Krewe of Hunters The Unholy (13 page)

“The morgue?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound like the coward she was.

“Yeah, let’s eat first. Where do you want to go?”

“Ah, anywhere. Anyplace along the way, I guess.”

He nodded; he seemed to like the fact that she was up for
whatever.
And he seemed to know that while he was an FBI agent and probably accustomed to morgues, she was not. Yes, definitely, food before the morgue. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat afterward….

They wound up stopping at a Buca di Beppo. Homestyle Italian food. It was en route and a national chain that was pretty damned good—a plus, since neither of them cared much about what they were eating; they just needed to eat.

The menu was set up for sharing. They opted for a salad and lasagna. When their friendly waiter was gone, Madison said, “I’m…I’m grateful that you’re here. I know you worked for Eddie, and I know you’re FBI. I don’t understand all the dynamics, but it doesn’t matter. You’re here and you believe in Alistair.” She hesitated. “And I believe in Alistair. I work in special effects, so I’m aware of what’s possible, but…I’m also aware that mannequins don’t come to life.”

“No,” he agreed, “mannequins don’t come to life. Unless they’re rigged to do so. Or digitized in a movie. So, we know a mannequin didn’t kill Jenny Henderson.”

“The alternative is almost as bizarre. There were security cameras. From what you’ve told me, no one came in, and no one went out. You haven’t seen the footage yet, have you?” He shook his head. “I’m sure the police have, though. And if anyone
had
gone in or out, the police—as in Detective Knox—would have told you, and that person would be questioned.”

He was thoughtful, spearing a leaf of lettuce. “Yes. As standoffish and pedantic as Knox appears to be, I think he’s a good cop. And I think he’d pull me in on anything he considered out of the ordinary.”

“So, nothing on the tapes. We have an empty studio and an empty cinema. Except for our security guard, Colin Bailey. And while we can’t rule Bailey out, he’s a totally unlikely suspect—not to mention that the police interviewed him immediately and looked into his background. I love Colin. He’s such a reassuring presence. And he’s been loyal to Eddie for twenty years and so fierce when it comes to the studio. So that leaves Jenny Henderson and Alistair—and the mannequins,” Madison said, feeling bleak.

“Just because a studio is in lockdown doesn’t mean it
was
locked down,” Sean reminded her.

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“But…you’ve seen the security system. You’ve worked at the studio. And we both know, we
all
know, that if you want to keep your job, you really don’t mess around, sneaking people in during lockdown,” Madison said. “But, of course, you don’t commit murder if you want to keep your job, either. Not if you’re…normal. But the killer isn’t really normal, is he?”

“I’ve never figured out ‘normal,’ to tell you the truth,” Sean said. “Whoever is doing this is organized. He—or she—has a plan and is thinking it through. And he knows something we don’t, because I don’t believe in a locked-room mystery. There’s a crack in the door somewhere, and we have to find it. Right now, the studio contains secrets that the killer knows, and we don’t. Back when I worked for Archer—”

“Why did you leave?” Madison asked, and then regretted it. His face changed; he’d become guarded.

“Texas is home,” he said simply. “I was needed at home.” He changed the subject. “To return to the concept of normal—the average employee wouldn’t know enough about the studio to carry this off.”

“You think someone was in the studio. That this person was hiding out somehow, somewhere, someway, and knew that Alistair would be there, and that he’d come through the tunnel,” Madison said.

“Yes.”

Madison frowned. “First, you have to get in—without the security cameras picking it up. Then you have to hide. Then you have to find the right costume to become the mannequin. And, after committing the murder, you’d have to get rid of the bloody garments you were wearing and get out of the tunnel and the studio without anyone seeing you and without leaving any kind of trace.” She lifted her hands. “That’s where I’m lost. Suppose the killer did somehow hide overnight and wait and wait—how did he escape without being on the security cameras?”

“Because a locked room with any kind of access or egress is never really a locked room,” Sean said.

Madison shook her head. “If Knox is the detective you seem to think he is, and if he respects the FBI, he’ll make sure you know what he knows.”

“Forensic materials aren’t analyzed instantly,” Sean said. He shrugged. “And sometimes it’s not the forensic evidence that matters most—it’s the logic.”

“As in, it had to be an inside job?”

“Absolutely. You have to know about Colin Bailey and the other guards—and all about their schedules. You have to know about the locks and the keys and the security system—actually, it’s not much of a security system. Eddie is a trusting guy.is a tru guy.i

“He’s not so technologically inclined,” Madison agreed. “We’re always explaining some feature on his cell phone to him.”

“And you know that about Eddie because you work for him, and because he likes you and respects your work. You’re close,” Sean said.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure I
was
all that respected and liked until I received the call yesterday morning,” Madison said. “Don’t get me wrong. Eddie is a great boss. He loves his artisans. I just didn’t realize I’d been singled out.”

“But Alistair is crazy about you, too,” Sean pointed out.

“I felt like a very naive kid when I started with Eddie. And now, Alistair
is
a naive kid. He’s a lot like Eddie—he has a big heart. I owe them both. And I like Alistair. He’s never been—well, for lack of a better term—a spoiled jerk. He blends right in. The only time I ever heard Alistair say anything that made him sound like a rich kid was when he said I didn’t need to hurry, that the plane would leave when I told it to. I had to tell him that in the real world, planes left on schedules, and only private planes left on the
owner’s
schedule.”

Sean laughed. “Yep, that sounds like Alistair. And you’re right. He’s never been an affected rich kid. And, through three marriages, he remains Eddie’s only child. So, what would that mean to you—as a sleuth?”

“That he’s a rich kid…and…”

Sean pushed his plate aside. “Which means that Alistair stands to inherit his father’s fortune and the studio and the cinema. So, first suspect? We know that Alistair’s mother died a long time ago.”

“First suspect—Eddie’s wife,” Madison said.

“That’s right.”

“Oh, please.”

“Yes, we decided last night that she doesn’t seem bright enough to pull off something like this. But appearances can be deceptive. Or…she might have been working with someone else,” Sean said. “I know we already dismissed that idea. However, I’m not a hundred percent convinced.”

“Trust me—I work about eighty hours a week. The only
time I have
ever
seen Helena at that studio is when one of the directors, set designers, or casting agents comes through. I honestly don’t think she knows enough about the studio to have done any of this.”

“You
think
,”
he said.

“I thought you agreed with me on that?”

“I agree that she appears to be a walking billboard for hair colorists,” he said. “She might also be a far better actress than we imagine.”

“Doubtful.” Madison shook her head.

“Even so, she’s the wife—she’s not off the hook,” Sean said. “Finished with your meal?”

“Yes. Thanks. I can pay my share—”

“No worries. Your tax dollars at work, Madison. If we’d ordered fine wine, well, then, we’d have to argue about the cost.”

He stood, ready to move on. Madison got up, too. Their server saw them and quickly brought the bill, and in a matter of minutes they were on the road.

Headed to the morgue.

The morgue.

Madison had never supposed that in all her life she’d be headed to the morgue….

* * *

Back again.

No matter how such a place tried to be aesthetically decent—
pleasing
was beyond the realm of possibility—the smell of chemicals seemed to pervade even the reception areas and offices. No room freshener could alleviate that smell.

Sean was growing accustomed to everything he was going to meet along the way in the career he hadn’t actually chosen, but which had found him. In Quantico recently, they’d trained in arms; thankfully, as a Texas kid, he’d grown up surrounded by those who expected a man to know about guns, even if he chose not to use or carry them. He’d excelled at the shooting range. They’d sat in on endless classes in behavioral sciences. They’d learned to profile, and they’d learned that profiles could be wrong, but if nothing else, they certainly helped winnow down the pool of suspects. In many cases that pool could be immense. It was necessary to start somewhere, and the best place to start was with logic.

While they were a “special” unit—chosen for exceptional talents that some might consider curses—they were still expected to follow all bureau procedure and to excel at all expertise needed to work as an agent.

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That had included days and days at morgues and body farms across the country.

He would never feel at ease in a morgue. But, even in training, he’d never betrayed his discomfort.

Sometimes, in the busy daytime field of a morgue like this one, Sean felt as if he heard voices, dozens of them, crying out to him.

He didn’t acknowledge that, but he watched Madison—and it wasn’t out of idle curiosity. He had to know if Eddie Archer was right, and if Madison spoke with the dead. If she saw ghosts…

She was ashen from the time they stepped into the building. He didn’t need Detective Knox today; he’d made himself known as lead investigator on the case. Today, he’d be able to meet with the medical pathologist who had done the autopsy, Dr. Lee Chang.

“I wish there was more to tell you,” Chang said as they walked down the chemical-scented halls to the small room, where he’d ordered the corpse of Jenny Henderson to be brought. They were alone when they came to the small viewing room. Chang had his own charts and rattled off information as he withdrew the sheet, saying, “By my best guesstimate, Jenny Henderson was taken from behind. Her attacker was right-handed, seizing her by the left hand and holding it against his—or her—body and then slicing her throat thus, left to right. The artery was severed. The point was to kill, but not to decapitate.”

Madison went a shade grayer, staring silently at the corpse of Jenny Henderson. She inhaled on a shaky breath. He saw that the tears she was determined not to shed were crowding her eyes.

“You knew her,” Sean said.

“I can’t say I knew her well.” Madison’s voice was low and pained. “But yes, I did know her.”

“I’m sorry,” Chang said quietly.

Sean decided he liked Chang. The man was a professional with empathy. He didn’t let emotion overrule science, but he didn’t forget that his science had to do with human beings.

Madison moved closer to the corpse.

Chang cleared his throat. “She has a brother back in Rhode Island. He’ll be here tomorrow, although we haven’t released the body as yet.” He touched Madison awkwardly on the shoulder with a gloved hand. “You may go closer. You may touch her. She was your friend. None of us knows, but maybe she’ll sense that you came and you want to help her, that you care.”

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It’s easy for us. You and I, we never knew her in life. This girl is here to help. She needs space to breathe, to touch, to see,
Chang seemed to say.