A Fear of Clowns (The Greasepaint Chronicals) (21 page)

Then they died, tortured to
death. That didn't sound like a good place to be then. Carl Morse and Lynn...
It still didn't really make sense.

"But... A Sheriff? I guess
he might substitute for a robust man or a fighter, but... High risk. Is he
thrill seeking? No... If that was the case he wouldn't have spent half a year
getting into place with him. So... What does that leave?"

There was no answer, and Jay
wouldn't have expected one. Even if he wasn't a real suspect anymore, he wasn't
one of them. Not an FBI man, and not even a detective. These men had a job to
do, and didn't need him to figure it out for them. They were smart and had
resources. These two men had probably been on that case for a while too, maybe
years. They knew what to look for. How to find the victims.

He tried to settle back, but his
mind kept poking into things, prodding and working away. Sure, there was a gear
grinding slowness to it all, but he still went on, worrying at it. What did he
know? Or think he knew.

That Mills was a killer. That he
hadn't killed
him
. That the man hadn't been upset about his idea of why
Jason had been taken. To find out the
why
. It wasn't his idea,
originally, that was clear, but he'd seemed fine with it, once the words had
been spoken. Attracted to the concept of another person
getting
him.

Muttering this out loud, Jay
nodded.

"That's it. He wants someone
to understand him. To know why he did what he has. To figure that part out. I
wonder if he knows the real answer himself? It's probably because the ancient
spirits told him to or something like that. He can only get off when someone
else is screaming or... Has he left anyone alive before? Like me?"

 There was a long silence, and
McNab, up in the passenger's seat, shifted. It was an uneasy thing, but could
mean anything. From him needing a rest break to use the bathroom to the man
sitting on a secret that had suddenly poked him in the behind. When he spoke
there was a guarded tone to it. Probably because it wasn't really classified,
but they still weren't sure if Jay was someone they could trust.

"Not that we know about.
That's a wild card. So is killing Margaret Winthrop like that. It's out of
pattern. He didn't torture her first. If it wasn't for the footage from the gas
station, with him pushing her into his trunk, we wouldn't have known to come.
That kind of thing is rare, and he uses the same mask all the time. That creepy
one. It makes a good disguise. You can't see his face, and people won't call
the police to report even a freaky man dressed like Bozo. It's not blending, but
a black ski mask would get ten times the suspicion or more. We have him now. He
finally messed up. Taking you and leaving you alive like that. He should have
killed you." The man sounded less than personal about that. It wasn't that
he was really recommending it, just not understanding why it hadn't happened.

Jason nodded, his brain trying to
shove the pieces together. The real question wasn't even close to answered, was
it? Why. The how was easy, most of the time. Reality didn't have convoluted
ways to hide itself, and humans were predictable, if you knew enough about
them. It always bugged him that he was in the dark so often, as a historian, as
to that part. They could tell who won the battle, and work out that the well
was poisoned, or the walls collapsed, but had to make up reasons as for why the
attack came at a given time, or picked thus and such a target. Normally it
wasn't that hard to come up with a guess, of course. A famine would come, so
one tribe or kingdom would attack the neighbors, looking for a way to survive.
One group would decide that they wanted to crack their eggs on the big end and
the little enders next door took exception to it. How often were those the real
reasons?

Most of the time it was probably
far more boring, personal and political. The villagers demanded food, and instead
of doing what they'd always done in lean times and turn to fishing, harvesting
wild plants and sharing, the leader suggests a power move, to consolidate his
control. The king wanted to screw the daughter of the ruler two countries over
and didn't like being thwarted, so attacked. That sort of thing. There were
always hints, but it was the most uncertain part of life.

Most investigators didn't even
try. They got to the end of the facts, and left that part alone. Rapists
claimed they were abused children, or drunk, and that was enough. Killers told
the investigators that they just loved the feel of a knife on flesh and people
used the term psycho liberally, as if that explained it all.

Why, then, was a thing that very
few people cared about. He did however. It was central to this matter, too, he
couldn't help but feel. Blinking, one piece started to slide into place.

 "Riiight. So, he left me
alive, so that I could figure out why he's doing this, even knowing that it was
a risk. That I'd tell you, and that you would have a team of people coming to
back you up. That either means he thinks he can't be caught, or he doesn't
care. He's smart enough not to be delusional as far as the first one. Maybe."
That made sense, but again, why?

In the driver's seat, subtly and
without comment, Daniels pushed the speed up.

"And the faked up tracking
log... Whoever did that, and we have no reason to not think it was him, was all
about pointing a finger at Morse. It was his code used, and sloppily enough
that it would have been figured out, even if you didn't have a great alibi.
Then he leaves you alive. I think you might be on to something there. Any clue?
It didn't sound like he explained that to you, but if you know anything, or
think you do, fess up now. We have lives to save. If we can."

That was true. Not his favorite
people, but still, did he want them dead for what they'd done to him? It had
been so wrong that a lot of people wondered why he hadn't freaked out and
killed at least one of them when they heard the tale, but he really didn't want
that. It was a fantasy that he'd let himself have, but not on the level that
some might. What he wanted was for the thing to be over, and for them to never
do it again, to anyone else.

That had to be enough. It wasn't
justice, but it was, in the end, the best that could be done. What had happened
to him, well, it wasn't even illegal in most places. It should have been fraud,
and punishable, but the fact was that one in five children weren't their father's.
That meant men like Carl and women like Lynn probably pulled things like what
they had a lot. If it worked, why change the plan? Until someone found out.

"You know... I know this is
stupid, but I think that there's something here. Mills, he killed Maggie to
frame Carl, knowing that he hated me and would go after the closest clown
around. That was... it..." He tried to think and nothing much came. The
men in the front let him do it too, probably bored with the hobo character in
the back. Jay hadn't been doing the voice, because he was too tired. Too
distracted and out of it

Right now he was more than his
act, and his mind was what was needed, not his ability to hold to expectations.

Not that it was working for him.
He tried again, hoping that running his mouth would let his subconscious mind
come up with something that he'd been missing. Personally he blamed the drugs.
It didn't help him do any better, but was probably true.

"Hey, um, do we have
anything to drink? Water?" A bottle was passed back, over McNab's
shoulder.

 That got sipped slowly, since
even hours later he felt like crud. A tiny little sip at a time, he got through
half the bottle. That was what he needed to do, wasn't it? Take it all in
little sips.

"So, yeah, what do we have?
Mills tried to frame me, but really wasn't doing that, which is
clever
.
Most of the time no one would have really gotten that the tracking thing wasn't
showing exactly what it said. Nice of you to pretend you'd catch it, but would
you really? Except that he knew he'd be seen, and that you two would come. Or
at least the FBI. Then he got to me, but that was an alarm, more than anything.
I mean, sure, he was impressed that I'd figured out who it had to be, and
steered you toward him, but..." He sipped again, the cool water feeling
nice at it went down. Jay realized that he was probably badly dehydrated.
"Leaving me alive... That means he wants to be caught? Which is stupid. No
one really wants that. So... What does that leave?"

No one spoke, which worked for Jason,
since something occurred to him then. It wasn't certain of course, but might
just be the case.

"What if... What if it
wasn't that he wants to be caught, but knows it doesn't matter?"

Daniels snorted a bit, but asked
his question politely.

"What do you mean?"

 "Well, what if... What if
all the other murders weren't about his sick fantasies, or not
just
that, but were practice? For the main event? Now..." He didn't finish the
words. It all fit, but it was still just a guess.

That didn't keep the car from
nudging forward just a little bit faster however.

Daniels sounded grim, and pleased
at the same time.

"If that's the case, then we
can find him. Not bad, Dr. Hadley. And here I thought you were just a
clown."

Jason nodded. Wasn't he? Then
again, was anyone only a single thing like that? He just shut up, drank his
water, and considered what he needed to do next.

It felt strange to him, going to
find his daughter. It had been a long while since he'd seen her, about two and
a half years. Lynn hadn't bothered to move out of their old house, but then why
would she? It was paid for, and nicer than most in the area. A real building,
with four bedrooms and two baths. The dream house that she'd always insisted
she wanted. He'd walked away, and just let them have it, so that Alex wouldn't
be hurt any more than the situation required. It wasn't enough, he knew.

The place looked about the same,
when Daniels pulled the big dark colored car up in front of it. White, because
Lynn had insisted for some reason when they'd gotten it that it had to be that
color. Nice too. He'd worked hard to make the whole thing exactly the way she
wanted it. Back then his whole life had been like that. Jay would work all day,
and then in the evenings and on the weekends, he'd spend time with his
daughter, while he arranged things to exactly the way his wife wanted them. It
had seemed loving at the time, like he was being a good husband. The best
father he could be.

Now it had a more sinister aspect
to it. Live in maid, handyman and babysitter, as well as provider. A dupe too
dense to think the worst about someone else. She'd said she loved him, and
being a bit more trusting then, or perhaps a lot more, he'd just accepted that,
and felt lucky to have her.

It had changed, over the last
years. There were struggling weeds in the front, and the place held a dingy
quality that made it seem like no one had touched the outside of it much. Not
to keep it looking nice and sharp. The walkway, which was paved with real
stones that he'd spent two weekends collecting, nearly ten years before, still
seemed nice. They were in different colors, but even. Not smooth, but natural
looking. He could have just gone to the Home Depot, but again, he'd wanted it
to seem special. For her. For Alex, too.

Part of Jason wanted to just sit
in the car, and not go in. For some reason, even knowing it wasn't true, he
kept expecting Lynn to come out and start screaming at him. That, or pretending
to be sweet while making yet another demand on him. Warping his ability to
understand what a healthy and normal relationship really was. To complain that
he hadn't paid a bill on time, or that the trash needed to be taken out, and
that his full time job was no excuse for that to have not happened yet. Even if
she'd been home all day.

The FBI agents called his
reticence however with their own action, just climbing out to walk up to the
place, looking around professionally, in case it was a trap. He hoped not,
because that would mean his little girl was in trouble. That thought got him to
move too, forgetting that he was still dressed for work. Like a hobo. Empty
handed as well. He should have brought her something. A teddy bear, or an IPad.
That part of things just left him sighing as he went to the front, nearly
stumbling over the very stones that he'd put in place, all those years before.
They were unfamiliar now, and he was still reeling from the drugs in his
system. Really, he probably should have gone to the hospital. It was just that
years of experience had taught him that places like that weren't where you went
for help. Not with chemical problems. Time would fix it. Or you died. Since he
hadn't stopped breathing the day before, he'd probably be fine.

That didn't mean he wasn't still
feeling the effects of the Rohypnol. The halflife of it in his system was
probably just past. That meant he wouldn't be clean for at least another day.
Maybe more. Walking up to the door, he held back a bit, straightening his
wrinkled brown jacket, and then fixing the daisy on his lapel. He looked
ridiculous, but didn't have time, or the means, to change into something else.

 McNab used a large dark skinned
hand to knock, his demeanor relaxed. It wasn't a big deal to either of the
agents. Just to Jay. He felt his breath close off, and his heart pound. There
was no way that she wouldn't hate him, was there? Not really. He'd abandoned
her. Worse, even when he'd been sitting behind convenience stores, drinking
cheap wine, he'd
always
known that. That part of things wasn't a
question in his mind, and never had been. Jay had been so sickened by what had
been done to him that he'd left a little girl with a woman that he wasn't
totally sure was sane. She had to be a psychopath, in order to sell an act like
that for so long, didn't she?