Thomas rode shotgun in Presley’s cruiser. During the drive into Barton Falls, he wished he’d driven his own vehicle. He couldn’t lead the investigation as a passenger, and he feared Detective Presley’s insistence that Valerie Leonard was the killer would derail the case. She refused to speak until they reached the town’s outskirts. Her jaw set with indignation, Presley pulled to the curb outside the Raimi residence.
Gardner Raimi lived with his parents on Baldwin Street in a two-story Cape Cod with beige siding. Decorative spiderwebs trailed along the porch, and a candle burned inside a pumpkin on the top step. The lights were out inside the house, while a television flickered from the living room.
Presley hopped out of the cruiser and marched toward the steps. Thomas grabbed the detective’s arm and pulled her back.
“What?”
“Something is wrong,” he said, drawing a confused glare from the detective.
Thomas removed the gun from his holster. Her eyes widened.
“Is that necessary?”
He moved in front of Presley and ascended the steps. The front door stood open to the screen, allowing the October chill to flow unimpeded through the downstairs. Papers flitted back and forth over the hardwood floor.
“The door is open,” he said.
“Might be because a kid just knocked, begging for candy. God, I hate this stupid holiday.”
But Thomas didn’t see a bowl of candy inside the doorway. And nobody in their right mind would leave the door open on a night this cold. With the gun at his side, he rapped his knuckles against the screen door. It sounded like someone banged on a snare drum.
“Mr. and Mrs. Raimi? Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department.”
No answer. A scream came from inside the living room. Presley met his eyes.
“Tell me that was the television.”
“If they’re expecting trick-or-treaters, why haven’t they answered?”
A vein pulsed in the detective’s neck as her hand drifted toward her weapon. The wind abated, and Thomas caught scent of the metallic, coppery stench rolling through the screen. His eyes swung toward the source. A heeled foot poked out from behind the sofa as blood seeped into the hardwood.
Thomas yanked the screen door open and led Presley into the entryway. He swung his weapon around the corner.
“Clear.”
His voice knocked Presley out of her daze. She covered his back as Thomas hurried to aid the victim.
He rounded the couch and pulled up, one hand over his mouth, holding back a wretch. Mrs. Raimi lay beside her husband, her throat slit ear-to-ear. A waterfall of lifeblood soaked her clothes, pooling into a macabre lake on the floor. Stab wounds punctured the father’s chest, a carbon copy of Derek Jordan’s murder. And blood continued to drip…drip…drip through the floor slats.
“Jesus,” Presley said behind him, drawing a breath.
She radioed for an ambulance as Thomas checked each victim for a pulse. Nothing.
“No heartbeats.”
With backup on the way, Presley checked the downstairs while Thomas raced up the staircase. The first bedroom belonged to the parents. The room at the end of the hallway stood open. Thomas swung around the doorway and froze.
The Halloween Man glared from the far corner. The figure stood over six feet tall, a butcher’s knife clutched in one hand. A pumpkin mask concealed his face. Thomas fixed his weapon on the mythical serial killer before he realized it was a dummy. Gardner Raimi’s obsession seemed boundless. On the desk, the teenager had written the names of his parents, Derek Jordan, Leland Trivett, and Valerie Leonard on a sheet of paper. All but the last were crossed out.
The hairs stood on the back of his neck when Thomas passed the mannequin. Reaching for the closet door, he pulled it open and swept the gun into the shadowed corners. After searching the upstairs, he met Presley on the lower landing.
“There’s a BOLO out on Gardner Raimi,” she said, holstering her gun. “What kind of psychopath murders his parents?”
“He’s recreating Valerie’s story about the Halloween Man.”
“You think he’ll go after Valerie next?”
“He has to. She’s the last target on his list.”
As backup arrived to secure the house, Thomas and Presley bounded down the steps. They needed to reach the Leonard residence before Gardner claimed his last victim.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
October 31st
10:05 p.m.
Raven wore a hole in the floor as she paced back and forth in the living room. LeVar leaned against the wall with his arms folded, stewing, the muscles in his arms twitching with unspent fury. She should have assumed Mark Benson would break inside her home. But they couldn’t cover the county, even with the sheriff’s department on the case. After they took away Benson’s hiding places—the farmhouse and the gymnasium—and saved Ellie Fisher from another abduction attempt, the convict chose his last option. Attack Raven in her own home.
For months, Raven had feared he’d break out of prison and attack her while she slept. Now she tamped down the terror and replaced it with an unwavering desire for vengeance. Benson had violated her home and threatened their mother. She had to catch him before the night ended.
While Darren spoke on the phone with Thomas, Deputy Lambert interviewed Serena, who huddled on the couch beneath a blanket, a mug of hot chocolate in her hands. During the interview, Aguilar searched the house and dusted for evidence. She pulled prints off the front door, the doorknobs to the bedrooms, even the closet inside Serena’s room. Benson hadn’t bothered to wear gloves. With nothing left to lose, the psychopath wasn’t taking precautions.
After Lambert finished, LeVar and Raven flanked Serena on the couch and kept her company.
“One of us will stay with you until sunrise,” Raven said, wrapping her mother in a hug.
Serena shook her head.
“You can’t be in two places at once. Catch this bastard and put him away. For good this time.”
“We’re not leaving you alone,” LeVar protested.
Serena lifted her chin.
“You won’t have to. I’m coming with you.”
Raven glanced at her brother.
“That’s a bad idea,” Raven said. “You’re not qualified to chase escaped convicts.”
“So I’ll stay in the Rogue and let you handle the hard part. I’m
