Dammit, he wanted to keep hunting tonight. But those weirdos who called themselves the Believers were at it again.
And one of the old biddies had seen him.
Grateful he’d worn a dark hat and mask, he was tempted to jump out and scare them.
But that was kids’ games. He’d enjoyed terrorizing the girls and old biddies when he was young but he wasn’t a kid anymore. He needed something more thrilling.
Besides, he had to be careful.
So he slipped back into the shadows.
Every year around the time of the Day of the Dead, the Believers came out in droves to perform their vigils. Cloaked in black capes and carrying lanterns, they climbed to the top of Midnight Ridge, setting out gifts to the heavens, singing and chanting and praying for all the dead who’d lost their lives on the mountain.
Tonight it was for Minnie Benton.
The voices echoed through the trees and drifted upward, a halo of lights flickering in the darkness.
He’d hidden in the shadows of the tall thick pines and oaks while they’d gathered, wiping the blood from his hands onto the old rag he carried with him in his pack when he was hunting. Waited until they’d reached the hill, their lanterns flickering through the mist, then threw his string of kills over his shoulder, gripped his rifle in his other hand and hurried back along the trail to the old lodge.
In spite of the chill in the air, sweat trickled down his back. Dead leaves crunched beneath his boots, the acrid scent of blood and death filling his nostrils. When he reached the monstrosity that had once been his home, the darkness ate at him.
Still, he smiled as he entered the stone lodge and carried his kills to his workroom in the attic, the very room that had tortured him with nightmares when he was a child. When he’d been locked inside, he could see the crows swarming outside the fog-coated window, pecking at the glass with their pointed beaks until he imagined it cracking and the flock swooping in and gnawing at his face.
Now he was the one torturing them.
He laid the string of dead crows on his work surface, elated at the fact that he’d frightened that damn know-it-all detective. That fucker with her had chased after him in the backyard, but his plan to escape had worked.
Just like it had at that old lady do-gooder Hazel’s house. Not that she was a good girl herself. He knew better.
He’d wanted Hazel to know he was watching and had been in her house just like he’d wanted Ellie Reeves to know he’d touched the bed she slept in at night. Keeping them on edge would throw them off his scent so he could blend in as he’d been doing for years.
They needed to know he was in charge, that they could flail and squawk just like the murder of crows had when he’dsnapped their necks. Smiling, he lifted his hand and smelled the fresh blood from the slaughter.
He’d have to clean it off before he went to work the next day, scrub it from under his fingernails. But not until he skinned the birds and laid out their feathers to dry.
THIRTY-FIVE
DAY THREE
Mystic
Although Ellie had stayed with Cord the night before, she slept with one eye open and ears alert for trouble. Not that it was necessary. Cord had been so protective he was like an animal on the prowl, perched to strike if anyone dared break in.
She’d assured him that wouldn’t happen, at least not last night. The unsub had a plan. Taunt her. Terrorize her. Make her vulnerable.
This sick bastard really had no idea who he was dealing with.
But he would learn.
Her boss had assigned a detail to watch her house in case the killer returned today, and Cord insisted on meeting a security team there to update her security system and install cameras outside. He also planned to meet the crime scene cleanup team and oversee the removal of her bed and have it hauled off. She would shop for a new one later, probably online since she was not a shopper, and the case took precedence.
Before heading to the station, Ellie decided to interview Janet Rodgers, Minnie’s friend from high school who Beth Annhad mentioned. Then she’d talk to Marty Burgess and decide if there was a possibility he was Iris’s father.
This morning the fog hung heavy and thick, a mist dampening the air and adding an even icier chill to the mountain air and indicating impending storms. The morning news had warned of possible power outages if the storm blew in as predicted. Panic about being snowed-in streaked the faces of people rushing inside the grocery store to stock up. Some stores had already placed a limit on bottled water and milk. Bread and batteries were also flying off the shelves. God forbid folks lost cell service for a day.
Of course, in her line of work, the phone was not a commodity to play games on for the bored but a necessity. With above-ground power lines, electrical outages were common in the winter in the remote mountain areas.
The Rodgers family lived in a craftsman bungalow near the downtown Mystic area, which was not much more than rundown buildings and a single stop sign. Even the deputy’s office looked as old as dirt. She’d done her homework and knew Janet’s father was a banker and her mother a high school science teacher.
