Krewe of Hunters The Unholy (32 page)

“I’ll have Knox get it.”

Sean turned back to Madison, as Logan hurried off. “The police will have to close the studio again, but the work can go on until the last minute. The whole place has to be closed until they really get a grip on what’s going on underground.”

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“How will they do that?”

“They’ll bring in a score of engineers. We’ve just got to find out how the killer’s been using the labyrinth, get every bit of evidence from the tunnels before the engineers go down there.”

“What’s going to happen with the studio?” Madison asked anxiously. She was worried sick about Eddie—first Alistair and now his wife. But the studio meant a livelihood for so many people.

“We’ll have to see,” Sean told her. “I don’t know.”

Logan came back, bearing the letter Helena had supposedly written in a clear plastic evidence bag. Sean read it aloud.

“‘I can no longer bear the guilt and the shame. I killed Jenny. I wanted more than you could give. Eddie, forgive me. May my death bring an end to what you are suffering, and may Alistair and God forgive me, too. Helena.’”

“Well?” Logan asked.

“Bull,” Sean said. “Helena LaRoux did not write this.”

“It
is
dramatic,” Logan murmured. “And kind of sad. She asks Eddie, Alistair and God to forgive her—but not Jenny, whom she killed.”

“That’s because she didn’t write the letter.”

Knox approached the ambulance. “Agent Cameron, Eddie Archer has heard what’s happened. We really don’t think he should come here. Mike Greenwood is with him at his house, and Eddie wants you there, too.”

“When the medical examiner’s taken the body and the forensics team’s done, I want to get back in those tunnels. But I’ll go over to Eddie’s first.”

“What should I do?” Madison asked.

Knox looked at her. “You should stay out of the way right now, Ms. Darvil. The teams will be busy for a while.”

“Did Eddie want me, too?”

“Just Agent Cameron. You might want to go home and get some rest. Or, if you’re up to it after crashing through the floor you could go to the studio,” he said, “Mr. Simons has gone in. I still have men posted there. The employees know what happened.” He gave her a white-lipped smile. “From what I hear, it’s a gossip fest. But the work’s going on.”

“What do you
want
to do?” Sean asked her.

“Clean up and go to work.”

“Okay. I’ll get Kelsey to take you back to the hotel.”

* * *

Eddie wasn’t usually much of a drinker.

That day, he was. He didn’t need to fight to save Alistair anymore; he couldn’t save Helena.

When Pierce let Sean in, he found Eddie sitting on the sofa at the back of his beautiful house. The L.A. sun was shining brightly, casting a benign light on the pool behind the glass and the perfectly manicured lawn that surrounded it. Mike Greenwood was sitting in the chair across from the sofa, trying to lend what support he could.

Pierce, shaking his head sorrowfully at Sean, seemed anxious, worried—and not at all triumphant that Helena had proven to be venomous.

Eddie looked at Sean with dazed, red-rimmed eyes. “It was Helena? You saw her? There was no mistake? It was really Helena?”

Sean patted his friend’s knee and sat next to Eddie. “Yes. I saw her. I’m sorry, Eddie.”

“She killed herself?”

Sean hesitated. “Eddie, she was dangling from a rope. It was attached to the hook set into the crypt for flowers. She’d also slashed her wrists, and she left a note.”

Eddie nodded. “The police read me the note. I didn’t buy it. Did you buy it, Sean?”

“Eddie,” Mike interjected.

“Sean, did you believe it?” Eddie demanded.

Sean inhaled on a deep breath. “No,” he admitted. “Except…”

“What? What the hell are you trying to say?”

“Eddie, it really looks like she drove herself to that cemetery. I think she was meeting someone.”

Eddie gulped down his glass of whiskey. “You’re trying to say that my wife is a murderer, that she killed a girl—
killed her!—
just to hurt me…to hurt Alistair. She’s dead, Sean! Helena is dead.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond. Anything he could come up with sounded lame. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m so sorry.”

Eddie rose, heading for the Scotch bottle again. “Be careful what you wish for! That’s what they always say. I wished desperately that my son would be freed. I did everything I could to bring in the FBI—to find the truth and prove Alistair innocent. So now, supposedly, Helena wrote a suicide note claiming to have committed the crime. She cut her wrists, and when she didn’t do that properly, she hanged herself. That’s what the police say. And they think it’s all over, that what she wrote is the truth…but it can’t be. It just can’t be.”

Sean was silent.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Eddie spun on him, whiskey sloshing precariously near the rim of his glass. “You’re thinking a lot more than you’re saying.”

Sean lifted his hands. He wasn’t going to lie to Eddie. “I don’t believe Helena killed herself. But I
do
believe she was partners with whoever killed her—and Jenny,” he said bluntly. “That’s no comfort to you, I know.”

Eddie let out a long shaky breath.

Sean’s phone rang and he answered quickly. Logan was calling from the police station.

“Here’s something that might help Eddie,” Logan said. “They’re releasing Alistair. The D.A. was able to get before the judge and they’re dropping the charges. The police will remove Alistair’s ankle bracelet and he’ll be free to go home.”

He hung up. “The charges against Alistair are being dropped. You can bring him home, Eddie.”

Eddie stiffened his shoulders, staring out at the yard but obviously not seeing anything. He shook his head slowly. “Alistair is staying where he is. Someone’s after my family. I’m not letting them get to Alistair. They destroyed Helena, and they’re trying to destroy me and the studio. I’m not going to let them.”

Mike stood. “No, Eddie, we won’t let them ruin the studio,” he vowed.

Eddie took a sip of his whiskey. “So, go back to work, Mike. You, too, Sean. Go get the bastard for me. Don’t let the cops put it all on Helena, like they were trying to do with Alistair.”

Sean glanced at Mike, and Mike looked back at him unhappily. “Eddie,” Sean said. “We’re all worried about yorrwidou.”

Eddie lowered his head. “Don’t be. Pierce is with me. I’m going to go and stay with Alistair for a while. Don’t worry—I’m not driving. Pierce will take me, and we’ll stay together. We may be an odd family, but we
are
family. And I’m all right. I’ve got it under control. Mike, save the studio. Sean, get the bastard. Go—do it, please. We’re going to be fine, aren’t we, Pierce?”

“Yes, Eddie,” Pierce said. “We’re going to be fine.”

There were still tears in Eddie’s eyes. Because Helena was dead or because she had so bitterly betrayed him? Or both?

Sean rose to leave. Mike Greenwood followed suit. “It’s all right, really,” Pierce said. “I’ll take him to be with Alistair.”

As Sean and Mike departed together, Mike whispered, “Poor Eddie. Nicest damn guy in the world. And he fell for a manipulative bitch like Helena.” He paused, raising his voice as they left the house. “Do you think she really killed Jenny Henderson—and then herself? You can be forced to write a suicide note, but no one forced her out of the house. There’s an alarm. Pierce would’ve protected her, not that he liked her himself, but she was Eddie’s wife. Maybe she was going to the store and she was kidnapped—yeah, that’s possible!”

“I think she
was
involved. How involved, I don’t know.”

He stopped at the cars and looked back at Mike. “You’re going to manage, keeping the studio open?”

“As long as Andy and Eddie tell me to, I’ll manage. Somehow. And, of course, as long as the police let me. Will they close us down again, do you suppose?”

“They’ve closed the cemetery for the day, and a couple of cops—as well as my team—will hang around there. This particular investigation could go on for a while, so I don’t expect that anyone will ask you to close, not for the next few days, anyhow. If at all.”

“Then I’m going back to work,” Mike said. “See you later, Sean. Thanks for becoming—whatever it is you’ve become in the FBI.”

Sean watched him go. He remembered working for Mike Greenwood, a steady guy who never raised his voice. He was pretty sure Madison felt the same way. He waved to Mike as Mike revved his car, murmuring, “I always was what I am now, Mike. I always was.”

He slid back into the Prius and eased into traffic.

As he drove, a call from Jane advised him thadv into traat Logan had arranged for a meeting with Oliver Marshall at the police station as soon as Oliver was finished shooting for the day. He expected to be available in about four hours.

Sean mused that Oliver Marshall was heading into the glare of major stardom. Why would he be involved in a case like this?

But who ever really knew what drove another human being? Who could tell what perceived slights and wrongs motivated acts of vengeance or bitterness? And if Oliver
wasn’t
involved, he still might know something they didn’t.

How well had Oliver Marshall been acquainted with Helena LaRoux?

He hoped they were going to find out. But for the time being, he planned to get back down to those tunnels.

They were connected to the studio. He wanted to figure out just how and where. It was becoming evident to him that the killer had used the tunnels, certainly to make his escape.

The killer had known the studio backward and forward and had some connection to it. Helena had managed to get the basement key for the killer and she’d probably been the one to reveal that Alistair would be at the Black Box Cinema—and that Jenny would join him. Sean didn’t just need to know who was familiar with the studio and the Black Box; now he also needed to know who’d been privy to the information about Peace Cemetery.

* * *

People were, naturally enough, tense. But whether anyone had tried to hush up the news about the discovery of Helena’s body, Madison had no idea. She did notice that she wasn’t included in most of the whispering among her coworkers. As they day wore on, she often caught them staring at her, and then quickly looking away.

She couldn’t help being aware of them as she worked on Oliver Marshall’s costume with Alfie. He was holding the rubber shield in place on the shirt material while she stitched it in. Simple task, but because of the type of fabric and the need for perfect positioning so that Oliver and his stunt double could rip up his clothing and be clad as an Egyptian warrior, the work required two people.

“Everyone’s staring at you,” Alfie told her.

“Yep.”

“They think you’re in the know,” Alfie said, “and, of course, you are. Scary. I would’ve died! You found her—ugh. Weird. Do you have, like, corpse radar or something?”

“Alfie, I fell through bad flooring!”

“How weird! She left a suicide note in her car, then took herself down to some hidden crypts to kill herself. On the other hand, she never did seem really normal. No, wait, for Hollywood, she
was
normal, trying to play the climb-up-the-ladder game. I just don’t get it, though. Can you imagine how she must have done this? Oh, but wait, she’d definitely know Alistair’s and Eddie’s habits, what they were up to and stuff like that. She’d know how to use the security equipment…maybe. I never thought of her as a technical genius. Actually, I never thought of her as a genius at all.”