suit I had gotten at a thrift shop for fifteen dollars. It was shiny at the elbows, and was probably last worn by the man who had died in it back in the mid-seventies. It fit like a glove. I was also sporting a pair of black shoes I had to pay a little more for—men don’t part with nice black shoes until they are destroyed—and the sunglasses I wore when I kicked that guy’s ass a handful of days before.
There were a lot of church people at the funeral, as well as students and friends of the dead girl. Everyone else was media, and if not that, then
As the priest went on with his shtick about eternal life coming down to the little town princess, I started thinking about all the people I’d put down over the years. I wondered if any of them got any kind of burial service. As far as I know, there just wasn’t a whole hell of a lot left of them to bury—and that kind of got me all maudlin. There were a handful I’d have liked to have seen off, if for no other reason than I’d know where to go back to if I ever felt like pissing on someone’s grave.
It wasn’t often that I felt completely justified sending the wolf after a particular person. Sometimes I had to settle for someone who didn’t really deserve to die. But I had zero sympathy for my new target. In regards to pissing on someone’s grave, I figured if things worked out right, I could start off with this fucking Rose Killer, once I got my mitts on him.
TEN
I woke up on the day of the full moon in a great mood, and why wouldn’t I have? The world was just hours away from having a creep known as the Rose Killer wiped from existence. Yeah, I felt pretty chipper indeed.
When I got to work my usual five minutes late, Anthony Mannuzza’s Mach 1 was parked out front, and he was leaning against the side of it with a cigarette in one hand and a handful of loose papers in the other.
I pulled up next to him and got out of the truck. I put my keys in my left hand just in case I had to put the right one to work.
He smiled. “I’ve been waiting for coffee.”
“Keep waiting,” I said, and I brushed past him to climb the stairs.
“Aren’t you even curious why I’m here?”
“I know why,” I said. “You’re a glutton for punishment.”
He smiled again and sidled up next to me. He showed me what the papers were—black-and-white photographs. The picture on top was an eight-by-ten shot of me in my suit and sunglasses.
He had been at the funeral.
“How the fuck did you take this without me seeing you?”
“Telescopic lens,” he said. “I have all kinds of equipment in the car.”
“I thought you were full of shit about being a picture man.”
“I wasn’t.”
“It’s a good picture,” I said honestly. “But if I’d have seen you, I would have broken your camera for taking it.”
“I know.”
I unlocked the door to the restaurant, and Anthony followed me in. Once I took all the chairs down and got the gear in the kitchen going, I made a pot of coffee. Outside, I saw Abe’s Buick pull into a spot, but he didn’t get out, the prick.
“Who develops these?” I asked. “I wouldn’t think the local pharmacy would do a nice job like this.”
“I do it myself.”
“What, like in a darkroom?”
“I do it in the hotel room. Turn out all the lights and so on. All the equipment fits in the car. I wouldn’t trust some small-town rummy with my negatives.”
“Not bad.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m a fucking great artist.”
He showed me another shot of a woman and her baby, sitting near the big fountain in Applegate Park.
“Nice,” I said.
He showed me another.
This one was of a tree.
“Is this in the park?”
“No,” said Anthony.
The tree was massive, but lightning had cleaved it clean in half some time between now and who knows when. As it stood, it was a ten-foot-tall pillar of wood, probably about five feet across.
He asked, “Do you know this tree?”
I looked at him like he had farted in an elevator.
“How the fuck am I supposed to know every goddamn tree in the world?”
He didn’t respond. He handed me another shot. This one was a close-up of the same tree. A crest was apparent in the wood. It was an elaborately carved heart with two crossed arrows darting through it at angles. In the center were the names Johnny and June, and even the names were carved elaborately.
“Damn,” I said.
“You like that? Those carvings go into the wood about a quarter of an inch. Whoever did that spent a lot of time working on it.”
“Never seen it.”
“It’s south. In the woods. That’s my cover shot for the book.” Anthony glowed as he inspected his own work.
“You can keep those,” he said.
“Fabulous.”
I folded the pictures and stuffed them in my back pocket, which made him flinch visibly. I smiled.
“Any word on the guy that was eaten in the woods?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“That’s too bad. You think there’s any way I could get a shot of the guy’s car?”
“I doubt it,” I said. “Either his wife got it back, or it’s been impounded. I have no idea, and I don’t think anyone would go to the trouble of finding out for you.”
“What about with this dead woman? Any news on her? Or I guess it’s not just the one, the way the papers are talking….”
“I know what you know.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Hey, man, no offense. I only mean to say it’s like you seem to have your finger on the pulse, you know what I mean? You know what goes on around here.”
“What do you care? It’s not like you live here….”
“I don’t want to sound shallow, but this is great material. I mean, here I am driving through the middle of nowhere, and all of a sudden the bodies start piling up. I couldn’t write this stuff if I wanted to, but I could still make a book about it, since that’s what I’m doing anyway. If they think this Rose Killer guy has moved on, then there’s no point in me sticking around any longer than I have to.”
“You don’t strike me as an intrepid reporter,” I said.
“Never planned to be,” he replied.
“Well, like I said, Jersey boy, I know what you know. However, I will say this: It’s only a matter of time before this sick fuck goes down hard. I guarantee it.”
“How do you know? Do they have a lead?”
“Fuck leads, Liberace. We got monsters in the woods, remember?”
