The Prophet (20 page)

“It’s a coincidence that you stopped by today,” I began tentatively. Not that I believed in coincidences these days. Everything happened for a reason, even a seemingly random visit by the Charleston County coroner.

“How’s that?” she asked.

“I’m hoping you can help me with a problem I’ve run across on one of my other jobs.”

“Don’t know much about cemetery restoration, but shoot.”

“It’s a small graveyard down in Beaufort County. Some of the headstones were stolen, and now there’s a dispute over the gravesites. Everyone I’ve talked to seems to have differing opinions as to who is buried where, not to mention disagreements over birth and death dates. And so far, I haven’t been able to locate a cemetery registry or site map.”

“What about death certificates?”

“They weren’t even filed in some cases, and others have been amended so extensively as to be useless. It’s a real mess.”

“Sounds like more than a mess,” she said. “I would say someone is going to a lot of trouble to create all that confusion. If official records have been altered or destroyed, you’re dealing with someone who is seriously motivated and probably well-connected. Have you talked to the sheriff down there?”

“The legalities aren’t really my concern. I’m just trying to sort out those graves. It occurred to me that autopsy reports would be indisputable evidence as far as date of death is concerned. I was wondering how someone like me would go about getting copies? Aren’t they a matter of public record?”

“Depends on the state, and within the state, it varies county by county. In Charleston, we tend to operate under the same guidelines that govern the privacy of medical records. But having said that, there are ways to obtain copies. If you’re next of kin, you can submit a request online. If you’re some yahoo looking for gory details, you could always try filing a claim under the Freedom of Information Act, although—a word of warning—we tend to frown on that sort of thing. Since you’re neither, you can always plead your case directly to the coroner. I happen to know Garland Finch pretty well. He’s a good guy but he’s a stickler.”

“You don’t think he’d be willing to help me?”

She shrugged. “You won’t know until you ask him. I’d be willing to give him a call and see if I can soften him up a little for you.”

“You’d do that? It would be a huge help.”

“On one condition.”

“Yes?”

“You have to tell me something.” She turned, her eyes glinting with what I could only interpret as suspicion. “Anyone ever mention what a terrible liar you are?”

“I…don’t know what you mean.”

She cocked her head. “Come on. That story has about as much credibility as the two-headed gator that ate my fifth-grade science project.”

I sighed.

“What’s really going on?” she asked.

“It’s a personal matter.”

“This personal matter wouldn’t involve a lawsuit or infringement on an ongoing investigation, would it?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m just trying to help out a friend. It’s been two years since someone close to him died and he still can’t move on. I thought a look at the autopsy records might put some questions to rest. Give him closure.”

“Is there some dispute about cause of death?”

“Not really. But seeing it in black-and-white…” I trailed off. “I realize I’m grasping at straws, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“If this friend is a relative of the deceased, why don’t you file a request online like I suggested?”

“How long do you think it would take to get an answer?”

“Anywhere from weeks to months.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Your friend can’t go to the coroner himself?”

“No. That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Her stare was very direct. “And would this friend happen to be anyone I know?”

Since Fremont had been a cop and Regina was the county coroner, I felt it safe to assume they had at least been acquainted. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

“If I stick my neck out, I need your assurance that none of this will come back to bite either of us on the butt.”

“I don’t see how it could.”

She gave me a stern look. “I wouldn’t do this for just anybody.”

“I appreciate that.”

“It goes against my better judgment.”

“I understand.”

“Here.” She took out a card and scribbled a note on the back. “If Garland gives you a hard time, and he probably will, show this to him. He’ll know what it means.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

She gestured toward the cemetery. “If it hadn’t been for you, that psycho might still be out there. Consider this payback from Charleston County. And everything considered, I’d say we’re getting off pretty damn easy. There is one thing I’d like to know, though.”

“What’s that?”

“How long did it take you to come up with that ridiculous story about stolen headstones and altered death certificates?”

I smiled. “It’s not so ridiculous. It really happened on one of my restorations.”

She looked highly dubious. “Not in Charleston. Not while I’ve been coroner.”

“No. Actually, it was in Samara.”

“Oh, well, that figures.” She shrugged. “That place is more corrupt than a tin-pot dictatorship. I should know, seeing as how my ex is the county sheriff down there.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

A
lmost as if my thoughts had summoned him, Fremont’s ghost appeared by my car when Regina and I emerged from the overgrown path a few minutes later. He looked the same as ever. Dark glasses obscuring his dead gaze. Arms folded, feet crossed as though he had all the time in the world. Which, in a sense, he did, although there seemed to be some urgency to our investigation.

I kept my gaze carefully averted from his dead form.

When I was younger, I’d learned not to give too much thought to the how or where or why of manifestations, other than to keep a watchful eye come twilight. Papa had not been one to talk about the ghosts, and I’d followed his rules so stringently that to question or wonder—even to myself—had seemed like too much of an acknowledgement of the dead. I’d always tried to keep my mind otherwise occupied so as not to court their presence. But clearly Robert Fremont’s ghost had a connection to me. Some sort of telepathy, perhaps.

I would never get used to his humanlike appearance—not to mention his pre-dusk materialization—and it was only with every ounce of self-control I could muster that I didn’t give myself away to Regina when I first spotted him.

We said our goodbyes, and I lingered over storing my tools and camera, then took out my phone and pretended to check messages in order to give her ample opportunity to pull onto the road. I waved as she drove off and continued to busy myself until she was well out of sight. Only then did I go around to the front of my car where Fremont leaned against the fender.

“How do you do it?” I asked him.

“Do what?”

I gave a helpless shrug. “How do you always know where I am? How can you just appear without warning? Without even so much as a glimmer of light or a whisper of cold air? You’re just…there.”

“I told you, it takes a great deal of concentration.”

“You were on my mind just now,” I said accusingly. “Did I somehow summon you with my thoughts?”

He gave me a bone-chilling stare from behind those dark glasses. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I’ve never been able to ask before. You have no idea what this is like for me. Since I was a child, I’ve been surrounded by ghosts, but my father taught me to never acknowledge their presence. Like you, he called them leeches. Netherworld parasites to be dreaded and feared. Then you came along. You’re not driven by hunger for warmth or the desire to exist in the living world. You’re driven by the need to move on. You’re still capable of emotion. You still have a conscience and you can converse with me. Is it any wonder I’m so curious about you?”

He took a moment to answer. “Your thoughts didn’t summon me,” he said. “Not precisely. It’s more like a shift of energy that pulls me to you.”

“Has anyone else ever seen you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“How did you know about me?”

“We made eye contact on the Battery one day. I said hello and you heard me.”

“And then what? You started following me?”

“Something like that.”

I was silent for a moment. “I’ve been wondering what gave me away. I’m usually so careful around ghosts.”

“But as you pointed out, I’m not like other ghosts.”

“No, you aren’t. And now I have to wonder if there are others like you. How many times have I been fooled? How many more are out there masquerading as human?”

“Masquerading?”

“You know what I mean.”

I could feel his stare behind those glasses. “If there were others like me around, you would know it.”

“How?”

“Because they wouldn’t leave you alone until you gave them what they needed.”

“Are you saying they would haunt me?”

“Our resources are limited,” he said. “We use what we have.”

I thought of that message scrawled over and over in the frost on my windows. I thought of Shani’s plea and her determination that I should come find her. She, Robert Fremont and that unknown specter all needed my help because I was the only one who could see them. I was the only one who could hear them.

The weight of my burden pressed down heavily at that moment. Was this the true significance of Papa’s warnings? I wondered. Was this what he had meant when he said that to concede their presence was to invite them into my world forever?

But it wasn’t just a matter of being haunted. It wasn’t just a matter of having my warmth and energy leeched. According to Fremont, I would be relentlessly pursued by those restless spirits needing my help, hounded by desperate entities until I did whatever was needed. If I helped Fremont and Shani…what else would be expected of me? How many other ghosts were out there searching for someone like me?

I turned away from Fremont and lifted my face to the sky as my heart thundered inside my chest. I’d been flirting with the notion of a noble calling, perhaps subconsciously ever since my first sighting. I wanted to believe in a higher purpose for my gift in order to justify my loneliness. In order to accept my true nature. A part of me had actually begun to think of it as liberation. No more pretending. No more hiding in my sanctuary. Acknowledge the dead and help them move on.

But there would be no moving on for me. I saw that clearly now. The shackles that bound me to the ghosts would only grow stronger as more and more of them sought me out.

My gaze dropped to the horizon, and I drew a long breath. All that was left of the sunset was a pinkish glow peeking over the treetops. It was that tremulous moment before twilight, before the in-between, when shadows lengthened and shifted, giving refuge to those dark silhouettes that crept out of the forest. Did they want something from me, too?

“I’ve said something to upset you,” Fremont said.

“No, it’s not that. I’ve learned some things and I’m just wondering where to start. Did you recognize the woman who just left here?”

“She looked familiar.”

“Her name is Regina Sparks. She’s the Charleston County coroner. I assumed you knew her from your time as a cop. Anyway, she may be able to help me get a copy of your autopsy report. I don’t know why, but I have this really strong urge to see it. I could barely find anything online about your shooting. The investigation was kept very hush-hush, so I’m hoping there may be something in the records that will help us. I know it’s a long shot, but at least it’s a start.”

“No, that’s a good idea,” he said, seemingly impressed. “I’d like to know what’s in those records, too.”

“Can’t you just manifest inside the Beaufort County coroner’s office and take a look at your file?”

“It would seem that I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I need your help. Apparently, I have limitations.”

“Along with amnesia?”

He let that one pass. “What else have you learned?”

“I went to see Rupert Shaw yesterday. I wanted to ask him about gray dust.”

“Did I not warn you to be careful?”

“You did, but I trust Dr. Shaw. He told me that gray dust comes from Africa. It’s important to certain religious rituals and so powerful that even the shamans use it sparingly. But the interesting thing about that visit wasn’t so much what he told me about gray dust or even rootwork. I overheard a conversation between him and Tom Gerrity that was very disturbing. And I know that’s a name you’ll recognize because you pretended to be Gerrity when you first approached me last spring.”

“Yes, I know Tom Gerrity.”

“I saw a picture of the three of you—you and Devlin and Gerrity—in his office once. That’s when I realized that you had only been pretending to be a private detective and that you were, in fact, dead. But that’s not at all to the point.”

“What is the point?” he said with an edge of impatience.

“Gerrity is obviously blackmailing Dr. Shaw. Do you have any idea what he might have on him?”

“It could have something to do with Shaw’s wife,” he said.

“But she’s been dead for years.”

“There was talk within our community about a visit Shaw made to a root doctor once, a man known to sell powders and elixirs for nefarious purposes. Shaw was interested in acquiring an extract made from white baneberry. Every part of that plant is poisonous, but the berries are particularly lethal. They contain a carcinogenic toxin that sedates the cardiac muscles. It’s highly desirable as a poison because there’s no nausea or vomiting that might arouse suspicion, and the berries are sweet-tasting. Death would come quickly, especially in someone whose heart was already weakened. Shortly after the rumors surfaced, Shaw’s wife died.”

I stared at the ghost in shock. “You can’t possibly think he poisoned her. She was ill for a very long time. Her death was hardly sudden or unexpected.”

“We may never know. It’s unlikely an autopsy would have been performed on a terminal patient that suffered heart failure,” he said. “And if she was cremated, there’s no chance of an exhumation.”