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“You said Gr—I mean he was some kind of monster. Exactly what did you mean by that? A serial killer? A psychopath?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said it,” Crow said primly.
“A little late for that. So…when you say ‘monster’ you mean that he was some kind of real monster? Not that I buy any of that, but I’d like to hear what kind of a monster you think he was. ”
“Answer your own question, Newt. The answer is right there in the facts I gave you. ”
“What facts? You recognized him as the man who attacked you. Okay. You assume he was the one who killed all the other people, including your brother, Mayor Wolfe’s sister, and Val’s uncle. You assume that Oren Morse killed him because he felt indebted to Henry Guthrie, and because the first victims were fellow gentlemen of the road, to use the old expression. Those aren’t really facts. Mostly they’re suppositions. ”
“Okay, get literal on me. ” Crow used one hand to vault a fallen oak and then reached out to help Newton over. The path was still clear for about a quarter mile and then looked like it faded into shrubs again. “Let’s look at the circumstantial evidence, then. ”
“Such as?”
“Such as the cattle on his farm. Remember what I said about him raising a herd of cattle?”
“Uh…right, the cattle he never sold. So what?”
“So, what happened to the cattle?”
“You mean, why did they die during the Black Harvest?”
“No, you ninny, what happened to them in the years before? He raised cattle, he bred cattle. ”
“So, maybe he fancied himself a cowboy. ”
“Cute. No, his herd, small as it was, changed size from season to season. Sometimes he had a lot, sometimes only a few dozen. ”
“So what?”
“If he didn’t sell them, then what was happening to make the herd dwindle during the times when he didn’t have as many?”
“I don’t know, for Christ’s sake. Maybe he liked a lot of steaks. ”
“No one eats that much beef. Not even Gus Bernhardt,” Crow said with a grin. He drew his machete to cut away some vines that blocked their way. “Plus, isn’t it odd that the killings of the people in Pine Deep only started after all of Griswold’s cattle had died off during the plague? Put those two facts together and you have a pretty odd pattern. ”
“What…you think he was amusing himself by killing his cattle for years,” Newton said, “and then when they bit the dust, he started in on the local citizenry?”
“Something like that. ”
Newton laughed. “Oh, come on! And people call me paranoid. ”
“You explain it. ”
“Why bother? Griswold probably really was selling off his cattle somewhere else. ”
“People in town would have known. ”
“How? Did you have twenty-four-hour surveillance on his property? Maybe he had a private arrangement with a meatpacking plant somewhere, just selling a couple here and there to supplement his income, or justify his image as a gentleman cattle rancher, Pennsylvania style. ”
“We would have known,” Crow insisted stubbornly. “This is a small town, and it was a lot smaller back then. People know everyone else’s business. Besides, in order for a person to sell off cattle they have to pay taxes on the sale, and Griswold never once paid taxes on a single cow or bull, not once in ten years. I checked. The only records show the cattle he bought to replenish his herd. I still think that he was killing them off himself. ”
“Hell, he wouldn’t be the first farmer to shy his taxes. ” Shaking his head and smiling, Newton said, “But even if he wasn’t, why on earth would he kill them himself? What would be the point?”
“Maybe he liked it,” Crow said. “Or…maybe he needed to do it. ”
Newton blinked. “Needed? For what? Some kind of religious voodoo thing?”
“There are other reasons for killing. ”
