The Betrayed (Krewe of Hunters) (15 page)

And where they’d found the rest of Highsmith.

The moon was high that night, only partially cloaked in clouds. It cast an almost sinister glow as shadows appeared and then fell around the praying angels, cherubs and monuments.

There were more vaults built into the rise of the next hillock. Mo assumed Rollo would race straight toward them, that the scent of the shirt would lead him there.

She could be wrong, of course. They were working on her theory right now. And even though it was a plausible theory, she might be wrong.

There were dozens of plausible theories.

She felt Aidan close behind her. He didn’t speak.

They both watched Rollo.

She could hear Van Camp shouting, ordering his officers to search for anything that looked as though it didn’t belong.

A team of medics was with them, too.

At least they’d sent medics and an ambulance. Everyone was hopeful.

False
hope?

Rollo dashed toward the vaults. They weren’t neatly aligned—they were as haphazard as the hillside itself. He ran from one to another.

And then he disappeared.

Mo ran after him, careful as she traveled the uneven, stony ground.

Rollo reappeared. He was still searching.

“This may not be right,” she heard Van Camp murmur.

“Give him time,” Aidan said.

Rollo now ran toward the edge of the hillside that led to what was officially Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. He galloped back and forth, back and forth, barking.

“What the hell is he doing now?” Van Camp asked.

Mo simply watched her dog, who sat, looked at her, thumped his tail—and barked again.

“This is useless,” Van Camp muttered. “And we’ve got a kid out there somewhere.”

“No, no, I don’t think it’s useless at all,” Voorhaven said. He walked toward Mo. “He means something by that, doesn’t he?”

Mo nodded. “That posture means he’s found him.”

“There’s nothing there,” Van Camp said. “Mo, you’re the best, I know that, but he’s just sitting on a grave, barking.”

Mo didn’t answer right away. She stood unmoving among the graves as the moonlight played over her in the misty night.

Because she heard a sound. Like a muffled sob.

She turned slightly. There was an angel of stone, hands folded in prayer, head bowed in sorrow. Her beauty was decaying and yet somehow shimmering in the unearthly light.

She might have been crying.

Mo looked at Aidan, who was studying her. He asked quietly, “Mo? You have something, don’t you?” He gave her a nod of encouragement.

“Rollo isn’t wrong and he hasn’t lost his touch,” she said slowly. “We’re close to the boy. I believe we’re standing right on top of him.”

8

T
he police spread out. Flashlights swept across graves and the edifices of dozens of mausoleums and vaults.

At some point during the night, Aidan’s fellow agents Jane Everett and Sloan Trent arrived to help, and Mo was pleased to meet them. Jane was eager to hear about Rollo and his gift for finding the missing, but Mo had the feeling that she was asking her much more.

When they were briefly alone while the men searched the cliff sides, seeking vaults and entries, Jane asked her quietly, “You haven’t seen anyone here who could help, have you?”

“Seen anyone?” Mo repeated carefully.

Jane smiled. “In the cemetery. Any spirits who might help?”

Mo inhaled, looking at Jane. The woman was an artist, she knew. Her ability to put life into the two-dimensional image of a face had led them to their second victim. Jane was sophisticated in a casual way, attractive—and confident. And she was talking about ghosts.

“No,” Mo said. “But...I wasn’t looking. And I seldom see—”

“The dead in cemeteries,” Jane finished for her. She smiled again. “Your dog is fantastic. And I’m sure he’s found the boy. We just have to get to him.”

“I know he’s here somewhere,” Mo said. “And,” she added softly, “I believe he’s alive.”

Rollo came trotting over to Mo. He whined and slipped his head beneath her hand, obviously impatient. He wanted her working with him.

“Well, we’re not going to get into a vault by standing here,” Jane said.

“You’re right. Rollo, let’s go.”

Jane went ahead. Rollo ran down the hill, seemingly without effort. It wasn’t quite as easy for human beings on two legs. But, like Jane, Mo made her way to the bottom.

There were officers in front of them and behind them. On Aidan’s orders, they were meticulously searching the hillside—not for clearly visible vaults seen with rusted iron gates that couldn’t be opened, but for entries time had hidden, with vines and foliage that completely obscured any opening there might be. It was slow going, especially in the dark. The sun would come up soon enough, but no one wanted to wait.

With Rollo at her side, no longer barking, Mo took a hands-on approach, hoping she didn’t disturb a stinging insect or awaken a snake or some other creature. She had her hands flat on the earth when she paused.

She could hear the crying again.

For a moment, she went still. It seemed that she was standing before an area on the face of the hill that was nothing but dirt. Vines grew profusely here. But when she stuck her fingers through them, she touched metal. Hard, cold metal.

She didn’t cry out for the others at first. She tore at the vines, and as she did, she realized that someone could have just slipped between them.

There was a door. Iron? It had a massive brass ring for an opener, and she pulled on it. By her side, Rollo barked.

Then she heard it again—the sound of a sob.

Is it in my head?
she wondered
. A remnant of something that once was?

Rollo barked excitedly.

The sound came again.

It wasn’t real—or at least it wasn’t now.

But it
had
been real...she was hearing an echo in time. Did that mean the child was dead—or merely unconscious? The door gave.

It should have creaked. It should have groaned and been almost impossible to open. Time should have created a seal stronger than any made by man.

But the door slid open and before she could stop him, Rollo rushed in.

Mo followed her dog, crying out for the others to come.

* * *

Aidan was cracking open a lock on a vault when he heard Mo scream. He hurried along the overgrown path to the source of the sound. Jane was just reaching the door. He hurried past her, pushing his way through, aiming his flashlight into the tomb.

Coffin shelving lined the walls, the old seals mostly intact, but there were cracks here and there. A broken altar featuring a pair of praying angels stood toward the center of the front area. The vault itself stretched deep into the hillside.

“Mo!” he called.

“Here!” Her voice echoed and he could hear Rollo barking.

Aidan went farther inside. Before he could reach Mo, he paused.

There was another old stone, set like an altar in the center of the long aisle of tombs. The stone was broken and it looked muddy—but it wasn’t mud that marred the altar. It was blood. A hatchet and a knife leaned against the makeshift altar.

“Aidan, come quickly!”

He moved past the broken and bloodied altar. Mo was just beyond it, hunkered down, trying to lift a bundle from the floor.

“Mo?”

“It’s him! It’s the boy, Aidan. And he’s alive!” Jane hurried in behind Aidan.

“Get the medics,” he said tersely.

She ran out, and Aidan rushed to Mo’s side. “Let me,” he told her.

It was easy for him to pick up the eight-year-old boy. The child was unconscious, but he seemed to be breathing without any problems. Although he was covered in dirt and spiderwebs, he appeared to be unhurt.

He looked at Mo, and she looked back at him with relief. She was shaking.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

He turned and walked out of the tomb. There would be a lot to do that night. He felt her behind him. She followed him out, obviously concerned about the boy.

The EMTs were waiting outside and they sprang into action with a speed and competence that was reassuring. Aidan listened as they called off vital statistics. The boy’s pulse was low but acceptable.

“How’s it look?” he asked, aware that Mo was silent but right behind him.

“Well, I’m not a doctor,” the young man in charge told him. “But I’m seeing dehydration, minor cuts and bruises. Not much more than that. The kid obviously hasn’t had anything to eat or drink in two days, but he’ll probably come out of this none the worse for wear—physically, anyway. Mentally? I don’t know. I’ve got to admit being locked in there would’ve done me in as a kid!” He indicated the vault. “Gotta take him now, okay?”

Mo suddenly spoke up. “May I ride with him?” she asked.

“That’s obviously a great dog, but he can’t come. And it’s usually one of the police—” he started to tell her.

Aidan was surprised when he found himself saying, “The dog will come with me. I don’t think the boy’s going to regain consciousness for a while. It may be unorthodox, but hey, this lady rescued him. She’ll ride with you. Mo, I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

Mo nodded with obvious gratitude.

“Rollo
will
go with me, won’t he?” Aidan asked.

“Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “That traitor might like you even better than me,” she said.

The EMT helped her into the back of the ambulance.

Jane and Sloan were behind Aidan, and so were Van Camp and Voorhaven.

Van Camp said, “Go ahead and follow. I’ve put the call through to the crime scene department, and we’ll keep a vigil here.”

“If they can just find
something
in that tomb...then we might have some answers—and something to compare with our suspect’s DNA.”

Jane smiled. “That boy has to be tough, a survivor. Maybe he’ll be able to give us some more information.”

“Let’s pray he does,” Aidan murmured. “All right, I’ll take the dog in my car. We can switch off shifts at the hospital until I convince Ms. Deauville that she can leave. Rollo?”

Rollo barked.

“That’s one impressive dog,” Voorhaven said.

“And one impressive woman,” Aidan added quietly.

Van Camp smiled and slapped his partner’s back. “Yes! Hell, it’s a good night. We found the kid—and we found him
alive.
”

* * *

J. J. Appleby was one cute kid. He had wavy dark hair that fell to his neck, and a tuft in front hung naturally over his forehead. His cheeks were still cherubic. He was ashen, but with an IV started, he seemed to be getting back a little color. Mo held his hand. She felt him squeeze hers in return, just slightly, once.

The EMT—Stan—was a pleasant and solid man of about forty. He was quiet most of the time in the ambulance, watching his patient. His partner, the driver, was in contact with the hospital during the ride.

“Looks like he’s going to be fine,” Stan assured her.

“Why is he unconscious?” she asked. “I mean, if he isn’t hurt.”

“No food, no water and pure terror. Could you imagine being locked up in there?” Stan asked.

With the sirens blaring, and at this hour of the night, they were at the hospital in no time. Mo stayed in the E.R. waiting area until the boy was taken to a room and she was told she could go see him. She’d barely gotten there before Aidan arrived. He sat on the other side of the bed and assured her that Rollo was fine. He was with Jane at the hotel.

They hadn’t been there long when J.J. woke. For a moment, his eyes were wide-open and unseeing. Then he bolted straight up and let out a bloodcurdling cry.

Mo quickly reached for him. “J.J., J.J., it’s okay. You’re in the hospital now.”

He stared at her as if she were some kind of monster, recoiling from her touch.

“You’re all right, you’re all right,” she murmured. “You’re in the hospital.”

He relaxed in her arms, and then began to sob. The sound was heartbreaking.

It was the sound she’d heard in her mind when he’d been in the vault below her.

He allowed her to hold him. She let instinct take over and just sat there, rocking him. Over his head, she looked at Aidan. She knew he wanted—
needed
—information from the boy, but he was also aware of J.J.’s fragility and the agent had, she realized, tremendous compassion.

Finally, the boy’s cries subsided. “My mom?” he whispered. The hope in his voice tore at her soul. She realized that he knew his mother was dead.

“I’m so sorry, J.J.,” Mo whispered.

Aidan sat forward. “I’m Aidan Mahoney, J.J. I’m with the FBI. And this is Mo. We’re going to find whoever did this and make sure they’re locked up forever—I promise. But you can help us.”

J.J. was shaking again. He pulled back a little. “I can?” he asked, his voice weak.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Aidan asked.

He stared blankly at Aidan for a minute.

“How did you wind up in the vault at the cemetery?” Mo asked.

The boy frowned with the effort to remember. “We were going to New York City,” he said dully. “We were going to visit some of Mom’s friends. She was going to take me to a play. And we were going to see the Statue of Liberty.”

“But what happened? Had you left your house?”

J.J. nodded. “Then what?” Mo asked softly.

“We were going to hear a man speak at the convention center. After the speech, Mom said, the traffic would be better and it would be an easy drive. If we were tired, we’d just stop outside the city and stay in a motel for the night. We were s’posed to have a great adventure!”

“Did you make it to the convention center?” Aidan asked.

“Yes...”

“And then?”

J.J. began to cry silently, with tears streaming down his face.

“Take your time, J.J.,” Mo said.

“We got there. We got out of the car. We started walking over to the building.”

“What happened after that?” Mo pressed gently.

“Mom started to turn around. Someone was behind us. I started to turn around, too. But it went dark. There was something over my head. And...I smelled something that was sort of sweet. And then...”

“What?” Aidan asked.

“Then I woke up in that horrible place. And I couldn’t see anything, and I screamed and screamed and screamed but no one could hear me. I tried to move around in the dark and I...I touched dead people! There were dead people on slabs and I screamed again and...and there was blood. I touched blood, and there was a hatchet and a knife and...”

He started crying once more. Mo kept on holding him.

A nurse was standing at the door. “No more right now,” she said urgently.

Mo and Aidan nodded. “I’m expecting one of his mother’s friends,” Aidan explained. “Can you let her stay with him, please?”

“Yes, of course.” Mo glanced across the boy’s bed at Aidan. A moment later, there was a tap at the door and she turned to look.

To her surprise, she knew the woman standing there. She hadn’t seen her in a few weeks, but when they were all young, the two of them had gone to many of the same parties. Her name was Debbie Howell. She was dancing at a strip club now. She’d always been nice to Mo, and Mo liked her. Debbie was still a beautiful woman. There was a sense of joy about her, something in her face that said she expected the best from people and from life. Debbie reminded her of Grace. Even without a bit of makeup on—or maybe because of that—she looked young and innocent.

“Debbie!” she said, hoping her shock wasn’t evident.

Aidan rose quickly.

Debbie cast her a grateful smile but then made a beeline for the boy. J.J. dropped his hold on Mo and immediately reached for Debbie.

“Oh, J.J., J.J., you’re safe and sound and alive and...Oh, J.J.!”

She hugged the boy, tears in her eyes. When she pulled away, she threw herself at Aidan, hugging him.

She startled him as no armed enemy could, Mo thought. He could hardly keep himself from stepping away, and he looked decidedly awkward as he patted her on the back.

“It’s okay, Debbie! J.J. is okay.”

“Thanks to you,” Debbie told him.

“No. Thanks to you. And thanks to Mo—and Rollo.”

Debbie turned to Mo, who was prepared for the hug that came her way.

“Of course, you and Rollo. I should’ve known that!” Debbie said. “Thank you.”

“Nothing could have made me happier,” Mo murmured.

“What will happen to me, Debbie?” J.J. asked. “They won’t say it—but my mom is dead. Like my dad. What’ll happen to me? Debbie, my mom...she was the best mom.”

He cried again, this time clutching Debbie Howell like a koala. She reassured him. “I can’t be her. You’re right, she was the best mom ever. But you’ll have me, J.J. You’ll have me forever and ever, I promise. Your mom and I talked about this. She had a will and made it clear that you’d be with me.”

The nurse was back at the door. “He needs to get some rest,” she said sternly. “If the doctor comes by, you’ll be out in the hallway.
She
can stay—” the nurse pointed at Debbie “—but no more talking.”