The clouds had built up again and took away all hopes that the day would be pleasant. The air was heavy and motionless and Carver headed for the crime scene with a deep, deep dread filling his stomach.
There were already enough cops around to potentially compromise the crime scene but the good news was none of them seemed overly interested in going past the yellow crime scene tape and checking out the scene. Several reporters hovered around the edges. But none of them were allowed past, and judging by the looks on a few faces, it was obvious that they had tried their luck already and failed. The ones that were hanging around were the dregs, the paparazzi and similar ilk who sought the sensational for a quick profit. He scowled as he saw them.
King and Cantrell walked with him, both of them in suits that made them look like real agents and not like kids dressed for the part.
King coughed into his hand and Carver looked toward him as they reached the tape barrier.
“What’s up?” Carver’s voice was no nonsense, which was exactly how he was feeling.
“You want to do me a favor? Get your guys to lose the photographers?”
Michael smiled at that. He hadn’t thought about the fact that the two were here at a crime scene and still ready to go undercover in the very near future.
One quick gesture brought Caras and Jansen running. “Want to get the camera jockeys out of here? And if they look like they want to take a picture of anyone or anything, you take the cameras from them.
Caras cleared his throat. “What about their rights?”
Carver grinned. “They don’t have any. This is a crime scene and the feds will back us on that decision.”
That put a smile on the slender cop’s face. “Cool.”
The two headed toward the photographers and gestured for a few more to join them. While the shutterbugs were busy, the trio slipped past the yellow tape.
And stared at the carnage.
Heads, bodies, blood and viscera.
Carver felt proud of himself, he wasn’t the first one to run past the tape to vomit.
That had been three hours earlier and they were still on the scene but now the coroner had come through and most of the bodies and their shredded parts had been bagged and removed.
King and Cantrell were in charge and that suited Carver just fine. He sat back and let them handle all of the details while he recovered himself.
Cantrell walked over to where he was leaning against the wall and joined him, her face as pale as he suspected his was.
“This guy…he’s not normal.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that.”
“The survivor, Adam Salinger…he swears it was a guy dressed as a clown.”
Michael managed not to jump completely out of his skin.
Cantrell studied him for several silent seconds, her face carefully neutral.
“I heard a story about a few cops cutting loose all over a clown faced guy involved in the kidnapping. I also hear the body of the killer went missing.”
Carver looked at her for several seconds, his face just as carefully neutral and finally she nodded her head.
“So where do we go from here?” His voice was calm. His heart felt like it would never slow down again.
She shrugged her shoulders and forced a very small smile. “Philadelphia.”
“You still want me along?”
“Of course.” There was no subtext that he could decipher.
Finally he nodded his head. “So do we know why Booker or whoever is after these people?”
“No clue. All we know is these were most of the higher ups inside the Carnivale’s corporate offices.”
“So he’s got a hard on for the show?”
“Yeah. Big time.”
Carver stared at the floor. The blood was drying quickly, turning everything a dark, rusty color.
“The guy give you anything else? Does he have a clue?”
“No,” she frowned. “Well, yes, I think he does, but he isn’t talking much. He’s too freaked out.”
Carver nodded. There was nothing to say to that. Everyone who’d come into the room had been horrified and none of them could have called the dead people acquaintances or business partners.
The two of them stayed next to each other in comfortable silence for several minutes until King came over, shaking his head and frowning.
“This,” said King “is getting messy.”
“Not much messier than whoever did this.”
“You think it was Booker?”
Carver shook his head. “I saw the dead body. His face was still intact but that was about all that was still intact. Seriously, he got all kinds of hell blown out of him.” There was a surprising lack of guilt as he spoke. He’d expected to feel something, some sort of dread at having taken a life, but all he could see whenever he thought about the situation was the casual way in which the clown had thrown that poor baby boy into the air and let him fall.
“Well then, maybe he has an accomplice.” King scowled and crossed his arms.
“That’s not a fun thought.”
“Beats all hell out of Booker coming back from the dead.” Cantrell was trying for a joke, but Michael couldn’t make himself laugh. The idea was just too damned creepy, especially when he considered what had happened to the people preparing to autopsy the body.
“I just want this done.” His tone was dark. “Whoever this is, whatever he wants or they want, I want this shit done with.”
Cantrell’s hand patted his. It could have been a patronizing gesture, but her fingers felt good and gave him comfort. Maybe it was just any human contact after so much bloodshed. He hadn’t let himself bother with people in a long time. The job made it too easy to shut yourself off from the world and even knowing that, he seldom did anything to stop it.
“So let’s finish this if we can. The show has gone to Philadelphia and we’re going after them.” King’s tone was calm, secure. “Next show is in two days and I won’t be surprised to find our man out there somewhere.”
Carver nodded, but his stomach twisted into a nervous knot at the notion. He wasn’t completely sure that they were dealing with a human being anymore and that thought scared the hell out of him.
The shovel cut through the hard soil, and with each scoop of dirt he got closer to finding his last relative.
Above him the concrete floor of the warehouse had been shattered and pushed aside. The skin growing over his ruined hands hadn’t finished mending him yet, but he would take care of that as soon as he was done digging. The one security guard had only provided enough flesh to heal him once and breaking the concrete had been traumatic to his hands and arms.
The warehouse was silent, save for the sounds of his digging, and that suited the clown just dandy. He wanted time to think and he had all the time he needed as he dug the hole. The structure had been built in Virginia for two reasons. First, the price was right and second, it was convenient to where the body of Meaghan Phelps had been stored for several weeks.
You know the right people, you can hide anything. Good ol’ Adam knew lots of people and the ones he didn’t know were handled by Todd Westingham. Todd wouldn’t be helping anymore. Being dead slowed him down more than it did Rufo. Well, so far at least. He hadn’t been the only one to ever climb out of the grave and he knew that.
The blade bit into hard dirt again, and struck something with a harsh, ringing note. He set the shovel to the side and crouched lower, brushing at the object. It only took him a moment to identify the limb he’d hit. It was a leg, mostly meatless now, but a leg.
Five minutes of frantic digging and he had the cadaver freed from the dirt. What was left of Meaghan Phelps was wrapped in a canvas sack. He stared at the package for several minutes after climbing free of the hole he’d dug.
The bundle was so tiny, so fragile, and it unsettled him. This had been a life, a living being. He unveiled her corpse with more reverence than he’d expected to feel, and looked up the ruination of his family line.
Dead and rotted, lost to the world and lost to him. Here lay the girl he’d wanted to meet, wanted to see dancing and smiling and happy. He’d have left her in peace if he’d known she died happily, but that wasn’t the case, was it? Someone had done her wrong. He knew the name now, but still had not seen the face.
Long fingers brushed dirt away from the face of a dead woman. He could see the trauma that had been done to her skull and even see the lines that the rope had made around her neck as it was pulled tight. Similar ligature marks covered her wrists and her ankles.
“How long did it take you to die, Meaghan? How long before he let you go?” Rufo barely even recognized his own voice as he spoke. Odd, to ask a question that he had never once asked of his victims over the years, especially since he had killed so many….
She did not answer him. There was nothing but flesh here. No spirit, no life, just rotted meat, and a husk that was as useless as the canvas that had surrounded the body.
“Well, let’s finish this, shall we?” His voice was more cheerful again, but it was a false cheer. “Let’s get this done once and for all. So we can put paid to the Phelps name.”
He wrapped her back in her canvas and then pulled plastic from the closest pallet of supplies. The thick plastic sheet worked beautifully to wrap canvas and corpse alike. When he was done, Rufo carried the bundle over his shoulder like a sack full of toys made just for old Saint Nick.
He chuckled at that thought. He hadn’t even considered Christmas in years.
But, oh, he would be thinking about it when he finished his tasks. There were a few more things that had to be done, a few more accounts to be settled and then he could move on with his new life.
Sometimes accounts have to be paid. Sometimes they have to be paid in blood and pain.
And sometimes they have to be paid with a great deal of interest. Rufo the clown knew all about that sort of thing. He’d been paying for years.
Tia unpacked her meager belongings and then started sorting through the rest of the packages that comprised her costumes for the show. There were enough bundles to be unsettling.
Her stomach was a knot of frayed nerves, but she didn’t much mind. The trip up had been uneventful and even though neither of them had spoken about the situation she knew that Leslie was as unsettled as she was.
She’d never even looked at girls that way before.
Tia pushed the thought aside. She couldn’t be a lesbian; her dad would have a coronary.
It wasn’t something she could handle, so she settled for thinking about other things.
The show was still two days away. That night there would be more interviews, more cameras and another party to attend. They would work better than most things to distract her from her thoughts of Leslie.
A quick sigh. The memory of Leslie’s touch left her feeling flustered and wanting to feel that soft, beautiful caress again. She’d been raised with the firm understanding that her parents wanted lots of grandkids. The two were not supposed to work together.
Justin Burton, one of the assistant choreographers, knocked on her door and called out, “Staff meeting in fifteen minutes, Tia. Make sure you aren’t late!”
“Okay, Jus…. Thanks!”
Justin’s feet were already in motion, scrambling off toward Leslie’s dressing room.
Thinking of Leslie brought her back to the same thoughts again, where her mind stayed until she heard the sounds of everyone leaving for the main stage and the meeting.
She left her room at the same time that Leslie did. It was a coincidence, but one that left her with the same edgy excitement twisting through her stomach.
Leslie looked at her with an expression that Tia had seen in her own mirror a thousand times since they’d kissed. Then Tia made herself smile and was rewarded by Leslie’s beautiful smile cast back at her.
Leslie moved to her and before she could leave her dressing room’s threshold the girl urged her back into the room and closed the door.
“I—we’re gonna be late to the meeting.” Tia was at a loss for what to say. Feeling Leslie’s body heat so close to her was already making her flustery all over again.
“Hush.” Leslie’s finger pressed against Tia’s lips, urging her to silence. “Listen, I didn’t expect it and you didn’t. I know that. I just…I wanted you to know, I don’t regret it. Okay? We can talk later. We need to talk later, but I wanted you to know, I’m glad it happened, no matter what.”
Tia felt her eyes mist and her body relax. She’d been so afraid that Leslie would blame her, maybe even hate her.
Before she could do more than nod her head, Leslie was kissing her. Not a deep, passionate affair, but a quick peck on the lips before she pulled back. “Let’s go listen to the bosses talk.”
Tia nodded her head, made breathless by the words, the actions of the girl she stood with.
Did she know what was going to happen in the future? No. But maybe now she could get through the day without wanting to cry and that was something. That was a big something.
They walked toward the meeting and Tia felt like she was floating. She was barely even aware of moving at all, but she felt the fingers wrapped into hers and loved the way those fingers felt.
The auditorium was huge, bigger by far than the one where they’d been performing, and most of the sets were not fully assembled, but were getting there. She looked at the ice palace again, as she did almost every time she walked along the stage, and smiled. It was a beautiful prop and she loved the way it made her feel.
Almost everyone was already there, and most of the performers had chosen to sit Indian style on the floor of the stage. Leslie and Tia did the same, relaxing among the people who were almost like a second family. There were several new people in place as well, most of them looking a little nervous. She recognized one of them as the Alexandria cop who had interviewed her after the first bodies were found. Carter, or something like that. He was a good looking man and sort of scary with how intense he could be, but she was glad to see him, because from what she’d watched before he was determined to stop anyone else getting hurt.
Justin was the one who spoke. Most of the big wigs weren’t there to be seen and she figured that meant they were dealing with the regular problems of handling the press and everything else.
“Okay, people. Let’s keep this short and sweet because I know we all want to get unpacked and get back to having lives.” Justin’s hands waved like hummingbirds as he spoke. “Some of you might remember Detective Carver, he’s with the police. He’s come along to work with the local police and to make sure that everyone stays nice and safe. I better not hear about anyone giving him any shit, because first, he’s cute and I want to seduce him….” Justin rolled his eyes playfully as he spoke. The detective turned a deep shade of red that had most everyone chuckling. “And second, he’s here to protect us. So don’t disappoint me here, make him want to stay around for as long as he has to.”
If anyone expected Carver to say anything, they were disappointed. He waved politely and then went back to crossing his arms and looking at everyone like a potential suspect.
Justin kept talking and introduced a dozen new people. Most of them were new hires to take care of everything behind the scenes. Four of them were dancers and performers. Not surprisingly, a few people had decided not to keep on with the show.
None of it mattered. Tia wanted to get unpacked and then she wanted to act like a high school girl and crush all over Leslie for a while. It was nice to be young and to have someone who liked her back. The rest of it could wait for now.
The new dancers looked around with a puzzled expression and Leslie nudged her. “Let’s meet the new kids.” Tia nodded and smiled. Leslie could have suggested that they go shopping for chainsaws and barbed wire to wear as their new outfits and she would have nodded and smiled.
The hotel room was nothing spectacular. It was, in fact, a dive. The bed had a cover that had probably last been washed a few months earlier and he would have doubted the sanitary condition of the sheets if he hadn’t been setting a rotted body on top of them.
Meaghan’s corpse seemed smaller in the room, which was saying a lot as she wasn’t very large to begin with. He sat next to the corpse and moved the bones delicately, positioning them so that she looked more at peace, at least to his eyes.
One long finger ran along the face, touching the moldering flesh. He didn’t need to be a forensic specialist to know that the skin over the bones had once been lovely. He had memories of her, fleeting though they were and diluted by technology that had let him see her in the first place.
“Were you ever happy, Meaghan?” The question was conversational, but he wasn’t expecting an answer.
He opened the cell phone he’d stolen an hour earlier and dialed the number he’d memorized a long time ago. The voice at the other end was comforting, familiar and a little scary.
“This is Albert, how can I help you?”
“Albert, it’s Rufo.”
“How are you, my boy? I was wondering when you would get back to me.” His tone was confident and assured. He knew the score. The clown needed his help for almost anything he wanted to do at this point.
“I’ve found her body, Albert. I have Meaghan.”
“Well, come along then. Do you want her brought back or not?” That tone of almost boredom was a barb aimed at him and he knew it. He was also wise enough not to let the man’s attitude get in the way of accomplishing what he wanted.
“Ask her, Albert. Ask her. I’ll be at your house in Salem soon and I’ll bring the body with me.”
Miles disconnected the call and Rufo carefully set about rewrapping the remains of his last flesh and blood kin.
“We’re going to get this all taken care of, Meaghan. Just you wait and see.”
News gets around. It was inevitable that most people would find out about the murders involving the Carnivale. They did their best to suppress the information and they did a good job, but by the day after the murders had occurred the media was examining every possible angle for the connections between the board of directors and the bodies left behind by the man who called himself John Booker.
To make matters worse, there were people who wanted to know exactly how it was that he had survived being shot repeatedly by police at the scene of his showdown.
The speculations were epic and completely wrong. A bit actor from two seasons earlier had attempted to sue the Carnivale and failed. That would have been the end of the situation, but he bore a passing resemblance to the killer and for the next two days his life was examined by the best investigators the media could afford. Instead of focusing on where he had been during the crimes, they focused on what he had done in the past and Andy Nuell, a dancer who had tried to sue for sexual harassment and had all but been laughed out of court—became the center of several farfetched speculations. He was accused of nearly every crime by some of the more zealous reporters and denounced by most as the worst sort of sleaze.
The lawsuits are still pending in most of the cases. His chances are slightly better this time around. In the meantime, the celebrity has increased his marketability and led to several offers of bit parts on soap operas and even a walk on role in a forthcoming movie.
Despite the negative press, or maybe because of it, tickets for the Philadelphia shows became extremely prized among scalpers. A few sold for as much as a thousand dollars over the original asking price.
The demand was so much, in fact, that four additional shows were added. They’d have probably added more, but New York was after Philadelphia and they had already committed to Radio City Music Hall.
In the city of Philadelphia, the people were ready to go to the circus, to celebrate the mystery of how the Alexander Halston Carnival of the Fantastic had vanished from the face of the earth. The papers held interviews with the performers and carried bios of the more famous members of the troupe. One reporter from the Examiner actually took the time to track down a few documented sightings of the carnival and discovered that it had come through Philadelphia no less than four times before it disappeared.
That reporter, Lacey Champlain, managed something that no one else had managed to date: she found and posted a picture of the troupe, a grainy black and white thing that had been taken over fifty years earlier.
The clown that stood in the background looked quite a bit different from the man who’d terrorized Virginia. The markings on his face were similar, but beyond that they had almost nothing in common. The clown in the picture was wearing a tuxedo and had a top hat in his hand. The killer in Virginia had been wearing less flashy attire. The man in the picture had eyes that could be said to know of kindness and hope. A certain detective who was visiting Philadelphia—and who had seen the photograph and slipped it into his wallet more on a whim than anything else—would have been the first to say there was nothing remotely like compassion in the eyes of the madman who killed a family of three and then fired on the police as well. He knew, because for the last five nights he’s dreamed of that psychotic bastard and shivered in his sleep.
Philadelphia was ready for the show. They were excited by the notion.
So was Rufo the Clown, but he had one last matter to attend to before the time came for him to visit the circus.
That matter he attended to in Massachusetts.