They had all set up in a meeting room that David didn’t even know existed, just a couple of doors down from his office in the new courthouse. No one stood as David entered.
At one end of the table was Erickson. At the other was Charlotte, then a man and a woman that David didn’t recognize. The woman had a briefcase on the floor beside her.
“Sit,” she said.
“What is this?” David asked, his eyes on Charlotte.
Her face showed a twinge that might’ve been apologetic, but she said nothing. Erickson nodded at the seat beside him. David sat.
“This meeting is for informational purposes only,” the woman explained. “Everything said inside this room we are considering off the record.”
She introduced herself as a senior counsel at Charlotte’s TV network. The man next to her was a producer in the news division. They’d flown in from Atlanta just for this meeting. A meeting they still hadn’t explained. Then the lawyer took her briefcase from beside her, opened it, and pulled out two sheets of paper. She held each up for them to see.
David recognized them instantly. The drug dealers, skin cut in the spiraling pattern.
“How . . .” he started to say.
Erickson put a hand on David’s arm, stopping him. The lawyer set the photos on the table, facing them.
The producer spoke then, introducing himself as Geoff.
“Our station set up a system to receive anonymous news tips,” he explained. “It’s an encrypted messaging app. Information comes through, and we have no way of identifying the source. Then we have to verify the information to decide whether it is real and whether it is newsworthy.”
But how? Was someone inside the investigation leaking details? Did they think it was David? He’d accidentally confirmed that there was a serial killer, but he didn’t do this. He wouldn’t.
It was Charlotte’s turn to speak.
“I received a message through my encrypted link,” she said. “It contained these photos, along with a message. The message claimed to be from the person who killed these men. And the others.”
Oh. Hell.
“Based on the photos and the information in the message, we believe this to be true,” Charlotte added.
David felt like he was going to be sick. Beside him, Erickson betrayed nothing. No reaction. But David could see that the old agent’s hand was in his pocket, presumably working over the lighter he kept there.
“I don’t recognize these images,” Erickson said coolly. “I do know that broadcasting any such information would imperil our investigations, not to mention cause a panic.”
“The public has a right to know,” the lawyer said.
“Don’t,” Erickson said. “Your concerns are ratings and ad revenue. The FBI will be filing an injunction.”
“It’s too late,” the lawyer said. “A piece has already been filmed. It will broadcast tomorrow. We can assure you we have reviewed the matter thoroughly and have redacted any information that we believe would harm your investigation.”
Erickson stood.
“Then I guess we’re done here.”
He strode out.
By the time David got to the hallway, Erickson was gone. David paced, and his stomach churned. The county already felt as if the pressure had grown as high as it could. The second this news was out there . . .
The lawyer and the producer walked past. Charlotte took a step past, then stopped as the others continued.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He didn’t respond.
“The others . . . Were the others cut like that, too?” she asked. “Like the giant?”
David wheeled on her.
“I told you not to fucking talk to me.”
He expected her to leave then, but she stayed where she was. She looked up at him, and the expression wasn’t hurt or remorse, but instead worry.
“David. There’s something else. Something in the message. We aren’t putting it on the air. But I wanted you to know.”
She took a folded-up piece of paper from her pocket and pushed it into his hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said again as she left.
He unfolded the paper and started to read.
Why am I doing this? Because the world needs it. This must be done. It’s the work that men like Sheriff David Blunt should be doing. Except he is too scared. He chases after me, when he should be thanking me. But his eyes will be opened soon enough.
David found Erickson in the parking lot, next to David’s truck. The old agent had the lighter out, his hand flicking it open and sparking it, then snapping it closed, again and again. A movement clearly perfected through years of practice.
“It helped me quit, keeping it in my pocket,” Erickson explained. “I couldn’t have a cigarette, but I could go through the motions of it.”
David handed over the paper. Erickson took it and read. He sighed, then faced west, toward the giant.
“Before that fucking thing dropped out of the sky I had retired. Then all these agents quit, and the bureau needed help. They asked if I’d come back. If I’d known all this shit was coming . . .”
He shook his head.
“Ah, hell. I would’ve done it anyway.”
David took back the piece of paper, folded it, and put it into his pocket.
“We can’t stop them? From putting it on the news?” he asked.
“No,” Erickson said. “We’d lose even if we fought it. Just got to be ready to contain the damage. I’ll see if Priest can pull the NSA in, see if there’s any way to crack that encryption.”
“There’s something else,” David said. “Something with the case. There’s a source I have in the drug trade. He said that the cult is buying . . . a lot. If we think this is all connected to drugs, maybe we look there. I mean, they’re obsessed with the giant. And the wounds are all sort of ritualistic.”
He’d strained to relay the information while omitting key pieces. No need to bring Brian into it. And Erickson was obscuring something about the mysterious substance in the cigar box.
Erickson stared off, considering.
“It’s thin. We aren’t getting a warrant off of that. And I can’t just go charging in. After the fuck up at Waco, the bureau is real skittish around anything with a cult. But keep watching.”
David spent the rest of the day outside of the compound, parked a block away, where he could see the gate. In the evening, it opened just as all the dogs began to bark across town. David had always been with Samuel at this time. He hadn’t realized the Tonys had timed their evening march to the dogs.
They filed out then, one by one, a clean procession of black hooded robes and snarling tiger masks. Keeping the truck in first gear, he crept along behind them, always staying a half block back. If they noticed him, they made no sign of it.
As they walked, they stayed with their heads facing forward, never breaking. The Tonys came to the park, fanned out into lines facing west, and kneeled in unison.
After twenty minutes of this, they stood, gathered back into the long line, and marched back to the theater. The gate clanged shut behind them. No way in. No way to know who was under the masks.
That thought repeated itself. No way to know who was under the masks.
David popped the truck into gear and skidded away over the gravel, to the big box store out east. He’d heard they sold what he was looking for, and he hurried inside, searching. And there, at the edge of the clothing section, he found it. It was a joke, a gag gift. The kind of thing a tourist might pick up as a memento of a trip to see the giant.
The display case held sets of them. Black hooded robes and plastic tiger masks. He inspected the masks. Yeah. They looked just like them. Exactly the same.
David pulled down a robe and mask and headed for the checkout line.