“That guy was in the Santa Claus costume?”
“No. The driver even isn’t sure if he had a white beard. ‘Perhaps he did, or maybe it was just snow-covered.’ And even if it was Wash, to refuel from a gas can is not a crime. He may simply had found a gas station with a good price and stocked up with fuel there. Anyway, it’s less suspicious than using an assumed name.”
“Not only killers register under assumed names,” John objected. “For example, adulterers do. And not only them. There are some people who are just intensely private and avoid leaving any personal information anywhere.”
“You use your head, trainee,” Douglas nodded approvingly. “But we should make a choice. The local police will of course investigate in both places, and I would like to believe they will do it assiduously enough… though, to tell the truth, they don’t like to listen to us until their noses are stuck right into the shit. So you and I should not lose the control over the situation and have to choose one of two opposite directions. What do you think we should do?”
John frowned for a second, then stated resolutely: “We should return to the office, sir. To look once more through the databases.”
“OK.”
With several mouse clicks Rockston came to a conclusion.
“I would bet on Wash, sir.”
“Why?”
“Look at their driver’s records. Wash had not a single driving offense. And Sullivan was ticketed for illegal parking, for speeding…”
“And we know that our son of a bitch is very careful,” Douglas caught the idea and added with a laugh: “Seems to me, it’s the first case in my career when good lawful behavior serves as a basis for suspicion. But you are probably right. We’ll fly to Malcolmtown.”
“Are you sure he is still there, sir?”
“The truck passed him late yesterday afternoon, and we believe that he doesn’t drive in the dark during a snowfall. That means he could leave the town not earlier than this morning. But by this time the state police had been already notified, and he would have been already intercepted by officers posted either here or here,” Douglas showed on the map. “He’s still in town. And, probably, isn’t wasting any time. Let’s go.”
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Prime? Sergeant Jills here. Is your son at home?”
“Just a minute, I’ll look… No, apparently he went out to play. What happened? Did Greg do something wrong?”
“No, don’t worry. May I talk to your husband?”
“He hasn’t come home from work yet. Sergeant, what’s the matter?”
“If your son returns, please, try to keep him at home.”
“OK, but will you explain to me what this is all about?!”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Prime. We simply got information that there’s a man in town, who… er… pesters children and shows them obscenities. This tip may be false—most likely it is—but currently we’re are checking it out.”
“A flasher? I am a big girl, sergeant, and you can say what you mean.”
“Yeah, something like that. Also our information says that he can be dressed as Santa Claus.”
“Well, if so, he’ll hardly manage to entice Greg. Though my husband and I didn’t tell him Santa doesn’t exist, it seems to me that he understands that himself already.”
As usual, Nicolas noticed the future victim the first.
After several hours of fruitless waiting (there were some possibilities, but, having carefully estimated the probability of witnesses, he decided not to risk it) all, at last, went extremely well. The boy was obviously alone and went straight to the park. For a moment, a suspicion flashed in Nicolas’ mind that someone could be waiting for the kid in the park—the boy stepped there so purposefully, not like just a stroller. But no, it was hardly probable. The snow showed no one else’s footprints. However, a friend of the bad boy could appear later. But even if so—the park is big enough, and he will have time to lead the boy far away from the meeting point. And then, after finding out all that this nasty little thing knows, maybe he will come also for the uninvited visitor, who is for certain of the same age…
Standing behind a high pine, Nicolas studied his future prey, fixing the smallest details. It’s very important to get a rapport at once, to cause reckless trust… It’s a pity that no psychology could allow him to guess a name—this would have worked perfectly. However, the proper choice of a gift works wonders, too. So, the boy is obviously from an advantaged family—not rich, but advantaged. At the same time, both his parents most likely work and give him less attention than he would like. When he left home, nobody saw him off, otherwise his scarf would have been adjusted… There is for certain a computer in his house and most probably not only one, so a video game would not amaze him—he has plenty of them. His face is obviously not silly, and his inward life is complex enough for, taking into account the previous conclusions, the existence of some important misunderstanding between him and his parents; they think that they do the best for him, but actually it turns out to the contrary… He is not overweight, but his figure, gait, and general appearance demonstrate a lack of athletic skills, so hockey sticks and baseball bats are absolutely not for him. He’s a typical four-eyes straight-A student—who is of course offended by his classmates—but not a cowed timid boy at all; oh no, the resolute air of this clever little face doesn’t promise anything good to his enemies! If only he had a possibility for vengeance! Perhaps a real pistol would be the best gift for him, but it is, of course, not appropriate and, moreover, not in the interests of the good Santa. Toy weapons also don’t suit—he is not one of those dreamers who could be content with illusion instead of reality. Soldiers, dinosaurs, and so on are also not right here—he still may have some liking for such toys, but improbably dreams of them. Here is obviously a scientific and technical mentality, an aspiration to accuracy and attention to details, a bent on logicality and validity, a desire that all be real or, at least, as close to real as possible. He undoubtedly likes to read, but at the same time he is too young to prefer books to toys. That indicates an exact model of some machine, and aggression, let’s not forget how much aggression is hidden in this excellent student who cannot fight and is tormented by those whom he despises… A tank? No, a tank crawls, and he dreams to raise over his enemies whom he considers much below himself—so, of course, a plane, a heavily armed plane, a bomber!
“Good evening, young man!” No baby talk, no lisping—he hates it, but a solid adult reference should be pleasant for him…
And at this moment Nicolas understood that he had made some error in his judgment. Because in the eyes which turned to him, he read not only an expected surprise, but fear and hatred. And these feelings didn’t disappear when the boy understood that it was Santa Claus before him. More likely, even to the contrary.
But anyway it was too late to back off. And there was no need for it. Even if Nicolas hasn’t considered something, can’t he easily cope with a nine-year brat?
Blades rhythmically whirred overhead. Outside the cockpit, it was dusk already; the pilot switched the illumination on, and the instrument panel lit up with soft amber light. Below the helicopter and very close to it, black trees on white snow ran back; from such a perspective one could see that they grew sparser than it seemed from the ground level. From above, low gray clouds hung even closer; periodically they, curling, surrounded the cabin, and then the whole world outside disappeared. Or snow pellets densely covered the windshield, which was not much better.