Page 47 of The Girl on Hallow's Eve

Mindy looks into the container like she’s contemplating the candy. “Mine would have been better. I wanted to do candy corn flavor for Halloween. Peppermint for Christmas. Maybe eggnog.”

“You sound like you still want to do it,” I tell her. “Nothing says you can’t have a cotton candy company. You should go for it.”

“I have always kind of figured I would own my own business someday. My family have been entrepreneurs for generations. My dad told me that a century ago some cousin or something pretty much established this area with his businesses. Since people traveled through here so much, he set up shop and made a lot of money. None of the businesses he or his children started are still around, and there’s no historical marker or anything, but it’s still pretty cool to know there are people living around here because a relative of mine was smart and determined like that.”

Mindy’s parents arrive a little while later and we talk to them for a few minutes in the hallway before leaving. Sam and I go out to the car in silence and sit in the lot, both staring through the windshield for several minutes.

“Do you think it’s about her?” he asks. “The guy knew her name.”

“I guess it’s possible. But I highly doubt it. There’s no reason. There’s nothing about that girl that would inspire something like that. Besides, she survived. So many people died around her, people she didn’t even know, but she didn’t,” I say. “And she’s right, he could have heard other people saying her name all night. But it could also be someone who knows her. We need to go over everyone who was there again and see how many of them have connections to her.I want to watch all the security camera footage again. I know it doesn’t show a ton, but if we are looking for something specific rather than just watching for whatever is going to happen, maybe it will stand out more.”

“Maybe what will stand out more?” Sam asks.

“Him. Or people reacting to him. Something that might tell us when he got into the mall and when all this really happened. Maybe we’ll see when he caught sight of Mindy and if she really was his target or if she just kind of fell into his path.”

I’ve never stared at a video screen so closely. Watching the colorful lights and the barely visible images of the shoppers is almost hypnotic as I try to isolate individual images and analyze movement patterns to detect signs of fear or panic.

There were only a couple of cameras active during the party. They were placed at strategic points where the most action was expected: near the food court, the open area where people were dancing, and near the arcade. These positions weren’t optimal for catching much of the actual shopping, but were perfect for getting shots of people having fun and enjoying themselves, which was Keilan’s intention in activating them that night.

I rewind and rewatch the same sections of footage several times when I think I see something in the background or notice a person acting strangely, but I haven’t yet noticed the hooded man.

Sam comes back into the room after leaving to take a call from work. He looks over my shoulder and watches a stretch I haven’t seen yet.

“Is this the camera near the food court?” he asks.

I nod. “I keep changing tapes to try to watch the same time frame in the different locations.” Something catches my eye and I point at it. “Look. There’s Rainey and Keilan.”

The two men have their heads leaned toward each other as they walk through the food court toward one of the tables set up with food. Both grab a plate with a slice of pizza and have a brief but friendly-looking chat with the worker behind the table.

“They don’t look like they’ve noticed anything wrong,” Sam says.

I shake my head. “And they’re there. So, this is before they both left.”

We keep watching, going over small sections of the tapes over and over until it seems like we have those stretches memorized, then moving on to another. I don’t even realize how late it is when Sam tells me it’s time for the news.

Amy got in touch with me a couple of hours ago to let me know they planned on dedicating the entire show tonight to the victims of the massacre. They will be reporting on the entire event, including naming those victims that have been identified and their next of kin notified of their deaths. There are still a couple who we have not been able to find family for, so their names will be omitted. Instead, she will simply note other victims and promise further updates as they come.

I’m expecting an emotional and challenging show. What I’m not expecting is the first image to be of George sitting at the desk alongside Claire, Lionel, and Amy. His eyebrows are tightly knitted together, his lips pulled down in a frown and his hands folded tightly on the counter in front of them.

Claire starts the show with a solemn announcement of the massacre and an explanation to all viewers that tonight’s broadcast would be a special focus just on those crimes. She sends it over to Amy, who gives some background information on why the news channel was there and what they hoped to accomplish by having George exploring the party. She talks about the team who were all killed and leads a moment of silence for them.

With that finished, she turns her attention to George. For the next twenty minutes, we watch a dramatic, overwrought interview where George gives his version of what happened that night. I look over at Sam and see a slightly contorted expression on his face. I know that look. He’s suspicious.

“Do you think he has something to do with it?” I ask.

“I can’t completely discount the possibility,” he says. “Look how much he’s lapping up this attention. This is everything he’s ever wanted. Besides, listen to him. He’s giving details about these deaths. He’s talking about the motivation of the killer and what it must have felt like stalking the people through the mall.”

“He’s a journalist. He fancies himself a storyteller. He’s trying to paint a vivid picture of what happened. I don’t think he has it in him to actually hurt anyone. Not because he’s so kind and compassionate, but just because I think he’s too fragile for it. Think about where he was found. He was curled up under a bench hiding under clothes. He hadn’t confronted anything. He hadn’t tried to diffuse the situation or help anyone,” I say. “The timing would also have to be incredibly tight for him to be able to commit the crimes and also still be on camera without any blood or anything on him.”

“The killer was wearing gloves, a hoodie, long pants, and a covering over his face,” Sam points out. “That would prevent any blood spatter.”

“I just really don’t think he could have done it.”

“Maybe he could have arranged it,” Sam offers. “It wouldn’t be the first time you encountered a reporter who arranged epic tragedies and stories to boost his career. And we both know George McCarthy likes nothing more than to feel like he’s famous and a hard-hitting journalist. What could possibly be more hard-hitting than surviving a mass murder?”

“But it isn’t like he got a bunch of really compelling footage or chased the guy or anything,” I point out. “In fact, he totally ignored or just missed important things. Think about when he walked past the fountain and thought the corpse in it was somebody floating around being silly. Or when he ignored Mindy behind him. He’s definitely getting attention for this, but not enough to justify those killings.”

George does another overdramatic interview on a morning show the next day. As much as I would prefer not to, I know I need to speak with him again. He looks more alive and filled with energy when Sam and I meet him for coffee than I’ve seen him in a long time. He’s basking in the excitement of being right in the middle of this and everyone wanting his viewpoint of it.

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