Holly said, “Let me show you some pictures I took at another graveyard. They may open a line of more normal investigation. If either Detective Anderson or Lieutenant Sablo is willing to talk to the police in Montgomery County, Ohio, that is.”
Yune said, “At this point I’d talk to the pope, if it would help to clear this up.”
One by one, Holly projected the photos on the screen: the train station, the factory with the swastika spray-painted on the side, the deserted car wash.
“I took these from the parking lot of the Peaceful Rest Cemetery in Regis. It’s where Heath Holmes is buried with his parents.”
She cycled through the pictures again: train station, factory, car wash.
“I think the outsider took the van he stole from the lot in Dayton to one of these places, and I think if you could persuade the Montgomery County police to search them, some trace of it might still be there. The police might even find some trace of him. There, or maybe here.”
This time she projected the photograph of the boxcars, sitting lonely and deserted on their siding. “He couldn’t have hidden the van in either of those, but he might have stayed in one of them. They’re even closer to the cemetery.”
Here at last was something Ralph could take hold of. Something real. “Sheltered places. There could be traces. Even after three months.”
“Tire tracks,” Yune said. “Maybe more discarded clothes.”
“Or other stuff,” Holly said. “Will you check? And they should be prepared to do an acid phosphate test.”
Semen stains, Ralph thought, and remembered the goo in the barn. What had Yune said about those? A nocturnal emission worthy of The Guinness Book of Records, wasn’t that it?
Yune sounded admiring. “You know your stuff, ma’am.”
Color rose in her cheeks, and she looked down. “Bill Hodges was very good at his job. He taught me a lot.”
“I can call the Montgomery County prosecutor, if you want,” Samuels said. “Get somebody from whatever police department has jurisdiction in that town—Regis?—to coordinate with the Staties. Given what that Elfman kid found in that barn in Canning Township, it’s worth looking into.”
“What?” Holly asked, immediately alight. “What did he find, beside the belt buckle with the prints on it?”
“A pile of clothes,” Samuels said, “Pants, underwear shorts, sneakers. There was some kind of goo on them, also on the hay. It turned the hay black.” He paused. “No shirt, though. The shirt was missing.”
Yune said, “That shirt might have been what the burned man was wearing on his head like a do-rag when we saw him at the courthouse.”
“How far is this barn from the graveyard?” Holly asked.
“Less than half a mile,” Yune said. “The residue on the clothes looked like semen. Is that what you’re thinking, Ms. Gibney? Is that why you want the Ohio cops to do an acid phosphate test?”
“Can’t have been semen,” Ralph said. “There was too much of it.”
Yune ignored this. He was staring at Holly, as if fascinated with her. “Are you thinking the stuff in the barn is a kind of residue from the change? We’re having samples checked, but the results haven’t come back yet.”
“I don’t know what I’m thinking,” Holly said. “My research about El Cuco so far amounts to a few legends I read while I was flying down here, and they’re not reliable. They were passed down orally, generation to generation, long before forensic science existed. I’m just saying that the police in Ohio should check the places in my photographs. They might not find anything . . . but I think they will. I hope they will. Traces, as Detective Anderson said.”
“Are you done, Ms. Gibney?” Howie asked.
“Yes, I think so.” She sat down. Ralph thought she looked exhausted, and why not? She’d had a busy few days. In addition to that, being crazy had to wear a person out.
Howie said, “Ladies and gentlemen, are there ideas on how we proceed from here? The floor is open for suggestions.”
“The next step seems obvious,” Ralph said. “This outsider might be here in FC—the testimony from my wife and Grace Maitland seems to suggest that—but somebody needs to go down to Texas and interview Claude Bolton, see what he knows. If anything. I nominate me.”
Alec said, “I want to go with you.”
“I think that’s a trip I’d also like to make,” Howie said. “Lieutenant Sablo?”
“I’d like to, but I have two cases in court. If I don’t testify, a couple of very bad boys could walk. I’ll call the ADA in Cap City, see if there’s any chance of a postponement, but I’m not hopeful. It’s not like I can tell him I’m on the trail of a shape-shifting Mexican monster.”
Howie smiled. “I should think not. What about you, Ms. Gibney? Want to go a little further south? You’d continue to be compensated, of course.”
“Yes, I’ll go. Mr. Bolton may know things we need to find out. If, that is, we can ask the right questions.”
Howie said, “What about you, Bill? Want to see this thing through?”
Samuels smiled thinly, shook his head, then stood up. “All this has been interesting, in a mad sort of way, but as far as I’m concerned, the case is closed. I’ll make some calls to the police in Ohio, but that’s where my participation ends. Mrs. Maitland, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“You ought to be,” Marcy said.
He winced at that, but pressed on. “Ms. Gibney, it’s been fascinating. I appreciate your hard work and due diligence. You also make a surprisingly persuasive case for the fantastic, I say that without a trace of irony, but I’m going to go home, grab a beer out of the fridge, and start forgetting this whole thing.”
They watched him gather up his briefcase and leave, the cowlick wagging at them like an admonitory finger as he went out the door.
When he was gone, Howie said he would make their travel arrangements. “I’ll charter the King Air I sometimes use. The pilots will know the closest landing strip. I’ll also arrange for a car. If it’s just the four of us, a sedan or a small SUV should do.”
“Leave a seat for me,” Yune said. “Just in case I can wiggle out of court.”
“Happy to.”
Alec Pelley said, “Someone needs to reach out to Mr. Bolton tonight, and tell him to expect visitors.”
Yune lifted a hand. “That much I can do.”
“Make him understand no one is after him for doing something illegal,” Howie said. “The last thing we want is for him to jackrabbit somewhere.”
“Call me after you talk to him,” Ralph said to Yune. “Even if it’s late. I want to know how he reacts.”
“So do I,” Jeannie said.
“You should tell him something else,” Holly said. “You should tell him to be careful. Because if I’m right about this, he’s the next in line.”
12
Full dark had come when Ralph and the others stepped out of Howie Gold’s building. Howie himself was still upstairs, making arrangements, and his investigator was with him. Ralph wondered what they would talk about with everyone else gone.