The Killing Moon: A Novel

Hess turned back to the small-eyed Pail, waiting.

"I saw black smoke in the sky," said Bucky. "They teach you that in the certification courses. Usually means a fire."

Hess crossed his big arms, keeping up his genial smile. "Looks like the fire had multiple points of origin. Anyone know what that means?"

Ullard said, "It started in different places?"

"Wow," said Hess, taking a moment to marvel. "It means the fire was set. Arson squad found these little—they looked like smoked-down cigars to me, turns out they're flares. Road flares and good old-fashioned unleaded gasoline. No frills. Somebody tried to burn down the house in a half-assed murder scene cover-up."

Now he had their attention.

"I say half-assed because only half the house burned, giving us plenty to work with—file that under 'Good.' Being almost twenty-four hours out now, that's a daylong head start for the assailant. But we can make up some of that time once we hear from our eyewitness."

Now came confused looks back and forth.

Eddie Pail was the first to take the bait. "Eyewitness?"

"The corpse," said Hess. "The vic. The presumed Mr. Frond. Dead men make the best witnesses. Why? Because they can't lie. They got no stake in this thing other than absolute truth. Same as me."

Two officers from Crime Scene Services—badgeless, casual in jeans and jerseys except for their latex gloves—opened the screen door to get Hess's attention. One held a small brush that looked like an archaeologist's tool, the other a rolled-up paper bag marked "Evidence" in red.

Hess gave them a hard look that only they could have construed as anger, and they backed out fast. Hess was not to be interrupted during his get-to-know-me spiel. He had to motivate these good old boys to work for him.

"Criminalists, huh?" said Hess, leaning forward as though taking them into his confidence. "Spook the shit out of me. Tiptoeing around with their brushes and lasers. Tweezing things, rolling them up in these little forensic doggy bags. Everything's an experiment with them. Guys haunt my dreams. Wouldn't amaze me in the least if the skinny one there was carrying his own shit in that paper bag. Probably huddled together in the mobile lab out there right now, happily picking through it. 'Joe, when did I eat corn?'"

Snickers from most of them. Hess twisted his thick gold wedding band as though screwing it onto his finger. He was working these yokels good. Be selling them time-shares in Puerto Rico next.

"But they're the ones making the cases these days. The kids who paid attention in chemistry class, who sat there and memorized the elements chart—they solve the crimes now. Me? I'm more like the coach. Used to be first-string quarterback, now I'm drawing up Xs and Os. If it's a promotion, I don't know. Bill Belichick. That's me now."

Two trouble spots identified. Bucky Pail, the shorter brother, wasn't lapping it up with the rest. A definite nail in the road going forward. And Maddox, the one lurking in back, almost hiding there, was another question mark. He chuckled like the others, but without sincerity. Could be he was just the black sheep of the bunch.

"Right, so, I'm a guy who likes to keep local law involved. Let's kick this thing around a little, shall we?" Hess had learned to use his eyebrows, raising them high like expectations, inviting candor, demanding truth. "A witch, huh? What do we make of that?"

Some shaken heads, no one committing to anything.

"Safe to say this is no random crime. There's no transient population here. Anybody passing through Black Falls—no offense—there's not a lot to stop for. So we can pretty much assume the witch knew his assailant. Is it a sex crime? Maybe."

"Sex crime?" said Eddie Pail, shaping up to be an easy mark.

"Why not? Looked like the guy had been in his underwear. I mean, if he's got obvious enemies, fine, we'll look at them. But I'm just as happy to start off with his friends."

He watched them process that.

"Guy'd been beaten up, and I mean severely. Busted to pieces. Just to let you know we're not playing here. House was also gone over pretty good. Our killer spent some quality time in there. And why not? No neighbors nearby, nobody to hear anything. Who here's working the note?"

Again they looked around. "What note?" said a big bag of shoulders, Mort Lees.

"The notification," said Hess. "Frond's next of kin."

Shrugs. Hadn't occurred to anyone. Eddie Pail looked at his brother, Bucky, who kept on looking straight at Hess.

"So," said Hess. "Anything else anybody wants to add?"

Bucky Pail said, "Maybe."

Hess nodded. "Go for it."

"We got a missing sex offender."

"Okay."

"You said sex crime."

"I sure did. What you got?"

"Scarecrow, we call him. Real name's Dillon Sinclair."

"Missing how long?"

"More than a week now, I guess."