Page 35 of The Girl on Hallow's Eve

“Who else would have access to those spaces tonight?”

“Emma,” Sam says. “I want you to look at something about this victim.”

“We don’t have much time. We need to get her to the hospital,” the EMT says.

“I know. Just look,” Sam says. He points to her feet, which I notice are bare and tinged with blood. The palms of her hands look the same. “The handprints on the window.”

My eyes widen as I remember going into the food court during our sweep to look at those handprints, the first horrifying indication of something truly horrific happening inside, and seeing the rest of the brutality unfolding in there. A man lies dead in a heap in the corner. Two others are dead where they sat at tables. A teenage boy was found draped over the counter of one of the fast-food spots, cut down as he tried to climb over it to find safety.

But when I stood close to those handprints, wanting so much to rest my own against them but stopping myself, what caught me was the appearance of bloody footprints on the marble flooring just beneath them. Whoever left those prints on the glass was also barefoot and marked where they stood. The blood on both was still glistening, wet and fresh. Which meant they were left a matter of moments before we saw them.

“Go down into those tunnels,” I tell the officers around me as the girl is loaded into a car. “Search every single inch of them. That girl is very likely the last person attacked. Whoever did this was in those tunnels right before we arrived, possibly even while we were breaking inside.” I look at Rainey again. “Do any of them lead outside? I know they go around to all the different areas of the mall, but do any of them have external exits?” I immediately know the answer. “Yes, of course they do. That’s how you got out. Is that the only one?

“Yes,” he nods. “It leads to a loading dock at the back of the mall. But it’s not an intuitive path to get there. And he’d most likely be seen leaving the lot.”

“Okay, so there’s a chance he’s still down there. Search it. Anywhere he could be hiding. Anywhere he might have hidden in order to get in. Where he might have kept supplies. Anything. Find it.”

The officers head back inside the mall and I turn to Glen, but before I can say anything, Sam’s radio crackles. He steps away to listen, then comes back a few moments later.

“Keilan Smith and Marissa are here. They want to talk to you.”

I look over at Glen. He’s clearly overwhelmed by how this has unfolded and though he’s not thrilled to have me stepping into what he perhaps sees as rightfully his place, he doesn’t push back. I don’t know if he would have any idea of even where to start handling something like this. I’m not expecting him to not have any involvement. This is his jurisdiction, his department. There are many ways that he could be helpful, but unless he tells me he wants me to get out of his way and Eric doesn’t agree to Bureau involvement, I’m going to stay at the helm.

It’s cold and everyone is clearly exhausted as the night creeps close to dawn, but I don’t want to waste a single second of this investigation. If they’re here, I want to talk to them.

“There’s a diner in Sherwood that will be open by the time we could get there. Let’s go talk there.”

“Why don’t you bring them back to the station?” Glen asks.

“It’s not an interrogation,” I tell him. “I want to know what information they can offer us, not make this night worse for them.”

I want it to seem like I trust each of the three I intend to talk with over coffee and possibly enough of Pearl’s biscuits and gravy to keep me fueled as long into the morning as possible. But the truth is, I haven’t extended any true trust to any of them yet. There’s something off about the three representatives of the company supposedly running the party leaving in the middle of it without notifying anyone. And I’m curious as to how Cary Rainey heard about the situation at the mall so much sooner than Keilan Smith or Marissa.

The story hasn’t been told here, and I need to hear all of it.

Pearl looks surprised to see Sam and me walk through the door only minutes after she officially opened. Not that we are the first customers of the day. The old-timers are already sitting in their usual booths, nursing coffee and reading through newspapers. They’ve been doing the same thing every morning of their lives for as long as anybody can remember. This place belonged to Pearl’s father before her and his father before him, so it’s entirely possible these men have been coming here since they sat on their grandfather’s knees.

“It can’t be a good thing when I see the two of you coming in this early,” she says from over the coffee she’s brewing.

“Good morning to you, too, Pearl,” Sam says.

The media hasn’t gotten a hold of the story yet. It won’t be long. It’s almost impossible to keep something like this off the airwaves for very long. We try to push back as much as possible to preserve the confidentiality of the investigation and to protect the families and loved ones of the victims. Until we are able to conclusively identify each of the dead and notify their next of kin, names won’t be released, but that won’t stop people from panicking and getting overwhelmed when they hear something this horrific occurred at a place where they know a friend or family member was supposed to be.

When that happens, chaos can break out. People show up at crime scenes demanding information and even trying to gain access so they can search for themselves. False information gets spread, rumors begin, and quickly an investigation can get out of hand. Something as seemingly small as a misunderstanding or miscommunication about a simple detail can compromise suspects, timelines, and even evidence. It can waste immeasurable time and resources. It’s best to get as much investigating done as possible before the media gets involved and I already feel like we are working on borrowed time.

Almost immediately after Pearl brings us each a mug of coffee, hell breaks loose among the three sitting at the table with us. Accusations start flying with each of them insisting the others should have been there while defending their own absences, placing fault with each other. They refuse to take responsibility for leaving without finding a way to make the others worse than themselves.

“Stop,” I finally say. “Everyone be quiet. Let’s just get something really straight here. Everyone should have been there tonight. Mr. Rainey, Mr. Smith, the two of you are directors of the mall. You’re part of the development team. You should have been there representing the Calloway Group and the mall itself. Marissa, from what I understand, you were selected as a representative and meant to be there as a guest liaison, much like when you gave us our tour at the open house.”

“Yes,” she admits, her voice dropping low and her eyes going downcast.

“Then you should have been there doing your job. None of you have an excuse for leaving. Yes, I understand you were all entitled to a break. And I understand that you were probably exhausted and really didn’t think you needed to be there for the entire time, but it was your responsibility. All of you. And you failed in it. All of you. None of that actually matters right now because the truth is, you being there would likely not have stopped this. And what we need to figure out is why it happened and who is responsible. So I need your help.”

Pearl comes by to take our order without even giving us menus. I don’t need a menu to know what I want and neither does Sam, but none of the other three are familiar with the restaurant, having only come to the area as a part of the mall development project. Each of them rattles off a basic breakfast order and Pearl nods her acknowledgment. She doesn’t write any of it down. She doesn’t have to.

That doesn’t necessarily mean that she is going to bring every person at the table exactly what they said.

Instead, Pearl has a way of deciding how she’s going to fulfill orders and brings people what she thinks they should have. It’s usually at least similar to what they originally asked for, but unless you pick something very specific from the menu, you’re likely to end up with what can be described as a version of the meal. My advice to anyone going to Pearl’s for any meal at any point is to accept what is brought without pushback. The vast majority of the time it’s going to be better than what was expected and showing that kind of acceptance is what builds a relationship with Pearl. And everyone wants a relationship with Pearl.

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