Deadly Night (24 page)

He was certain the disappearances had something to do with Flynn Plantation. He just didn’t know what. Someone wanted to stop a large group of people from coming to the house, and that someone also wanted them out. And the only explanation was that there was something on Flynn land the killer didn’t want them to find.

Because someone was using the plantation—
his
plantation—for murder.

Zach called Aidan late in the afternoon and read off a list of all the police officers who had been with the force in one way or another for a decade.

That list included Hal Vincent.

Zach had confirmed that the medical examiner’s office had been contacted regarding each disappearance and given descriptions of the women, so their bodies could be identified if they were brought in. The office of coroner was an elected one, but most of the people who’d been working there ten years ago were still there, including Jon Abel, who had, interestingly, written a book on cases he’d solved using forensic identification when there were only skeletal remains with which to work.

Vinnie and all the rest of the Stakes had grown up in New Orleans, as had Kendall.

Mason had been a frequent visitor from D.C., until he had moved down permanently five years ago. “By the way, like Kendall, he has a degree in psychology.”

“But he wasn’t here ten years ago.”

“I didn’t say that,” Zach corrected. “I just said he didn’t
live
here. I made a thorough check. And guess where Mason Adler was when our first girl disappeared?”

“Where?”

“Spring break, New Orleans. And I have another one for you that you may not have known.”

“Shoot.”

“Your friend Jonas was assigned here then, too.”

“That has to be wrong. I was with Jonas at Quantico ten years ago.”

“That was actually his second time around for the FBI. He worked for the field office here in a civilian capacity. Then he decided to make a career of it, and that’s when he wound up in Quantico with you.”

If it hadn’t been for that piece of information, he probably would have begged off when Matty called, crying, and asked him to meet her again, but knowing what he did, he decided that meeting her might turn up some valuable information.

He headed to the same café, checking the time as he entered. After five. He didn’t have long. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want Kendall leaving the shop and going home alone.

The minute he sat down across from Matty, she handed him a plastic bag.

“I found this in Jonas’s car,” she told him.

He took the bag and looked inside.

It was a woman’s wallet.

According to the ID, it belonged to a woman—Sheila Anderson. A pretty blonde smiled up at him from her driver’s license photo.

He stared at Matty.

“I found it under the passenger seat,” she told him. “I think he must be having an affair with her.”

He rose, suddenly anxious. “I’ll look into this, Matty, I promise.” He found himself hesitating. “Don’t throw your marriage in the garbage just yet, okay?”

She tried to smile. “I won’t. I just…help me, Aidan. Please.”

Sheila lived in a more residential section, just inside the boundaries of Orleans Parish. She rented a big old Victorian that had been built in the late 1800s and was now on the historic register. It sat apart from its neighbors, with a good thirty yards on each side, and the rear of the property was filled with huge trees and overgrown brush, because Sheila didn’t believe in gardening down nature.

Her car was in the driveway, but that was no surprise; Sheila would have taken a cab to the airport rather than pay to park there for an extended period.

“Sheila?”

Kendall banged on the door. Nothing. She tried to peek in the windows, but only a few lights had been left on and the curtains were down, so she couldn’t see anything.

Kendall dug into the bottom of her bag for the ring of keys she didn’t use on a daily basis, because her key to Sheila’s house would be on it, along with one to Vinnie’s, one to Mason’s and extra set for the shop.

She slid the key into the lock and turned. The door opened to silence and gloom.

She stepped into the vestibule and set her purse down on the table. The house seemed very dark, so she closed and locked the door behind her, then fumbled around for lights. “Sheila?”

Kendall turned on every light as she went through the house, which was clean and neat, everything in its place, until at last, dreading what she might find, she walked up the stairs to the second floor.

There were three bedrooms. One was Sheila’s home office and guest room, one was her storage room and one was where she slept.

Kendall noticed that in contrast to the neatness of the rest of the house, a casual cotton dress was lying on the bed, and a pair of shoes sat on the floor next to it.

As if they had been set out for her to change into quickly.

Kendall looked anxiously around the room. There was no luggage, which meant Sheila had probably left the house with it. But why had she left the outfit on the bed? Had she decided on different clothes at the last minute and not had time to put these away before her taxi arrived?

Leaving the lights on for reassurance, Kendall hurried back downstairs and into the kitchen, where Sheila tacked up notes on a bulletin board. There was a number for the hotel where she’d planned on staying in Caracas. Kendall reached for the phone and dialed it.

A man answered, speaking Spanish. Kendall fought for a few of the right words to be polite, then asked if anyone there spoke English. The man switched languages immediately. As they spoke, Kendall felt her heart sink. Sheila Anderson had been a no-show. She had never checked in. And the man was sorry to say that her credit card had been charged for the first night. They had a cancellation policy.

As she slowly set the phone back on the receiver, Kendall turned back to the board, where Sheila had tacked a message to herself:
Call Mason.

There was nothing weird about that, she told herself. Sheila had had a bit of a crush on Mason for a long time, and she was pretty sure that Mason, for all his flirty ways, harbored a soft spot for Sheila, too.

But now Sheila was gone.

Sheila was dead. She knew it.

As she stared at the board, the house was suddenly pitched into darkness.

The door to the shop was locked. Aidan could see Vinnie sweeping up and Mason zeroing out the cash register.

He banged on the door.

Vinnie looked up, grinned and walked over to let him in.

“Hey, Aidan, guess what? Kendall called a friend at the paper. She’s going to do a piece on the benefit. The band would be thrilled to come and pose—”

“Where’s Kendall?” Aidan demanded.

“She left. Someone called her, and then she just told us to clean up, she was going over to Sheila’s.”

“Sheila’s?”

“A friend of hers, hot little blonde,” Mason told him.

“You let her go off alone?” Aidan asked angrily.

They looked at each other. “Um, yeah,” Vinnie said. “She
is
an adult.”

Aidan was being unreasonable, and he knew it. “Where does Sheila live?”

“I’ll write it down for you,” Vinnie offered, and hurried to get a pen.

Kendall let out a cry of alarm, then stood dead still and listened. Nothing.

She wished she had thought to bring a flashlight.

Too late.

Trying to retain a calm center, she made her way out of the kitchen, feeling her way along the hallway wall. Her heart was thundering. All she wanted was to get the hell out of the darkness of the house and into the nice reassuring darkness of the yard. She inched forward, bit by bit.

She thought she heard something from the back of the house and paused to listen. It was a creaking noise.
So what?
she asked herself.

Old houses creaked.

But there was a feeling in the air. She couldn’t see anything, couldn’t smell anything in the air, and yet…

She knew.

Someone was in the house with her.

She gave up all thought of keeping quiet and, guided by the glow of the streetlights coming in through the front windows, ran for the front door. She fumbled with the bolt, certain that any second someone would come flying down the hallway and slam into her, pinning her against the door.

She wrenched it open and went flying outside just as a car came jerking into the drive.

Aidan’s car.

She raced toward the driver’s side. He stepped out before she got there, and she threw herself into his arms.

“Sheila is dead,” she told him. “I know it. And someone is in her house.”

A
idan didn’t want to leave Kendall alone, and he didn’t want to take her inside with him, but speed was going to be of the essence. And even if he’d had time to call for backup, he didn’t know who to trust anymore. The police? The FBI? There was nothing for it. She was going to have to come with him.

He ran for the house, telling Kendall to stick close behind him. The front door was gaping open. He pulled out his laser light with his left hand and his Colt with his right, then stepped inside, tense and wary.

He felt for the light switch and flipped it. Nothing.

He walked down the hallway, feeling her right behind him, doing exactly as she had been told. The laser illuminated the kitchen. Empty.

Dining room, empty.

He didn’t need to go any farther. He could see the back door, open to the darkness of the night.

“Call the police,” he told Kendall, handing her his cell. They would get whatever patrol car was in the area, but that would be fine.

He heard her punch in 911, then give the address, adding that they didn’t need an ambulance.

He stepped out into the backyard and knew that unless he had an army with him, he wasn’t going to find anyone, so he opted for standing on the back step, Kendall right behind him, and shining the light around, rather than going farther and risking trampling a clue.

He ran the light over the trees and bushes, but saw nothing. He aimed it upward toward the electric poles, tracking the beam along the line until he saw the wire leading to the house, which had been neatly severed.

“Someone was here, right?” she whispered.

“Yes, definitely.”

They went back inside, and he started looking around the downstairs more carefully. He saw the note on the kitchen bulletin board and couldn’t stop suspicion from niggling in his brain.

But Mason couldn’t have cut the electric wire, because there was no way he could have gotten out here quickly enough, arriving ahead of Aidan himself.

A patrol car arrived a few minutes later, the officers polite and competent, accepting his ID and listening as Kendall explained that Sheila Anderson was her friend, that she hadn’t returned to work that morning as scheduled, so Sheila’s boss had called to ask her if she knew anything. She was calm when she explained that she had a key to the house, and that she had called the hotel where Sheila had planned to stay, and that she had never shown up.

Then Jeremy arrived, alerted by one of his friends on the force, and Aidan left Kendall with one officer as he and his brother went off with the other to survey the property. He had just noted a broken branch on an oak when Jeremy called out, “Footprint.”

All three men hunkered down for a closer look. “Strange footprint,” Aidan pointed out.

It was a blurred print in the shape of a human foot, but there was no heel mark and no tread pattern.

It could just have been the way the dirt had taken the print, Aidan thought, or the intruder might have wrapped plastic over his shoes to keep from picking up any trace evidence on them.

Aidan left the other two to check it out and headed back to the house, and then, when it was clear no one was there, out the front door. He was surprised—and suspicious—to see that Hal Vincent had shown up. Kendall was seated on the hood of one of the police cars, and Hal was speaking with her, gently, concerned.

“Hal,” Aidan said, nodding in greeting. “I’m surprised to see you out at night for a simple break-in.”

“I was just heading home when I heard the call on the radio,” Hal explained. “And since I wasn’t that far away…” He stared at Aidan—for once not as if he considered him nothing but a pain in the ass.

“There’s a crime scene unit on the way,” he said, glancing over at Kendall. “But there’s no reason to panic yet. Maybe Sheila’s plane was delayed.”

“She never checked into her hotel,” Kendall said flatly.

“Maybe she decided to switch to a different hotel,” Hal said.

“Sheila is dead,” Kendall said.

Hal looked at Aidan again. Aidan was certain that Hal agreed; he just didn’t want to make Kendall feel any worse.

“Now don’t you fret, we’ll look into this.” Hal looked meaningfully at Aidan again. “We’ll really look into this.”

“We’ve got a footprint out back,” Aidan said. “I think whoever was here had some kind of plastic covering on their feet. Like a doctor or a CSU technician might use. Or just a baggy or some plastic wrap. I’m willing to bet they were also smart enough not to leave any fingerprints. Your CSU guys aren’t going to find anything.”

Hal set a hand gently on Kendall’s shoulder.

Aidan wanted to knock it away, surprising himself with the strength of his reaction.

“We’ll start a trace on Sheila’s credit cards right away,” Hal promised. “Right now, let’s get a look in her car.”

One of the patrolmen went into his own vehicle for a window jimmy. In a minute, Sheila’s car was open.

It was as clean as her house.

They popped the trunk. That was empty, too.

“CSU will look at the car, too,” Hal promised her.

Finally Kendall was allowed to leave.

“Come on, let’s get you out to the plantation,” Aidan said.

“My car is here.”

“I’ll follow you.”

“I have to go home and feed Jezebel,” she said, her voice lifeless.

“Aidan, you take her. Zach can drive me out here tomorrow to pick up your car, Kendall,” Jeremy offered.

Aidan nodded his thanks to his brother but said, “Jeremy, you take Kendall home, and stay with her until I get there.”

Jeremy looked at him curiously but didn’t ask any questions.

“Sure. Come on, Kendall. We’ll take your car and leave mine, okay?”

Aidan watched them go. A minute later, as he got into his own car, he knew that Hal Vincent was studying him as he left.

Jezebel was all over Kendall the minute she stepped into her apartment. Jeremy entered quietly along with her and casually made an inspection of the place, checking the back doors.

“No one’s been here,” she told him. “But thank you.”

He nodded, offering her a wry smile. “Habit, I guess. Way of life, maybe.”

“What can I get you?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m having a large glass of wine,” she told him.

“I’ll have a beer.”

She fed the cat, got the drinks, then sat with him in the family room, the drapes pulled over the French doors to close out the darkness. Once she had loved her courtyard. She wouldn’t have thought a thing in the world of sitting out there at night. Now, the darkness seemed ominous and she had no desire to leave the safety of her four walls.

The phone rang, and she nearly jumped a mile. Jeremy answered it.

He spoke for a few minutes, then handed the receiver to her.

“It’s Mason. He’s at the Hideaway and Vinnie is playing, but he says they’ve left you a dozen messages, wanting to know if you’re all right.”

She handed the phone right back to him. She didn’t want to talk to Mason or anyone else. “Explain what happened, will you, please?”

When Jeremy finally hung up and took a seat by her side again, he said, “He sounded pretty shaken up. He just kept repeating her name, like he couldn’t believe it.” He was silent for a moment, then said, “Kendall, she could be all right.”

“She could be. But she isn’t.” She hesitated for a long time before speaking again. “I think I saw her being lured to her death,” she said.

He stared at her, his eyes betraying nothing.

“Oh?”

“I think I saw it in a dream.”

Matty opened the door before Aidan could knock on it.

“Aidan, hey.” She sounded surprised. Maybe even disappointed.

“Hey, Matty.”

“Did you…do you…?” She didn’t seem to know what she wanted to ask.

“Is Jonas home?”

Just as he spoke, he heard the sound of a car in the drive. He turned around. Jonas parked and got out of his car. Aidan noted that his suit was crisp and perfectly clean, but he looked anxious.

“Matty, do you mind?” Aidan asked. “I need to speak with Jonas for a few minutes about a case.”

“Of course.” She looked at her husband suspiciously as he came up the walk, but she didn’t protest as he kissed her cheek.

“Can I get you two anything? Iced tea, something stronger?” Matty asked.

“Nothing, thanks, Matty,” Aidan said.

“We can talk in the den,” Jonas said. He didn’t seem surprised that Aidan was there.

Once the door was closed, Aidan didn’t hesitate. He took the wallet out of his vest pocket and tossed it to Jonas.

Jonas caught it, looked at it and flushed. He sat behind the desk and sighed. “All right, what did Matty do, hire you? My own friend. I should have gotten that thing right back to Sheila, but we’d just broken it off a couple of days before I found it in the car. I swear to you, Aidan, we had broken it off. It was just…stupid. On both our parts. I tried to give her the wallet back before she left. I drove out to her place to give it to her. Her car was there, but she didn’t open the door, so I just figured she’d gone out with someone. I guess she got everything replaced before she left the country, because I never heard from her about it. Maybe she didn’t even realize she’d left it in my car. But that was it, Aidan. Oh, I flirt in bars. Hell, everyone flirts in bars. But Sheila was the only one it went any further with, and we broke it off. You can ask
her.
She’ll tell you that every word I’ve said is true.”

“No one will be asking Sheila anything,” Aidan said. “Sheila is dead.”

He watched his friend’s face. Jonas was capable of subterfuge on the job. But now his cheeks drained of color and his gasp sounded real. “What?”

“All right, I don’t know for a fact that she’s dead. But she’s missing. She didn’t check into her hotel, and she hasn’t returned to work.”

Jonas actually looked as if he were going to cry. He shook his head. “She…she extended her vacation. She chose another hotel.”

“Sure. Those are possibilities. But I think she’s dead, just like Jenny Trent, and I don’t know how many others. At least nine.” He leaned over the desk. “There’s a serial killer on the loose, Jonas. An organized killer who plans his every move with exceptional care.”

Jonas stared back at him. “We have no
bodies
.”

“We have bones—or had them, anyway. The bones I found. Jonas, I’m going to let you explain it all to Matty. And tomorrow you’re going to give that wallet to the police and explain everything to them.”

Jonas still looked drained. “I’m going to lose my wife and maybe my job,” he said.

“Jonas, you won’t lose your job because of an affair, but if you withhold evidence, you might. And if you want to save your marriage, you’ll do what’s right.”

They were in there, in the apartment. So very close, yet so very far away.

He’d almost made a mistake tonight, so he’d let it go, let
her
go.

He’d already made one foolish mistake with Sheila. Silly little Sheila, so full of herself and such a flirt—except with him. He’d had to really work at it to get her out there, though his ruse had worked in the end. Still, it had been wrong, not something a genius should have to do.

But so what? They would look for Sheila, but they wouldn’t find her.

And even if they eventually did, what could they prove? Nothing.

He felt so restless, though, watching the house now, and he knew that he had to calm down, because anxiety led to mistakes.

Kendall would be a mistake; people would miss her.

But he had no choice, because she was already a mistake, one that had to be rectified. She heard things, knew things. She could read the future.

No, that was impossible. Even so, she was dangerous and he was going to have to take the risk and get rid of her.

She wasn’t alone, though. Not tonight. He would have to be extremely smart to deal with her. Which should be easy, of course, since he was a genius. He had to bide his time, but not too much time. He kept hearing about her, about her abilities, and he couldn’t give her a chance to use them.

There was nothing he could do tonight, though, and just standing there, even in the shadows, was dangerous. If he was seen, how would he explain himself?

They would never catch him here, though, and even if they did, he would come up with an answer. Tonight, though…

He wouldn’t be able to touch her tonight.

Soon, he promised himself. Very soon.

She had to die.

Before she saw.

“I know you think I’m crazy,” Kendall told Jeremy.

His eyes skidded away from hers, but he wasn’t about to tell her that she was letting her imagination run away with her. Not after what she’d been through tonight.

“Kendall, I don’t think that at all. I think you’re bright and charming and extremely talented, and the best thing that’s happened to my brother since…in years. But, let’s face it, there are already a lot of odd things going on, and then tonight…”

“Jeremy, I think my mistake has been rationalizing everything.” She hesitated. “I think we’re not seeing the things we should be seeing, so the ghosts—or just our subconscious, speaking to us in our dreams, if you’d rather look at it that way—are trying to help. The thing is…who knows what a ghost really is? A memory? Energy? Energy doesn’t die, the scientists say. Maybe ghosts come to us when we’re sleeping, because in sleep we’re more open, more receptive.” She stopped short of telling him that her experiences with ghosts weren’t limited to her dreams. She knew now that the ghost of Henry LeBlanc was haunting the property and the bar. He’d been a good man. He’d saved what was left of the family, and if he was here now, it wasn’t to hurt anyone. It was to help.

Maybe when he came to the Hideaway he was trying to warn possible victims. Henry knew that a killer—an evil man just like Victor Grebbe—was at work, and he wanted to stop him.

There was a knock at the door. Jeremy rose quickly and she knew that he was armed, just as his brother was these days. She followed him down the hall, too nervous to stay by herself at the back of the house.

“Kendall? Jeremy?”