Diabolical (Shaye Archer Series Book 3) (14 page)

And that’s when she saw it.

She gasped and pushed herself backward in the chair, trying to put some distance between herself and the horror displayed on the screen.

“What’s wrong?” Harold asked.

“The mask,” she whispered. “It’s him. The man who tortured me.”

Harold’s eyes widened. “You’re remembering? Holy shit, things just got more real.”

* * *

C
lara Mandeville slipped
into the hospital room, stepped up to the bed, and gave a critical eye to the man lying there. She’d worked with Dr. Thompson in the ER for almost twenty years before he’d retired. Seeing him lying there as a patient felt wrong. The entire reason he was lying there felt wrong.

The police said the doctor had called 911 and reported an intruder in his house. A window on the front had been forced open, so his story checked out. But when the police arrived, all they found was an empty house and Dr. Thompson lying on the floor next to his bed. One of the officers started CPR and not a minute too soon. Now it was touch and go as to whether he’d make it or not. And even if he regained consciousness, there was no telling what kind of damage the heart attack might have caused.

She tucked the covers in around him and said a quick prayer before leaving the room. This was the fifth time she’d made her way around to his room the past hour, even though her regular schedule called for a quarter that amount. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The police had been cagey, as they always were, but she’d managed to get out of them that it didn’t look as if anything was stolen, at least not the things a thief was usually after. Dr. Thompson’s wallet and his Rolex had been sitting on the kitchen counter, and the wallet had money in it. The cops didn’t tell her how much, but a garden-variety thief would have helped himself to any amount and definitely would have taken the watch.

At first, Clara thought maybe she was just on edge because of all the things that had happened. Her former coworker Emma Frederick and that horrible stalker and then that evil John Clancy and all that terror he inflicted on those street kids and God only knew who else. It was enough to make you think twice about most everything you did, especially when you were a woman living alone. Granted, Clara lived in a nice area and had a first-rate security system, but Dr. Thompson hadn’t exactly lived in the ghetto and someone had managed to get inside his home.

And for what?

Which brought her right back around to the thing that had been bothering her from the very start. Unless Dr. Thompson had a Van Gogh or other valuable item in his home, why had someone broken in but yet not taken cash or an expensive watch that were both right in the open? She headed back for the front desk and logged on to the computer to clock out.

“Missy,” she called out to the nurse who’d just come on shift. “Would you do me a favor and check in on Dr. Thompson more than normal?”

“Of course, Ms. Clara,” Missy said. “It’s just terrible what happened. I’ll make sure he’s comfortable. Do you want me to give you a call if anything changes?”

“I would appreciate that.” She gave Missy’s shoulder a squeeze and headed for the locker room. She hated leaving, but the hospital had strict rules about work hours and about being on the floor when you weren’t on the clock. Clara figured it was all about liability and such. Lawyers seemed to make everything more complicated and cumbersome than it needed to be, especially when death was involved.

Still, Clara knew Missy would take good care of Dr. Thompson. She was a new nurse, only a year out of school, and young for the ER. But she was bright and had the kind of perception that made her an asset now and would make her irreplaceable years from now. Aside from Clara herself, Dr. Thompson was probably being looked after by the best hands on the ward.

She grabbed her purse from her locker and pulled out her car keys, then headed back down the hall and out of the hospital. The parking garage was across a walkway from the hospital building and was one of those multistory jobs. Clara was halfway across the first level of the garage when she felt the back of her neck prickle. Chastising herself for not asking the night guard to walk her to her car, Clara kept moving, her eyes glancing as far as they could without turning her head, trying to determine what direction the threat came from.

If someone was following her, looking for a random victim, they’d be behind her. If someone wanted her specifically, they’d be waiting at her car. She slowed and opened her purse, making it look like she’d forgotten something, but she tucked a small bottle of Mace in her hand before removing it from the bag. She shook her head and turned around, then headed back for the hospital. If she could get close enough to the entrance, they might be able to hear her scream.

The cars that had filled the lot when she’d come on shift were mostly gone, leaving only a few random vehicles scattered up and down the two rows she had to cross to get back to the entrance to the garage. The first row of the garage held most of the third-shift staff—where Clara would have parked if she hadn’t gotten to work early to talk to the on-staff doctor about Dr. Thompson’s condition. Visiting hours were still going on then, and visitors’ cars had filled the lower level.

She cleared one row and veered slightly to the left to avoid an SUV parked nearby. It was too easy for someone to launch from behind a parked vehicle and tackle her. When he made his move, Clara wanted to make sure she saw him coming. Then she was going to give him a face full of burning spray.

Something moved behind the SUV, causing the shadow of the car to shift slightly in shape. She clenched the Mace and picked up speed, her gaze locked on the vehicle. Her pulse shot up, sending her heart fluttering so hard she could feel it in her chest and her temples. The shadow shifted again and her breath caught in her throat. This was it. He was going to attack.

The footsteps pounding behind her gave her only a split second to realize she’d been wrong. He wasn’t lurking on the other side of the SUV. He had been behind her, probably slinking around one of the huge columns, making sure he kept out of her line of sight. She’d been fooled and it was going to cost her.

He hit her square in the middle of the back and sent her flying. She screamed and put her hands out to break her fall, dropping the can of Mace as she went down. Her knees hit the concrete first and pain shot through her right leg. Her hands hit a millisecond later, the rough surface tearing the skin on her palms as she tried to break her fall. She scrambled to get up, but the man was on top of her before she could get her legs underneath her. She swung her right arm back as hard as she could and struck him with her elbow. It was enough to cause him to loosen his grip and instead of trying to get up, she switched tactics and flipped over, using one of the moves she’d learned in self-defense class.

When she saw the mask, she screamed again, this time involuntarily. Her right leg throbbed in pain but it was also her strongest, so she drew it up as quickly as possible between his legs, hoping for a strike that would free her, but he shifted and she hit his thigh instead. He punched her once in the jaw, and her vision blurred as a wave of nausea passed over her. She held her arms up to block the next blow and he struck her wrist, sending shock waves of pain up her arm and into her shoulder. He clutched her throat with his left hand and slammed her head into the ground, squeezing her neck until she started choking.

She grabbed his hand, trying to pry his fingers from her neck, but he was too strong and she was losing oxygen too quickly. Her strength was failing and she struggled to keep focus as her body tried to slip into unconsciousness. Something flashed in front of her and her vision cleared enough to see the knife raised above her.

In a last bid of desperation, she used every ounce of strength left in her body to grab the man’s left arm and fling her head upward, biting into the soft flesh of his forearm. He howled and let go of her neck. She rallied a second time and popped upright, shoving the palm of her hand at what she hoped was his nose. She felt the slash of the blade on her left arm and screamed again as the burning pain flashed through her again.

She managed to pull her left leg out from under him and kicked him directly in the chest, knocking him backward. He didn’t fall over completely, but it was enough for her to leap to her feet and run for the front entrance, yelling for help as she ran. She was almost to the crosswalk when Jeremy, the security guard, ran outside, his gun drawn.

She ran another two steps and collapsed at his feet. “Behind me. Shoot him,” she managed.

Jeremy stood above her, gun in firing position, his head moving back and forth. “There’s no one there.”

Two nurses ran outside and one yelled back for a stretcher. The other dropped to the ground next to Clara. “Can you hear me?” the nurse asked. “What happened?”

“Attacked,” Clara said.

She heard footsteps pounding behind her and Clara looked over to see Jeremy running up. “There’s no sign of him,” Jeremy said. “The police are on their way. Did you get a look at him?”

Clara started to shake her head, but it hurt too bad to move. “No. Mask.”

She lifted her hand up and opened her clenched fist. “But I got a piece of him,” she said and dropped the bit of forearm skin in Jeremy’s hand. The last thing she remembered was whispering Shaye’s name, and then everything went dark.

I
t was long
after midnight by the time Shaye and Jackson finished up with Harold. For every question that was answered, Jackson came up with ten more that weren’t. It was the most frustrated he’d ever been since he started his career.

It’s personal.

He held in a sigh. Like he didn’t know that without his mind constantly pushing it on him. His involvement in this went far beyond a professional capacity, but that couldn’t possibly be a bad thing. A horrible man was out there doing God knows what to another girl and he was stalking the detective who’d found Shaye that night nine years ago. Jackson could think of only one reason to break into Harold’s house and it wasn’t to have a beer and watch the game.

When it was clear they were all out of answers or ideas, Harold suggested they call it a night. They all pushed themselves up from their chairs, and Jackson watched Shaye closely. The conversation had taken a toll on her, especially the video footage, then explaining to Harold the things she’d started to remember. Harold had been properly empathetic to the strain it had put on Shaye, but Jackson could tell he was also excited about the prospects that Shaye’s returning memory might bring. If they could catch this guy, so many people would be able to close a horrifying chapter in their lives that had remained open for a very long time.

Harold walked them to the door. “The number I called you on is a disposable phone. Use it to reach me.”

“How long will you be in New Orleans?” Shaye asked.

“Until this is over,” Harold said. “But I’m going to try to keep things on the down low. I don’t want him to know I’m here. Not unless we need to use me as bait.”

Shaye shook her head. “That’s not an option.”

“It’s an option if I say it is,” Harold said. “I know this is far more important to you, but that man was in my house. My life stands still until he’s caught or dead. I’ll be the first to admit, I’m hoping for the latter.”

“I think we all are,” Jackson said.

Harold nodded. “Anything I find, I’ll let you know, and please do the same. I’m making notes about everything I can remember from the investigation—my own file that no one can conveniently destroy. Anything you want added, you get it to me. I’m registered here under Bart Phillips, an old alias I used for undercover work. Somehow, I forgot to turn in my ID when I retired.”

Jackson smiled. “Imagine that.”

“You got a room here like I told you, right?” Harold asked.

“Yes,” Jackson said. “Shaye and I were both at the desk for check-in and I gave her a room card in the restaurant. If he was watching, he would have seen it.”

“Good. Then I suggest you head to your room and try to get some sleep. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

Shaye’s eyes widened. “But…we weren’t planning on staying.”

“You brought clothes like I told you, didn’t you?” Harold asked. “I didn’t give those instructions just so it would look more real when you checked in. You can’t leave until morning. He might be watching.”

Jackson knew Harold was right, but the entire situation was uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” he said to Shaye. “I didn’t think or I would have gotten two rooms.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Harold said. “What if he calls and asks for your room? If you’re staying in two different suites, your cover is blown and so is mine. I know it might not be the most appropriate arrangement for you two, but no one cares once they’re asleep. Exiting this hotel is asking for potential trouble, and he’s got the cover of night to help protect him.”

“And the mask,” Shaye said.

Harold nodded. “And the mask.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Shaye said to Jackson. “Leaving tomorrow morning will look normal. The last thing we want to do is tip our hand.”

“Listen to the woman,” Harold said. “Rent a movie. Get room service. I highly recommend the beignets here.”

Jackson’s unease lessened a bit. “You’re sure? I can sleep on the floor.”

“We can worry about that later,” Shaye said. She hugged Harold. “Thank you so much for coming, and I’m sorry you’re stuck in this mess.”

“I’m not sorry,” Harold said. “I’ve been waiting to close this case for nine years.”

They headed for the elevators and located their room. Jackson opened the door and held it for Shaye to enter. The two bags they’d brought when checking in were sitting on luggage racks at the foot of the bed. The covers on the bed had been turned down and a single mint had been placed on each pillow.

Shaye pulled off the heels she’d been wearing and dropped them next to her luggage. She unzipped the bag and pulled out yoga pants and a T-shirt. “I’m going to take a hot soak, if you don’t mind,” she said.

“No. Enjoy. I’m going to get out of this suit and make some notes.”

She nodded and shuffled into the bathroom. A couple seconds later, he heard water running in the tub, and he pulled off his jacket and started unbuttoning his dress shirt. His body felt more comfortable once it was free from the restricting garment but his mind wasn’t at ease at all. Harold had thrown them some curveballs that Jackson still hadn’t completely processed, starting with the potential traitor in the police department. It was a hard pill to swallow, but given the circumstances, it was a consideration Jackson couldn’t afford to ignore.

With an inside contact, the man who’d purchased Shaye would know about Clancy’s files and the progress on deciphering them. He’d also know about Shaye’s biological mother. Given that the man had recently purchased another girl, he must be panicking. And maybe that panic had put him in cleanup mode. That would explain why he went after Harold. Following that same train of thought, that also meant anyone with a connection to Shaye was at risk. First thing tomorrow, they needed to warn everyone on the list they’d put together with Harold and think again about anyone they might have left off.

He slumped back in his chair. That was the business end of things, but the elephant in the room kept creeping back into his thoughts. If Jackson was being honest, he’d had more than one passing thought about spending the night with Shaye, but this wasn’t the romantic image his mind had drummed up. Shaye had seemed okay with the situation, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t spent the night with her before. After they’re rescued Jinx, they’d both crashed on her couch. But that hadn’t been planned.

Neither was this.

Okay, so that was sorta true. Neither one of them had really expected to stay the night. They’d both brought a change of clothes because Harold had instructed them to. Without knowing what Harold had in store for them, it seemed smart to have something besides evening wear. He’d packed a T-shirt, jeans, and sweats, but hadn’t planned on sleeping in them. Then, he also hadn’t planned on sleeping somewhere other than his own bed.

The water in the bathroom shut off, and he shook himself out of his stupor and ordered himself to stop being stupid. If anyone was making this awkward, he was doing it to himself. If Shaye didn’t have a problem with it, then he shouldn’t worry about it. He pulled his laptop out of his bag and started making notes. One of the most damning things that Harold had said was his suspicion of a mole in the department. Jackson didn’t want to think about any cops or other employees he knew being a part of something so horrid, but Harold had made a compelling case for an insider, and Jackson had every intention of taking that seriously.

When Jackson had first met Shaye and reviewed her file, he’d also reviewed some of Harold’s cases, trying to get a feel for the man and his investigative process. What Jackson had found was that Harold was damned good at his job. Sometimes he’d made leaps from A to C with no B in sight, but every time he’d done so, he’d apprehended the suspect. His close rate was far higher than department average, there was not a single mar on his record, and he’d received several commendations. Added to that, no one at the department ever had anything bad to say about the man, and several of the tougher detectives actually dealt out compliments about Harold’s perception on some of the more complicated cases he’d solved.

Bottom line—if Harold thought there was a problem in the department, then there was a really good chance he was right.

The interesting part of that, though, was that Harold himself hadn’t been able to offer any theories as to who the traitor might be. Which meant that either the insider was clever enough to avoid detection, or he was someone so close to Harold that he’d overlooked the signs. Jackson hoped to hell it wasn’t option number two because that put Bob, the desk sergeant, in the slot as the number one suspect. Bob was the closest friend Harold had left at the department. On the other hand, Jackson would also bet money that Bob was Harold’s source for information. If Bob was the traitor, it wouldn’t make sense for him to provide Harold with the very information that saved his life, but that didn’t mean Bob was off Jackson’s list to take a harder look at.

Starting tomorrow, Jackson was going to take a closer look at everyone with access to case information and anyone who was around the night Harold found Shaye or hired soon after. It could be that Shaye’s abductor didn’t have a man in place at the time but managed to get someone in afterward. That was a theory he’d pitched to Harold, and he agreed that it had merit.

He heard the water in the tub draining and a few minutes later, Shaye emerged from the bathroom wearing yoga pants and T-shirt, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. It was a far different look from the one she’d had at dinner, but Jackson preferred this one. The casual, no-makeup Shaye was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.

“How was the bath?” he asked, then chided himself for the stupid question.

“Great. It loosened up some of the worst of my back and neck. I think it would take a horse tranquilizer to completely work the knots out.”

“I’m not sure room service has those, but we could ask.”

Shaye smiled. “I think wine from the minibar will have to do. Can I get you something?”

“Do they have a beer in there? I’ll drink most anything.”

Shaye opened the fridge and looked inside. “You’re in luck.” She handed Jackson the beer and poured the small bottle of wine into a glass, then took a seat in the chair across the table from him. “So, where do we start?”

“I’ve been thinking about what Harold said—about the items missing from your case file.”

Shaye frowned. “Yeah, that one was hard for me to swallow. You said you thought Harold’s source was the desk sergeant, right?”

Jackson nodded.

“But the sergeant isn’t working on the Clancy files and he wasn’t privy to the meeting about my biological mother, so how would he have gotten that information to share with Harold?”

“Because a cop who had the information shared it with Bob. You have to understand, Bob’s part of the old guard. There’s nothing he hasn’t seen or heard, so all the guys bounce things off of him, especially if they’re stuck on a case.”

“And Bob has never repeated the things cops tell him?”

“Everyone says telling Bob something is like storing it in Fort Knox. Clearly, if he’s Harold’s source, then he’s repeating the information in this case, but given Bob and Harold’s history, I can’t blame him. Even Chief Bernard gets advice from Bob.”

She shook her head. “I can’t imagine how you must feel, knowing someone you work with might be involved in this.”

“I feel sick about it but pissed off more than anything. Trust me when I say, if Harold is right, I’m going to find that person and make them pay, dearly, but suitable punishment is a whole other topic for discussion. I wanted to get your take on the items that were missing from the file. I keep wondering, why those things? If we make the leap that someone deliberately removed them, then they must have some importance that no one recognized.”

“I agree that if the items were taken on purpose they were important to someone, but I don’t see why. Like Harold said, I’m wearing the brand and he was still available at the department for questioning until he retired.”

Jackson opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated, not wanting to bring up the subject, even though he needed to.

“You’re hesitating,” Shaye said. “Don’t do that. I want to hear whatever you have to say. You’re closer to this than anyone else but me. If I didn’t value your opinion, you wouldn’t be here.”

The compliment not only pleased him but offered him a bit of relief given the topic he was about to broach. “Okay. Have you ever done any research on the brand itself? Is it unique or a common rendering?”

She frowned. “I don’t know. I’ve never pursued my past as I would another investigation, so I never thought about it as evidence. To me, it was just another scar. I spent a lot of time and money trying to remove it from my skin but there’s only so much that lasers can manage. The same with the cuts. The ones on my arms are faint now, but the deeper ones on my stomach and chest didn’t lighten as well.”

He felt a surge of anger course through him all over again. The same one that he’d had the first time he read Shaye’s file and every time he’d thought about it since. “Since the picture was removed from the file, do you mind if I take another one? If it makes you uncomfortable, I understand.”

“It’s fine. I should have thought of looking into it before, especially since I believe the occult has something to do with all of it.” She stood up and turned around, then lifted her shirt until the pentagram was exposed. “Can you get a couple with my phone as well?”

Jackson closed in on the brand as well as he could with his cell phone and took several pictures, then grabbed Shaye’s from the table and took a couple more. “All done,” he said, and Shaye dropped her shirt and sat down again.

He accessed one of the images on his phone and enlarged it, scanning every square inch. “What is this?” He pointed to what looked like small lettering in between two points of the pentagram.

“Initials, I think. At least, that’s what it looked like but they were so small I could never be certain. It looked like ‘JD.’”

“Maybe that’s the initials of goat man.”

“Or the guy who made the brand. Either way, it’s not like we can hunt down everyone in Louisiana with those initials. Can you run the images through the police database?”