I watched Connie. She had a peculiar look on her face throughout Neal’s talk. Almost smug. And I understood why this was such a big deal for her, why she and David had arranged this. True-crime podcasters like her were often criticised for fixating on the puzzle and glorifying the dark crimes they talked about, forgetting about the victims. I’d had the same prejudices myself. By inviting Neal along, she was forcing her audience to think about Sally and Eric and their families, and I guessed that was why he’d agreed to do it.
Neal finished talking, and in the silence I heard someone say, ‘Dad.’
I looked around. It was Frankie, beckoning to me. She was near the exit. Her eyes were wide and she looked a little sick.
I stood up. The show was over and the people in the row behind me weren’t so grumpy about pulling back their chairs so I could get by. I ran over to Frankie.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked. ‘I told you to stay at the cabin.’
She gave me a look of defiance. ‘You said you were going to fetch Ryan but you didn’t. So I came looking for you.’
‘Frankie! What the hell?’
‘It’s fine. There are loads of people around.’
I sighed. The path to the exit had cleared a little, so I motioned for Frankie to leave the tent.
‘Come on,’ I said once we were outside. ‘Let’s get you back to the cabin. I’ve given up trying to get David and Connie to listen to me.’
‘No. I need to show you something first.’
‘Frankie, we should get back—’
‘Dad! Listen to me!’ She yelled it. ‘Sorry, but just come with me. Let me show you.’
I followed her across the field, back down the path towards the barbecue. The music grew louder as we got closer. There was a small group of people standing behind where the food was being served. One of them was Greg, chatting to Vivian and another woman in a Hollow Falls polo. Beside Greg, with unhappy, sulky faces, stood two teenagers.
‘That’s them,’ Frankie whispered. ‘Buddy and Darlene.’
‘What? Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. They haven’t spotted me but I’ve been following them.’
I waited.
‘They’ve been here with Greg for the past five or ten minutes. I heard him introduce them to those women. Guess what he said?’
‘What?’
‘“Meet my kids”。’
I stared at her, then turned back to look at Buddy and Darlene and Greg.
He was their dad.
‘It must have been him,’ Frankie whispered. ‘The man in the crow mask. It was Greg.’
Chapter 30
Greg hadn’t seen us staring at him. He was too busy chatting with Vivian and the other woman. Instinctively, I took a step towards him, but Frankie caught my arm.
‘Dad,’ she said. ‘Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t know we know.’
I stopped. She was right. He was surrounded by people. If I marched up to him and accused him of creeping around the woods wearing a mask, of being involved in a rock-throwing attack on my daughter, he would act like I was crazy. It would sound crazy.
‘I always thought there was something weird about him,’ Frankie said. ‘I told you, didn’t I?’
I thought about what Frankie had seen, twice now. The crow, the goat and the fox. I had thought that perhaps the crow was Everett, but Greg – who hadn’t been missing for two decades – was a far more likely candidate. What exactly were they up to? Was Greg involved in the teenagers’ revenge plot against Frankie and Ryan? Was that what this was all about? Greg joining his children in taking vengeance against two kids who had bad-mouthed his hometown on social media?
It made little sense. I could understand a pair of teenagers doing that. But a grown man? One who was the manager of the local resort? Surely not.
There had to be something else going on.
Something connected to the murders?
I thought about the symbols painted in Eric Daniels’ blood. The pagan symbols. Were Greg and his family pagans? Were the masks part of some sort of weird ritual?
Had Greg been involved in the murder of those teachers?
‘Dad,’ Frankie said. ‘We should go. Let’s take Ryan with us, go to the police.’
For a moment I was confused, still lost in my thoughts. Tell them we think Greg might have been involved in a murder committed twenty years ago? No, she meant the threats, the rock-throwing, the dead rabbit, the break-in that had killed Donna.
‘Wait,’ I said. I needed to think.