At this moment another police officer with a folder in his hand glanced in the open door of the office and called the sergeant. Hopkins talked to him in a corridor and then returned to Mike who was waiting in perplexity. Now Hopkins also had a perplexed look. He offered to the young man one more photo:
“Recognize him?”
“Yes!” Mike exclaimed. “It’s the guy who didn’t return from the ‘cave!’ I didn’t invent anything, honest!”
“He’s not from our town. He hasn’t been heard from for about for a week, but they just started searching now…” for some time Hopkins silently looked at the young man, then continued: “Here’s what I think. Over the years of my service, I’ve seen many liars and if you are one of them, then you must be the most skillful of all. Because I could swear that you really believe in what you say. Though, of course, the men you saw cannot be dead killers. But it can be some sect of crazy imitators copying their idols. I’ll try to get the warrant now. And you talk to our artist again—only this time describe the victims to him. Perhaps we’ll get more matches…”
This time the artist didn’t even manage to complete all adjustments when Hopkins appeared again.
“We’ve got the warrant. Let’s go, we’ll take a look at your ‘cave.’ Actually, civilians are not taken along on police investigations, but you were inside there and your information may be useful. But be careful—if trouble begins, don’t even think about getting into it, you understand? Your mixing in won’t help us; it’ll only create more problems.”
Two police cruisers rapidly flew through streets—lit up by the rising sun, but still empty at this too early Saturday hour—and braked to a halt in the parking lot with old crumbled asphalt where Mike’s car still stood. The young man and Hopkins got out of one car and the two officers exited the other.
More than three hours remained till opening of the carnival, so its territory looked through the fence as lifeless as at night—though motionless attractions didn’t seem like multi-limbed monsters any more. This time the officer who had detained Mike at night (his surname was Lawrence), did himself what he had prevented the young man from doing—cut the chain on which the lock hung and they entered the carnival. Mike immediately darted forward, but Hopkins pulled him back by the shoulder: “Show the way, but keep behind us”.
They quickly passed by empty rides, locked buildings and closed booths. Near the post with the carnival map, Mike stopped to make sure again of what he already knew: the “Cave of Horror” wasn’t on there. Hopkins paid attention to it, too.
“There,” Mike confidently pointed the direction.
They reached the toilets; the policemen glared at the trailers and the “Employees only” shed—no signs of habitability were there either. Mike pointed to the pass through the prickly thickets. The policemen exchanged doubtful glances; then at the command of Hopkins the four men moved in single file on the narrow path (Mike went the third, after the sergeant). Lawrence, going first, pulled out his gun from its holster.
“If shooting begins, fall to the ground at once,” Hopkins whispered, for an instant turning back to Mike. Ahead the exit from thickets already loomed. The young man felt an ice lump squeeze in his belly…
“Well, so where is…?” Lawrence’s puzzled voice sounded.
Hopkins who had come to the open space after him, again turned back to Mike, and now in the sergeant’s eyes there was anger again. But the young man didn’t even notice it. In full shock he stared at the sight before his eyes
Right ahead there was exactly what he had expected to see a week ago when he had found this path in the thickets the first time. An illegal dump. The patch free from bushes was filled up with garbage—and, seemingly, this garbage had begun accumulating there long before the arrival of the carnival. Dirty old tires, rusty cans, broken glass and crushed plastic bottles, sodden cardboard, black plastic bags, torn and crumpled paper… Not a single trace of the “cave.”
Mike turned his head to the right, there, where there had been a cash booth. It also wasn’t there. In its place only a metal barrel stuck out—rusted through and deeply grown into the ground.
“And how do you explain this?” the sergeant inquired.
“Yes, how do you explain it?” coldly asked a new voice.
All four turned back. On the path behind them stood a lanky gentleman about forty five, dressed in a three-piece suit with a tie. The gaze of his watery-blue eyes passed from one face to another and stopped on Hopkins, having identified in him the man in charge.
“Who are you?” asked the latter not too kindly.
“Robin Dobbins. And if armed police break the lock and trespass on land I’ve rented, I want at least to know what’s the matter.”
There was nothing wrong with his fingers, as well as with his legs. His right cheek was lightly marked by a small scar, but it didn’t resemble traces of bites at all. It looked much more like a consequence of some fight in his youth.
“Here is the warrant, Mr. Dobbins. May I see, in turn, your ID?”
Dobbins pulled the driver’s license card from his jacket pocket. The sergeant studied the document and returned it to the owner.
“So?” the owner of the carnival inquired.
“How long ago was the building here dismantled, Mr. Dobbins?”
“What building?”
“Cave of Horror”.
“We have no such attraction. And never had. Did you see the carnival map?”
“We know that it isn’t present on the map. But this young man claims that he was there. And moreover—he saw a missing person we are searching for disappear there.”
Dobbins contemptuously looked askew at Mike, then again moved his glance to Hopkins:
“And if he tells you that at my carnival he was abducted by aliens, will you also believe him?”
“And why, in your opinion, do I know that missing guy by sight?” Mike exclaimed.
“The police should find it out from you, not from me,” Dobbins parried.
The sergeant pulled a photo from his pocket.
“And have you seen this person?”
“I don’t remember,” shrugged Dobbins. “Quite probably, he might visit our carnival, but, you understand, I don’t meet and I don’t see off every visitor. You can talk to the cashier when he comes, but I don’t promise he’ll remember either. Hundreds of faces per day pass before him… and moreover, he looks mostly not at faces but at hands with money.”
“And did this man ever work as a cashier for you? In general, was or is anybody from these ones among your employees?”
“N-no, never. In any case, definitely not in recent years. If you want, let’s go to my trailer, and I will show you all documentation on attractions and the lists of employees. I have a legal business, and I don’t deal with anything shady.”
“He’s lying!” Mike shouted in despair. “They simply smelled trouble and dismantled the ride!”
“Seems to me, this guy is obviously out of his head,” said Dobbins. “Do you see any traces of a ride here? Perhaps we also specially grew this grass?”
The grass, yellowed by the sun, indeed didn’t look like yesterday-planted. As well as the dry firm soil did not resemble recently laid turf.
Hopkins looked at the old slumped garbage, then at Mike’s confused face.
“Nevertheless let’s wait until this place is examined by our dog,” the sergeant uttered. “Thomson, stay here. Don’t let anybody destroy evidence. And we’ll go with Mr. Dobbins to look at the documents.”
Again having exited from the bushes on the other side of thickets, Mike paid attention to what he hadn’t noticed at once: the wooden pole stood in the same place, but there was no “Cave of Horror” sign on it.