Krewe of Hunters The Unholy (12 page)

“What kind of knife was used?” Sean asked.

“Let’s see…Chang writes that it must have had a sharp point—but the edges of the wound are rough, as if the edge of the knife wasn’t sharp, and a lot of pressure was put into the kill. Not a serrated edge, but it’s as if the flesh was ripped more than slashed.”

Sean nodded, and looked down at Jenny Henderson. She’d been a pretty girl. Her eyes were closed and she almost appeared to sleep—except for the red line of the knife wound that had [und prended her life.

And a corpse was never truly indicative of the real person who had lived and breathed and laughed…

Talk to me, please talk to me. Help me, because even if you were using him, I know you cared about Alistair, and I know you don’t want him to pay for what someone else did.

But the corpse of Jenny Henderson lay still and unmoving. Not that he’d expected her to rise or to speak….

Jenny, please, I’m here to help. There has to be justice, if you’re to find peace, if you’re to go on.

Then it seemed—or in his mind’s eye, at least that her eyes opened. She looked at him, and her face changed. Her features no longer seemed sunken. She gazed at him, and he heard words that were fraught with terror.

I’m so scared. I’m dead, I see it, I know it, and I’m so scared.

That was when Sean always felt at a loss—when the dead expressed their fears. What lay beyond? He didn’t know. No one knew, because once you walked from your own death and into the light that beckoned, there was no returning.

Jenny, you were a beautiful young lady,
he told her silently.
You don’t need to be scared.

I did use Alistair!
she whispered, sounding miserable.
If I let go, I’ll end up in hell.

I can’t claim that I know God, Jenny, but hell is reserved for evil. Of that I’m certain. And if you can help us find the truth, we can help you find your way.

He heard her sobbing. Life. A precious gift. It had been stolen from her.

“What’s he staring at?” Sean heard Rodrique ask Knox.

“No idea,” Knox muttered back. “Who knows what they teach at the FBI Academy these days?”

“It’s late,” Rodrique said. And in his peripheral vision, Sean could see the man looking at his watch.

“You got a dinner date?” Knox asked him.

Rodrique flushed. “I have mounds of paperwork!” he said indignantly.

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Jenny!
Sean whispered in his mind.
Help me. Alistair didn’t do this to you. Who did?

She began to cry again.

Who, Jenny?

No, no, not Alistair. Never Alistair.

Then who?

The man.

What man?

The mannequin man. The one in the robe.

It seemed that she turned her head toward him. That her eyes were open and staring beseechingly into his.

The mannequin man,
she repeated.
The man with no face.

* * *

 

Madison screamed. She spun around, ready to swing and fight.

“Hey! It’s just me. Lord help us, it’s just me, Bogie!”

Madison released a shaky sigh. “Oh, Bogie! It’s that house across the street. This is crazy, but I’m seeing a face in it, and it’s scaring me, and… Sorry, I feel like an idiot.”

He studied her expression. “It’s pretty creepy-looking, all right,” he agreed. “And after the day you’ve had…”

“I need sleep,” Madison moaned.

He nodded. “I’ll come and sit in that chair in your room. Maybe you’ll sleep then?”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

“I’ll find an
I Love Lucy
rerun. And,” Bogie added, “I’ll watch that house across the street. If anything moves…I’ll wake you in a flash!”

* * *

 

Vengeance was angry.

Vengeance had waited. For hours.

Tonight…yes, tonight.

No, it couldn’t be tonight. Cameron hadn’t left until she’d walked in and locked the door. And if Vengeance broke into her house, that would be careless, and might give everything away. Alistair was locked up, and there would be nothing clever or devious about a kill tonight; killing tonight would be against the plan.

The plan was everything…at least it had been. It still was, yes, it was. It had to be.

But…

The damned girl! There was something about her, something that made Vengeance uneasy. It was as if she had extra eyes. She kept silent, but there were times when…

Times when it seemed that she saw what others did not.

Maybe she was just crazy. Yes, that was it. Vengeance had seen her when she appeared to be talking to someone…. Someone who was no longer alive.

Like at a funeral…

And Vengeance had seen her walking in the cemetery, as if she was visiting old friends….

Vengeance had felt compelled to come tonight. Because of Madison. She shouldn’t have been part of this. And Cameron was back. Vengeance didn’t like it at all—none of this was part of the plan.

Control, careful organization and control. And yet, angry, frustrated, Vengeance still felt power in watching.

There was nothing to see. Madison Darvil’s house had gone dark except for the night-light on the porch and a pale glow within. The television. The damned television ran night and day. But maybe that would be good. Noise to cover up whatever might happen.

Now…

No, not now.

Now was the time to watch and wait. Time to devise a clever way to rid the world of Madison Darvil and her enormous blue, all-seeing eyes. Such a waste; such a talent; such a beauty.

But this was Hollywood. Hollywood could steal beauty.

And Hollywood could kill it.

Outside the plan. Too soon, too close—and outside the plan! Vengeance was not a cold-blooded killer!

Vengeance was…vengeance.

6

S
ean was glad that Eddie was rich. No matter how hard a city, county, state or the federal government tried, it was difficult to fund decent hospitals on public money.

Alistair Archer was free on bail but required to remain under mental health authority and wear an ankle cuff. Thanks to Eddie’s hard work and resources, Alistair was at the Churchill/Dunlap Treatment and Therapy Resource Center. It was an exclusive hospital where many a Hollywood mogul had come, whether to overcome drug or alcohol abuse—or await trial in a high-profile criminal case.

L.A. could be a brutal place, Sean knew. The county was home to some of the wealthiest people in the country—film stars, producers, directors and those who made their money behind the scenes. It also included East L.A., gangs, violence and drugs. In the prisons, habitual criminals often ruled the roost, and men and women accused of certain crimes might not survive to come to a fair and equitable trial. People in the county tried. Not only did the richest and most famous of American royalty live here, but the place was steeped in an artistic temperament and an egalitarian ideology. However, sheer weariness could whittle away at those benevolent impulses.

Technically, Alistair was out on bail, despite the stipulation for the ankle cuff and psychiatric care. But Eddie was smart to see to it that Alistair was in a respected—if exclusive—hospital with a wing for those who might be dangerous to themselves or others.

Had he been someone else’s son, Alistair might have ended up in a hellhole.

Instead, he was in a facility where the security guards wore designer uniforms and a valet parked every car that arrived. The lobby, where Sean and Madison checked in, was marble and chrome, and even the metal detectors were high-end. Security was tight, and it took them several minutes to be allowed through and then escorted to Alistair’s wing and down a long corridor to his room.

Madison had been polite and quiet through most of the drive and Sean sensed that she was anxious. Her eyes were wide as they neared Alistair’s room.

“Looks like a spa,” she murmured. “With Uzis.”

“They’re not packing Uzis, but, yes, it’s staggeringly expensive, and while you’re awaiting trial for some terrible crime, you can have a massage,” he said, a bit cynically. “We may all be equal, but it’s true that money talks—and ver ^und por somey loudly, too. Eddie managed to get Alistair arraigned almost immediately and his attorney offered this solution while they wait for a trial date. He could be at home, but Eddie thought this was better and safer.”

“I agree. Until it’s proven that Alistair
is
innocent,” she told him, bravado in her voice.

“We both agree on that.”

A guard unlocked the door for them.

The room was hardly the customary jail cell
or
hospital room. It was a suite. They could see the bed through an open doorway, while the main door opened into a parlor or seating area with a wide-screen TV and game station.

There was a table in the center of the room, and Alistair was seated there with his father; they both appeared calm and were engaged in a game of gin rummy.

Alistair, dressed in jeans and a rock band T-shirt, glanced up as they were ushered in. When he saw them, a look of hope and pleasure flashed across his features and he leaped to his feet. He raced over to them, throwing his arms around Madison first, holding on to her tightly, and then hugging Sean with equal enthusiasm. “I didn’t believe it!” he cried, stepping back, studying them both as if he was afraid they were a mirage. “I didn’t believe my friends could have faith in me—I mean…I know what it looks like. Oh, God, I know what it looks like. And I’m not crazy, I swear to God, I’m not crazy. I didn’t lose my mind and kill her. I was nuts about her— I…I don’t care what they keep trying to say to me, I’m
not
crazy and I didn’t do it.”

“Oh, Alistair!” Madison said, hugging him again. “It’ll be all right. We
will
find out the truth.”

He nodded, then shook his head and burst into tears. “It
can’t
be all right. She’s dead. Jenny is dead. Nothing can ever be okay again.”

“Alistair, I didn’t mean that,” Madison told him, sorrow in her voice. “We do believe you, and we’ll learn the truth, and we’ll make sure the whole world knows you’re innocent.”

Sean hoped she wasn’t naively giving Alistair promises they couldn’t keep. It didn’t look good at all. And yet…he
did
believe Alistair. Anyone might conclude that the young man didn’t even know what he’d done, that he’d had a psychotic break, killed Jenny Henderson, blacked out—with no recollection of anything. That was the
logical
explanation in a locked-room case in which the accused was so passionately and sincerely sure he was innocent.

But Sean reminded himself that he’d actually communicated with the victim. And Jenny Hen cAndionately derson might not have known who’d killed her, but she
had
been certain it wasn’t Alistair.

It was still going to be incredibly difficult to prove what a dead eyewitness knew.

And yet, maybe not. It hadn’t been a random murder. Had Jenny been targeted? Not likely. As he’d already observed, Eddie and Alistair were the ones who’d been targeted, and if the Krewe could delve into the situation and find a motive, they could trace a path through the maze.

Eddie had stood, as well, and watched Alistair greet Madison and Sean. He spoke up quietly. “Thank you for coming.”

Sean nodded. “I can hardly be effective if I don’t talk to Alistair.”

Eddie smiled at Madison and let out a sigh. “Sit down, please.” He collected the playing cards and set them, with the score pad, on a corner of the table. “Everyone, sit down, and then, Alistair, you tell them what happened. And remember, think hard. Tell them every little detail that comes to mind.”

Eddie sat as he spoke; Madison took a chair across from him. Sean followed her, and Alistair sat next to his father, facing Sean and Madison.

“Jenny snuck in to see you, right?” Madison said.

“Yes.” He stared down at his hands. “I told the police all of this. I told them everything.”

“That doesn’t matter, Alistair. You need to tell us,” Sean said.

Alistair released a long breath. “Everything. Okay. I went to the Black Box Cinema
.
I waved in the direction of the camera when I arrived, trying to let Colin Bailey know I was there. I went in.”

“You were at home before you went to the cinema?” Sean asked.

Alistair nodded. “Home, and then straight to the cinema. I went and got the reels for
Sam Stone and the Curious Case of the Egyptian Museum.
I love that movie. It’s not as well-known as some film noir, but I
love
that movie—and I’m thrilled we’re doing the special effects for the remake. I was just watching the part where Dianna Breen comes to Sam Stone’s office to tell him how she couldn’t possibly have killed her husband when Jenny snuck in on me.”

“How’d she get in?” Sean asked.

Alistair looked troubled. “She said I left the door open.”

“Did you?”

Seconds ticked by as Alistair’s frown deepened. “Well, she
said
I did. That surprised me.” He glanced at his father. “I realize I’m privileged. I try to be super careful to follow all my dad’s rules. But…honestly, I just don’t know. I
thought
I’d locked it. Maybe I didn’t. I don’t know.”

“Okay, Alistair, that’s fine for now. Thanks. So, Jenny came in and startled you. And she wanted to get into the studio,” Sean said.

“She…” he started to say, but he paused again, turning to his father. “She really wanted one of the bit parts that still had to be cast for
The Unholy.
And she believed that if she could just see some of what was being done—you know how the props and effects can affect the whole
mood
of a movie—she’d have a better chance of being cast. Oh, God, Dad, I’m so, so sorry,” Alistair said, and it looked as if he’d burst into tears a second time. The moment was both ironic and poignant. Alistair was truly devastated over Jenny Henderson’s death; he was also heartsick and grieving about the fact that he’d betrayed his father’s confidence.

He was in a bad way, Sean thought.

Madison reached out, her hand covering Alistair’s. “Hey, come on, now. Your dad’s worried about you. He’s not angry.”

Eddie grimaced. “Right now, that’s the least of our worries, son. It’s not like I’ve never been twisted around by a woman. You’re young. I understand, but don’t let it happen again,” he added lightly.

Alistair tried to smile.

They all knew there might not be an
again.

“So, Jenny talked you into taking her through the tunnel to the studio,” Sean said.

Alistair nodded. “And at first, it was fine. Oh, my God! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked through that tunnel. I can describe every tableau down there with my eyes closed.”

“Did anything appear different about any of the tableaux?” Sean asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Alistair said.

“Even the
Sam Stone
tableau?”

“I…I remember looking at it and thinking how much I love the ch Iem"movie,” Alistair said. “And, of course, that was the movie I’d been watching.”

“But you watch that movie a lot, don’t you?” Madison asked. She smiled. “You’ve talked to me about it. We discussed the special effects. Digital is fantastic—but only when it’s really right and when the script and everything else is just as strong. If you look back at film history, some images seem amazing because the costuming was so good—and because the actors were so good. Like Lon Chaney, Jr., who could turn himself into anyone and
anything.
The effects that were created for the
Sam Stone
movie were excellent. Nothing fancy, certainly not by today’s standards, and yet genuinely frightening.”

Alistair nodded, staring at her, troubled again. “Yes, I do watch the movie a lot. Most people know it’s my favorite film noir. Does that…does the movie I was watching matter?”

“Anything can matter, Alistair,” Sean told him. “In this case? Yes, I think so. Now, you went through the tunnel, and the tableaux were just as they always were. Then…”

“Well, then we were at the door to the studio. And I saw that it was ajar.”

“So the door to the studio was open,” Sean repeated.

A slight look of annoyance crossed Alistair’s face. “I’ve told that to everyone. Over and over. Yes, the door to the studio was open. Slightly ajar. And it should’ve been locked. So I walked up to it and that’s when I heard Jenny scream.”

His voice quavered on the last few words.

Sean leaned forward. “Alistair, tell me
exactly
what you saw then. Try to remember every detail.”

Alistair’s hands were trembling. He tried to still them where they lay on the table, then gave up the effort. He swallowed hard. “He—he was there. He’d stepped down from the tableau. He had Jenny. And…I saw. I saw him slit her throat. I tried to stop him. I cried out. I wanted to think it was make-believe—I mean, we’re all about make-believe, right? I wanted it to be make-believe, my dad pulling a stunt on me to teach me a lesson. Or some jerk from the studio playing a game. But…but…it was real. Oh, God, it was real, and blood sprayed everywhere and I could see Jenny’s eyes. Oh, Lord, I could see her eyes….”

“Alistair, it’s—” Madison held his hands hard, clutched in her own. Her eyes were locked on Alistair in searing empathy and sorrow; she’d been about to say,
It’s all right, Alistair.

But it wasn’t.

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