The Keeper of the Crows

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  Jezebel started pacing. “I did some digging myself,” she said. “There is no mention of a Jeffrey Daniels in the local school records. So even after they moved here, Wilbur kept Jeffrey in whatever school he was in at the time. As it turns out, a Jeff Daniels attended high school in Thistlewood, just outside the county lines.”

  Thomas looked up from his notes. “That’s close to the Daniels Farm. I think you’re onto something. What else did you find?”

  She finished pacing and sat on the chair across from him. “Surprisingly, there was a lot of information in his record. Most of it wasn’t useful. Daniels was apparently very popular in Thistlewood; he was a star athlete in multiple sports. I think that was why I remembered his name. His father practiced law in Thistlewood but later moved his practice to Gray Hollow.”

  “He probably kept Jeffrey in school at Thistlewood for sports. That’s pretty much everything about Daniels, isn’t it?” Thomas asked.

  “I think so. Soon after we found him, Ben and Mary Davis were murdered.”

  “What kind of weapon did Gary Davis use at the house?”

  “A rifle. Why is that important?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Because the man we saw last night was unarmed. He killed Paul Morris with his bare hands. If Gary was the killer, why wouldn’t he just use his gun?”

  “Maybe he stashed the rifle away in the woods, where no one would ever find it. In these types of investigations, it’s common practice for a suspect to try and hide the murder weapon.”

  “Then why wear a mask?”

  The jack o’ lantern wasn’t exactly a mask, but Thomas didn’t know how else to describe it.

  Jezebel watched Thomas. “What?” she asked, but then it appeared to dawn on her. Thomas spoke her thoughts aloud. “Davis has to know we’re looking for him. He can’t survive in the forest indefinitely. Where did he have time to get a scarecrow costume?”

  “Davis has to know we’re looking for him. He can’t survive in the forest indefinitely. Where did he have time to get a scarecrow costume?”

  “Or why bother to conceal his identity?”

  “Exactly. How much do you know about Davis?”

  “We went to school together, actually. He was a creep, as far as I can remember. I see what you’re getting at, Thomas, but the evidence that Gary was involved is very suggestive.”

  “Or circumstantial. Did he kill his wife and son with the rifle?” Thomas already had an inkling of what the answer might be due to Brinkley’s testimony, but he wanted to hear it from her directly. Thomas kept those details out of the story that appeared in the newspaper.

  “No. There were shots fired in the house, but we think Ben Davis was killed in a fall from the roof. The wife, Mary, was nailed to the wall with a pitchfork.”

  Thomas flinched. If Gary Davis indeed killed his wife in this manner, the man was without question a psychopath.

  “We found no sign of fingerprints on the pitchfork, in case you’re interested. Wiping prints is consistent with someone who would go through the trouble of hiding a murder weapon,” she said before he could interrupt. “It doesn’t prove his innocence or guilt.”

  “The man lives on the other side of the county. How could he have reached the Daniels Farm without a vehicle?”

  She paused. “How did you know he was on foot?”

  “It wasn’t hard to check how many cars were registered in his name. You still haven’t answered my question.”

  “The truth is, I’m not sure. You may have a point. As much as I hate to admit it, my instincts have been telling me all along there’s more to this than it appears.” She stood up and started pacing the room again. “Why would he leave the house on foot in the first place? He had two cars. The man could’ve been out of the country by now!”

  “I don’t understand,” Thomas said.

  “I’ve been approaching this from an angle of finding Gary Davis,” she said. “What if that’s the wrong way of looking at it? Why didn’t he leave? The murder wasn’t even reported until early the next morning. That’s more than enough time to get away. Unless . . . Gary didn’t have that time. Maybe he had to leave right away. What if someone was after him?”

  “Like the man who killed Jeffrey Daniels and Paul Morris?” Thomas asked.

  “Exactly,” Jezebel said. “If your theory is correct, and at this stage that’s still a big if, then someone else is out there with reason to want Gary Davis and his family dead.”

  “So you’re thinking that the killer came to the farm and murdered the wife and son, but Gary escaped?”

  “It’s too early to know for sure. Either way, we still need to find Davis as soon as possible. Logan Randall is in charge of the manhunt. That leaves one substantial missing piece,” she said. “We still haven’t found the connection between Daniels and Davis. Something to prove that this isn’t all disconnected.”

  They sat in silence a moment. Both contemplated the weight of her words. If there was a serial killer at work in Gray Hollow, the deaths might be just beginning.

  “There is a link,” Thomas said finally. “Between the first and third attacks. Paul Morris owned the house Jeffrey Daniels use to live in. That’s too much of a coincidence for me.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “We still have to find out how Gary Davis ties into all this.”

  “You have me there,” Thomas replied. He sighed. “Nothing I’ve found comes close to suggesting a relationship between them.”

  “Morris didn’t know anything? No saved papers or photographs from either of the Danielses?”

  “He didn’t live long enough for me to ask him.”

  “Surely there has to be something. The house is a crime scene. I’ll go back and search it when I drop off my mom.”

  Thomas didn’t like the idea of her going back to that house so soon after what transpired there the night before.

  “Be careful,” he said.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be carrying a loaded weapon. What are your plans?”

  Thomas was so occupied with their discussion that he hadn’t thought about it. There was a lot to do, and time was fleeting. Sleeping in was a luxury he probably shouldn’t have allowed himself.

  “I called Max last night to give him an update, but it’s probably best for me to show up at the office for a quick word. Then I think I’ll head to the Thistlewood Public Library to do some research on Gray Hollow.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Wilbur Daniels had his heart attack in 1987. That’s when Jeffrey moved away, and all the evidence indicates he hasn’t been back since. Until now. Whatever caused this, I think it has something to do with the history of this town. I’ve been living here for months now, but I still don’t know much about the history of Gray Hollow.” Suddenly, Thomas recalled another detail from the murder scene he neglected to share with her. “Remember,” he said. “You might be in danger. Last night, when you appeared, the killer spoke. I think he knew you.”

  “What exactly did he say?”

  “Just one word: ‘You.’”

  Jezebel’s eyes narrowed. He could tell she was troubled by something, although he wasn’t sure what it was. As if sensing his gaze, she shifted her attention to her watch.

  “It’s almost time for Mom’s appointment. I’m sorry I have to cut out on you when we obviously have so much left to discuss. Do you have any more questions for me before we head out? You have my number.”

  “There is one thing, but I doubt you’ll know the answer to it,” Thomas said. “Why on earth would the killer dress up like a scarecrow? It doesn’t make sense to me. Surely there’s a reason for it.”

  Jezebel nodded. “Actually, I might know more than you think. When you said you were curious about Gray Hollow’s history, I think you were on to something. Since this case started, I’ve been exposed to small reminders from this town’s past. At first, I thought it was just coincidence. Now I’m starting to realize this has more to do with history than I
thought.”

  Thomas stared at her. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “When we went into the Davis house, we found something at the scene of the murder. Something I didn’t expect.”

  “What was it?”

  “A scarecrow. It wasn’t the same as the one we saw last night—for one thing, it didn’t have a pumpkin covering its head. All the same, it was put there for a reason. I’m starting to think I may know what that reason is.”

  He scratched his head. “Care to tell me what it is?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “I have to be absolutely sure before I bring this back up. Small towns have long memories. Some scars heal quicker than others. And some wounds never close entirely.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked, trying hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  When she looked into his eyes, Thomas thought he could see sadness on her face. “While you’re at the library, try researching the name Salem Alistair.”

  Thomas tried to extract more information from Jezebel but found her defenses impregnable. Finally they parted ways, and new questions filled his mind.

  Who are you, Salem Alistair?

  ***

  Light spilled across the dense forest and trickled down to the small creek at the mouth of the stream. Logan Randall climbed down the hill in his attempt to locate the suspect’s trail. Footsteps sounded behind him, and Logan became aware of a nearby presence.

  “It’s about time you caught up with me,” he said tersely. He shot a glance back at the tall man walking across the stream.

  “Sorry,” Rick Pepper said. “I thought I heard something back in the bushes. It was just a deer.” He took a drink from the water bottle in his gloved hand. His other hand held a small caliber pistol.

  “I told you to be careful with that thing,” Logan snapped. “Keep it out of sight until we find Gary. The last thing we need is for you to be seen with a gun. Our friend went through a lot of trouble to get us two untraceable guns.”

  The deputy was on edge. It was hard enough dealing with all the whiners at the station, but to have wasted so much time searching for Gary on top of that? His hands were sweating profusely under the gloves, but Logan didn’t dare take them off. At least they kept his hands clean, aside from the sweat.

  “Relax,” Rick said. “I’ll just tell them I was hunting.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure Jezebel Woods is going to fall for that,” he said sarcastically. Logan waited for his companion to finish his drink before continuing. He stared at Rick, who had always been tall, even during high school.

  Ironically, Logan would much rather have been stalking Rick through the forest than Gary. Of all the friends in their group, Rick was his least favorite. There was a thickness to the man, a brash attitude that Logan simply could not stand. The tall man had been given the nickname “Peppers” in high school because of his last name, although his fiery temper also had something to do with it.

  “Still working for the chick?” Rick laughed. “How does it feel to be a lapdog for a woman that’s younger than you are, Logan?”

  Logan clenched his fists silently and gave no sign of acknowledgement. He would shed no tears if anything happened to Rick during the manhunt. He closed his eyes and listened to the wind shift.

  “Quiet,” he whispered. He held a finger to his lips. “Did you hear that?”

  A few hours ago, Logan received a report of a breakin at a farm about fifteen miles from Gary Davis’ house. One of the owners, a woman, returned to the house after having lunch with a friend. That was when she found a broken window and some missing food. As she stared outside the farmhouse, she saw a man running into the field with what she thought was a rifle or shotgun.

  The description matched Gary Davis. In case his old friend really was in the woods behind the farmhouse, Logan wisely kept the report to himself. No sense in alerting the sheriff just yet. He would wait until Gary was dead or in handcuffs. Without question, Logan was prepared to kill his friend, though he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. If Gary came clean and told him what was going on, perhaps he could help him.

  They went deeper into the forest, far deeper than Logan had ever been. This was an untamed region of town, completely undeveloped and unsettled. They were on their own in the thick woods. No witnesses.

  It was hard to pinpoint the source of the sound he heard over the roar of the river in the background. In the distance, Logan could see a dark patch of forest covered in briars. He followed the sound, turned, and went the other way.

  “Split up,” he whispered to Rick. “I think I heard him up by the waterfall. I’ll walk up on this trail, and you go down around the other side. Look out for him and watch for my signal. Do not shoot unless I give the go-ahead.”

  Rick nodded, suddenly serious. Grateful for the tall man’s silence, Logan advanced onto the trail leading along the river. With the onset of autumn, most of the plant life was withered, which made it difficult for him to avoid being seen. Gary, who had been in the forest for a week, was probably an ace at blending in.

  When he heard the sound again, the deputy knelt behind a tree trunk and made sure his gun was loaded. Then he saw Gary. He was standing next to a tree beside the waterfall, running his hands through the water.

  Gary looked bad. The man’s clothes were ripped to shreds. His shirt was stained with blood, and it looked like there was something wrong with his leg. Still, he had the rifle resting only a few inches away. That made him dangerous.

  Easing closer, Logan contemplated going ahead and taking the shot. He didn’t know where Rick was, but it was probably for the best. If anyone could reach Gary, it would be him—not Rick. As his fingers inched closer to his gun, he struggled with indecision.

  “Logan?” Gary asked, sitting straight up. “What are you doing here?”

  ***

  Rick cursed loudly, then wished he hadn’t. If Gary Davis happened to be nearby, he would’ve easily heard his voice.

  Logan would be furious, Rick thought. Then again, Logan was not lost. Rick was. It was almost funny. Rick liked to brag to his friend about his outdoor skills. While it was true he was a talented hunter, Rick was not so skilled at finding his way around strange surroundings.

  The waterfall wasn’t anywhere in sight by this point. In fact, the forest seemed to be growing darker. He stepped on a pile of leaves and gritted his teeth at the crunching sound. Brushing his way through a briar patch, Rick stumbled down the shadowy trail. He was almost tempted to call out to his friend.

  The longer he traveled, the more it dawned on him that he was getting even farther away from where he was supposed to be. A sticky string-like substance attached itself to his face, and Rick tried in vain to tear a spider web from his skin. Failing to do so, he swore again, this time quietly.

  “Logan?” he finally whispered. “You there?”

  Nothing. Not even the birds. He couldn’t see anything moving in this part of the forest. It was almost barren. Pumpkins grew wildly across the thin soil, which created a mass of vines he was forced to tiptoe through. The pumpkins struck Rick as out of place. He wouldn’t have guessed they could grow in the woods, without sunlight.

  Rick tripped on a vine and went sprawling perilously close to a ledge. While staring down into the pit of earth, Rick thought he could see the dim outline of a human figure. He stood and dusted himself off.

  About time, Rick thought as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the shadows. Even though he was lost, he had still managed to find Gary! He would get the credit for taking care of the problem. Wait until Logan finds out I was the one that tagged Davis.

  He remained as quiet as possible. Rick turned the safety off his pistol. He peered down into the pit, trying to discern the face of the figure below. It was too dark. Rick bent down closer. He cautiously watched the stationary figure. Was Davis wearing some kind of pointy hat?

  A large black crow fluttered up out of the branches at the top of the pit, flying right past his face. Thrown off b
alance, Rick slipped and fell forward into the pit. The last thing he remembered before falling unconscious was staring into a motionless face of cloth.

  ***

  “Logan? What are you doing here?” Gary repeated.

  The deputy tucked the gun away and hesitantly stepped outside the line of trees. He tried to betray no sign of how upset he was at being spotted. To his relief, Gary didn’t go for his rifle. In fact, he seemed glad to see him.

  “I could ask you the same question. I’ve been looking all over for you. I saw your house. Did you think the department wouldn’t find out?”

  “Find out? Do you think I killed them? Logan, you have to believe me, I had nothing to do with it!”

  “Calm down, buddy. I’m here alone. Just tell me what happened.”

  “The scarecrow.”

  Logan saw the scarecrow at the crime scene, but he wasn’t sure of its significance. “What about it?”

  “Don’t you get it? Don’t you know what it means? They’re everywhere! They’re following me through the woods. The scarecrows are trying to kill me!”

  For the first time, Logan was convinced his friend was utterly insane. Despite himself, the deputy felt a pang of pity for his friend. Gary had obviously snapped and killed his family, although that didn’t explain what happened to Jeffrey Daniels.

  “What do you mean, Gary? Did the scarecrows kill Jeffrey Daniels?”

  “Maybe,” Gary said, his face ashen.

  Logan glanced around for Rick. What was keeping him?

  “You know what the scarecrow means. I’m not crazy,” Gary said. “Look, I know all this sounds incriminating. But I didn’t do anything.”

  “Then who did?”

  “He did.”

  “Who?” Logan asked, confused.

  “You really have to ask that question? Who would want to kill both Jeffrey and me? What did we have in common?”

  “What are you talking about?” Logan muttered.

  “That night back in high school. You remember. There was always something wrong with him, Logan, you know that. We all did. He brought Jeffrey Daniels back, then he went after my family.”

  Now Logan was worried. “You think someone found out? Is there anyone who knows what we did? Talk to me, Gary. I can help you. Your friends can help you.”