Linwood Barclay - Far From True

David knew that approach was risky, but decided to be optimistic. Maybe this would go just fine.

“Thank you all for coming,” Finley said, positioning himself so the falls were behind him, but not so close that they would drown out what he had to say. “Everybody ready to go?”

The two men carrying video cameras moved in closer. The guys from the Times Union and the radio station were holding out microphones.

“You people know me,” he began. “I’m Randall Finley, and today I’d like to talk to you from the heart about something that means the world to me. This town — the town of Promise Falls — and its people.”

Should have brought a crowd, David thought. I’m an amateur at this.

“Look at what’s happened in this town since I was mayor. An amusement park that was supposed to bring us jobs has packed up. The corporation behind a private-enterprise prison that was going to set up here changed its mind. Businesses small and large have left. The town is cutting back on basic maintenance and infrastructure upgrades.”

Finley paused for dramatic effect. “If only our problems were just economic, maybe we could find a way out. But the problems here go much deeper, my friends. This is a town that’s living in fear. This is a town where people are afraid to leave their doors unlocked even when they’re home, in the middle of the day. There is, and I think some of you may snicker when I say this, but there’s an evil in this town. Something’s very wrong.

“Just the other week, I witnessed a ritualistic slaughter of animals. Threatening messages were scrawled onto mannequins on the Five Mountains Ferris wheel. Last night, a bus in flames barreled down one of this town’s main streets. And clearly worst of all, a madman bombed the drive-in screen outside town, killing four people. That was an act of terrorism that shocked not only this town but the entire country. And now we know that those incidents are all strangely linked. The police admitted as much yesterday, but do they have anyone in custody? Do they even have any leads? If they do, they’re sure not telling us. They’d rather keep us in a permanent state of unease.”

David heard a car pulling up at the curb. He craned his neck around, saw someone watching from behind the wheel. It was that detective. Barry Duckworth.

“Unbelievable,” Finley continued. “How could these kinds of things happen here? What happened at the Constellation, that has every indication of being a terrorist act. And what’s being done? Someone blows up a drive-in theater today, and gets away with it, what will they do tomorrow? I repeat, what will they do tomorrow?”

Duckworth had gotten out of his car and was slowly walking across the park, listening.

“But this evil that has infected our town didn’t just happen in the last couple of weeks. It has been festering for three years. For three years at least. It began right here, right where we’re standing.” Another pause. Duckworth had taken a position behind the cameras, arms folded, watching.

“This is the spot where a young woman named Olivia Fisher was brutally murdered. You all remember that night, I know you do. It was a monstrous crime, and three years have gone by without an arrest.

“Perhaps you think that case has been closed. Maybe you’re thinking about that recent case, the murder of Rosemary Gaynor. The police would have you believe her doctor killed her to cover up an illegal adoption. But what the police haven’t told you is how astonishingly similar the murders of Rosemary Gaynor and Olivia Fisher were, and how unlikely it is the doctor could have committed both. Which means there’s a killer out there. A sick, sadistic killer waiting to strike again. And he may very well be the same person who’s embarked on a campaign of terror against this town. Mr. Twenty-three, they’re calling him.”

Duckworth unfolded his arms.

“But it gets worse,” Finley said, his voice rising. “The Promise Falls police were slow in recognizing the connection between these two crimes. They lost valuable time putting the pieces together. And the blame for that can be laid right at the door of the chief of police.”

Duckworth spotted David, closed in on him, grabbed his arm, and said, “What the hell is going on here?”

“He’s running for mayor,” he whispered.

“What’s this bullshit about Olivia Fisher and Rosemary Gaynor? Where’s he getting this?”

David pulled his arm away. “He’s got his sources.”

Finley continued. “That’s right. I’m talking about Rhonda Finderman. Who was the primary investigator on the Olivia Fisher case. But she’s so wrapped up with bureaucratic nonsense, caught up with the perks and power of her position, that she took her eye off the ball. She didn’t know that the Gaynor case was a carbon copy of the Fisher murder, and who knows how much that put back the investigation?”

Duckworth grabbed for David again. “He can’t say this.”

David shrugged. “It’s already out there now.”

“Has he asked the chief about this before blabbing it in front of the cameras?”

David shook his head. “I’m guessing she’ll be hearing about it, though.”

“And where’s our current mayor, Amanda Croydon, through all this?” Finley was saying. “Where’s the oversight? Does anyone know what’s going on? Does our current mayor have even the slightest notion? I’d like to think maybe she’s not paying attention to how the police department is being run because she’s so busy bringing new jobs to Promise Falls.” He grinned. “If only.”

Finley waited a beat, took a breath.

“That’s why I’m coming back. That’s why, today, I am declaring that I am a candidate for mayor of Promise Falls. I want to run this town again and return it to its former glory. I want to save Promise Falls.”

He paused again, as though expecting applause, perhaps forgetting that members of the media did not typically clap their hands for politicians.

He offered up an awkward grin and said, “I’m guessing there must be a few questions.”

A woman from one of the TV stations asked, “How do you come back from what happened when you were mayor?”

“I’m here today to answer questions about the current state of Promise Falls and why I want to be its mayor again,” Finley said. “Voters won’t find anyone more qualified. I know this town from top to bottom. I know every inch of its infrastructure. I know Promise Falls like the back of my hand.” He held up his right palm, actually studied the back of his hand.

No no no, David thought.

Finley continued. “I’d be happy to take a question along those lines.”

The woman pressed on. “When you were mayor before, during your campaign for a higher office, you admitted having sex with an underage prostitute. A young girl. Do you really expect voters to go for someone with that kind of character? Do you think the citizens of Promise Falls have forgotten about that?”

“I thought she was older,” Finley blurted.

David briefly put a hand over his eyes.

“Would that have made it okay?” asked the Times Union reporter.

“Look,” said Finley, “nobody cares about that anymore. That’s water under the bridge. It was years ago. What people are concerned about are the issues, not some minor indiscretions I may or may not have made in the past.”

“Do you know what happened to that girl?” the same TV reporter asked.

“I always said I hoped she got the support she needed to turn her life around.”

“She died,” the woman said. “Didn’t you know that? That she had died?”

Finley’s face was starting to flush. “I believe I did hear that, but it was totally unrelated to—”