Krewe of Hunters The Unholy (17 page)

She rushed to find her keys, and discovered that they must have fallen out of her purse because they were on the coffee table.

“Bogie?”

He turned to her. “I did it. I managed to press that little key and set off the alarm. There was someone out there, Madison. I saw movement in the shadows across the street. There was someone out there—watching. Watching you. And I…I could feel the malice like a wave of hot air, the malice and the…evil. Madison, someone doesn’t like what you’re doing. Someone is out to kill you, too.”

8

S
ean sat at the desk in his hotel room, studying the handwritten notes Benny Knox had given him. They were photocopies, and sometimes he had to squint to read them. They might be entering a brave new world where younger cops were working more and more with technology, but a lot of law enforcement officers still carried notebooks and wrote down their observations.

He had the crime scene photos spread before him, and from what he could tell, every single notation matched perfectly with what he saw. It could be argued that Alistair had enough knowledge of the studio to figure out someplace to stash the weapon, but Sean didn’t believe that was what had happened. And Alistair had been covered in blood. There’d also been trace and cast-off blood along the path he’d taken to summon Bai nppened.ley.

Colin Bailey had been sitting in security. He’d been on the property. But Alistair had found him in his little booth, just where he always was. Bailey had not been covered in blood spatter.

He set down the photos and picked up the phone; he’d wanted to talk to Pierce—in privacy—ever since he and Madison had visited the Archer house.

He hoped Eddie wouldn’t answer, or Helena. If one of them did, he could just ask how they were doing.

He was glad when Pierce did answer, cordial and proper as ever. “Archer residence.”

“Pierce, it’s me—Sean Cameron.”

“Sean,” Pierce said with evident pleasure.

Sean first thanked him for the text messages he’d sent.

“I didn’t know if I should or shouldn’t, but…I mean, their marriage isn’t my business, but—”

“This is an investigation. You did the right thing,” Sean told him. He asked Pierce how he was, and sympathized with him for a moment. Pierce was a good man, always there for Eddie—no matter who he married.

“I have a few questions for you, Pierce. Private questions.”

“Whatever you need.”

“Why are they sleeping in separate rooms? Is the marriage on the rocks?”

“No, Eddie is still in love,” Pierce said dully. “Mrs. Archer complains that Eddie snores, and that she can’t get sleep if he’s there. But they do have connecting rooms.”

“With doors between them—which, I assume, she closes at night, so she doesn’t have to hear his snoring?”

“Yes.”

“Anything else wrong with the marriage?” Sean asked.

“You know how much I love Mr. Archer,” Pierce began.

“I won’t repeat anything, Pierce. But I need to know.”

“I don’t think Helena ever really loved Eddie. I think that when she went to Benita and Eddie’s wedding, she saw that Benita had something she wanted much, much more than what she had herself. I think she waited for the right minute and stepped in. She’s been planning on marrying him for a long time. She doesn’t love Eddie, couldn’t care less about Alistair and, quite frankly, I believe she could be guilty of anything.”

“All right, Pierce, I need you to answer this one to the best of your ability. What time did Helena return to the house the night Jenny Henderson was killed?”

“I didn’t see the exact time, but I’d say it was about half an hour after young Alistair left the house for the studio.”

Sean had to acknowledge that if she’d come home and stayed home, that definitely removed her from the list of possible candidates.

“Is there any way she could have left after that without you seeing her?”

“Sure. The Archers generally use the grand stairway to the bedrooms, but there are stairs in the back—the family room area—too. I was up in my own room after Alistair left, and I didn’t hear her car start,” Pierce said.

Sean thanked him, wishing the phone call had allowed him to completely eliminate Helena LaRoux.

She wasn’t bright enough to have pulled it off. That was the general consensus. But…she could be a better actress than anyone knew. And if Alistair was locked up for life—or, God forbid, worse—Eddie would need her. Then, she’d have even greater power.

And she’d stand to inherit everything, unless Eddie had a will that excluded her.

He called Eddie and felt bad when his old friend and mentor answered, his voice filled with hope since he’d seen that Sean was the caller.

“You have something?” Eddie asked.

“Nothing solid yet,” Sean replied. “But—and forgive me, I have to ask certain questions for the purposes of elimination—do you and Helena have a prenup?”

“Yes.” Eddie’s voice sounded hard.

“What about your will?”

“I have small bequests to various friends and workers. Alistair receives the bulk of my money and investments, and Helena is nicely cared for, as well. My family isn’t out to get me, Sean. I’m also leaving Benita nicely set up.”
lena ite>

“What happens if Alistair is out of the picture?”

“Out of the picture? How?” Eddie asked, his tone cold. He didn’t give Sean a chance to answer. “The killer could have killed Alistair, too. He didn’t. Why would I worry about Alistair now? He’s safe, isn’t he? Alistair is safe?”

“Where he is, yes,” Sean said. “Listen, Eddie, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just trying to make sure I can eliminate certain people, you know?” And, of course, discover what their motives might be.

He bade Eddie good-night. Then he put down the phone and pulled out the crime scene photos again. He’d walked by the tableau of the scene from
Sam Stone and the Curious Case of the Egyptian Museum
dozens of times in the past; he hadn’t paid enough attention. He’d been a bigger fan of films like
Laura
and
The Maltese Falcon.

He picked up the crime scene notes, which detailed everything the reporting officer had seen on the museum floor. There was no mention of the tableaux at all. That wasn’t unusual. The responding officer would have waited for a detective to arrive on the scene, once he’d assured himself that there was no help for the victim, and from the amount of blood on the floor, that must have been evident.

Knox had listed studio employees and recent visitors. Records had been checked and interviews conducted by a score of officers, but thus far, that hadn’t raised any flags.

Sean was so deeply involved in what he was reading that he started when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the time and realized the Krewe had come in, a fact verified by Logan Raintree’s name on his caller ID. “We’re here,” Logan said.

“Where? Airport, endless highway or hotel?” Sean asked him.

“Endless highway,” Logan said. “Endless highway after endless travel. We’re heading over to the hotel now. I want to keep your relationship with the local police positive, so we’ll use the suite rather than the station. Are we all set?”

“Yes, there’s a large dining-slash-work area between two bedrooms, and the other three are just across the hall. So we’re all set.”

“See you in twenty—or an hour and a half, depending on traffic,” Logan told him dryly, and hung up.

Sean eased back in his chair.

He was surprised at the accommodations they’d gotten—and all within a decent budget. Eddie Archer had pulled strings slleh="1em">here, too. They were staying in an old mission-turned-boutique hotel that was conveniently located. It was right off the 101, close to the police station and the highway that would bring them directly to the studio door. It was the perfect arrangement for them. The suite included a work area between the two bedrooms, which offered a refrigerator, microwave, wet bar and, most important, a huge table, a sufficient number of outlets and plenty of space. They’d have a designated room at the police station, too, but his group needed privacy at times, and the Hotel Pierre provided them with everything they required.

He was glad the rest of his unit had finally arrived—Logan Raintree, ex–Texas Ranger, was the head of their team. Kelsey O’Brien was an ex–U.S. marshal—and his cousin. Katya Sokolov, doctor and pathologist, had been an M.E. before joining the team and training at Quantico. Jane Everett, a talented artist, had the uncanny ability to recreate accurate images of the deceased from nothing but a skull or a description. Tyler Montague was another former Texas Ranger. Everyone had his or her specialty in dealing with the unusual, the unknown…and the unnatural. As in, he supposed, the supernatural. They’d been carefully selected by Adam Harrison and Jackson Crow. Adam had been involved in mysterious searches and situations so often that the government had asked him to put together his “Krewe of Hunters” teams. Jackson was the only one of them chosen straight from the ranks of the FBI behavioral sciences department, and head of the original team. The six members of their particular unit complemented one another beautifully.

His cell rang again and he answered, expecting to hear Logan again, perhaps telling him that traffic on the 405 had snarled so badly that it would be midnight before they arrived. But it wasn’t Logan. He was surprised to hear Madison’s voice, soft and somehow sexy even at an anxious pitch.

“Sean, I’m really sorry to disturb you, and this…it may be absolutely nothing….”

“Tell me. What is it?”

“Bogie managed to set off my car alarm. He was certain there was someone outside watching me and— Stop it! I
am
telling him what you said!” she whispered, and he knew she was talking to her resident ghost. “Bogie’s convinced that
I’m
in danger. I admit to being a bit unnerved, but I really don’t mean to bother you. You’re involved with the serious law enforcement side of this situation and—”

“Stay where you are. Stay in the house, doors locked. I’m on my way.”

“No, no, that’s all right. I thought maybe you could just get a police officer to—”

“I’m on my way,” he repeated, cutting her off. “Stay inside, everything bolted and locked!”

Sean cursed as he grabbed his jacket and hurried to the elevator, where he pushed the call button far too many times. He was out ss. urs front, heading to one of the “elite” parking spaces for his loaner car, when he cursed again and returned to the desk, confirming that his fellow Krewe members would be brought to their respective rooms. Then he raced back to the car.

It was late; the roads were still busy, and yet not hopeless, as they could be. He knew he was speeding, but what the hell—so were half the cars on the road. He kept it to a safe level, glancing at his phone—which he’d set on the passenger seat—now and then just to make sure he didn’t miss a call.

What had they been thinking? Yes, bring in someone who knew the studio, knew the dynamics and the people. Someone close.

Too close?

Why had it never occurred to him that he could be putting her at risk?

He tried to convince himself that he hadn’t blindly led an innocent young woman into danger, that Bogie was being Bogie, a little macho, a little old-fashioned.

He slammed on the brakes, not realizing how fast he’d been driving, when he reached her neighborhood and swung into the space next to her car. He jumped out and hurried to the door. She’d been waiting for him.

The door opened and Madison stood there. He was surprised by the hard thud of his heart and the catch in his throat. Her eyes were wide—perhaps too trusting—and her expression was grave. And still, she seemed as straight as an arrow and disturbed at the thought that she might have interrupted him over something that wasn’t important.

They’d barely met, he reminded himself, alarmed by the rise of emotion she elicited.

But that didn’t matter. He had stupidly and unwittingly put her in danger.

He was overreacting. But he couldn’t take the chance!

“I’m really sorry I made you rush over like this,” Madison said. “And I really don’t know what good it can do. I didn’t even know Bogie was capable of pushing the alarm on my car key.”

Bogie was right behind her. “Push an alarm on a key—that I can do. String a fellow up by his toes if he comes in causing problems for the lady? That…I’m not so sure.” Bogie sounded frustrated.

“You were smart to set off the alarm,” Sean said.

“I knew that would wake Madison. She was sleeping so deeply, she didn’t feel me trying to shake her.”

“The alarm probably scared off whoever it was,” Sean told him.

“Being dead,” Bogie said woefully, “makes it difficult when you want to be a hero.”

“Bogie, what did you see?” Sean asked.

He pointed. Across the street, there were two houses, old bungalows, much like the one Madison lived in.

Between them was an old house almost obscured by the bushes in front. A For Sale sign planted just to the side of the front walk explained its slightly shabby and overgrown appearance.

“You know what it’s like when you feel hackles rising along your neck? All right, so I don’t really have a neck,” Bogie said, “but I still
feel
like I do. I caught a glimpse of movement behind those bushes, and then I saw that whoever was there was wearing something like ninja gear—all black. The kind of black outfit puppeteers use so they’re not seen onstage. I knew that this person was watching the house. Madison had fallen asleep, and if the intruder had gotten far enough to break in—well, hell, it could have been too late. I figured if I made the alarm go off, she’d be awake and aware, at least, and maybe I’d scare off the bastard.”

“Good work, Bogie. Thank you,” Sean said.

Bogie wagged a finger at him. “You see to her safety.”

“Of course,” Sean said, turning to Madison. “You have a flashlight?”

“Yes.” She headed to her mantel, removing the large flashlight there. “What are you going to do?”

“Just take a look. I’ll be right back. Lock the door when I go out.”

He heard her do so as he left the house and walked from her yard. He crossed the street, quiet and still at that time of night, and came to the abandoned house.

Standing out on the road, he studied the bushes, then carefully moved around behind them.

He found a broken branch on one of the bushes and impressions in the dry earth, but nothing that could help a forensics team. He shone the light on the house, but anyone who’d broken in was long gone now. He considered calling the police, but he was sure that would be a waste of time.

Why would someone come after Madison?

Because she might know, somewhere in the back of her mind, something that could point an accusing finger in the right direction?

Perhaps one of L.A.’s lost and homeless was seeking entry to a place that could offer some shelter. He made a mental note to ask Knox to see that the empty house was checked, just in case. He doubted they’d find anything left behind by such an obviously clever and resourceful killer.

He returned to Madison’s and knocked on the door, waiting while she looked through the peephole. Then she let him in.

“Anything?” she asked.

“Nothing useful. We’ll have the cops do a search when it’s daylight. Can you pack up?”

“Pack up?” she repeated.

“You can’t stay here.”

“I can’t leave Ichabod!”

“You can leave a cat overnight. We have to figure out how to keep you out of danger until this is over.” Sean stared at her at a moment; she was staring back at him, frowning and looking extremely stubborn.

“Can’t we just call the police, have an officer patrol the area?”

“Madison! Didn’t you see the blood in the tunnel—not to mention Jenny Henderson’s corpse?” Sean demanded angrily.

“But…” She paled. She knew he was right, and she was furious about it.

“This is my home,” she murmured. But she wasn’t an idiot, and she wasn’t going to risk her life.

She’d seen Jenny lying on the cold steel at the morgue.

“It will remain your home,” he assured her. “You’re not leaving it forever.”

“No, no, I’m not. Where am I going?”

“My hotel.”

She seemed a little shocked at that.

“I—I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I can’t stay with you—”

“I didn’t suggest that,” Sean snapped. “We have a suite of rooms.”

She colored; she went from milk-white to rose-red, and her humiliation at misinterpreting his words seemed to draw her straighter still.

Don’t look so embarrassed,
he longed to say.
I’d give my eyeteeth to be honest and say, Hey, yeah, what a great opportunity. Come and sleep with me. I really shouldn’t feel this way, but can’t help thinking the sex would be really, really great.

He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore that thought.

“This isn’t a movie,” he said hoarsely. “Come on, Madison! You know you have to get out of here. Do you want to be the idiot girl who’s convinced that she’s fine—and then runs into the killer in the very next scene?”

“No,” she said, with dignity. “No, I don’t wish to behave foolishly in any manner. And I’m aware this isn’t a movie. It’s my
life
that’s either being threatened or, at worst, totally disrupted. So, fine. I’ll pack. While I do so, would you please make sure the cat’s water bowl is filled and he has food? Bogie was wonderful at setting off the alarm, but I don’t believe he can do things like that.”

“I’ll put out food and water for the cat,” Sean said. He felt shaky. Dismayed, and furious with himself.

This was his fault.

Hell, no. Eddie Archer was the one who’d thrown her into the fray.

Still, he’d brought her in, inch by inch, and now someone out there was scared of what Ms. Madison Darvil might know…or guess.

He found the cat food, which was in a ceramic jar in the shape of a cat’s face. He noted other little things about the kitchen that made it specifically Madison’s. Like salt and pepper shakers in the form of Frankenstein’s monster and his bride. A beautiful kitchen witch dangled above the sink; gleaming copper pots and pans were hung on a rack, along with puppets, some macabre, some enchanting. Creatures everywhere…

He gritted his teeth again.

There was a killer out there. It didn’t matter who’d involved Madison, whether he’d done it or Eddie had—or even if Bogie was being an alarmist. She wasn’t a cop or an agent, as she’d reminded him, and she needed protection.

She was quick; she had a small bag packed and w s pan="as standing at the door after he’d refilled Ichabod’s food and water bowls and set them down. Ichabod had eschewed both and followed him out. Even the damned cat seemed to be looking at him with accusatory eyes.

Bogie leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You stay with him, kid. This is ugly. Hollywood can be magic, and it can be ugly as sin. You know that—firsthand now. I’ll keep an eye on things here,” he told Madison.

Sean hesitated. “We still need you to come to the morgue.”

“I promised I would, and I will.” Bogie shrugged. “I can probably get there on my own, but why don’t you swing by for me when you come to feed the cat again?”

“We’ll do that,” Sean said.

Madison was grim and silent when they went to his car. He took her bag and put it in the truck, and climbed into the driver’s seat.

She turned on the radio and chose a talk station. “Is this okay?”

“No. I’d prefer classic rock.”

“Good. We’ll listen to this, then.”

“Hey! Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t do this to you on purpose. I didn’t even know you existed,” Sean muttered. “You said you’d do anything for Eddie Archer and Alistair. It looks like you’re getting to live up to those words.”

She didn’t reply. She did hit the button on the radio, changing it to an oldies station.

It was still a chilly drive back to the hotel.

Madison didn’t say a word as they crossed the lobby, although he saw that she carefully studied her surroundings. The old missionary style was unmistakable, as was the care expended in bringing modern comforts to the historic building.

The hotel was small; it only took a minute for the elevator to carry them to the third floor. Sean headed straight for the suite. Before he could slip the key in, the door swung open. He was greeted by his cousin, Kelsey O’Brien, who gave him a massive hug.

“Hey, we’re here—as you can see,” Kelsey said, tucking long red hair behind her ears.

“And feel!” he teased her. “Did you learn that power-hug technique with the marshal’s office?”

“Sean, where did you go?” Logan asked him, coming up beside Kelsey, a frown knitting his brows. “You knew we were on the way. Did something happen?” He sounded concerned—or was he annoyed?