Clown Moon

by Alex Jameson

  Harlan said nothing. The next rest stop couldn’t come fast enough.

  “Some people sure are dumb. I bet they could learn a lot from you.”

  Again Harlan said nothing. His boot tapped impatiently against the floor.

  “What was your first time? Will you tell me about it?”

  “I… what?”

  “I get it. You’re not much of a sharer. That’s okay. Me, I’ve always had these… urges, you know? At first I convinced myself that it was just a phase. For years and years, I ignored it. I got married. Had a couple of kids. But they were always there, nagging at me. But I promised myself I would not act on them. I had a family to think of.” She punctuated her sentence with a fist on the steering wheel. “I said to myself, ‘Sue, think of it like sex. You can have urges, but the moment you act on those urges in an untoward way, you’re a criminal.’ You know what I mean?”

  Harlan was bewildered. What was she telling him?

  Get rid of this woman, Kidd.

  “Then I heard about you, and what you were doing. See, John, I don’t live that far away. When I saw that they got your vehicle, and I heard about the truck driver from yesterday, I got in my car and I’ve been driving up and down the highway ever since.” She laughed. “The truth is, I wasn’t heading to Columbus before I picked you up. In fact, I picked up three other hitchhikers before I found you. But when I saw you there on the side of the road, I just knew it was you.”

  She doesn’t understand our mission. She couldn’t.

  “Ah, look. There’s a rest stop. I’ll pull off.” Sue veered the car off the highway and pulled into a spot outside a small building with bathrooms and some vending machines.

  Harlan pulled his hand out of his pocket, holding the scissors.

  Do it. Get rid of her. She could be dangerous.

  Sue looked over at him with her clear blue eyes creasing in the corners, a smile on her lips. “Well? Come on.”

  She opened the door and got out. Harlan stuffed his fist back in his pocket. In the men’s room, he splashed water on his face.

  What is wrong with you?

  “N-no. I won’t k-kill a person. Only c-clowns.”

  They were all people.

  “Once, m-maybe. Not any… anymore.”

  You’re weak. Useless.

  “She’ll g-get us where we n-need to go.”

  And then what?

  “I d-don’t know. We’ll see.”

  Outside the bathrooms, Harlan waited for Sue. She came out making a face and shaking her hands dry.

  “No towels in there,” she said as she wiped her hands on her jeans. “So listen, I can see you’re not much of a talker, but can I ask you a question? What’s in Columbus?”

  “The truck, with the c-clown, was g-going there. Delivering clown st… stuff.”

  “Ah. I get it. If they need more clown stuff, then there are lots of clowns there, right? Makes sense.” She unlocked the car and got in.

  You goddamn fool. She’ll drag us down.

  Harlan paused with his hand on the car door. “We’ll get r-rid of her in Ohio.”

  You don’t know that.

  He got in. Before she started the car, she turned to him, serious, and asked, “Can I help?”

  “Wh-what?”

  “When we get to Columbus… can I help, maybe? I don’t know how useful I’ll be, but I want to try.”

  He gulped. “Sure, Sue.”

  She beamed and started the car. “Good. We should be there in about an hour and a half.”

  CHAPTER 28

  * * *

  There were still a handful of employees on the picket lines by the time Cole arrived at Fischer-White, maybe a dozen in all, despite the late hour. She identified herself and questioned them about Harlan Kidd, without giving any indications as to why she was interested or his involvement in her case. Most of the guys reported that he was a quiet man, kept to himself, rarely ever talked about his personal life. A couple of them made fun of his stutter. Finally, one of the workers, a man named Shawn Craft, admitted to knowing Harlan a bit better than most. He ushered her over to a picnic table by the designated outdoor smoking area and he lit a cigarette.

  “Look,” he said, “I don’t know Harlan real well. I don’t think anybody does. Guy is a real loner—always has been.” Craft was in his mid-forties, gray at the temples and a bit in his beard. “But we grew up together, went to school at the same time.”

  “Something happened to him when he was a child,” Cole said. “Do you know anything about that?”

  Craft took a long drag and blew out a plume of smoke. “I remember that, vaguely. I mean, keep in mind, we were probably around maybe ten years old. See, we should’ve graduated school at the same time, but something happened to Harlan and he got kept back a grade. Come to think of it, he might have been kept back two grades. Rumor had it he didn’t speak to anyone for a long while.”

  “But you have no idea what it was?”

  Craft shrugged. “Like I said, guy didn’t talk. Really broke up his folks, I know that much.”

  “Did you know his parents?”

  “Yeah. Hell, everyone knew ‘em around here. You couldn’t find two nicer people. And up until whatever happened, Harlan was a happy kid. Pretty popular too, much as you can be when you’re that young. Afterward, he just kind of… crawled inside himself. Didn’t let anybody in. Whatever it was, it must have been a real doozy to mess him up like that.”

  “And he never really talked about it at the plant?”

  Craft snickered. “No. He barely talked at all, unless he had to. You know, a place like this, a bunch of guys together all day—we talk, we mess with each other, we joke around. Not Harlan though. He was just, all business.” Craft shook his head. “I always felt bad for the guy, not having any friends or social life. But hey, he never really tried either.”

  “Alright. Thank you, Mr. Craft. If there’s anything else you can think of—” Cole’s cell phone rang in her jacket pocket. “Excuse me.” She retreated a few yards away before answering. “Grayson? Tell me you’ve found something.”

  “Jesus, Cole, what have they gotten you into?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Grayson sighed. “Listen, I found something, but it’s really weird and not very well-documented. It seems that this is not the first time there’s been a creepy clown craze. Back in 1981, something very similar happened. This one started in Boston. It didn’t spread quite as quickly—no internet, you know—but it spread. There were reports of clowns harassing kids, and eventually adults, all over the country.”

  “1981,” she repeated. Harlan Kidd was born in 1971—he would have been around ten years old. “And there were sightings in the North Carolina area?”

  “There sure were. Doesn’t look like anybody really got hurt; at least not that was reported or documented. Some clowns chased people around with knives and stuff, but didn’t go overboard. Not like they’re doing now. The fad lasted a while, from April until December. Then it just died out.”

  “How could we not have known about this?”

  “I guess it wasn’t that hard to overlook. I mean, look at all the other stuff that was going on then—the Iran hostage crisis, the Major League Baseball strike, the space shuttle Columbia… didn’t MTV start in eighty-one?”

  “So I’m guessing that whatever happened to Harlan Kidd had something to do with clowns.”

  “That’s a safe bet. That’s all I got for you.”

  “Thanks, Grayson.”

  She hung up. So this had happened once before, in 1981. What had prompted it? For that matter, what had prompted it now, thirty-five years later? She was left with more questions than answers.

  ***

  “Reidigger.”

  “It’s Cole.” She quickly recounted what she’d learned at the plant, and what Grayson had told her.

  Reidigger rubbed absently at his temples. “This just keeps getting weirder.”

  He leaned against his car
in the McDonald’s parking lot where the murder had taken place, hoping against hope that the police had overlooked something in their investigation. They hadn’t. He’d already seen the truck, too, and it wasn’t much more telling. “I sent Harlan Kidd’s bloody clothes to the lab for testing. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that some of the blood might be his.”

  “You sound tired, sir.”

  “Keen observation, Cole. I’m goddamn exhausted.”

  “Listen… maybe it’s time to make it public. We could set up a hotline—”

  “Why, so every Joe Schmo that sees a chubby bald guy can inundate us with calls?”

  “No, so we can get more intel on where he might be—”

  “Cole, I don’t think you get it. Right now we can link him to one murder. Just one, out of seven—maybe two, once the lab is done. I don’t know about you, but that’s not enough for me.”

  “Just getting him at all would be a win. A conviction on two murders could keep him in jail for life.”

  “It’s not enough—”

  “Carl,” she said sharply. “Let’s be honest with ourselves. You want to be the one that catches the serial killer. I get that; I do. It’s ambitious. But we can’t afford more bodies. We just can’t.”

  Reidigger was stunned into silence. His nostrils flared.

  “How dare you suggest that,” he seethed. “My job is to get this prick off the streets, and I’m trying to do that without causing a panic.”

  “There’s already a panic. And…” She hesitated. “I think your ego is getting the best of you.”

  “That’s enough!” he barked into the phone. “That’s enough out of you. You’re off this case. First thing in the morning I’m having you reassigned.”

  “But sir—”

  “No. Go home, Cole.”

  He hung up on her. He paced the parking lot quickly, muttering to himself, trying to assuage his anger. It didn’t work. He hurled the phone. It bounced in the grass and under a bush.

  “Dammit!”

  It took him five minutes to find it again. The corner of the screen was cracked.

  He wasn’t sure he even had the authority to reassign Cole, though he’d damn well try, but for now, he needed rest. He was beat. He searched online and found a Hyatt about twenty-five minutes up the road. After checking in and finding his room, he took off his jacket, shoes and tie and laid on the bed on his back with a forearm covering his eyes.

  The simple act of sitting up seemed like a chore, and after a few minutes, he gave up on the idea. Taking off his shirt and pants and brushing his teeth and flossing, would be impossible, given his current state. He’d just lay here until morning. Before sleep could claim him, his phone rang. Probably Cole. He answered without looking at it.

  “Reidigger,” he snapped, annoyed.

  “Carl? It’s Robert.”

  The voice was a male baritone that he recognized right away. The director. He sat bolt upright.

  “Sorry, sir. I didn’t realize it was you.”

  “Carl, just what the hell is going on out there?”

  This was the last thing he needed right now.

  “Sir, I assure you, I have the situation under control—”

  “That’s what you said four days ago. Now there are seven bodies. Seven, Carl! People know that our department is involved, and this guy is still at large. That’s how they lose faith in us, Carl. And frankly, we’re losing faith in you.”

  “Sir, we have new information. We know his name, where he lives, his place of employment—”

  “Do you know where he is? Are you on your way there right now?”

  “Well, no—”

  “Then you have nothing,” the director sighed. “So you have no leads right now then?”

  “That’s… yes. We have a lead.”

  The director paused, waiting for him to continue. “Do you care to share it, Carl?”

  “Yes… of course,” he put the director on speaker and frantically searched the police report from the most recent murder. “He’s, uh… we have reason to believe he’s… he’s going to Columbus, Ohio.”

  “Based on what, exactly?”

  “That’s where the truck was headed, the truck from the most recent victim. It was stocked full of clown supplies. We have strong reason to believe he’ll strike there next.”

  “Clowns,” the director muttered. “What is this world coming to?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know, sir.”

  “Fine. If you’re sure and this is your only lead, I’m sending additional agents to Columbus.”

  “That’s not necessary, sir—”

  “Oh, I think it is. They’ll arrive by morning; I expect you to provide an address where they can meet you by 0700.” The director hung up.

  Reidigger hung his head. Why did he say Columbus? Now more agents were coming in, with no guarantee that Harlan Kidd would show up there. If it was a bust, he’d be a laughingstock. Not like he wasn’t already. He didn’t want to do it, but he had to. He needed an ally.

  He called Cole.

  “Yes?” she answered. Her tone was biting.

  “Look, I… forget what I said earlier. I apologize. I’m hotheaded.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “And… maybe some small part of what you said was right. I do want this.”

  “I know.”

  “Can you jump on a plane and be in Columbus by seven a.m. tomorrow?”

  “Columbus? Why?”

  “Just a hunch. That’s where the truck was headed. The director is sending more agents.”

  It was so quiet on the other end that he was afraid the call had dropped. Then Cole said simply, “I’ll meet you there,” and she hung up.

  Reidigger mapped the route to Columbus. It was just under a three-hour drive. He could get about six hours of sleep before he had to be on the road. They were going to charge him for the room anyway. He lay back, still fully dressed, and closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER 29

  * * *

  Somewhere in Ohio

  Sam woke. He felt groggy. His head felt too light again. He rubbed his face, stretched, and sighed. It took him several seconds to remember that he’d taken the pill from Jake. He liked that it helped him sleep; he didn’t like how it made him feel when he woke. It took several more seconds to realize the VW van was stopped. That kid with the owlish glasses, Brian, sat in front of him in the rearmost seat. Jake sat beside him. The other seats were empty.

  “Hey, you’re awake,” Jake observed.

  “Yup.”

  Sam peered out the window, expecting a gas station or mini-mart or something, but they appeared to be parked on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. There were woods on one side of the street, and sparse homes on the other.

  “Where are we?”

  Jake shrugged one shoulder. “Some Podunk town in Ohio.”

  “Why?”

  “The guys stopped to find something to eat. They saw some clowns, pulled off, and chased them. I guess after all the talk about Columbus, they were pretty jazzed up and needed to burn some energy.”

  “And you didn’t try to stop them?”

  From in front of them, Brian scoffed a little. “Good luck with that.”

  “So, what’s your deal then?” Sam asked him. “Are you guarding the van or something?”

  “I don’t really share in their… predilections.”

  “You don’t care about the clown thing?”

  “I just don’t find it fun to hit someone with a baseball bat,” Brian said plainly.

  Christ, Sam thought. Is that what they’re out there doing? He and Jake exchanged a glance.

  “Can you move aside, Jake? I want to get out and stretch my legs.”

  Jake opened the side door and moved into the center row seat so Sam could get out. His legs felt a little shaky, but it felt good to move around. He couldn’t help but notice, as he stepped out of the van, that the keys were still in the ignition.

  “It was sup
posed to be different,” Brian said through the open door. “This trip… we planned it for months. We each picked a couple of things we wanted to see. Didn’t matter where they were. Janet wanted to go to Orlando. Biggie wanted to see the Black Hills. I wanted to go to the Mutter Museum in Philly.” He shook his head. “We haven’t done any of that yet. We sleep during the day, and travel at night. Eric keeps saying, ‘We’ll do that other stuff on the way back.’”

  Sam took a good look at the kid. He was clearly younger than the others. “How’d you get mixed up with them?”

  “Biggie is my brother.”

  “Huh. I don’t see the resemblance.”

  “We’re both adopted.”

  “Ah,” Sam scanned the tree line.

  The road they were parked on was illuminated by streetlights, but he couldn’t see anything beyond the ring of light they cast. “Did you see which way they went?”

  Brian pointed vaguely toward the trees. “Are you going after them? It’s better to wait. We don’t want anyone getting lost.”

  “Sure.”

  He had a point. They were in unfamiliar territory. Sam listened for sounds, but he couldn’t hear anything outside of crickets chirping and the streetlights buzzing gently.

  They could take it, he thought. They would have no problem overpowering the kid and taking the van. Sam glanced at Jake and then motioned with his eyes toward the front of the van. Jake raised an eyebrow.

  “This isn’t the first time this has happened, you know,” Brian said.

  “What are you talking about?” Sam asked.

  “The clown thing.”

  Jake turned to him, a small smirk on his face. “You’re saying this isn’t the first time a bunch of random people decided to dress up like clowns and scare the hell out of people?”

  Brian nodded solemnly. “That’s right. I was reading about it online. Back in 1981, a very similar thing happened. There’s not much to find on it, but it happened. No one knows why. Don’t you think that’s strange?”