After Dark (15 page)

She tried to stay cool, tried not to let her bubbling excitement show. “It's been a while,” she said offhandedly. “I was afraid I might be a little rusty.”

“Rusty, hell. Screw the whole damn University of Cadence Department of Para-archaeology and the ghost they rode in on. You haven't lost your touch.”

She gave up trying to squelch the delight and relief that were surging within her. With a small shriek, she flung herself into Emmett's arms. They closed swiftly around her.

“I'm okay,” she whispered into the fabric of his jacket. “I really am okay. I can still handle the stuff.” She was laughing now.

He hoisted her off her feet and laughed with her. “You can say that again.” He slid her back down the length of his body and kissed her hard.

For a moment she clung to him, savoring the triumphant, congratulatory embrace. She knew then that there was no one, no one else at all, with whom she would rather have celebrated that moment.

When the initial blast of euphoria finally began to subside, she became conscious of the fact that she was kissing Emmett in the middle of a bank vault. Reality returned with a jolt. Slowly, reluctantly, she stepped back, flushed and breathless. She was supposed to be a professional, she thought. Professionals didn't behave this way.

Emmett seemed unaware of her chagrin. He glanced at the jar on the table. “Anything else inside besides the de-rezzed trap?”

Lydia hurried back to the table. She picked up the jar and angled it once more toward the light. “I don't see anything. No, wait—there is something. It looks like a piece of paper.”

“Paper?”

“Yes.” She lowered the jar and tipped it upside down.

They both stared at the slip of paper that fell into her palm. It was ordinary, everyday paper. It certainly was not thousand-year-old paper. No one had ever found anything that resembled paper in the ruins.

“Chester,” Lydia whispered. “He could have de-rezzed the trap, stuck the paper inside the jar, and then reset the snare.”

She put down the jar and carefully unfolded the paper. A familiar scrawl sloped across the page. There were three lines of jumbled letters and numbers. They were followed by a short message:

“My God!” Lydia whispered. “There's a whole site full of this stuff.”

Emmett studied the three lines of letters and numbers Chester had written. “He says he'll make sure you get the key to those coordinates.”

Lydia's jaw dropped for a few seconds as lightning struck. “Emmett, maybe that's what Chester was doing in the museum the night he was killed. Maybe he came there to leave the key in my office. The killer must have followed him, murdered him, and taken the key.”

“Okay, I'll buy that. But getting the key didn't do the bastard any good, because the coordinates were hidden inside the jar.” Emmett glanced at his watch. “Let's go. We've got an appointment with Greeley.”

T
HE MORNING FOG
off the river had thickened since she and Emmett set out for the bank an hour ago. It was so dense now that Lydia could not see to the end of the block. The shops along Ruin Row were still dark. By mutual agreement and long-standing tradition, they did not open until eleven. Behind the low buildings the massive green walls of the Dead City loomed in the mist.

She rubbed her arms briskly against the chill as she got out of the Slider. She noticed that Emmett had put on his black leather jacket. She reached back into the vehicle for her coat before she joined him on the sidewalk. Together they walked toward the front door of Greeley's Antiques.

Emmett glanced at the amber face of his watch. “Not quite ten.”

“Ruin Row doesn't really get humming until noon. But I'm sure Greeley will be in his shop.”

They walked to the front door. The shop was unlit inside. Lydia tried the door. It was locked.

“I was certain he'd be here early.” She cupped her hands on the glass and peered into the dingy interior. “I'll bet he's in his back room. Try knocking.”

Emmett made an easy fist and rapped loudly. Lydia watched closely, but no one emerged from the gloom behind the front counter. She stepped back from the window.

“He's getting a little hard of hearing,” she said. “Let's try the rear door.”

She led the way to the corner and turned down the narrow service alley that ran behind the shops. Here the fog seemed even heavier, and the close confines heightened the gloom. The fleeting traces of stray energy leaking from the Old Wall made her feel edgy. Emmett followed close behind.

A frisson of awareness wafted through her. Para-rez energy. Her own amber was still at skin temperature.

“Emmett? Is that you?”

“Sorry,” he said absently. “Just checking.”

She glared at him over her shoulder. “Checking for what?”

“Dissonance energy. Thought I caught a trace.”

“Hold it right there.” She stopped, spun around, and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Are you telling me that there's a ghost-hunter working somewhere near here?”

“Not at the moment. If there was one here, he's either gone or he's stopped working.”

She contemplated the fog-filled alley uneasily. “A lot of kids hang out in this part of town. They like to play with the energy that leaks through the Dead City walls. Young dissonance para-rezes like Zane come here to practice summoning flickers.”

Emmett nodded. “It's the same way near the walls of Old Resonance. Maybe I picked up the traces of some would-be junior hunter.”

He did not sound convinced, Lydia thought. But who was she to argue?

She turned around, pulled up the collar of her coat, and started walking again. When she reached the rear entrance of Greeley's Antiques, she came to a halt and knocked forcefully on the door.

No answer.

“Damn,” she said. “He said he'd be here around ten. Looks like we'll have to wait in the car. I don't think he'll be very late. Greeley's got a short list of priorities. Money is right at the top.”

Emmett studied the closed door for a few seconds, saying nothing. Then he pulled a pair of gloves out of the pockets of his jacket.

Lydia suddenly felt very cold. She cleared her throat. Speaking as your consultant, I really can't recommend breaking into Greeley's Antiques. No point in it. Bartholomew wouldn't have left anything as valuable as your cabinet in his back room overnight. Trust me on this, Emmett.”

“I believe you.” He reached for the doorknob with his gloved hand. “About the cabinet. But I'm still getting traces of rez energy. Don't you feel it?”

She frowned. “No. I felt your energy when you used it

a minute ago, but I'm not picking up anything now.”

“Probably because you're a tangler. These are hunter vibes.”

She hunched deeper into her coat. Most people could pick up faint traces of psi energy when someone in the vicinity was actively working with amber. But the aver age individual was far more sensitive to others who had similar paranormal talents. Ghost-hunters could more easily detect the energy trail left by another hunter. Ephemeral-energy para-rezes such as herself were more likely to be aware of another tangler working nearby.

But even the most powerful para-energy trace dissipated quickly after the user had stopped resonating through amber. If Emmett was picking up a hint of dissonance energy, it meant that the hunter had worked somewhere close by and sometime in the past few minutes.

Lydia watched Emmett twist the doorknob. It turned easily in his fingers. Too easily.

“I don't think the fact that the back door is unlocked is a good sign, Emmett.”

“Funny you should say that. I was coming to the same conclusion.” He pushed the door open wide and gazed into the back room of Greeley's Antiques.

Lydia stood on tiptoe so that she could see over his shoulder. At first she could make out nothing except the shadowy shapes of cartons and some green quartz vases.

Then she saw the body sprawled on the floor.

“Oh, my God, Emmett!”

Bartholomew Greeley lay facedown in a pool of rapidly drying blood. His throat had been slit.

“Oh, God!” Lydia exclaimed again. It was hard to catch her breath. Her fingers shook so hard she had to cram them back into her pockets. “Just like Chester.”

“There is a pattern here, isn't there?” Emmett contemplated the scene. His intent, focused awareness was clear.

“What is it?” Lydia demanded. “What are you picking up?”

“A hunter worked amber in this room. Not long ago. Probably summoned a ghost to stun Greeley before he cut his throat. Whoever he was, he must have been in a hurry.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He singed something. Can't you smell it?”

Lydia inhaled cautiously, caught a whiff of charred packing-crate filler. “Yes.”

Emmett glanced at her. “You okay?”

“Yes.” That was a flat-out lie, she thought. Her stomach was roiling. The sheer cold-blooded brutality of the scene was making her nauseous.

“Don't get sick here,” Emmett warned.

“I'm not going to throw up.”

He gave her a doubtful look. Then he stepped into the death room, blocking her view.

“Wait! What are you doing?” She glanced urgently back down the alley. “This is a crime scene.”

“I know. I just want to take a quick look around before we leave.”

An ominous feeling settled on her. “Leave?”

“Yeah.” He edged cautiously through the gloom, avoiding the blood.

“What about the police? You're the one who insisted we call them when we found Chester, remember?”

“There wasn't any choice then. This time around, though, we've got an option. We'll call from a pay phone after we're out of the area.”

She realized where he was going with this. The unpleasant sensation in her stomach worsened.

“Anonymously, I take it?” she said dryly.

Emmett leaned down to examine the floor near the body. She thought she saw him pick something up, but she could not see what it was.

“Under the circumstances,” he said, getting to his feet. “I think anonymity is our best bet. Detective Martinez hasn't had any breaks in the Brady case. I got the feeling that she's hungry for one. If she finds out that you've turned up yet again as the first person on the scene of a second murder—” He let the sentence trail off meaningfully.

“She's going to move me up into first place on her list of suspects, isn't she?”

“Probably.”

Lydia thought about that. “I'm not the only person who's turned up twice at a recent murder scene.”

“You don't need to remind me.” He straightened and moved toward a desk littered with papers. “I skated the first time, but something tells me Martinez won't let me off the hook so easily again.”

“Especially since you've been keeping company with me,” Lydia said glumly.

“Uh-huh.” He riffled through the papers gingerly with his gloved fingers.

“There's no hard evidence to tie either of us to the murders. Surely Martinez will acknowledge that. She's got nothing solid to use against either of us.”

Emmett left the desk and walked to the door. Without a word he opened his hand as he came back through the opening.

Lydia stared at the rez-amber bracelet in his palm. Six good-quality stones, each with her initials inscribed on it, set in inexpensive imitation gold. Another wave of sick dread rose up inside her.

“That's one of my bracelets,” she whispered.

“I was afraid of that.” He dropped the amber into her hand and then took her arm, leading her quickly away from Greeley's back door. “What do you want to bet the ghost-hunter who tossed your apartment took it?”

“And planted it at the scene of this murder?”

“I doubt if it was the same guy. He was just a kid.”

“Kids can kill.”

“But usually not as efficiently as that.” Emmett glanced back over his shoulder. “The kid in your apartment was probably working for someone else.”

“Someone tried to tie me to Greeley's murder.” She was shivering so hard now that she almost dropped the bracelet. “I can't believe it. Why would anyone do that?”

“Probably to make sure you'd be very busy for the next few days. Too busy to pay attention to little things like a priceless dreamstone jar or my cabinet of curiosities.”

She tried to think logically. It wasn't easy. “There's another reason why he might have left my bracelet near Greeley's body. If Martinez gets called in on this murder, she's going to find that charred paper on the desk. She'll suspect a ghost-hunter was involved.”

“Yes.”

“And she knows that you and I have been working together lately.”

“Yes.”

She glanced at him. “Tying me to the murder scene is a good way of implicating you too.”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“Oh, damn.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Emmett said.

 

Ten minutes later Lydia sat tensely in the passenger seat of the Slider and watched Emmett hang up the pay phone. He left the booth and walked back to the car, his face hard.

He glanced at her as he got in behind the wheel and rezzed the ignition. “You sure you're not going to throw up?”

“Pretty sure. What did you tell the cops?”

“I reported an unlocked back door at Greeley's Antiques. Anonymously.” He eased the Slider away from the curb. “Suggested it looked like a burglary-in-progress. They'll send a car to take a look.”

She forced herself to think. “Maybe that's what it was, Emmett. Maybe Greeley surprised the killer when he opened early to get ready for us. If I hadn't agreed to meet with him this morning—”

“Stop right here. You had nothing to do with this. It was Greeley's idea to do the deal for the cabinet before he opened the shop, remember?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“But nothing. He set up the schedule.” Emmett slowed for a corner. “And he may have invited the killer inside.”

“What are you talking about?” she said in disbelief.

“Let's go someplace where we can get coffee. I need to think.”