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“Like you said. Carby has his story straight. The jerkoffs from Philly are heading out to the bridge now. How is it at your end?”
“Neat and tidy. Boyd tramped footprints all over the bridge and they should be able to find his shell-casings, too. ”
“That’s great. Is he really gone this time?”
“He’s as gone as I need him to be,” Vic said. “He’ll be seen at least three times over the next week, and each time he’ll be farther from here. By the time they lose his trail completely he’ll have been spotted up in Trenton. After that, nobody’s going to see him again until trick or treat night. At that point—well, it won’t matter who sees him. ” Vic was laughing as he disconnected.
Polk leaned back against the door. “God save my soul…” he breathed, but his Catholic rituals were thirty years out of practice and as dry as his mouth.
(2)
“Excuse me…are you Malcolm Crow?”
Crow’s hand was just getting ready to fit his key into the door lock of his store when he heard the voice and it startled him enough to make him drop his keyring. Crow turned and saw a dumpy little man with a diffident smile standing by the open door of a battered old Honda Civic, a folded leather notebook in one hand.
“Who’s asking?” Crow asked as he carefully squatted down to retrieve his keys, though he thought he already knew who this guy was. His face had been all over the TV.
“Willard Fowler Newton, Black Marsh Sentinel. ”
“Nice to meet you,” Crow said. “Now get lost. ”
“What?”
“No interview, no questions, no answers, no nothing. Go before I set the hounds on you. ”
“I haven’t even asked yet. ”
Crow unlocked the door but didn’t pull it open. “No, but you were gonna, and the answer would have been no. ” He jangled the keys in his hand and instead of making eye contact with the stranger he looked up and down the street for some sign of Mike.
“It would just be a few questions?”
“Nope. ”
“It won’t take long. Just a few—”
“No squared. No to the fifth power. ” Crow reached for the handle.
“I could beg. ”
Crow blinked. “What?”
“I’d be happy to beg,” Newton said. “Or grovel. I grovel nicely. ” Newton got down on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him. “How’s this?”
“Impressive,” Crow said, laughing quietly. “Now get the hell up, Newbury. ”
“Newton. ”
“Whatever. Get up, you look like an idiot. ” As Newton rose, Crow cocked his head to one side and thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “I know you…you’re the joker who broke the story about Ruger. You look taller on TV. ”
Newton’s throat went red. “I stood on a box. ”
Crow cracked up, then immediately pressed a hand quickly to his side. “Ow!”
“Are you all right?”
“No I’m not all right, you friggin’ cheesehead. I got shot the other day, or don’t you read the papers?” His love handles burned under the bandages, but the pain passed quickly. Crow blew out cooked air through pursed lips and cocked an eye at Newton. “You’re still here?”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions…and just so you know, it’s not about the Karl Ruger thing. ” Crow opened his mouth but before he could say anything Newton plowed ahead. “I’ve been assigned to write a feature on the haunted history of Pine Deep. It’s for the Sunday edition that’ll be out the week before Halloween. I’m researching the whole thing, starting way back and going up to the Pine Deep Massacre of thirty years ago. ”
