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Sackville, June 14
3:18 p.m.
Allan had sealed the devil’s mask inside an evidence bag. It could mean nothing, just pure coincidence, or it could mean everything.
The mask looked relatively new, not something that had sat around in a junk box for years. Why did Kaufman, a man of twenty-eight, even have it? Most certainly not to go out trick-or-treating, and he didn’t seem the type to dress up for a Halloween party. Allan had the dark suspicion Kaufman would want a mask for one thing—to conceal his identity for the commission of a robbery or some other crime.
There had been no mask at Todd Dory’s place. But Audra had found a set of white Halloween contact lenses in a dresser drawer. When Allan read that in her files, it bothered him for some reason, and he couldn’t put his finger on why. White eyes, white eyes kept playing over and over in his mind.
He took the mask to Ripster’s Halloween Shop in Lower Sackville, his fourth stop of the day. The short man at the counter wore black-rimmed glasses and a white butcher’s apron covered in bloodstains. His nametag said, Rob.
“Afternoon.” He glanced down at the badge on Allan’s belt. “What can I do for Halifax’s finest?”
Allan set the mask down in front of him. “I’d like to know if this came from your store.”
Rob looked it over. “Don’t think so. But I’ve seen this one before.”
“Where?”
Rob frowned. “Hmm. Not sure. It looks like the work of Ghoulish Productions. Give me a sec.”
He reached under the counter and brought up a stack of catalogues. Rifling through them, he took one aside and thumbed through the pages.
“Yep,” he said. “Thought so.” He turned the catalogue around so Allan could see and tapped his finger on a picture. “Right there.”
Allan gazed down at the page and nodded. It was the same mask all right.
“Ghoulish makes some awesome stuff,” Rob said. “I sell a lot of it here.”
Allan raised his head. “And you’re sure you never had this one in stock?”
“Pretty sure, yeah.”
“Who does your ordering?”
“I do,” Rob said. “I own Ripster’s.” He gave his head a quick scratch. “I can check my invoices, if you want.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“It’ll take ten, fifteen minutes to go through them all.”
Allan waved it off. “Take your time. I’m on the clock.”
Rob gestured for him to follow. “C’mon back to my office.”
Allan took the mask and catalogue with him. Rob went over to a filing cabinet in the corner and rolled out the top drawer. Allan took a seat in front of the cluttered desk. He flipped through the pages of the catalogue, looking over all kinds of gruesome masks—vampires, werewolves, zombies, serial killers.
He read the company information on the back cover. Ghoulish Productions was located in Mexico. Allan took out his notebook and wrote down their phone number.
“Here it is,” Rob said, pulling out a folder stuffed with papers. “What’s the product number on the mask?”
Allan gave it to him. He watched Rob sit down at the desk and pore over the stack of invoices. As he reached the last of them, his face sagged.
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Didn’t think I had that one in the store before. Have you tried Glow Parties?”
“They sent me here.”
“Boutilliers?”
“Tried them.”
“How ’bout Allie’s?”
“They never had it either,” Allan said. “Actually, you’re the first person who even recognized the mask.”
Rob’s chair creaked as he leaned back in it. He tented his fingers in front of him, crinkling his eyes.
Allan asked, “Could a person buy this at Walmart or Costco?”
Rob shook his head. “No, no. None of the big-box stores would carry it. Too high end for them.”
“Does the company sell directly to the public?”
“Yep. But you must spend three hundred bucks first. They have a minimum purchase policy.”
Allan mulled that over. “I didn’t see any of those Halloween contact lenses in their catalogue. I take it they don’t sell them?”
“Nope. Just masks, props, full costumes. Stuff like that.”
“Okay.”
Rob said, “You might want to check online retailers.”
Allan stared at him. That made a lot of sense. No one ever saw your face when you purchased things over the Internet.
Rob fired up his computer and googled the mask.
After a minute, he said, “Amazon has it. Horror-Shop-dot-com. Halloween Asylum. Quite a few on here have it available.”
Allan stood up, reaching an open hand across the desk. Rob gave it a firm shake.
“Thanks for your time,” Allan told him.
“Sorry I couldn’t have been more help.”
“You’ve been a great help.”
Allan left the store. Crossing the parking lot to his car, he took out his phone and called in for a warrant to retrieve the credit card history of both Todd Dory and Blake Kaufman.
