Haunted (A Bishop/SCU Novel Book 15) (17 page)

“Because of my charming smile?”

“Because you’re Melanie’s brother—and by now, everyone in town knows it. I want them thinking about that and not thinking so much about the questions I need to ask them.”

“Smart,” DeMarco murmured.

“Well, we’ll see.”

Hollis was looking at the original list Trinity had given them, frowning. “What about people who didn’t come back?” she asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, are there any names not on this list who
were
once upon a time? Who were raised here, went to school here as part of the same class as the rest of you, maybe even lived here for years as adults and were part of The Group—but aren’t here any longer?”

“Yeah, a few,” Trinity admitted after thinking about it. “Matt Reeves took a construction job on a crew working out in the Gulf area. It was meant to be temporary; he didn’t even sublet his apartment. But there was an accident, not so uncommon in construction. A cable snapped, and a steel I-beam fell on him. Killed him instantly.”

“How long ago?”

“Last summer.”

“Who else?”

“Well, we’ve been at war. Half a dozen from our graduating class entered the service. I know of two who were killed: Sam Eliot and Bruce King. No idea what happened to Wayne Morrow, I just know he didn’t come back here. Neither did Kendra Logan. Let’s see . . . Sonny Lenox. He and Toby were an item for a while, but they broke up. Must have been three years ago, just before I came back, so I hadn’t even seen him since graduation. Gossip had him heartbroken, but I wouldn’t have said he was the type. More the type to do what he did. Big dramatic gesture. Packed all his belongings in the back of his pickup and left Sociable, swearing he’d never come back. And there was no family left here for him to come back to, if he’d wanted that excuse.” She frowned. “You know, I’m not positive, but I have a vague memory of someone commenting that he’d been in a car accident and was left a vegetable, then later died. Not here in Georgia, somewhere north. He was never really a friend, so I didn’t follow up and find out for sure.

“There were a couple of women who came back here for a while after college, then married men they’d met in college and moved away. The only other man I can think of from our class who was here for some years and then left was Andrew Ware. He and Dana Durrell had been sweethearts since high school, so everybody expected them to marry, have kids, the whole happily-ever-after deal.”

“What happened?” Hollis asked.

“Amy Frost joined the department.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. It took Andrew a bit longer than it did most of the rest of us to see which way the wind blew, and even then he got it wrong. I mean, Amy and Dana were discreet, didn’t even go out together in public—but the breakup with Andrew was anything but. He suspected another man and told everybody he could get to stand still long enough everything he suspected. Far as I know, nobody ever corrected his assumption.”

“So he left town?”

“Yeah. He kept in touch with Rusty for a while. They’d been good friends when they were kids, though not so much later on. Still, once or twice when Rusty was sober, he said he’d gotten a few e-mails. Andrew was out west somewhere, taking flying lessons, wanted to be a commercial pilot.”

DeMarco said, “Why do I get the feeling any of The Group leaving Sociable just never ended well? He died, didn’t he?”

Trinity nodded. “Made the news, which is the only reason I knew about it. First solo flight, his small plane went down in the mountains near his flight school. Exploded on impact. They never found enough of him to bury.”

—

DEACON SETTLED DOWN
in a chair across the table from Toby Gilmore and Annabel Hunter, glanced around at the almost deserted employee lounge of the bank, and said, “I guess we missed lunch.”

Trinity, sitting down one chair over from him and opening her notebook, said absently, “Nearly done, for now. We’ll stop for takeout on the way back to the station.”

Braden was, as usual, sitting beside her, silent and attentive. Deacon had found it interesting that everyone they had spoken to all morning long had accepted the dog’s presence without comment, a few even greeting him pleasantly.

Melanie, sitting at one end of the table, said to her brother, “Hope you still like Chinese. That’s the only restaurant between here and the station.”

“It’s a small town, Mel. Half a block in either direction, and I have more choices.”

“What do your friends prefer?”

“We’ve never worked together before, so I have no idea.”

“Then you
are
working here? You haven’t been talking to possible witnesses with Trinity just to keep her company?”

“What, I can’t be good company?”

“You can’t stop being a cop.”

Before he could respond, Trinity said, “I requested his help, Melanie. If you want to pick a fight about it, pick it with me.”

Deacon looked at her with a faint grin. “Oh, I can tell you were an only child.”

She looked slightly disconcerted.

Even Melanie had to laugh. “Sorry, Trinity. The default age for siblings tends to be about twelve. And a brother and sister can get into an argument about the weather. There’s a storm coming, by the way, in case you two didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know,” Deacon said. “No chance to catch the weather so far today.”

“Snow by tonight,” Melanie told him. Then she looked at Trinity, brows lifting. “Is that going to make things easier or harder?”

“I have no idea,” Trinity answered. “I’m hoping it keeps everybody, including the killer, inside. But we’ll see.”

Melanie’s expression darkened. “I wish I knew who it was. They didn’t deserve to die. Not Scott, and not Barry. They were good people, Trinity, you know that.”

“Yeah.”

“Then why
them
? Why did this sadistic killer pick them?”

Deacon said, “If you try to find your kind of sense in the mind of a madman, you’ll drive yourself crazy, Melanie. Even trained profilers know better than that.” He still wasn’t sure he agreed with Trinity’s determination to not warn the members of The Group that they were likely targets and that the killer likely lurked among them, but it was her town—and her case.

They were just here to advise and offer their expertise.

And, so far at least, neither Hollis nor DeMarco had argued with the sheriff about this particular decision.

Trinity said, “Deacon’s right. There’s no sense in this. Maybe, when we catch him and if we catch him alive, he’ll have a reason. It won’t be a good reason, and to us it probably won’t be a sane reason. But it’ll be his. And who he kills will make sense according to his reasons.”

“You’re rubbing your forehead hard enough to make a dent,” DeMarco told his partner.

They were in the conference room, alone since Trinity and Deacon had been gone for several hours interviewing people, and they were still only about halfway through all the paperwork the sheriff’s really well trained staff had, overnight and through the morning hours, accumulated on the two victims and a
lot
of potential targets and the potential killer.

Hollis straightened and flexed her shoulders, sighing. “Something’s bugging me,” she said.

“Clearly. What is it?”

She pointed to the small evidence bag containing the silver cross. “That.”

“What about it?”

“I think we both missed an obvious question. And I think Trinity ambushed us with the information about Melanie
and
her past connection to Bishop very deliberately, so we wouldn’t think to ask about it.”

“You’ve thought she was holding back on us. Even after telling us all that, you still thought it.”

“If you don’t stop reading me—”

Sighing, he said, “You were very tired last night. And bothered. And I was tired, so my shield wasn’t as solid as usual. So I picked up a few things. Without trying, Hollis.”

“I wish that made it better,” she murmured.

“And I wish it didn’t bother you so much.”

She avoided his gaze. “I told you months ago. I have a lot of baggage.”

“And I told you everybody has baggage.”

“Reese—”

“Hollis, I went to war.” His voice was very steady. “And I was an officer. I saw a lot of people get killed, a few blown to bits right in front of me, and they were there because of my orders.”

“You were following orders, too,” she managed.

“That didn’t make it easier.”

“I get that. I do, really. I’m not trying to minimize what you went through. I know it had to be hell, a desert hell a long way from home.”

“But I came home whole.”

She chose her words carefully. “I’m betting you left pieces of yourself over there, just not literally. Not limbs or—or bits of flesh, maybe. But still pieces of yourself. I don’t think anyone can go through war and come back whole.”

After a long moment, he said, “Okay. We both went through trauma of a kind nobody should have to endure. But what happened to you—”

“Is something I really don’t want to talk about.” She looked at him with a hard, bright smile. “Baggage, that’s what it is. Everybody has baggage, as you said. Mine may bump against my heels more than most, but that doesn’t mean it’s . . . hindering me.”

“I never said it was.”

Hollis shook her head. “And you’ve never believed it hindered me—from doing my job. I don’t think anybody has any doubts about that; Bishop would never have put me in the field if he had. Hell, maybe that’s what . . . shaped me to do this job, and in ways I haven’t even figured out yet. But, personally, as a woman . . .”

“Baggage,” he murmured.

“I warned you. I don’t think about it because I don’t want to think about it. Because I’m not ready to think about it. Because I
know
what kind of pain thinking about it and talking about it will cause, and I’m . . . just not ready for that.”

After a moment, he said, “There are some decisions that get made for us. I hope, for your sake, this isn’t one of them.”

Hollis shook her head again, already dismissing the subject, shoving it aside, refusing to open a door locked securely deep, deep inside her. “In the meantime, we have this case.”

DeMarco accepted the change in subject because it was all he could do. For the moment.

“We have this case. What do you think Trinity distracted us from seeing?”

Hollis chewed on a thumbnail for a bit, frowning at the evidence board. And then she muttered, “Shit. She said it. She
said
it. And then with everything that came after, I just forgot. Jesus, how could she not think it’s important to the investigation?”

“Hollis—”

“Except . . . maybe she doesn’t know how it ended. Maybe she thinks Samuel’s cult is still alive and well. Maybe when she found the first cross and called Bishop—and I know she did—maybe he didn’t tell her. Maybe he just sent us down here knowing there were two connections we’d have to make. The first to the mountain serial, and the second to Samuel. Or maybe . . . he really didn’t know if a connection existed. Because it wasn’t a part of what we had to deal with then, facing Samuel in North Carolina.”

Slowly, DeMarco said, “The cross reminded her of getting Melanie out of the cult more than three years ago. But there were no crosses specially made at the church in North Carolina.”

“No, there weren’t. But afterward, when it was all over with, I went back and read
all
the reports on the church, everything that had been sent in from all the different organizations that had been investigating Samuel and his churches.”

“Why?”

“Because . . . because even though he was dead, only Galen and I got the full force of one of those energy blasts of his. I mean, without being able to repel it. I don’t think it meant anything special to Galen.”

“No. Galen is a watchdog, a guardian in the unit. And not even technically a psychic. Or, at least, he wasn’t then. Energy wasn’t something he could have . . . interpreted.”

“No. But I could. Even then, I knew how dark Samuel’s power was. And how strong. I had this nagging feeling it wasn’t over, even though I kept telling myself that he was destroyed, all of him. I don’t think I was all that surprised when he kept the fight going from his grave, when he sent more of his minions after us months later.”
⁵

DeMarco was frowning. “When Diana was hurt and you healed her, when you were so exhausted, you said something later. I thought it was the exhaustion talking. But you said something about hoping he hadn’t escaped. Hoping Samuel hadn’t found the door.”

Hollis nodded. “In Diana’s gray time, that corridor between this world and the next, that was where Samuel’s spirit was, where it had been trapped since he died. I don’t know if it was another place, another time—another dimension. I don’t think Diana knows. But she was so worried then that he’d escape. She was weakening, dying because of her physical injuries, and yet she was willing to stay there to avoid making a door so he could escape.

“Because he wanted to
live
again.”

“You think the mountain serial . . . is Samuel?”

“I think he wanted to
live
,” Hollis replied. “And if there was any way, any possibility that he could have, he would have figured it out. And planned for it.”

“Possession?”

Steadily, she said, “If anyone could have pulled it off, it would have been him. He had the will, he had the strength. He’d been stockpiling energy, stealing nearly every psychic ability he could. All he would have needed was a weakened body, someone unable to prevent him from taking over their mind. And we were in a hospital, Reese. An intensive care unit in a hospital. That’s where Diana and I came back. If he came back with us, if he slipped through, he could have found a vessel. None of us were in any kind of shape to notice anything odd about the energy in the ICU, not then. He could easily have slipped past us.”

“Assuming that’s so,” DeMarco said, still slow, considering, “and Samuel did find someone to possess physically, then it’s also possible that his new . . . vessel . . . lacked the capability to absorb energy the way Samuel could. He’d spent his life learning how to collect, store, and channel energy, but that’s as much a physical thing as it is a psychic one.”

“Don’t I know it,” she murmured.

“So maybe he can’t get power that way now. Maybe he has to . . . build up to it.”

“By committing evil acts,” Hollis suggested. “Like abducting and brutalizing young women. The darkest acts create the darkest and most powerful energy. Reese, maybe there is no team. Maybe there’s just whoever and whatever Samuel has become.”

“The energy you felt at the church up the mountain,” DeMarco said slowly.

She nodded. “It was familiar. There was something almost . . . gleeful in it. As if he wanted me to know who he was. Maybe that’s why he left the crosses with some of his victims. Not a huge red flag, not unless one of us had studied
all
the reports and knew that his church in Atlanta made crosses just like those to sell at flea markets and festivals.”

“And that was what Trinity recognized,” DeMarco said.

“I think so. I think that’s what she reported to Bishop, how he knew whatever was happening here was at least possibly connected to Samuel.”

“Because Bishop would have read all the reports, too,” DeMarco said.

“Of course. The big picture. It’s what Bishop always has his eye on. It’s why he wasn’t surprised when Samuel had killers hunting us even after he was dead and supposedly gone. And I’ll bet anything you like that he’s been suspicious that somehow Samuel would turn up again. And draw us in to another of his deadly games of cat and mouse. Because we beat him. And he’d haunt us forever, trying to get even for that.”

—

“YOU’D MAKE A
fair profiler,” Deacon told Trinity.

“No, thanks. If I wanted to chase scum and monsters for a living, I would have stayed in Atlanta.”

“Well, the monsters we chase tend to be somewhat out of the ordinary, but it does lend itself to some sleepless nights.”

Trinity looked as if she would have questioned that, then obviously remembered why she was here. “Melanie, we have your statement taken after Scott was found, and since you were in town and very visible when Barry was killed, I don’t think there’s any need for a second statement.”

“Thank you,” Melanie said. And it wasn’t sarcastic.

“Toby—”

“I didn’t kill anybody, Trinity. And I’ve already checked my books; I was with clients all day when Scott was killed, didn’t even hear about it ’til I got back there.”

“And Barry?”

Toby shook her head. “I was in my office, mostly catching up with paperwork. I’m sure you can find somebody who walked by the storefront and saw me there. I didn’t leave until—until someone came in and told me about Barry.”

Trinity made a few notes, nodding, then looked at Annabel.

Her eyes were huge.

“Annabel, I don’t suspect you of murder,” Trinity told her calmly. “I don’t think you have it in you to kill anyone.”

A little gasp escaped Annabel. “I didn’t. Honest, I didn’t.”

“I never thought you did. I just wanted to talk to you about what happened in your apartment last night.”

She looked slightly confused. “Why? I mean, it scared me half to death, but Melanie reminded me that electronics do weird things all along my street. Always have. It was just my turn, I guess.”

“And the warning?” Deacon had to ask. “That you were next?”

“I’d had a lot of wine.” Annabel still looked frightened despite the reasonable words. “And two of my friends had been horribly murdered. I just . . . I just scared myself, I think. In the daylight, with people around me . . . I don’t know what I heard. If I even heard anything at all.”

Trinity turned her gaze to Toby. “What about you, Toby? You called Melanie last night, didn’t you?”

“Traitor,” Melanie said to her brother.

“It’s a murder investigation, Mel. We don’t yet know what facts might be important. And I overheard enough to know that Toby was . . . shaken up. By something.”

“What was that, Toby?” Trinity asked. “What shook you up enough to call Melanie?”

“I was just upset. After hearing about Barry . . . I was just upset.”

Annabel was looking at her. “They need to know, Toby. It might be important. I mean—what you saw.”

“I didn’t tell Melanie about that last night. Besides, she didn’t believe me,” Toby said. “Why would they?”

Trinity’s voice was matter-of-fact. “There are a lot of odd things about this investigation, Toby. About these murders. So whatever it is you saw, I need to know about it.”

“I saw Scott,” Toby said defiantly. “In my office, nearly as clear as I’m seeing you now. And he was trying to tell me something.”

Melanie moved restlessly, as if she would have objected, but remained silent.

Trinity sent her a glance, then looked back at Toby. “Could you tell what he was trying to say?”

“You believe me?” Toby asked warily.

“Like I said, plenty of odd things happening. Could you tell what he was trying to say?”

“No. He just looked . . . upset. Worried. It only lasted a few seconds, and then he was gone.”

Deacon said, “What were you doing just before he appeared?”

Toby frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

Deacon knew Trinity was looking at him as well, but he also knew that questions would occur to him—because he used psychic tools in investigations—that wouldn’t necessarily occur to Trinity or any other standard law enforcement officer.

“I mean, what were you doing? A spirit . . . visitation . . . isn’t exactly a common thing, unless you’re a medium or the spirit was a blood relative. So he must have wanted to come through badly, and something you were doing helped him to do that.”