and neatly shaved, but Ferro thought he looked careworn. It was understandable. He said, “You’re about the only one who is. From your esteemed mayor’s reaction I was waiting for villagers with torches to drive us out of town. ”
Weinstock’s left eye twitched, but he kept smiling. “Terry’s under a lot of pressure. We all are. The blight and all, and the stuff out at the Guthrie’s farm. He used to date Val, you know. Fifteen years ago or so. He liked Henry, and he’s taking his death pretty hard. I guess we’re all taking this…hard. ” Weinstock cleared his throat. “I personally would like to see you stay, Frank. ”
“Vince is glad to be leaving,” Ferro said. “This place has gotten to him. ”