As they left the building and walked toward the car, Riley sawthat it was getting dark outside, and the reporters who had besieged themearlier had given up and left for the day.
When they climbed into the car, Ann Marie said, “Well. That waskind of a bummer.”
That’s an understatement, Riley said.
Ann Marie added, “Maybe we should get something to eat before wedrive back to Quantico. Have we got enough gas for the trip?”
Riley didn’t reply. She thought hard as she sat at the wheelwithout turning on the ignition. Sheriff Wightman had made himself more thanclear just now.
“I won’t be needing the two of you anymore.”
She knew that it was also true that she and Ann Marie were hereat his pleasure, and he could order them to go whenever he wished.
But still …
She turned to Ann Marie and asked her, “Do you think BradCribbins is our killer?”
Ann Marie crinkled her brow, as if surprised at the question.
“No,” she said. “No way.”
Riley felt relieved that she and her new partner were inagreement.
“Good,” she said. “It looks like we’ll be spending another nightin Winneway. Let’s go get something to eat.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The man was enjoying the dancing clatter of Pan’s cloven feet asthey capered to the faint flutelike sound. Soon the tune would grow louder andthese feet would leave their mark on a new sacrifice to the ancient god ofchaos.
For a moment, he stopped the feet from dancing and admired hishandiwork. He’d carved these two actual-sized wooden goat’s feet out of hickoryhimself. He’d done the job according to Pan’s instructions and design withoutknowing what they were for. The wooden feet had been ready when Pan had toldhim to sacrifice that young boy some eight years ago.
After he’d strangled the boy, Pan told him exactly what to do. Heheld the carved feet against the boy’s dead flesh, then struck them repeatedlywith a hammer until they left hoof-shaped indentations. The pounding took agood deal of effort and strength, especially around the victim’s chest, whereribs had to be broken. But when he finished, he could see the effect wasremarkable.
The body looked as if a goat—or rather the two-legged “Goatman”of Maryland legend—had danced all over it.
Absolutely brilliant, the man thought.
He only hoped that the public would start reacting to the Goatmanconnection at long last. The police had shrewdly kept the contents of hismessages secret. So far, only the cops had known that he was attributing thekillings to the Goatman.
But lately he’d started telling everyone he met about a “rumor”that the Goatman was at large and killing people—and he came into contact witha lot of people daily. With some luck, the idea would catch on and add to thepublic hysteria.
Meanwhile, it seemed rather sad that the boy’s body still layburied, and that the exquisite touch remained unappreciated. The manwondered—if the body were found someday soon, as he had reason to hope it wouldbe, would the hoof prints still be visible? Or would they be erased by physicaldecay?
He also wondered about the woman he had killed four years ago,and whose body had never been found. It would be a shame if impressions were nolonger visible.
But Pan truly had an extraordinary imagination. He had alsoinstructed the man to compose clever messages, at first teasing the dull-wittedpolice with an empty grave, and now a year later revealing the locations of themost recent victims.
The man smiled at the thought of the girl he’d killed lastHalloween.
The footprints must definitely have been visible on her.
The body wouldn’t have been as decomposed as the others, and theprints had made an especially sharp impression in the skeleton costume she’dbeen wearing.
As for the woman from the high school, Pan had been especiallyinspired on that occasion. What a stroke of sheer brilliance it had been to “plant”the corpse underneath a maple sapling! The roots of that tree must have beencharmingly intertwined with the woman’s bones. He only wished he could haveseen how the body had looked when it had been disinterred this morning.
In his dictated message, Pan had described the spectacle in wordsof sheer poetry.
BLOOD RED FROM THEROOTS
THE SAPLING GROWSNICELY NOW.
The glory would go to Pan someday—perhaps very, very soon.Perhaps the time was near when Pan would finally release his stampede ofuniversal panic upon the whole human race.
Pan’s shrill melody was already growing louder now. Giggling, heset the feet in motion again, tapping them against the top of his coffee table,making them dance ecstatically. A familiar exhilaration was rising inside ofhim. Pan was filling him with a wild, jubilant power created by thousands ofyears of legend.
And tomorrow night, on the Hallowed Eve, he would do Pan’s willagain.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
The next morning, the silence at breakfast was making Riley feeltense and uncomfortable. She and Ann Marie were sitting at a table at one sideof the motel breakfast area, having an actual sit-down meal and coffee in realmugs for a change. All around them families and other groups of people werechatting away, but at their own table there was only the occasional faint clinkof a fork against a plate.
Riley was sure that her young partner was waiting for her to saysomething—to come up with some brilliant plan. After all, it had been Riley’sidea yesterday to stay here in Winneway and not drive back to Quantico. Rileyhad hoped that she’d have some idea what to do today after a good night’ssleep.
But morning was here, and she still had no ideas. In fact, hersleep hadn’t even been all that great. She had awakened from hazy dreams shecouldn’t quite remember … something about ghosts and goblins, she thought. Theyhadn’t been friendly kids in cute costumes, but something definitely moredangerous.
And now it was Halloween. The kids in cute costumes would be outtonight, at least until the curfew. She was sure that at least one real monsterwould be out there too. She was sure that the killer who called himself theGoatman would strike again tonight. She didn’t yet know how to stop him.
She remembered how indignant the sheriff had been yesterday whenRiley had told him she thought
