Page 140 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

Angela mentally drew a map of the cemetery in her mind.Since the Robertson family vault or mausoleum was in the center of the place,he might have quickly come from it while Debbie was kneeling at her father’sgrave. And when she looked up, he could have easily been halfway out of theplace.

“I just knew he’d killed someone. But then he was gone. AndI—I didn’t see anyone who had been stabbed or was bloody or... anything. And Iwas terrified. So, I ran. I got into my car and drove around to the office. Andthat lady, that Ms. Valois? She was so nice. She called the police right away,and they walked through the cemetery. But the one officer just seemed entirelydisgusted by how the relatives of those buried or interred there decorate forthe holiday. Some people think it’s horrible and disrespectful. It reallyisn’t. It’s remembering those we love during the holidays. As if they are stillwith us.”

“It’s okay, Debbie. People remember their loved ones indifferent ways.”

“I’m not usually scared. Most horror movies are funny to meand I like haunted houses. But I was terrified last night. So scared that whenan officer called to say he’d be watching over me, I almost didn’t dare believehim. I called the precinct first... and they said that I was being watched. Iknew someone had found something. But even with a cop outside, I couldn’tsleep. I... I loved my dad so much, but I don’t think I can ever go back thereagain.”

Angela nodded and suggested softly, “Maybe not at Halloween.And until we find out what happened, there will be an officer or an agentlooking out for you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you. I—I called in sicktoday. I teach art at a local community college. I was so tired and scared.Then Special Agent Crow called me, but before the officer brought me here, Isaw the news. I saw that three people were found in the cemetery, victims of amurderer. The blood on that knife was real.”

She let out a breath. “Honestly, I’m not a horrible coward.I live by myself now in my folks’ old home. My mom died when I was little. Idon’t even remember her. I just lost my dad two years ago, and I’m an onlychild. I have an alarm, but it’s only on the front door. It isn’t attached toany of the windows. I mean, I’m not an idiot, they’re all shut and locked,but—”

“It’s all right.” Angela appreciated the fact that Debbiewas scared and rambling. Her job was to calm her down and see if she couldgather any useful information. “We know you’re frightened. But no one knows ifhe saw you. Though perhaps you’ll feel a little better if I tell you this. Heknows you can’t identify him. He was wearing that mask. So, he has no reason tocome after you.”

“What if he’s just insane? He has tobe a little, right?”

“I like to believe that any human being who can hurt anotherin that way has to be a bit off,” Angela told her. “But we will protect you. Anofficer will be near at all times, I promise.”

Debbie still looked uneasy. “Could he—or she—just come inand watch television? Then I wouldn’t be so scared about the windows,especially those in back.”

“I think we can arrange that,” a masculine voice said.

Jackson had slipped into the conference room. He gave Debbiean encouraging smile. “And we’ll set up an assuranceprogram. A way for you to talk to headquarters and know for sure that apatrolman or woman is who they say they are when the shifts change. You goodwith that?”

“I’m grateful for that,” Debbie said. “I’m so tired. I amjust so, so tired.”

“Officer Whittaker can take you home. Shift will changebefore dark, and then you’ll be all set. It’s going to be okay, Debbie. If youhadn’t had the courage to report what you saw and insisted that it was real, wewouldn’t have known anything was wrong. We wouldn’t know about this killer. So,thank you. And please believe we’ll look after you. That’s a promise.”

“Thank you,” Debbie said again. Angela rose, and the youngwoman stood, too, looking from her to Jackson.

“It’s okay. Keep our numbers on speed dial and call foranything,” Angela told her.

Jackson escorted her out to the main reception area whereOfficer Owen Whittaker waited. He was a ten-year veteran with the force andsomeone his colleagues and the Krewe trusted implicitly. Angela remained in theconference room, anxious for Jackson to return.

He walked back in and frowned, likely at the look on herface.

“We have to go back,” she told him.

“Back?”

“To the cemetery. Jackson, I don’t know why, but... maybe wemissed something. I know the forensic crews were there all night, and I knowthe medical examiners are still identifying the victims, but I just feel likewe need to go back.”

“All right. But we have several people to interview—”

“And a roster of agents ready to work,” she reminded him.

“Okay. But there’s someone we need to see first. One moreperson.”

“Who?” she asked him.

He smiled grimly. “I’ll bring him in.”

Jackson left for a minute again and returned with a man whowas speaking even as they entered the conference room.

“Horrible! Beyond horrible. What kind of a sick person woulddo something like that?”

Without an introduction, she knew it was Benjamin Robertson.