The kid was looking at him through the window, no longer smiling. Crow shrugged elaborately and pointed at the phone. Mike nodded. Crow had stepped out of the car to make the call, not wanting the boy to hear about the manhunt. The kid looked like he’d been through enough already.
“Crow?” Terry’s voice came over the phone with no warning, making Crow jump.
“Terry? Yeah.”
“Oh man, Crow, tell me nothing happened at the hayride.”
“Huh? Oh no, I haven’t gotten there yet.”
There was a brief silence on the line; then in a controlled voice, Terry said, “You, ah, haven’t even gotten there yet? I see.”
“No, you don’t. I’m not dodging it, it’s just that something else came up.”
Another silence. “Something ‘else’ came up? Crow,” Terry said, “you do remember we have a crisis going on around here?”
Crow walked another couple of paces from the car. “I have Mike Sweeney with me.”
“Who, may I ask, is Mike Sweeney?”
“Kid who delivers the paper.”
“Okay. And you’re what — learning his route?”
“No. Actually I almost ran him over. Don’t panic, it was just by accident, though…I wasn’t aiming for him.”
“I should hope not.”
“But someone else tried to do it intentionally.” Silence. Crow said, “Terry?”
There was a sigh at the other end of the line. “Tell me that again. Someone else tried to…”
“…Run him over, yeah. The kid was pedaling along A-32 when this tow-truck comes zooming down the road and tries to run him over.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Crow, the guy probably didn’t see him. Kid on a bike out on the highway. Like I said, the trucker probably never saw him. You just said you almost did the same thing.”
“Kid says that the tow-truck went out of its way to chase him down. The kid was in the oncoming lane, crowding the shoulder, and the truck swerved into the lane and accelerated toward him.”
“Oh, come on.”
“I believe he’s telling the truth, Terry.” For just a moment Crow thought about the incident from a different perspective. Mike’s stepfather was Vic Wingate, who was widely believed to be physically abusive to the kid; and Vic worked for Shanahan’s Garage, and Shanahan owned a tow-truck. Could it have been Vic behind the wheel? He thought about that for a second and then dismissed it as fanciful.
“Crow, we really do have more important fish to fry than some trucker, probably drunk, who may or may not have even seen the kid. I mean, really.”
“Kid got hurt.”
A pause. “Hurt? How bad? Do you need an ambulance?”
“No, nothing like that. Busted rib or two, some bruises. Got a bit of a knock on the head, though. I think he should go to the emergency room. At least have a doctor look at the rib and his head.”
“Where are you now?”
“On A-32, on the service pull-off near Shandy’s Curve. I can’t lug the kid all the way to the hayride with me, though, and if I take him over to the hospital, I won’t get to the hayride until well after eleven.”
“That’s too late.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Can’t you call his folks? Have them pick him up at the hayride?”
“Mm. I guess so….”
“Try it.”
“Maybe. Guess who is stepdad is? Vic Wingate.”
There was a thick silence on the line. “Oh. Great.”
“Uh-huh.” Everyone in town knew Vic Wingate. Those who weren’t downright afraid of him merely loathed him. “Because of the accident, the kid’s really late. Vic has this thing about being home on time….”
“Vic’ll probably give the kid a hiding for having the temerity to have his ribs broken.”
“That would be my call,” Crow agreed.
“So, what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to call him, actually. Tell him that Mike was run down by a reckless driver and is going to be needed as a material witness.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can.”
“We’ll never find whoever tried to run him down. The kid’ll never be called as a witness, you know that.”
“Sure. I know it, and you know it, but Vic Wingate doesn’t know it. But if he thinks that the cops are going to want to talk to Mike occasionally, he might be a little less likely to slap the kid around. At least for a little while.”
“I just don’t know….”
“Oh, come on, Terry. You’re a politician,
“Oh…okay, okay. Whatever. Darn it, Crow, one of these days all that spillage from your bleeding heart is going to drown you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’ll make the call or not?”
“Yeah, I’ll make the call, but listen, Crow, you get your behind out to that hayride. We’ve got to get those kids out of there. The smelly stuff is really flying around here tonight.”
“They still haven’t caught the psychos yet?”
“No, and I’m hip-deep in Philly cops. It seems,” Terry said, dropping his voice, “that these psychos are the real deal. Not just some clowns running from a stickup at a Wawa. These are some serious bad boys, m’man.”
“What do you mean?”
Terry’s voice dropped even lower. “One of the guys is some madman named Karl Ruger.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Yes, you have.”
“No, I—”
“Ever heard of the Cape May Killer?”
“Yeah. Who hasn’t?”
Terry said nothing, letting Crow work it out. It didn’t take long. “Oh my God!”
“Uh-huh.”
“I mean…oh my
“Yep.”
“Christ, Terry, are you sure?”
“He was ID’d by the Philly cops.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Yeah. So,” said Terry, “did you remember to bring your gun?”
“Huh? Oh…yeah, I got it.”
“Is it loaded?”
“Of course it’s loaded.”
“Then keep it close, my brother, ’cause Halloween’s come to town early this year.”
“What d’you mean?”
“There are monsters out there tonight,” Terry said, but despite his flippant words, there was little humor in his voice.
Crow switched off the phone and frowned into the shadows for a few moments; then he hit speed-dial for Val’s cell phone, but it rang through to her voice mail. He left a message for a callback, ended the call, walked back to the car, got in, and sat behind the wheel staring out at the night for a long time. Beside him, Mike sat patiently, waiting in silence. Finally, Crow turned to him and said, “I just spoke with the mayor. He’s going to call your mom
