Krewe of Hunters 1 Phantom Evil (26 page)

“Please, Jackson needs to know everything you told me, and anything at all you can think of that might help,” Angela said.

“I—I saw him—as if he were walking right out of the light! He was so—holy. He started talking to me, and he told me to come to the church and see him. And all night, all I could remember was the way he'd talked to me. And that light he'd had around him. When he spoke, his voice was musical. He was…amazing.”

“And so you went to the church.”

She nodded, shaking her head. “Once I was there, nothing else mattered. We were in a group discussion one night and he looked at me. And he told me that my time was coming. That night, I couldn't sleep. His words filled my mind.” She hesitated again. It had to be hard for her.

Her mother squeezed her hand.

Gabby looked at Angela and Jackson again. “There was a knock on the door, and it was one of the older girls, and she said that he had been expecting me, but I hadn't come to him. She said that I was privileged…I would be one of his wives. I kept seeing his face and hearing his voice, and when I went to his room, he was waiting for me. Naked. And then…well, it wasn't every night. He has other—wives.”

“And you weren't jealous?” Jackson asked her softly.

She studied his face and grimaced.

“No. Yes. I don't know. He taught me that it was right, that I was a holy vessel, and that he was chosen, and that made me chosen.”

Brainwashing. Mind control. He seemed to appear in light.

“There are others in danger out there, Gabby. Two women
disappeared, one was named Susanne Crimshaw, and the other June Leven.”

Angela could see that Gabby recognized the names. “They were there,” she said softly.

“Can you tell us anything about them?”

“June…June felt that she had sinned terribly, and hurt everyone around her,” Gabby said. “She came into the church so hopeful. She was really beautiful. She had dark hair and bright, bright green eyes. And we knew that she was destined to be special. But one of the council members came and took her one night, and I never saw her again. And then…”

“Go on, Gabby, please?” Angela prodded. “What about Susanne?”

Gabby nodded. She grew whiter still. “I heard her scream. And he said that Satan came from those who didn't give themselves totally over to God and the church.”

“He. He
who,
Gabby?” Jackson asked. Angela saw that Jackson actually looked a little perplexed. “Richard Gull? The bishop of the church?”

She looked at him blankly.

“A friend of ours went into the church the other day. You must remember him. A tall, good-looking young fellow. He told me there was a picture on the wall, a big one, of a man named Richard Gull, who is the bishop.”

Gabby shook her head. “Richard Gull is a saint now. He died years ago. That's what they told me.”

“Gull is dead? The police don't know that,” Jackson said. “Legally, he's still listed as the head of the church.”

“I don't know anything about that,” she said. “The church has a bishop, and he's the one who is in control of everything.”

“And is Martin DuPre—the man you were following the other night—the bishop now?” Jackson asked.

“Martin DuPre—he's Senator Holloway's aide, isn't he?” Sam Taylor demanded.

“Yes,” Jackson said grimly. “Gabby, please go on. Is he the bishop now?”

“He—he's just the bishop,” Gabby said.

“Gabby, is he the man you were following the other night?” Angela asked.

She nodded solemnly. “He's the one,” she said.

Jackson stood up. “We do need to get your family out of here, Mr. Taylor. And I'd like it to be now—not later. I think we've been lucky that no attack has been made on Gabby yet, but I believe that the police have been careful, watching the house. I'm going to call Detective Devereaux now and someone in the federal government. We're going to get you out in a private plane, so there will be no paper trail.

“You heard a young woman scream, and that young woman disappeared,” Jackson said. “Gabby, for your own life, and for the life of your baby, you have to be strong.”

Gabby buried her head against her mother's shoulder. Ellie looked helplessly at Angela.

Angela looked at Jackson. “Everything is going to be fine,” she told Ellie.

 

Whitney stretched and yawned, then blinked furiously. She looked over at Will, who was glued to the screens as if he was in a trance.

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all.”

“Nothing at all when Angela isn't here,” he agreed. “She seems to tap into something.

“And why do you think that is?” Will continued. “For one thing, why would a ghost only appear at night?”

“Maybe they don't like a lot of activity. Maybe there's so much commotion during the day, that they don't really have enough strength to combat all the data coming in. Maybe they do show up during the day, when they get to be good at being ghosts.”

Will looked at her with a dry expression. “If these ghosts have been around for over a hundred years, they ought to be good at being ghosts.”

Whitney shrugged. “We're still forgetting the power of the individual. Maybe some are just more powerful, just as they were when they were alive.”

“There's something that we're not seeing yet.” He shook his head. “Are they illusions? Maybe even shared illusions at times. Or some form of energy left behind. And they're individuals. Good people, bad people, all kinds of people. But we don't believe that a ghost killed Regina Holloway, though we do know that ghosts remain in the house. So, a person killed her, but how? And what do the ghosts have to do with it?”

Whitney stood up. “I'm going to take a nap. I'm going to head up to my room and take a nap. I want to be on these screens tonight. All night.”

“That house next door is very convenient,” Will said.

“Yes, but they are separate houses, separate doors, separate walls.”

“True. Still, a great place to disappear—if you need to get out of this place quickly.”

 

A young man with crew-cut blond hair manned the desk in the small office of the Aryans headquarters and looked
them both over when Jenna and Jake entered. The two held hands, and, Jake hoped, they looked like the
pure
all-American couple.

“Brad Telfur,” he said, shaking hands with them. “I know you. I saw you at the meeting.”

“Yes, it was our first time, right, honey?” Jenna said to Jake.

“Our first time!” Jake agreed eagerly. “We were fascinated. I'm from here, you know. And I want to stay here. Love the city, but…”

“Well, I'm not from here, and I'm thinking there are a few other places we could live,” Jenna said, rolling her eyes. “But…well, when we heard about the meeting, we thought there might be hope. You know, a strength for—for our kind.”

“You have an accent,” Brad said suspiciously to Jenna. “You're Irish?”

“I have dual citizenship,” Jenna said. “
British
and American. I'm from Northern Ireland,” she lied.

“You're
not
Catholic?” he asked her.

“No, no, white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant,” she assured him.

“Well, good, sit down, please. Are you interested in joining us then? Can you fill out some information for our roster?” he asked them.

“Frankly, first, we'd like to find out a little more about your organization,” Jake told him earnestly.

Telfur indicated seats in front of the desk.

“We don't do anything unlawful. We support the candidates who can keep control on the various situations in our city. We exercise free speech, and we support the NRA. We're backed by a huge system throughout the country, really. We
hold meetings, and we give speeches, and we try to educate people about the problems caused when we step outside our racial lines. We're social—look on the walls. Bowling. And over there, a picnic at the park. We have dances, of course, try to get all the young folks meeting all the right kind of other young folks!”

“May I?”

Jenna stood, anxious to look at the photos on the wall.

“Certainly!”

They pretended to enjoy the photos; Jake was stunned that many contained swastikas and other neo-Nazi paraphernalia. But one particular photo of a group at a picnic perplexed him.

He turned to look at Jenna, indicating that she should seize the young man's attention.

“Um, Mr. Telfur, could you tell me where this is?” Jenna asked, pointing at a shot near a waterfall.

“Well, of course,” he said, striding over to Jenna.

Jake slid his phone from his pocket and quickly took a picture of the picture as they talked.

He turned back, hoping he'd been swift and subtle. Apparently, he had been. Jenna was gushing away about something in the photo she and Telfur were looking at.

“Mr. Telfur, I'm curious. I saw a friend at the meeting. A Mr. Conroy. Has he been with the group long?”

“Conroy?” Telfur looked puzzled. “I don't know that name. Perhaps he's a prospective member, too.”

“Well, thanks,” Jake told him. “Honey, we should get going.”

“But aren't you going to fill out some of the papers?” Telfur asked.

“We need to discuss this between ourselves, but I'm sure we'll be back. Right, honey?” he asked Jenna, smiling broadly.

“Oh, absolutely,” Jenna said.

He caught her hand, and they left together.

“That was fast!” Jenna said.

“You were enjoying yourself? You wanted to stay longer?” he teased.

She shot him a look that could have killed.

“No, but it was business. Though, I don't think that the kid working the desk—good old Brad—did know Blake Conroy.”

“No, I don't think that he did,” Jake agreed.

“So Blake Conroy was telling the truth?” she asked.

“I think.”

“Then?” Jenna asked.

“Blake Conroy was telling the truth. But, I think we do have what we need,” Jake told her. “I think that Gabby gave Angela the information we need to force the truth out into the open.”

 

Jackson was deeply gratified that the federal and local authorities had managed to coordinate and get Gabby Taylor and her family out of the city.

But after Gabby had sat in the station for an hour, relaying every bit of information she could about the Church of Christ Arisen, Andy Devereaux sat in conference with Jackson and Angela for another hour, debating the course of action that needed to be taken.

“You can get a search warrant, at least. Try to find out what happened to those other girls,” Jackson said.

“And we search the place—and find nothing. Where do we go from there?” Andy asked him wearily.

“I think we have to rattle the cage,” Jackson said.

“Maybe it would be better to rattle it through Senator Holloway,” Andy said.

“What if the senator is involved in some way as well?” Jackson asked.

“Why would the senator be involved with a church that hates him?” Andy said. “Hell, no. He'll fire DuPre's ass! Then, maybe, DuPre will get careless.”

Jackson was quiet for a moment. “Remember, the Feds are officially leading this investigation,” he said.

Andy sighed. “You don't think that the senator will know something is up with the place once we execute a search warrant?”

“He'll find out about DuPre—if he doesn't already know.”

“And cover up anything he might have been in on himself,” Andy said.

Angela suddenly sat forward. “Come on, please! It's obvious that other girls may be in danger. No matter what, that church has to be shaken up.”

Andy looked at her. He reached for his phone. “I'm calling the D.A.'s office. We'll set the search up for this evening. I want it to be bedtime at the church. We'll try to see who is in what bed.”

“Guess who is an Aryan?” Jake demanded as Jackson opened the door to the house on Dauphine.

“I'm going to say that it's going to have be the chauffeur— Grable Haines.”

Jake was so obviously disappointed that Jackson was sorry he had guessed.

But Jake produced his phone, and a picture of Grable Haines at a picnic, laughing with a woman. He stared at the phone image for a moment, frowning as he looked at the woman. Her back was to the camera; she was speaking with Haines.

“Have you downloaded this yet?” he asked.

Jake looked at him. “I can see him clearly—it's perfect.”

Angela moved and studied the picture. “I think he wants it blown up. Nice and big. He wants to see the woman in the picture.”

Jake took the phone back and frowned, staring at the image. “All right. I'm on it,” he said with a shrug.

“I'm preparing for a long night,” Whitney told them all. She'd entered the kitchen when she heard the noise. “We'll see what happens by darkness, because it's usually better at night. Or rather, it's better when Angela is in the house.”

“Well, I'm in the house. And I guess I will be here. We aren't going when they execute the search warrant,” Angela said.

“She talked! Gabby talked,” Will said. “Fill us in.”

Jackson and Angela told them about Gabby and her family, and everything that Gabby had said. The so-called bishop Richard Gull was not at the church, and the people had been told that he was dead. Gabby had heard a scream the night that Jane Leven had been “called,” and she hadn't been seen since. The police had called the D.A.'s office, and a judge had agreed it was enough for a search warrant. She hadn't mentioned Susanne, leading Jackson to believe that Susanne had been murdered before Gabby had come to the house.

 

“So, they'll be going in tonight, just a few hours from now,” Jackson said.

“So you think that Martin DuPre came in here and killed Regina Holloway,” Jake said thoughtfully. “Why?”

“He might have had a few motives,” Whitney said. “Maybe she was beginning to suspect something about him.”

“Well, everyone around him was a conniving bastard of one kind or another,” Jake said. “The picture is downloaded. And I know why you wanted to see it blown up,” he added. He was still seated at the counter with the computer. “Come over here—it gets thicker and thicker.”

They all gathered around the computer.

With the picture blown up and enhanced, they could see the woman's face.

Whitney gasped. “It's the senator's secretary! She's an Aryan, too! So she had an affair with the senator, and she was an Aryan, and the Aryans are against him, and now she's sleeping with the bodyguard, and he was at an Aryans meeting!”

“Here's a new scenario,” Angela said. “On the other side of the coin. I'm not saying it's the right one—it's just a theory. Holloway is—is as corrupt as they come. He has sent his people into organizations for an agenda of his own, thinking that as long as it's not him, and his name is not mentioned, his people will take the fall when something happens.”

“What's his agenda—that's the question,” Jake said.

“Killing his wife?” Angela asked softly.

“But he brought us in,” Jake said.

“I think he really saw ghosts,” Angela said. “And if there were ghosts, he'd clear himself, clear her name…and it would become sad history, and he'd smell like a rose. Remember, his reputation was at stake when she died. People began to wonder what kind of a husband he might be for her to have killed herself,” Angela said.

“I'm going to pay the senator a visit,” Jackson said. “I'll catch him before he takes off for the evening.”

“He might already be gone for the day,” Angela said.

“I'm calling,” Jackson said. He already had his phone out.

“I'll go with you,” Jake said, getting up.

Jackson nodded. “Remember, no one in the house goes anywhere alone. Everyone hangs tight here until we get back.”

“Right,” Angela agreed.

The senator himself answered the phone. “Holloway.”

“Senator, it's Jackson Crow. I need to see you.”

“Well, I was about to head out. But I'm sure I can arrange to meet with you tomorrow. Have you found out anything? Did a ghost kill my wife?”

“I need to speak with you. You may be able to help me.”

There was silence on the other end. “All right. I'll meet you at the Community Coffee shop on Royal. Give me about twenty minutes.”

“I need to see you alone, Senator. Without your chauffeur and bodyguard hanging around.”

“No problem. I'm alone right now. Twenty minutes.”

The senator hung up. “We won't be needing the car,” Jackson told Jake. “Come on.”

When they stepped outside, Jackson paused, looking down the street to the shotgun house next door.

“What?” Jake asked him.

“The gate was closed earlier.”

“Was it?”

“I could have sworn.” He pulled his phone out and called Angela, despite the fact that they were still right in front of the street.

“Jackson?” she said.

He paused for a moment, curious that the tone of her voice when she just said his name seemed to make him grow warm.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry. I'm right outside. Get Whitney and Will to rig one of their cameras to keep an eye on the house next door. I want to see who is coming and going all the time.”

“All right.”

“And you sleep with your gun handy, I take it?”

“In the bedside drawer,” she assured him.

“All right. I'll be on my cell phone if you need me for anything.”

“Absolutely,” she promised.

He and Jake walked down to Bourbon and then Decatur.

“Politics really do suck, don't they?” Jake asked.

“Well, maybe the name of the game makes it hard. I like to believe there are decent people out there.”

“But it's all based on lies. Even when a man—or woman—doesn't mean to lie, they make promises. And then compromises. So at what point does a man sell his soul? The real problem, as I see it, is that no one in Holloway's camp really knows how to tell the truth anymore,” Jake said.

“That's why you watch the body, my boy,” Jackson told him. “The little things, like the eyes. Sweat on the upper lip. You have to try to catch a liar in a lie, and see him try to weave his way out of it.”

At the coffee shop, he ordered lattes, and he and Jake sat down to wait. He noted that the senator came down the street from Bourbon.

Holloway entered the shop and looked quickly around. Spotting them, he came to the corner table in the rear where they waited.

“Crow, Mr. Mallory,” he said, greeting them. He was in a tailored shirt and jeans. Not in any official business wear.

“Casual day at the office, Senator?”

“I'm trying to tie up a few personal affairs. I'm due back in Baton Rouge next week,” he said. He leaned closer. “So, what have you found out?” he asked.

“Martin DuPre is some kind of elder at the Church of Christ Arisen,” Jackson said, looking at the senator.

Holloway's brow knit; he looked confused rather than alarmed, or about to make a denial.

“He's not. I sent him in a while ago to get friendly with the people there and try to find out what was going on. I was doing it in tandem with our work on the Aryans.”

“How long ago?” Jackson asked.

“Maybe…seven, eight months ago,” Holloway said.

“I thought I should warn you—he may be arrested tonight. The police are going into the church with a search warrant. One of the girls who left the organization has leveled some charges.”

He shook his head sadly. “Who would have ever imagined that DuPre would have fallen prey to that debauchery?”

He seemed sincere. “What did DuPre tell you about the church?” Jackson asked.

“He said he felt like an ass, but he'd get involved, and try to keep an eye on what they were going to do with their demonstrations, what manner of spin and propaganda they were going to use against me. Frankly, recently…”

“Did you send your secretary into the Aryans fold?” Jackson asked.

“My secretary? Lisa?”

“Yes, the one you were sleeping with,” Jackson said.

Holloway's face reddened. “It was brief. It was stupid. It is over.”

“Yes, and you were sleeping with her in the house right next door to the Madden C. Newton house—a place you own as well. You might have shared that information,” Jackson told him.

The senator's face went nearly purple.

“It's just a rental property. I don't live there.”

“But you did
sleep
there,” Jake put in quietly.

Holloway sighed, looking downward. “I just admitted to the affair.” He looked up at them both again. “All right, the truth? I called friends in D.C., and I'd known Adam Harrison, and something about some of the people he's used over the years. Dammit, don't you understand? Yes, I would go to the house next door. I was frustrated. I didn't know what to do. I loved my wife, but she wasn't a wife to me anymore. We talked about trying again, but hell, you have to have sex to have another child, and she cried rather than have sex with me. I want to believe that there were ghosts in the place and that she freaked out and fell.”

“She didn't fall—she was pushed,” Jackson said.

“How do you know that? The coroner's office did rule it a suicide.”

“Your staff is involved with the places that you most fear, Senator. How much you knew and didn't know remains to be seen, since I don't think you're being entirely honest with me. But we now know that young girls have been dying—young girls involved with the Church of Christ Arisen.”

“That has nothing to do with Regina,” the senator protested. “I don't know what you expect me to say. I'm not responsible for my staff!”

“Yes, Senator, you are. To what degree—we will find out.”

“No. The police ruled it a suicide, but there are ghosts in that house. Regina fell from that balcony—and you can prove that
ghosts
caused her death. The police—”

“The police were wrong,” Jackson told him. “And it will all come out. So, it's not looking good for you, Senator. Your aide got very involved in the Church of Christ Arisen, and
your secretary, bodyguard and chauffeur are all involved with the Aryans. Frankly, no one surrounding you is legitimate in any way.”

“My secretary, bodyguard—and chauffeur?” he asked blankly.

“Martin DuPre impregnated one of the girls at the church. Lisa Drummond and Grable Haines are in pictures from Aryans events. Blake Conroy was at the Aryans meeting the other night,” Jake provided. “I know because I was there,” he said.

“Conroy—I did send Conroy,” the senator said. “But…Lisa? And Grable?”

“Where are they all now, Senator? Why are you alone? Isn't a bodyguard supposed to protect you on the streets?” Jackson asked.

“I haven't wanted people around me,” Holloway said.

“You need to clean house,” Jackson told him. “If we found these things out in a matter of days, your constituents are going to know everything soon as well. And when the police go into the Church of Christ Arisen, I can promise you that Martin DuPre will wind up on the cover of many a newspaper, along with stories about corruption in politics.”

Holloway nodded jerkily. “I'll take care of it.”

“Not for a while,” Jackson said. “What would you like? I'll get you some coffee. We're just going to sit here awhile.”

“Why?”

“Because we're going to wait for the police results,” Jackson said.

The senator shook his head. “Look, don't you get it yet, Jackson? I sent Conroy to the Aryans, and I sent DuPre to the Church of Christ Arisen. I was trying to find out if they were related in any way, because they were the groups so against me.
And I think I was right. I still need the proof. But I believe that the Church of Christ Arisen was an offshoot of the Aryans. A sect, if you will. If I didn't get people involved, I'd never know what was really happening. You've got to understand—if they started buying into the doctrine, I didn't know it. I swear I didn't know it.”

 

Angela helped clean up after dinner, but she was bored and restless. She sat in front of the screens with Will and Whitney for a while, and kept an eye on the screen that now showed the shotgun house from the side. But there was no one there; nothing happened at all.

Eventually, she yawned. She wondered if the police had stormed the Church of Christ Arisen yet, and if so, if they had found anything.

“I'm going up to bed,” she said.

“You're not going to wait until we hear back?” Whitney asked her.

“I have my cell phone, or you two can come and get me,” she said.

Upstairs, she showered in her own room, both fearful and hopeful that she would see a face in the mirror. But she didn't. She went into Jackson's room instead and stretched out on the bed there. For a while, her thoughts were torn between wanting him to come back and be there beside her, and twisting and turning with the questions that continued to plague them and grow worse. They weren't getting answers—just more questions.

Eventually, she drifted, never sleeping soundly. Then, it seemed that she was wide-awake, and she wondered why. Jackson hadn't returned.

She realized that she had the sensation of being watched.

Carefully opening her eyes, she looked to the doorway that separated the room she stayed in with Jackson from the room Regina Holloway had chosen.

And there they were.

The children, and between Percy and Annabelle, the woman she had seen in the mirror. The woman who might have been Susanne Crimshaw. Whoever she was, she was dead, and though she hadn't died anywhere near the era the children had perished, it seemed that their souls transcended time and space, because it seemed as if they were together here now, no matter how many years apart their deaths had been.