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“Not yet. I’m just taking a break. I have the camp director waiting forme.”
My eyebrows raise. “Mike?”
The coffee has finished brewing and Sam takes the carafe out of place, giving me a slightly strange look as he fills my cup and then his.
“Yeah. We wanted to get to him earlier, but there were so many of the kids whose parents were getting restless and he said to go ahead and take them first. But I have him up next.”
He yawns heavily. He didn’t get anywhere near enough sleep last night. I’m used to bouts of severe insomnia and can run on adrenaline for a long time. My husband isn’t quite as skilled at that.
“Let me talk to him,” I offer. “You just take some time to drink your coffee and get something to eat. I’ll talk toMike.”
Sam looks over at the pink boxes of pastries that had been brought in and displayed on the counter.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Absolutely. I’ll ask Garrison to make sure it‘s alright, but I‘m sure he‘ll be fine with it. He already had me talk to Lisa and she‘s arguably the most fragile amongthem.”
“That’s true. How did that go, by the way? Did you get anything out of her?” heasks.
“I got a lot. Including the fact that she thinks Mike is the man behind the mask.” Sam’s eyebrows shoot up as I take my coffee toward the door. I point to the boxes before leaving. “Save me a cheese danish if you see one. If not, ajelly.”
He nods and I walk out, heading in search of Detective Garrison. He immediately gives me permission to question Mike and whomever else I can get to. There are currently six people managing the interviews, including Sam and me, but even with that many of them going on at once, these sessions are still not to be rushed, and so there are still many to be had. Some of them were naturally much shorter because they were with campers who immediately went to the rec hall and were gathered up and moved, or went directly to the dining hall. They saw very little, if anything, and could only talk about that long wait through the night. Garrison made the decision to process through those conversations first to get them on their way before delving into the more complicated ones.
Everyone still waiting to talk has been given their own space separate from everyone else. I know they made an effort to make them as comfortable as they could and not make them feel like they are criminals being interrogated, but there’s only so much they can do. Some were given the plusher interview spaces set aside for witnesses or the families of victims, but it was necessary for some to go into small, stark interrogation rooms. They were provided blankets and offered food and drinks. I can imagine the food has gone largely untouched, but the blankets were takeneagerly.
I find the room where Garrison told me I’d find Mike and knock once before stepping inside. Usually I don’t knock before entering a room where I’ll be questioning a suspect, but since I still have nothing to go on that says for sure Mike actually had something to do with any of this, I can extend the courtesy of giving him warning that I’ll be entering hisspace.
He’s sitting up from where he was curled up on the floor wrapped up in the blanket. He takes me slightly off-guard when I see him. Hearing that this man is the director of Camp Hollow gave me an anticipated visual of what he would look like. I expected someone older, possibly mid-forties or fifties, strong and a bit weathered in his appearance after spending a good part of his life outside.
Apparently, never having gone to camp takes away some context that would prove helpful.
Mike is far from middle-aged or weathered. I would have easily believed he’s just one of the counselors, he looks so young.
“Mike?” Iask.
He nods and reaches his hand toward me as he climbs to his feet, gathering the blanket around him in the opposite arm. “MikeKirkland.”
“Agent Emma Griffin,” I say. “I’m just here to talk to you a bit about what happened last night. Okay?”
He gives me a slightly strange look. “The guy who brought me in here said he was going to be right back to talk withme.”
“Sheriff Johnson?” I ask and he nods. “That’s my husband. He’s taking a break right now, so I’ll be stepping in forhim.”
I wait for the pushback, but he just seems to think it through and then gives a slight shrug. “Alright.”
“Good.” I sit down at the table positioned against the wall and pick up the yellow legal pad and pen that are waiting on the table for me. “First, I know what you went through last night was horrible. It’s not going to be easy talking about it, but I need you to tell me as much as you possibly can. Don’t try to sugarcoat anything or hold anything back. I know it might be hard and you don’t want to think about these things. It’s critical, though, that we get every single detail we can so we can get this guy, alright?”
He nods nervously.
“And if you’re worried about shocking or upsetting me, don’t be,” I continue. “I’ve been in this career for a while. I can handle it. I promise. You can get emotional. You can take breaks when you need them. You can write things down if you don’t want to say them out loud. Whatever is going to help you get the story out. We’ll take all the time we need. Alright?”
Mike takes a breath and seems to settle himself. “Alright.”
“Great. Let’s just start from the beginning. What brought you to Camp Hollow? How did you come to be the director of thissession?”
I don’t mention his youth. The reality is, the older people get, the more cautious and suspicious they tend to become. Having a man no older than his mid-twenties, maybe even younger, be interested in getting the camp going again and heading it up makes sense. He’s far less likely to believe in the stories or be convinced of some sort of pervasive evil that makes another tragedy inevitable. I can only imagine the emotional turmoil that it’s putting him through now.
“I’ve been fascinated by the camp for as long as I can remember,” he starts. “I was about to turn three when the first massacre happened, so I obviously didn’t know everything that was happening. But I knew something horrible had happened. My sister was one of thevictims.”
