place far more stock in such occurrences than she did. The last thing she needed was for him to start theorizing about why she’d seen Carl and what it might mean. She knew
exactly
what it meant. She was running on too little sleep today, simple as that.
She realized then that she was trying awfully hard to convince herself it was nothing. She also realized it wasn’t working.
“At least there are no other bodies here,” Dale said. “After seeing Carl’s mark on that boy’s belly last night, I was afraid we’d find corpses stacked halfway to the ceiling.” He looked around. “Nothing’s changed. By now, you’d think vandals would’ve left their mark inside as well as out.”
“Probably too afraid to come inside,” Joanne said. “I bet even the bravest — or should I say drunkest — only ever manage to open the door and poke their heads in before getting so close to pissing themselves that they turn tail and run.”
Dale clucked his tongue. “You’re getting awfully cynical in your old age, my dear. I bet you’re right, though.” He grew thoughtful once more. “It was night when Stan and I got here. Did I tell you that? The electric was still hooked up then, and Carl had the lights turned on. There were only a couple in the ceiling, and neither was all that bright. They gave the inside of the barn an eerie half-lit look, like something out of a dream. Carl looked up when we burst in — he was crouched over Marianne’s body — he’d just finished carving that strange symbol of his onto her belly. He never did tell anyone what the damned thing signified, and I’ve been unable find anything close to it in all the research I’ve done over the years. People started talking after the story broke, saying Carl was in some kind of satanic cult, and that’s where the symbol came from. Stan and I came to believe it was just something Carl had made up, and its meaning was personal to him — assuming it held any meaning at all and wasn’t just a psychotic’s version of doodling.”
“He arranged the other bodies against the wall, didn’t he?” Joanne said.
Dale nodded. “So they were facing the back door. They were sitting with hands at their sides, legs stretched out in front of them. They were naked and covered with dried blood from their throat and stomach wounds. Small chunks of flesh were missing here and there. At first we thought Carl had eaten parts of his victims, but Doc Lahmon — he was the coroner back then — said rats had been at the bodies, probably while Carl was away.” Dale closed his eyes and gave his head a little shake, as if trying to dismiss the memory.
“Where was Carl exactly?” Joanne didn’t worry that Dale wouldn’t remember. He had a reporter’s recall, and besides, no one could forget a detail like that — not after living through it.
“Right over there.” Dale pointed without hesitation, and a chill shuddered down Joanne’s spine. Dale indicated the exact spot where she’d briefly glimpsed Carl’s image. Dale frowned. “What’s that?”
Joanne trained the flashlight’s beam on the ground where Dale pointed. The light revealed an object that was small, square, flat, and black.
“Looks like a wallet,” she said.
They walked over to the object — both watching to make sure they didn’t inadvertently trample any evidence. Sure enough, it was a wallet.
“Maybe one of those drunks you mentioned before managed to find the courage to come inside all the way and dropped it,” Dale said.
“You don’t really believe that.”
“No, I don’t.”
Dale took a couple pictures of the wallet, and then Joanne handed him a flashlight. He held the beam steady while Joanne crouched down and carefully picked the wallet up with the thumb and forefinger of her gloved hand. She flipped it open and there, stored inside a laminated flap, was a driver’s license with a familiar photo. It was the boy who’d been murdered last night.
“Ray Porter,” she read
exactly
what it meant. She was running on too little sleep today, simple as that.
She realized then that she was trying awfully hard to convince herself it was nothing. She also realized it wasn’t working.
“At least there are no other bodies here,” Dale said. “After seeing Carl’s mark on that boy’s belly last night, I was afraid we’d find corpses stacked halfway to the ceiling.” He looked around. “Nothing’s changed. By now, you’d think vandals would’ve left their mark inside as well as out.”
“Probably too afraid to come inside,” Joanne said. “I bet even the bravest — or should I say drunkest — only ever manage to open the door and poke their heads in before getting so close to pissing themselves that they turn tail and run.”
Dale clucked his tongue. “You’re getting awfully cynical in your old age, my dear. I bet you’re right, though.” He grew thoughtful once more. “It was night when Stan and I got here. Did I tell you that? The electric was still hooked up then, and Carl had the lights turned on. There were only a couple in the ceiling, and neither was all that bright. They gave the inside of the barn an eerie half-lit look, like something out of a dream. Carl looked up when we burst in — he was crouched over Marianne’s body — he’d just finished carving that strange symbol of his onto her belly. He never did tell anyone what the damned thing signified, and I’ve been unable find anything close to it in all the research I’ve done over the years. People started talking after the story broke, saying Carl was in some kind of satanic cult, and that’s where the symbol came from. Stan and I came to believe it was just something Carl had made up, and its meaning was personal to him — assuming it held any meaning at all and wasn’t just a psychotic’s version of doodling.”
“He arranged the other bodies against the wall, didn’t he?” Joanne said.
Dale nodded. “So they were facing the back door. They were sitting with hands at their sides, legs stretched out in front of them. They were naked and covered with dried blood from their throat and stomach wounds. Small chunks of flesh were missing here and there. At first we thought Carl had eaten parts of his victims, but Doc Lahmon — he was the coroner back then — said rats had been at the bodies, probably while Carl was away.” Dale closed his eyes and gave his head a little shake, as if trying to dismiss the memory.
“Where was Carl exactly?” Joanne didn’t worry that Dale wouldn’t remember. He had a reporter’s recall, and besides, no one could forget a detail like that — not after living through it.
“Right over there.” Dale pointed without hesitation, and a chill shuddered down Joanne’s spine. Dale indicated the exact spot where she’d briefly glimpsed Carl’s image. Dale frowned. “What’s that?”
Joanne trained the flashlight’s beam on the ground where Dale pointed. The light revealed an object that was small, square, flat, and black.
“Looks like a wallet,” she said.
They walked over to the object — both watching to make sure they didn’t inadvertently trample any evidence. Sure enough, it was a wallet.
“Maybe one of those drunks you mentioned before managed to find the courage to come inside all the way and dropped it,” Dale said.
“You don’t really believe that.”
“No, I don’t.”
Dale took a couple pictures of the wallet, and then Joanne handed him a flashlight. He held the beam steady while Joanne crouched down and carefully picked the wallet up with the thumb and forefinger of her gloved hand. She flipped it open and there, stored inside a laminated flap, was a driver’s license with a familiar photo. It was the boy who’d been murdered last night.
“Ray Porter,” she read
Similar Books
