The Killing Moon: A Novel

by Chuck Hogan

  Maddox eyed the modest crowd gathered across the intersection, mothers with their arms tight around their children. Hess said, "They don't like it."

  Maddox turned, didn't startle. "What's to like?"

  "Sex offender accused of murder. That's a real-life monster in your neighborhood."

  Maddox nodded, knowing that Hess had a point, and waiting for him to get to it.

  "I gotta hand it to you, Maddox. You don't seem fazed."

  "Fazed?"

  "Dealing with real police. On a real crime, a murder. You don't seem too impressed with us, and you don't seem annoyed by our presence, and those are the two small-town-cop responses we usually get. Envy or resentment."

  He shrugged. "I'm part-time. A spectator."

  Hess reminded himself that this "spectator" was the first to get inside Sinclair's apartment after he went missing. Had turned up Sinclair's bike before anyone even knew it was gone. A good bit of diligence from a man with no career to make, just a guy passing through town.

  "See," said Hess, "that doesn't do it for me. This isn't the sort of thing you stumble into, police work. A job you do awhile before moving on to the next thing. People burn out all the time, but rarely do they walk out. No small-town cop I ever met didn't dream of the big time."

  Maddox shrugged again. "Now you met him."

  "I had this therapist one time. I was in a crisis-incident thing, a shooting; they make you do an exit interview and mandatory counseling. It's paid time, you sit, you chat." Hess letting Maddox know he didn't buy into it much. "But this one thing she told me stuck. It was that guys drawn to police work are really only sublimating antisocial or violent impulses. Policing the impulsive, aggressive parts of themselves, and at the same time allowing them an outlet. In her words. Make sense to you?"

  "I guess."

  "Makes sense to me. Over the years I've seen it prove out. Guys don't become cops to help old ladies cross the street. They don't come in looking to 'do good.' They come in looking to stop bad. They come in looking to impose order. It's the uniform they join for, dressing themselves up in the law and wearing it around so everyone can see: Me, good guy. Me, not bad."

  Maddox pulled at his sweat-spotted POLICE jersey. "I didn't join for the uniform."

  "No, I guess you didn't. You said your father was on the job once upon a time. I'm assuming that's how you got hired on, second-generation?"

  "Pretty much."

  "Sinclair's father was a cop."

  "For a couple of years. He was a builder after that."

  "Had a falling-out with the force. Now, kids of cops, that's a whole 'nother thing. Lots of second-generation cops among them—myself included. Plenty of screwups too, though, like Sinclair. And some of both. Like these Pail brothers. Those are the ones to watch out for."

  "You think?" said Maddox.

  Hess smiled at the way Maddox parried. "You know something else I figured out? With you filling up your own patrol car here, and the price of a gallon of gas being what it is these days? I figure working as a cop in Black Falls is actually costing you. Which shows extraordinary dedication. For someone just marking time. I mean, I consider myself a good cop. But even I have to get paid every two weeks, you know? Gotta get that take-home. Or are there some incentives to being a Black Falls cop that I don't know about?"

  Maddox tapped his brim. "There's these swell caps."

  "So how was it you happened to wind up inside Sinclair's apartment that first time?"

  "I told you. I was driving past and saw movement in the window. He's a registered SO who hadn't been seen in a while, so I pulled over, knocked on the door. The kid answered and let me up."

  "The kid. This Frankie Sculp, right?"

  "That's right."

  "Foster kid, been staying here. Didn't know where Sinclair was."

  "Correct."

  Hess nodded. "But you knew Sinclair from before, right?"

  "You mean as kids? We lived on the same street, on opposite ends. But I didn't know him know him. That was a long time ago."

  "You two didn't pal around the neighborhood?"

  "He was two grades older than me."

  "His sister was your age."

  Maddox nodded slowly. Getting it now. Maddox said, "You know a lot."

  "I keep my ears open," said Hess. "So she has an affair with a guy, who her brother then kills."

  Maddox said, "You've interviewed her again, I assume. They weren't close. I doubt she's even spoken to him since he got out of prison."

  "Still, the Sinclair connection is a pretty strong link. Would you contest that?"

  "It's a link," agreed Maddox. "But not a strong one."

  "In your professional opinion."

  Maddox shrugged. "You asked."

  "Maybe Sinclair and Frond had something else going. His books here, he's got a lot of occult stuff. Frond with his New Age whatever, it's a common area of interest. Maybe they connected after Frond dropped dime on Pail for beating up Sinclair at that traffic stop. Bonded, you know? Banded together to curse the police department, or what have you. Some sort of cult thing."

  "A black mass or something."

  "Or something, yeah. See, I don't chuckle about it myself, because this stupid shit, it's happened before. Retarded backwoods rituals where someone gets overzealous, goes too far. People can lose their bearings in these remote towns. Lose control."

  Maddox said nothing, waiting. Hess was doing most of the talking, but sometimes that worked. Sometimes that drew them out.

  "This 'Scarecrow' took a lot of abuse in this town, sounds like. Maybe he'd finally had enough. Maybe Frond let slip that he had some money stashed around his place, and maybe Sinclair was thinking about skipping town and decided he'd get a lot further with cash in hand. Maybe Frond came home and found him ransacking his place, and Sinclair panicked."

  "All 'maybe's."

  "Well, I'm doing what I can. I've got a suspect in a murder case who's up and disappeared. Completely vanished—I don't know where, I don't know how. Left behind practically everything, including a closet full of clothes, luggage, cash in a bank account which remains untouched, and the only credit card to his name is the Discover card on his bedroom bureau. Took his bicycle, maybe, but didn't get very far on it. Everything else, he left behind. Including a little blood at the scene of the crime, the imprint of a size ten and a half Chuck Taylor tread, and various black follicles from a wig of human hair. But wait. Hold on. One other thing he didn't leave behind. One thing for me to focus on. The missing piece, right? The thing that doesn't fit. You know what I'm talking about?"

  Maddox shook his head, passably curious.

  "Sinclair's digital camera. That empty docking station hooked up to his computer in there. Purchased in early May over the Internet, with said Discover card—camera, hot dock, and media card. Sinclair fooled around with it a bit, took some test shots in his apartment. We know this because he installed the viewing software and uploaded a few date-coded images into his computer. But after that? Nothing. Nothing at all in the two months leading up to his disappearance and Frond's murder. Meaning, to my mind, there's a pretty good chance this camera's got some pictures sitting in its memory card. Pictures that maybe even could give us a line on where he is now. You said the docking station was empty when you were inside his place the first time. It's a small camera, by the way. Pocket-sized."

  Maddox said, "Are you accusing me of something?"

  "Look, you're stuck here in the middle of nowhere. Free reign on your night shifts, nobody watching. No chief or shift sergeant crawling up your ass. You're not making any money. And nobody has a crystal ball—nobody knows how one little act, an impulse, a spur-of-the-moment decision, is going to affect everything else down the road. Hell, you might even regret it, but can't see how to make it right. I'm saying, so long as I get that media card back intact? No harm, no foul."

  Maddox worked hard to keep his cool. A tough read, this guy. "Why don't you ask the kid who was staying here where the camera
is?"

  "I'd like to," said Hess. "I'd like to very much."

  Maddox waited. "And?"

  "We checked with the Ansons, his foster parents. They haven't seen him in days."

  "The Ansons aren't known as the most diligent guardians," Maddox said. Then he thought about it. "Wait a minute. Are you saying he's missing?"

  "That's what I'm saying."

  For the first time since he'd met him, Hess saw Maddox look surprised.

  33

  BUCKY

  BUCKY WAS WAITING with Eddie and Mort Lees when Maddox came out the back door. Maddox hesitated, and thought Bucky didn't see it, then continued down the steps toward his patrol car.

  Bucky moved out in front of the others, touching his own abraded cheek as though it were wet with paint. "Thought only girls kicked."

  Maddox said, "All I could manage with you letting your boys here do the real fighting."

  Bucky grinned. "I'm gonna miss you, Maddox."

  "Oh? I'm going somewhere?"

  "You getting along good with the troopers? Hanging out at Scarecrow's apartment there? You seem to be their boy now."

  "Yeah," said Maddox, keeping an eye on the others. "They're a fun bunch."

  "Uptight shits," said Bucky. "Their whistles and faggoty-ass boots. The fucking gay Gestapo, marching in here." He nodded at the station. "Putting us out of our own house like cats."

  Eddie chimed in. "Mountie assholes."

  Bucky said, "Scarecrow needs to be caught? So put me on it. I've tangled with him before."

  Maddox said, "Slapping around a guy in handcuffs isn't exactly tangling."

  Bucky grinned harder, enjoying this. Maddox couldn't touch him anymore. "You think Frond wishes he'd kept his big mouth shut now? Trying to turn me in? They say karma's a bitch—but man. That same piece of shit he was defending coming back and killing his ass? So funny it's almost sad."

  Maddox said, "Sinclair would be in prison right now if your tangling hadn't gotten him out of that drunk driving conviction. If you hadn't messed up the arrest."

  Bucky was having a hard time keeping victory from bursting out of him. "I really am gonna miss you, Maddox."

  "Is that right?"

  Bucky stepped closer. "How's it feel? No Pinty here to bail you out anymore. Nobody to run to. What's it like, being all alone?"

  "Pinty's coming back."

  "That's not what I heard. Not what I saw there out on his back patio. Reality is, the old man's time has come and gone. And so has his pet cop's. Once Pinty kicks, you can consider yourself unemployed."

  Maddox said, "You're not police chief yet."

  "But I will be. That's the beauty of it. With no Pinty to hold me back anymore? I might even run for his seat on the board of selectmen when it opens up." Bucky looked to the others for enthusiasm. "Be the new Pinty in town."

  They were all smiles. Maddox was pretending hard that Bucky wasn't getting under his skin, but the truth was so obvious, and so good.

  The rear screen door squealed. A plainclothes trooper looked out. "Maddox? The K-9 units are here. Hess wants you over at the bridge."

  Maddox thumbed back at his patrol car. "I was on my way home."

  The trooper said, "You're the one who found the bike. Hess wants you there." He turned and went back inside, the door whacking shut.

  Maddox cursed under his breath. That surprised Bucky. So Maddox wasn't sucking up to them after all. He was their lackey. This gave Bucky another quiet thrill.

  "K-9?" he said, almost laughing before he could get it out. "I guess somebody's got to scoop up all that dog shit."

  That broke up the others.

  "Put that paper diploma of yours to good use," said Bucky, another kick in the shins.

  But Maddox didn't sulk. Instead, he came up eye to eye, his voice dropping so that only Bucky could hear him. "Your day is coming."

  Bucky tried hard to keep up his mirth. Maddox's eyes were eager and hard, like he had more to say but preferred to sit on his information like a fucking hen on a warm egg.

  Bluffing. All bullshit. Maddox knew nothing. Smug fuck.

  Bucky burned so hot that he had to remind himself that he was in fact winning here. That everything, from Frond being murdered to Pinty going down, was falling his way. Like a giant hand clearing a path for him. Everything meant to be. All he had to do was sit back, and Maddox would be next. Then absolutely nothing would stand in his way.

  Maddox turned and walked to the stairs, Bucky resurrecting his grin for the others. "I'm gonna miss him," Bucky said. "I truly am."

  34

  MADDOX

  MADDOX DROVE FAST, setting aside his disgust for Pail in order to focus on the missing Frankie Sculp. That sullen kid with the dyed-gold hair. His hungry eyes and shoved-in face, as though the doctor had flat-handed him at birth. His face rippled with acne, his skin the color and consistency of a peeled-apart peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  "He knows a way, he said. All the cops. He's going to turn this shit-fucking town upside down."

  Maddox shouldn't have let him go. Shouldn't have tossed him back for fear of scaring away the bigger fish

  But then again, it hardly mattered what Maddox or anyone else did. Truth was, Frankie had the mark on him. Maddox had seen it before. The kid had been bred to cut a path to his own self-destruction. Maddox only hoped he had not arrived there yet. Maddox would have to start looking for Frankie himself, though with Pinty being in the hospital, and Hess yanking his leash, his walking-around time was severely limited.

  He passed the red STATE FARM INSURANCE AGENT sign at the end of Walt Heavey's driveway, thinking of the hand-rolled cigarette butt he had found there, frowning again at the thought of Sinclair lurking around Heavey's house. That weak-minded fool. Why, of all people, would he kill Frond? The one guy who had intervened on his behalf with Bucky's abuse? Even if Sinclair had somehow found out about Frond sleeping with his sister—Sinclair had no stake in that. He and Val were brother and sister in name only.

  Maddox neared the one-lane bridge that marked the paved end of Edge Road and the beginning of a tagged-on half mile of dirt and rock. He pulled over behind an unmarked cruiser and walked to the gravel turnout just before the short, rusted span that bore no name. The three rat-tailed boys who had called it "Toad Bridge" stood below, on the hard bank of the dribbling, heat-strangled brook, showing state police Crime Scene Services technicians where they had discovered Sinclair's bicycle.

  Walt Heavey was also present, having walked down from his house. He was testifying in front of Hess, who stood back off the road in the shade, spraying his big arms with bug repellent. "I'm telling you, there is something going on in these woods."

  "This woman at your boys' window," said Hess, arms glistening sleeve to wrist. "She had long black hair. How long?"

  "Below the shoulder."

  Hess was working the wig angle. Sinclair had been known to wear that thing out on his balcony after dusk, overlooking the center of town. He asked Heavey, "Ever hear anything in the woods at night like music, or chanting?"

  Heavey gave this serious thought. "No, sir. But you are looking at a man in the insurance game fourteen years now, as level as they come. And I am telling you, there is something going on in these woods."

  Hess thanked him and Heavey went away satisfied. Hess handed the aerosol can back to Bryson and turned to Maddox. "He said something about you shooting a deer the same night he heard his gunshot?"

  "Back up the road by the falls."

  Hess smoothed a goatee that was not there and said no more. His sandy hair was thinned back from his forehead, showing a lot of scalp. Premature hair loss was a common trait among hard-core weight trainers, especially those who had relied on supplements in the past.

  Handlers led two lean German shepherds out of a K-9 van on long leather leashes, sitting them at attention about ten meters back from the bridge. Hess admired the dogs' muscular obedience, until something farther back along the road put a shadow of anger across
his face.

  Maddox turned and saw the orange highway department pickup parked back at the turn. Ripsbaugh was unloading an armful of traffic cones.

  Hess summoned a uniformed trooper to his side, his voice quiet but forceful. "I want him out of here."

  Maddox stepped up before the trooper started off. "I'll do it," he said.

  Hess looked at Maddox, wondering why he would bother, then permitted it with a flick of his wrist.