D A Novel (George Right) - By George Right Page 0,73

in 1994. Lucas died in prison in 2001. And it's the same story with all the others you allegedly identified. All of them are American serial killers and none of them is still alive. The one you called "the coffin maker," for example, has been dead since 1896. Now admit that you simply found their photos on the Internet and..."

"Sergeant, I don't understand either, but I told you the truth! I never was interested in serial killers! The only one I know about is Jack the Ripper..."

"Actually, nobody knows much about him. There are several versions, but..."

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