Grave Echoes: A Kate Waters Mystery (27 page)

Hiding his truck a few blocks down from the cemetery entrance, he waited for her to show, hoping she would come alone. Whether she’d brought the key or not didn’t really matter anymore. After his encounter with Donna, he’d decided to abandon his operation, with great disappointment and fury. Too much had happened.

He planned to bust the door down, retrieve his valuables, and finally do away with Kate Waters. She knew too much and he couldn’t risk her plotting to find him and eventually exposing his secret. The busted crypt door would look like teenage vandalism, and nobody would ever suspect that the girl’s lifeless, bloodied, and battered body rotted in the crypt. Then, heading south on back roads towards the state border, he would make California by morning and Mexico the next. If, or when, authorities ever found her body, he would be long gone. Leaving his job infuriated him, but a better life awaited him. He could start out right this time. He just had to keep his cool.

Down the road, headlights brightened the street. Her green jeep pulled onto the side of the road, just outside the gates. Pulling the gun from his backpack, he made sure it was ready and loaded. Excitement boiled in his chest, curling the corners of his mouth into a confident grin. Dressed appropriately in black, he grabbed his pack and stepped from his truck.

***

Thea had warned Kate about meeting David at the cemetery, strongly advising to let her come, but Kate had refused. Enough people had already been hurt and besides, Kate thought too many people would attract unwanted attention. Still, as she drove away, reservations quickened in her mind. She turned onto the main road outside the park, realizing the quickest way to the cemetery was Capitol Highway, the road Jev had crashed on.

Have to drive it someday, she thought.

Making her way around the dizzying curves of the road, scenarios played out violently in her mind, as she imagined the horror on her sister’s face, the fear engorged in her eyes. Kate slowed down as she approached the bend that had started Jev’s collision course into the tree. Gouges in the asphalt where her car rolled bumped under Kate’s wheels. Ahead, the tree that took Jev’s life was scarred, exposing fresh, bright wood. Red tape wrapped around the trunk, suggesting ODOT would probably cut it down for safety measures.

“Somehow, Jev, I will find you justice. I promise.”

She forced herself to look away and keep driving. She had to stay focused—awake. Exhaustion burned in her muscles, but knowing Jev’s secrets were almost unearthed, she pushed on. Kate pulled up to the gates of the cemetery, disappointed she’d beat David there. She didn’t want to be alone and wondered if maybe he waited for her at the mausoleum. Buttoning up her coat, she grabbed the book, The Protective Circle and locked the jeep. The key dangled from her neck. As she neared the gate, a voice whispered behind her.

“Hey, it’s me,” David said.

“Dammit, David! You scared me.”

“Sorry. I parked down the road. So, are you ready?” He rubbed his hands together.

“For what?” Kate replied, hesitantly scanning his all-black attire, including stocking cap.

“To uncover the truth.” His face beamed.

“Maybe we should call Wells. He could meet us here.”

“No use in bugging him if we don’t find anything. We’ll call him if we find something.”

Something. Kate paused, looking at the gravestones. That something had killed Jev.

“What’s wrong? Did you forget the key?”

“No.”

He grabbed her arms and looked deep into her eyes. “We’re going to end this once and for all, okay?”

Kate nodded.

“What’s that smell,” he said, grabbing a handful of her hair to his nose.

“I did a protection spell with Thea tonight,” she replied, hiding her face.

“A protection spell? You?”

“I was desperate.”

“Did it make you feel safer?”

“Honestly, no.”

He smiled. “Now you’ve got me. C’mon, let’s go get this over with.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“I think it’s best if I just show you.”

Wells searched database records for an address to the license plate belonging to the black Ford that sped from Walter Biddy’s when Ted came in.

“What were you doing at forensics?” Ted asked.

Wells frowned. “You talked to Rick?”

“No, actually Goldstein mentioned it.”

“Shit.” Goldstein was the chief of police, a tall, lanky man with a crew cut, who was comfortable in the spotlight and didn’t mind making enemies. Most officers got along fine with him, as long as they knew who was in charge and when to back down. Fortunately, for Wells, he’d mastered both, perhaps until now.

Wells rubbed his face, pulling the skin taught around his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted Rick not to say anything, let alone to Goldstein. “What did Goldstein say to you?”

Ted sat down in one of the leather chairs across from Wells’ desk and leaned towards him. “He wanted me to make sure you were following the rules. You aren’t bypassing ops are you?”

Wells swiveled his chair side to side. He could lie to Ted, but they were becoming good friends—partners who relied on honesty and trust.

Ted shook his head. “Man, you know Rick will turn you in. You can forget any kind of promotion or transfer after that.”

“That division is bullshit, and you know it. Even Goldstein has admitted to it. It’s just another step and time wasted.”

“But it was put in place, for the very reason you went in there.” Ted had a wild look in his eyes.

Wells suspected he was more upset that he hadn’t come to him first. “I’ve always documented my evidence. I don’t need stuffy-ass Rick giving me another mountain of paperwork while he reiterates incorrect information that isn’t even relevant to my cases.”

Ted leaned to the side to look at Wells’ monitor. “Who’s Adam Thatcher?”

Wells spun around to look at the picture the license plate number pulled up. “Well I’ll be damned. He happens to be the funeral director at Kinsley and Sons. He oversaw Jev’s cremation.”

Ted appeared confused.

“I went back to Walter Biddy’s to speak with Thea, a friend of Jev’s, after the fire at Donna Reynolds. She wasn’t working at the time, but I ran into a man who fit the description and drove away in a black Ford pickup. I ran on a hunch.”

“So what did you take to forensics?”

“A beer bottle and cigarette filters…Marlboro filters to be exact.”

Ted leaned back in his seat, pondering something. “How do you think he’s involved?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I have a strange feeling on this one,” Wells said. “Before, I kept thinking her death had been occult related, since the victim and her friend, Donna, were both in the same coven. But I feel like I’ve been running in circles with that hypothesis. Then, suddenly, here’s Adam.” Wells swiveled back to Ted. “I’ve needed something to click on this Waters’ case, and I think it just did with this guy. All I have to do now is figure out how he and Jev knew each other.”

“Well, you’ve got the hard part done, if this is your guy. Now, all you need to do is rebuild the case, using proper protocol.” Ted stood from his chair. “Let me know if I can help. I’m staking out Mason’s tonight—he’s going to fall.”

“And you’ll be there to collect the glory,” Wells replied.

Ted smiled. “Could be you, man.”

“I’ll have my day.”

Ted leaned his head back through the door as he was leaving. “Another reason you might want to follow protocol is that, knowing Rick, he’ll take credit for your work. All you have to do is give him the chance.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

Wells turned back to his screen after Ted shut the door, studying the background and history on Adam Thatcher. His records were cleaner than his own daughter’s.

***

Advection fog still hung in the landscape, and tonight, it was as thick as a curtain. The ice crystals formed an opaque haze across the rolling grass of tombstones, iron gates, and the giant, knuckled deciduous trees that hunched into wraithlike shapes. Like the breath of evil, Kate thought. David steered them around tall redwoods and bone-white headstones toward the mausoleum where she and Sarah had discovered the bin numbers. Then, he detoured down a grassy slope.

Kate stopped, tugging on his arm. “Wait. I want to look at the bins in the mausoleum first,” she said. David looked towards the bottom of the hill. He seemed anxious.

He turned back to her. “I think the key opens a crypt.”

“How do you know?”

“I did some research on crypts after you told me about your investigation with Sarah, and I found some crypts that had the same emblem as your key.”

“I thought the key opened grave bins at the mausoleum,” Kate said.

David shook his head. “No. Those are solid slabs of marble, probably only removed with special equipment, but the crypts I saw have key-and-lock doors.”

Kate glanced back at the lights of the mausoleum, somehow feeling safer among them. “There’s a reason Jev wrote the bin numbers down. They are important too,” she said.

“Then let’s make it quick,” he agreed. “I want to know what’s in that crypt.”

Eager to postpone a possibly gruesome discovery inside the crypt, Kate headed to the entrance of the mausoleum. David kept close pace behind her. The burning in her knee came in waves now. She needed to ice it and take a few aspirins, but that opportunity seemed hours away.

Once they climbed the steps to the marbled hallway entrance, Kate paused, having déjà vu from her trip with Sarah and the flashbacks in her dreams…how the wolf had come just before she woke. Like it had been following her. And still was. She’d never believed in premonitions, but then she’d never believed in ghosts either, and she’d been wrong about that.

“Which direction?” David asked.

She looked down the hallway, remembering the layout of the passages with the alphabetical markings in the top corners of the intersections. She pointed to the right. “This way.”

There were six rectangular sections to the building. Each row had an alphanumeric label, so the casket bins must be stacked numerically.

“Corridor A should start here,” Kate said, looking up at the corner where she found the A carved into the molding.

“And B should be over there.”

“There it is,” he said, looking up at the top corner.

“So E through G should be that section across the hall.”

“What numbers are we looking for again?”

Kate opened the book. “A418 and B530.”

Counting up to row four, Kate stopped at the eighteenth bin. “Thomas Jones, 1961–1984. He was only 23.”

“That’s the name on one of the graves?”

“Yes. I’ve never heard of him.” She wrote down the man’s name and date.

David walked along the bins, looking for the next one. “B530, right?”

“Yeah.” Kate caught up with him.

“Stephen Kellerman. 1940–1992. He was 52 when he died.” She stopped writing. “Who are these guys?”

“Something ties them together,” David said, scanning the other bins.

The silence accentuated the echo of their voices and footsteps. Kate checked both ends of the hallway, making sure they were still alone, while David examined the seams along one of the bins at the corner.

“I think this one has been opened recently. Look here.”

She moved beside him. A gap ran down the full length of the bin. It was missing a black-rubber stripping that sealed the gap on the other bins.

“The stripping around Stephen Kellerman’s bin is gone,” David said.

“Someone opened it?”

“How much do you want to bet the other bins on the list have a missing rubber strip? Let’s split up and meet back here.”

Kate shook her head. “I don’t want to separate. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I’m only going to be 50 feet away.” He laid his hand on her shoulder and bent slightly to look in her eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Okay, hurry,” she said, leaning in to kiss him. Up ahead, the hallway forked to the left and right. She headed to aisle G, the burning in her leg forcing her to limp, and scanned the bins for row 2, bin 04.

Lily Wilson, 1994-2002. She was only eight years old. Sadness washed through Kate as she jotted down her name and date, wondering why in the hell Jev had noted the bin numbers to seven dead people she had never heard of before. Seven dead people.

Kate cupped her mouth with her hands—the realization thundered in her mind like an avalanche. The suffocating sensation of the people watching her flooded back in currents of icy terror. Kate stumbled back from Lily Wilson’s bin.

At the corner of the marble slab, stuffed behind her flower bouquet, a piece of paper stuck out. It was a picture of a little girl with her arm wrapped around a golden retriever. She wore a white lacy dress, shiny black shoes, and a pink ribbon in her hair. Lily Wilson.

“It can’t be.” Kate shook her head, but deep down, she knew it was true. Lily Wilson was the girl she’d seen on top of the washer the morning she cleaned off David’s shoes, the same little girl she’d seen reflected in the bedroom window, and the same little girl she saw tonight in the group of people who’d surrounded her on the couch. Lily Wilson was dead. She was a ghost.

“David!” Her voice boomed. Echoes ricocheted sharp and quick off the halls into silence. Deathly silence. Kate looked down corridor C where David had first disappeared. It was empty.

He must be looking at another bin and couldn’t hear her. He wasn’t in aisle F either. Where did he go? He’d promised he wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t. Kate was sure of it.

She went back to the main corridor, searching for the last row and hoping David would return before she was finished. The tall ceilings and cold, bright marble surrounded her with an eerie doom, like her dreams. The trickle of water dripping from the ceiling echoed splatters through the hallway—a drip, warped in sound by the slowing of time. Kate moved on.

She hurried to row G, scanning the bins for G409. It belonged to Ech Chung, 1954–1997. Although no picture of her was left near the grave, Kate knew exactly what she looked like, for among the ghosts she saw at the house, one of them wore a traditional cobalt Chinese robe.

Kate called out again. “David!”

The walls of the corridor crowded around her, growing taller and longer. His absence drowned her with desperation, and her mouth went as dry as a gravel road. The hallways started spinning, and she held her hand out to steady herself. A faint voice came to her, soft and frail, like a little girl’s, “He’s almost here.”

Kate straightened. Footsteps sounded behind her…David? She turned and ran toward him, near the end of the hall. “It’s them, David, the ghosts!” she shouted. “The graves belong to the ghosts.”

She whirled around the corner, almost knocking into him. But…not David. It was Adam Thatcher, from the Kinsley and Sons funeral home.

“Adam?” Kate said, surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?”

He crooked his head. “I work here. What are you doing here?”

“I, uh,” she paused, feeling embarrassed about what she had just said and frightened still about her discovery. “I’m here with David. We were…,” looking for ghosts, she didn’t dare say.

He eyed the hole in her jeans. “Are you all right?”

Why not tell the truth? If anyone would understand, it would be Adam, right? He was practically a grief counselor and might even help her and David locate the crypt…solve Jev’s murder. “This may sound crazy, Adam, but I think my sister Jev discovered something at this cemetery she wasn’t supposed to. The police believe someone ran her car off the road…and I thought…maybe I could find out what happened to her.”

Adam shifted, as if he went tense. Did he think she was crazy, Kate wondered, or was he angry that she and David were trespassing?

“That sounds incredible, Kate,” he said.

“I know. I should have come to you first before snooping around.”

“That probably would have been better. I’m sorry to hear about your sister, but I don’t understand how the mausoleum is involved in her accident?”

Kate obviously couldn’t explain it to him…the ghosts, her hallucinations, and Jev’s witchcraft. If he thought her sister’s murder was incredible, what would he think of her explanations? “I’m not sure either, but I know my sister came here before her accident. The mausoleum is on the same road she crashed on.”

“As are other businesses down the hill. She could have run into trouble at Walter Biddy’s.”

A cold current ran through Kate. Why he would mention Walter Biddy’s puzzled her, as if he knew something he shouldn’t…or couldn’t.

“Kate, why don’t we go inside?” Adam motioned toward the front doors of the Mausoleum. “You don’t look well.”

She hesitated. “David’s probably looking for me. I should go find him.”

Adam studied her, with hard eyes, even more brooding in his black coat and pants. Something snared Kate’s memory—the man she and Sarah had seen the other night at the cemetery—the man walking up the road, as if he had every business being there. She realized it was probably Adam Thatcher.