The Dead Room (33 page)

Leslie stood, rumpling ghostly hair. “Miss Mary Sherman, please don't worry. I promise that I'm going to take good care of you and your mother. All I have to do now is find exactly where you are, and it's near here, right? Very near here?”

“I think so,” Mary said.

Leslie smiled at Nikki, then at Adam, who was still just watching her and Nikki silently. “We're looking for a child's grave belonging to Mary Sherman. Let's get to work.”

They began inspecting the crypt, Nikki using the register, Leslie and Adam covering the tombs on the floor and reading the plaques on the wall.

“Bingo,” Adam said softly a little while later.

Leslie hurried over to him. He had dusted off a plaque on the wall. She read the old English carefully. There were six tiny coffins behind the slab; the children interred within had all died of a fever.

The last name was that of Mary Sherman. Leslie looked around, but the little girl was gone.

After the coffins had been discovered, Leslie kept staring at the walls, tapping them.

“Leslie?” Nikki said worriedly.

“There's another way in here,” Leslie said. “I realized—as we found the coffins—that I was here when I was supposedly knocked out by the falling ceiling.”

“All right.”

They began a search together. Nothing. No secret door. At least, none that the ages would still allow them to find.

Nikki set an arm around Leslie's shoulders. “We did find Mary,” she said.

Leslie sighed. It was true. Now all she had to do was convince Laymon that the bones in the crypt needed to be disinterred so those of the woman they had discovered in what would have been the churchyard could be carefully buried with those of her child.

“Mary?” she called softly. “Mary, I need your help. Is there another way in here? Please, Mary, I need to know.”

One moment the child was nowhere to be seen and the next she appeared. But just as she did, there were loud noises from above. Laymon was returning.

Mary faded away, but just before she disappeared, it looked to Leslie as if a look of pure panic crossed the little girl's face.

Because of Laymon's interruption? Or because of Brad, who was right behind him?

“S
he's your child, isn't she, Eileen?”

Eileen Brideswell stared back at Joe for a long minute, her features giving away nothing. Then she lowered her head. He saw the tear she wasn't able to catch land on the hard wood of the table.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

Eileen looked up, quickly wiping her eyes. “Yes. You don't understand. When I got pregnant…We were society. I couldn't marry her father. He was an immigrant, a bricklayer. In fact—” she looked sad again “—he died in an accident on the job before he ever knew about Genevieve. Back then…I was afraid that the stigma of her birth would follow her throughout her life. My brother and his wife wanted a child so badly…I was pressured by my parents…I had to give her up, and by letting Donald raise her, I at least got to be her aunt. I was supposed to marry well, and my marriage did turn out to be a good one. I don't expect you to understand…and I…I don't have to explain myself to you. Your job is to find Genevieve.”

He'd learned over the years that defensive people could become angry and hostile. Still, he'd wanted—needed—the truth. From her own lips.

“Eileen, I'm not judging you. Not in any way. It's just that to find her, I needed the truth. I believe you're right—Genevieve wouldn't have disappeared without a word to you. I also believe she's alive.” She was staring at him with wide, pain-racked eyes. He set a hand on hers. “I think we're close.” He pulled out a manila envelope from his briefcase, producing a number of pictures, but not the one of Betty, Genevieve and Brad. He had found newspaper photos of the men who might have been involved in the case. “I need you tell me how well you know each of these men, and how well you think Genevieve might have known them.”

She looked at him, startled when he showed her the first. “Well, that's Robert Adair, of course. I know him very well. And through her line of work, and through the family, Genevieve knew him well, too, of course. You're not suggesting that—”

“I'm not suggesting anything at the moment.” He produced his second photo.

She stared across the table at him. “Ken Dryer. Everyone in the city knows him. He's on television every time anything happens and the police need to talk to the people of New York about it.” She leaned back. “He's good at his job. He calms people down. He's not a personal friend, but I've met him. And Genevieve must have met him, too. He spoke at the opening of a day care center that was a pet project of hers.”

“Here,” he said, handing her the next.

Eileen stared at him, nodding. “Professor Laymon. Of course I know him. Greta is a dear friend, and I've been involved with the Historical Society forever. You know that.”

“What about Genevieve?”

“I…I don't know. I know she was fascinated with Hastings House. As I told you, I knew too late that she'd wanted to attend the gala. If only I'd known…but maybe it's good that she didn't go. She might have been…although maybe that would have been better than…”

He gave her a moment to pull herself together, then showed her the next picture.

“Hank Smith,” she said. “Yes, I know him and so did she. She wanted his company to start building affordable housing, rather than luxury highrises. She wanted to change the world.”

Last, he produced the picture of Brad. Eileen looked at him. “That's Brad Verdun. Of course she knew Brad.”

“Of course?”

“She met him when he was working on Hastings House.”

“Oh?”

“He asked her out. She thought he was cute and fun, but far too immature. Still, I think they stayed casual friends.” She sat back, shaking her head. “I don't understand where you're going with this. There's a lunatic out there killing girls, my niece may or may not be alive, and you're showing me pictures of upstanding citizens.”

She was indignant. He wasn't surprised. “Can you think of anyone who might have read that tabloid article? Anyone who might have known that Genevieve was your biological child?”

“How on earth would I know who read what?” Eileen asked him. “And what does it matter, what someone read in some cheap rag?”

“They might have been taunting her with it. They might have lured her into a car to talk about it. Eileen, what I do know is this—the last time Genevieve was seen, she was getting into a black sedan. Just like the girls who disappeared before her.”

The color drained from Eileen's face. “Then what makes you think she might still be alive?” she whispered.

“No girls have been taken in the same way since,” he said. He glanced at his watch. Adam was due to leave for the airport any time now, and he didn't know how long Nikki was staying. He wanted to think that Leslie couldn't be in danger, not in broad daylight, and not at a well-populated dig, but then he remembered what had happened the other day in the crypt and realized that had already proved to be untrue.

“Eileen, I'll keep you posted,” he promised her. “And if you think of anything at all that might be of help, tell me. Please.”

“A black sedan, you said? A nice sedan?” she said.

“Yes. Why?”

“There are black sedans parked all over the financial district on a daily basis,” she said dully.

“I'll be in touch,” he promised.

 

He reached the dig right at eleven. Both Adam and Nikki were standing outside the grid tapes but near the crypt, waiting.

“What's going on?” he asked them.

“A minor argument,” Nikki said, her eyes sparkling. “I think Leslie is winning. Somehow she's gotten Brad on her side.”

“And you stayed to watch the fireworks? What about your flight?” he asked Adam.

“I've rebooked,” Adam told him. “As has Nikki.”

“Oh.” Joe wasn't sure if he was relieved or a little dismayed. Would she still want him at the house if Adam and Nikki were there?

“I can put things off for a few days,” Adam said.

“And I have a very understanding husband,” Nikki told him.

They both sounded cheerful, but he had the feeling that if they were staying, it was because they were worried.

“That's great,” he said, mostly meaning it. He had things he could be doing, and he wasn't meeting Brad until that evening.

“You're going to stick around the site, then?” he asked the other two.

“One of us will be with Leslie at all times,” Nikki assured him.

He nodded again. “Great. So what's the argument about?”

“Leslie wants the remains of a woman and a child interred together. A mother and child.”

“Laymon has a problem with that?”

“Laymon usually wants the bones he finds studied and cataloged, but this time, he doesn't want the graves in the crypt walls disturbed.”

A moment later Leslie emerged from the crypt, looking triumphant. Brad was right behind her. She didn't notice Joe's arrival at first as she turned and flashed a giant smile Brad's way, squeezing his arm. “Thank you,” she told him.

“My pleasure. But let's spend the day dusting and cataloguing and making the old ogre happy, huh? That was great, convincing him that you could make him out to be such a wonderful and compassionate man, not just digging into the past, but doing his best to lay it properly to rest.”

“I shall enjoy every long and tedious moment of the day,” she promised. “Hey, if you run over to the trailer, I bet you'll find Hank Smith. Fill him in on what we're doing. It will be good P.R. for Tyson, Smith and Tryon, as well.”

“Where are those TV cameras when you need them?” Brad teased, running his fingers through his hair to smooth it back.

Leslie laughed, then saw Joe. She lifted her chin, clearly defying him to accuse Brad of anything as she walked over to where he was standing with Adam and Nikki.

“I hear you have another success story going,” he said.

“I'm happy. I think we're doing the right thing,” she said.

“Good. And Adam and Nikki are staying, so I've been told.”

Leslie frowned at that, looking at the other two. “I don't like holding you guys back,” she said.

“If it weren't fine, we wouldn't be doing it,” Nikki said.

“Well, then, I'm off to see a man about a map—a bunch of maps, actually,” Joe said. He didn't touch Leslie, not in that company, though he longed to. “I want to check out some public records,” he added.

“I see. And you're meeting Brad for drinks this evening?” Leslie asked.

“Yes. Can I find you all for dinner after?”

“You've got my cell phone number,” she reminded him, studying his eyes. She was obviously still worried about his upcoming conversation with Brad.

“And you can call
me
if you need me. Anytime.” He looked from Leslie to Nikki to Adam, then back to Leslie. She was smiling again. She appreciated his concern, he knew, and he thought she really did like having him around.

With a wave, he left.

His ultimate destination was the office of public records, but he didn't head straight there. Instead, despite the traffic, he found himself driving around the area, putting together a mental map that included the prostitutes' street, the position of the dig, Hastings House and the subway. There was a lot of ongoing construction in the area. There were cranes, scaffolding and temporary wire fences on several blocks. Finally he headed past the tenement where he had talked with Heidi Arundsen and Didi, then he continued on at last to his destination.

 

Leslie was pleased with the day's work, especially because Laymon had accepted the ongoing help of both Nikki and Adam with little question once he'd discovered that they knew how to move delicately and that Adam was a whiz at deciphering records. Besides, they were free labor, the professor had said with a smile.

They never left the site for lunch but sat in the shade and ate sandwiches from the back of a truck. When five rolled around, they were exhausted.

“That really was a good day's work,” Leslie murmured, stretching her back, ready to call it quits.

Laymon sniffed. “The first in several days,” he commented.

Leslie grinned at Nikki and Adam as they all cleaned up as best they could in a hurry. Brad actually seemed eager to meet with Joe.

“Well…have fun,” she told him, refraining from telling him that Joe suspected he might be a maniacal killer.

By the time she, Nikki and Adam walked back to Hastings House, it was closed to the public for the day, and the staff had all gone home. Adam excused himself, saying that he wanted to rest before dinner. Leslie and Nikki showered to rid themselves of the dust from their work in the crypt, and then Leslie said, “Want to go for a walk?”

“Sure. I'm up for whatever you think will help.”

A few minutes later, they left the house.

“What?” Leslie demanded, seeing the troubled look that had suddenly come over Nikki's face.

“Nothing.”

“What?” Leslie insisted.

“I…I might have seen Matt,” the other woman said softly.

Leslie frowned, grabbing her arm. “Where? When? Why didn't I see him?”

She didn't realize what a death grip she had on her friend until Nikki gently removed her hand. “I…I've been at this longer, I guess. And I'm not certain at all. It was such a pale image.”

“What was he doing?”

“It was as if…as if he was guarding the front door,” Nikki said. “And…”

“And what?”

“He reached out for you as we were leaving.”

Leslie stared at her, then went running back up the steps to the house. She opened the door, almost forgetting to turn off the alarm as she burst into the entry hall.

“Matt?”

Nikki waited outside, behind her.

“Matt, please!” Leslie said urgently as she walked farther into the room. Suddenly she thought she felt it. Something gentle against her cheek, her hair. She stood there, waiting. She couldn't leave.

Nikki came back inside, closing the door behind her.

“Do you see him?” Leslie whispered.

“No, I'm sorry.”

Leslie couldn't see him, but she felt him. She was sure of it.

As she stood there, she suddenly heard the sobbing again. She spun around to stare at Nikki. “Do you hear it?”

Nikki frowned. “I'm…I'm not sure.”

Leslie still couldn't see Matt, but she could hear him then.

Ignore whatever you think you hear, please. It's…it's dangerous for you. I'll find a way to help, I promise, but you have to get out. You have to leave. Dear, God, Leslie…

Ghosts were supposed to be accompanied by a chill, but all she felt was warmth. The warmth of his love. She shook her head. “I can't ignore it,” she said aloud. “I can't, Matt.”