Off Season - Jack Ketchum [47]
“What did he look like?”
“Looked crazy. I mean his face looked crazy, loony; wild. And I swear to you that the sonofabitch was wearing somethin’ strung together out of coonskins. They all had skins of some sort—bear, deer, whatever. ‘Cept I recall one little guy in a pair of work pants a mile too big for him. Never saw such a goddamn thing in my life. And this kid who walked by me, he had a smile on him that I never want to see again as long as I live. Real grown-up smile, and mean from start to finish. Boy walked right by me. And then the women came by.”
“Women?”
“Yeah. Two of them. Dressed in rags. Cast-off kind of stuff, you know? Nothing matched up with anything else. One of ‘em even had on two different kinds of shoes, for chrissakes!”
“You’re a pretty good observer, Paulie.”
“You ever try to scout a school of fish from the deck of a charter?”
“So go on. What did the women do?”
“Rounded ‘em up. Headed ‘em up the cliffs. Cuffed a few of ‘em too, as I recall.”
“The cliffs?”
“I think they live there, Officer. I think they got a cave somewhere. Like a bunch of goddamn savages.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, they just up and disappeared. I saw ‘em climbing and then I didn’t see ‘em. Just like that.”
“Couldn’t they have gone inland?”
“You miss my point, son. They didn’t make it to the top. That’s what I’m trying to tell ya. They walked into some kind of hole in the ground like a bunch of rats and that was the end of ‘em!”
Peters sat back and took a deep breath. “Jesus jumping Christ,” he said.
“You’re damn tootin’,” said Donner.
Peters’ stomach was growling. He couldn’t tell if he was hungry or if it was his ulcer kicking up again. At the moment he was banking on the ulcer. “Okay, Paulie,” he said. “You’ve been terrific. If we need anything else from you, I suppose that Sergeant Shearing here knows where to find you?”
Donner’s eyes sparkled. “Much as anybody does,” he said.
“Thanks, then,” Peters said. “Now you place this whole thing just a little north of the cutoff to the old dump road, right?”
“Yep.”
“You’re sure of that.”
“Well, let me put it to you this way, boys. I haven’t had a bottle anywhere near there since.”
Peters smiled. “Thanks again, Paulie. I owe you one.”
Donner got up to leave. “I’ll be by one day to collect it, I guess,” he said. He nodded and closed the door behind him.
Peters stared at Shearing awhile. It was only a point of reference. He was letting his mind work, and if he was seeing anything at all it was the shoreline around the dump road cutoff and a bunch of ragged crazies scuttling through the night. At last he pushed back in his chair and sighed. Shearing was still standing there, watching him. “You believe him, don’t you?” said Peters.
“I guess I do, George.”
“Me too, right down the line. And that makes me think we ought to consolidate this search a little.”
“The cutoff, right?”
“Right. Of course we’re gonna have the same problem Donner did.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s going to be damned hard to find anything along that cliff at night.”
“You think it can wait till morning?”
Peters pursed his lips and frowned. He thought about it. “I suppose it can,” he said. “Matter of fact, it will have to. One thing I do want to do, though.”
“What.”
“Have Willis out there draw me up a list of all the residents in that area, permanent and seasonal. Have him make it for, say, five square miles back from the shoreline. Have him phone King Realty and check on new rentals. Then I’ll want prowl cars covering that area all night. I want them to check out every house, without alarming anybody or waking anybody in the middle of the night. Make sure everything is normal. That will mean local boys are your best bet. They’d know who is who out there. Get ‘em out of bed if you have to but make sure we get locals and not fellas from Portland or Bangor or someplace. If they notice anything unusual, I want you to call me. I’m going