CHAPTER SEVEN

The Screamatorium had seen better days. That was clear the second Ella set foot inside the joint. If Shadowland was the shiny new Cadillac of haunted houses, this place was a rusted-out Ford Pinto ready to burst into flames at the slightest provocation. Sheriff Redmond led Ella and Luca through a maze of rooms that seemed to be sorely lacking in the realism department.

‘Quite a change from Shadowland,' Ella said as she eyed a barrel full of red liquid. It looked more like cherry cough syrup than blood, but then again, maybe that was the point. Nothing said 'terror' quite like the threat of a Robitussin overdose.

‘This place has been here donkey's years. Oldest attraction in town. I guess it hasn't been updated much.'

They moved into the next room, a Victorian nightmare complete with a claw-foot bathtub that looked like it had hosted its fair share of dismemberments. A mannequin of an old woman lay in a four-poster bed beside a grandfather clock that had frozen at three o'clock.

But it was the antique porcelain doll sitting on a dusty shelf that caught Ella's attention. Its pale, cracked face was frozen in a perpetual smile, and its eyes gleamed an unsettling crimson. The doll seemed out of place among the cobwebs and decay, too pristine, too carefully positioned. It was like a single red rose in a bouquet of dead flowers.

‘Huh,' Luca said, leaning in for a closer look as they passed it by. ‘Animatronics. Seems a bit sophisticated for this place.'

‘Agreed,' Ella said. She followed Redmond into the next room and felt like she'd stumbled into some demented farmer's twisted harvest festival. Pumpkins dominated the space, but they were far from regular jack-o'-lanterns. These monstrosities ranged from tiny to colossal, all boasting razor-sharp grins and downturned eyes.

In the corner of the room stood a scarecrow draped in a black robe, but where its head should be, a massive pumpkin sat instead. Just like the porcelain doll, the scarecrow's eyes flashed red in a choppy rhythm.

Next followed a clown room, complete with a moving head that reminded Ella of John Wayne Gacy. Then an undead room, and finally, a room with no particular theme. It was as ordinary as white bread, with piles of crates stacked in one corner like a half-assed attempt at Jenga. A sign hung above the exit, proudly proclaiming ‘CONGRATULATIONS - YOU'VE SURVIVED' in garish neon letters.

Beside it, a cymbal-clanging monkey leered at them with another set of flashing red peepers.

And there, in the center of the room, was the main attraction. A dark stain marred the floorboards. Ella didn't need the sheriff to tell her what it was.

‘This is where Gregory Van Allen was killed,' she said.

Redmond nodded. ‘Yup. Stabbed in the stomach.'

Ella eyeballed the dark stain on the floor like it was a riddle scrawled in blood. The Screamatorium had probably seen its share of fake gore over the years, but this was the real deal. Gregory Van Allen had bled out here, alone in his own house of horrors.

‘How did our killer get Van Allen in here?' she asked. ‘Is it normal for the owner to come strolling through – alone?'

‘According to the guy who found the body, yes. Van Allen always did one last sweep of the place before closing up.'

‘Who was this guy?' Ella asked.

‘Name's Jeremy, an admin worker here. Before you ask, he's got a solid alibi.'

Luca, always the details man, was busy cataloging the room's half-assed decor. ‘Props are cheap, but big enough to hide behind. I'm just wondering how our killer managed to isolate Van Allen and leave no witnesses.'

‘Yeah, Van Allen was a cheapskate when it came to props, but he apparently blew his budget on actors. Guys in masks who'd chase the punters around. All that kind of stuff.'

The gears in Ella's head started turning, grinding out a theory. ‘Okay, so there's our first port of call. Those actors must know that Van Allen sweeps the rooms before leaving, so maybe one of them hid in here and ambushed him?'

‘Didn't even have to hide,' Luca added. ‘Could have just stayed late for whatever reason.'

‘We've got a list of the actors back at the precinct. Haven't had a chance to interview them all yet.'

Luca, meanwhile, was frowning at the ceiling like it had just insulted his mother. ‘Guys, correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't the Chamber of Reflections have a distinct lack of cameras?'

Ella followed his gaze, scanning the exposed rafters. ‘It had some, they just weren't turned on.'

‘Well, I'm not seeing a single camera in here at all. Didn't see any on the way in, either.'

He was right. No cameras, no witnesses, no watchful eye keeping tabs on the goings-on inside the Screamatorium.

‘No, the admin guy said there's no CCTV in here. Said there wasn't any point because they never had any trouble.'

Ella wasn't buying what the sheriff was selling. Her gut was doing cartwheels, the kind that suggested something was rotten in the state of Oregon. Even libraries had CCTV these days.

‘Hold the phone,' Ella said. ‘You're telling me that Van Allen, a man who made his living by making people crap their pants, didn't put up cameras in here?'

Sheriff Redmond, to his credit, managed to look only slightly offended. The man had the poker face of a seasoned gambler, but Ella could see the cracks starting to form. ‘I'm just relaying what Jeremy said. Don't forget, this isn't Chicago or New York or wherever. Some people are old school around here.'

‘It does seem odd,' Luca added. ‘Van Allen has people in masks running around, potentially getting physical with strangers. Without cameras, the guy could drown in lawsuits if something went wrong. Or if an actor went too far.'

‘Maybe that's exactly why he doesn't have cameras,' Redmond said.

Ella couldn't put her finger on it, but eighteen months of working beside Ripley had taught her to catalog every scene – murder scene or not – as though it was a magician's stage. If something seemed surplus to requirement, there was usually a reason for it.

And right now, she couldn't tear her eyes off that stupid monkey with the flashing eyes.

And the porcelain doll. And the pumpkin mannequin. And the John Wayne Gacy face. They all seemed unnecessary additions. Misdirection. It was like finding a Rolex in a dollar store.

‘Sheriff,' she said, ‘mind if I take a look at this little monkey over here?'

‘Go ahead. Forensics team have been and gone.'

Ella gloved up, made her way over to her new primate friend. Up close, the thing looked even weirder. Matted fur on top of thin plastic, held in two parts with tiny screws. Maybe it wasn't the animatronic marvel she'd first thought.

She turned it to face the wall for a second, and the light in the eyes died out.

Another spin back in her direction, and they glowed red once again.

Ella's fingers twitched. Instinct was screaming at her like a drill sergeant. This little monkey was hiding something, and she'd bet her badge on it.

Time for some amateur surgery.

She squeezed the thing until something cracked, then chipped away chunks of broken plastic until the monkey had no back half. Wires. Circuit boards. Servos. The monkey's mechanical entrails lay bare, but Ella wasn't interested in the how. She was hunting for the why.

‘Uh, Ell?' Luca's voice cut through her concentration. ‘Want to tell us why you're ripping up Curious George over there?'

She didn't answer. Her fingers probed deeper, pushing past the electronic viscera until – there. Her hand closed around something small and rectangular, lodged in the monkey's chest cavity like a pacemaker.

‘Bingo,' Ella breathed. She held up her prize.

A camera, no bigger than a matchbox, with a USB drive jutting out of its side.

Redmond marched over squinted at the device like he'd never seen one before. ‘The hell is that?'

‘That,' Ella said, ‘is what our dear Mr. Van Allen was hiding. And I'm guessing there's one in every animatronic in this place. You catch those flashing red eyes in that pumpkin head and clown face? Proximity sensors. Guess Van Allen wasn't as camera-shy as we thought.'

Redmond's bushy eyebrows knitted together, forming a caterpillar of confusion across his forehead. ‘That can't be right. Jeremy swore up and down there weren't no cameras in here.'

‘Well, Jeremy's either a liar or as blind as a bat in sunglasses,' Ella shot back. She turned the camera over in her hand, studying it like a jeweler appraising a particularly shifty diamond. ‘Question is, what did this bad boy catch?'

Understanding dawned on Luca's face. ‘You think…?'

'Yes, I do think.' Ella suppressed a grin. 'If these things have been running since Saturday night, then…'

‘We've got Van Allen's murder on video,' Luca finished.

Ella clenched her fist in triumph. All they needed was a face, then once they got the word out to locals, it would only take a few hours for someone to recognize him. God bless small-town curiosity.

‘Excellent work,' Redmond said. ‘Let's just hope our guy didn't know about these cameras. If he was a worker here, then…'

‘Never underestimate the predictability of stupidity,' Ella said. ‘We need to get the cameras from every room, just in case.'

‘On it,' said Luca.

Adrenaline surged through her like a shot of pure lightning. She could almost taste the swift resolution, the satisfaction of figuring this unsub out before he had a chance to strike again.

She needed to round these cameras up, extract their footage and maybe she'd be back in D.C. before the morning.

Bu then a niggling doubt wormed in, because when had anything ever been that easy?