Whisper of Evil (30 page)
Nell didn't hesitate. She reached into the pocket of her jacket and produced a small leather I.D. folder, tossing it across to him. "Because I sort of do."
Ethan opened the folder, and then sat back on his heels, staring down at the FBI badge and identification. "Christ almighty."
Nell had to smile, albeit faintly, at his incredulity. "Never know how people are going to turn out, do we?"
"You're telling me you're a cop? A federal cop?"
"That's what I'm telling you."
Ethan looked up at Max. "You know about this?"
"I found out a couple of days ago."
Rising slowly to his feet, still holding Nell's I.D. open in his hands, Ethan frowned down at it, then closed it and tossed it back to her. "Tell me it's a coincidence that you came to settle your family's estate just when we're in the middle of a murder investigation."
"Afraid not."
His jaw tightened. "You're here officially. And I wasn't consulted or even informed. Want to tell me why?"
Nell chose her words carefully. "There was a request made through official channels for an FBI profile of the killer operating here in Silence. The initial profile indicated there was a high probability the killer was a cop."
Ethan turned around and left the cellar.
"Think he's upset?" Nell murmured.
"Did you doubt he would be?"
Nell sighed and got to her feet. "No. I just hope he won't blow a fuse."
"We've both learned to handle our tempers a bit better than we used to."
"I noticed that."
Max half smiled, but said, "Nell… your mother. I'm sorry. But at least you can be sure she didn't willingly abandon you."
"Yes. I just wish I'd known it a long time ago." Clearly unwilling to further discuss those issues, she added, "We'll leave the lanterns down here for now. I'm hoping Ethan will okay sending the remains to the FBI lab for analysis."
"And if he doesn't?"
"I think he will. No matter how he feels about the possibility that one of his people is a killer, keeping the discovery of these remains quiet is in his best interests, at least for now. This town doesn't need to deal with another murder, even one more than twenty years old. Especially one more than twenty years old."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Don't you need to deal with it?"
"I've dealt with it." Nell walked around the grave without sparing it another glance, then went up the steps and out of the root cellar.
More than a little grim, Max followed.
They found Ethan once more surveying the burned-out hulk of a house but obviously thinking of something else. His face was decidedly dark. As soon as they joined him, he said flatly, "Just how sure is this profiler of yours that it's a cop?"
"Pretty sure. At least, he was when I came down here."
Ethan turned his head to eye her sharply. "And now?"
"I think he's still sure. But I've had a few doubts." Nell shrugged. "I'm not a profiler, even though I have spent some time in Behavioral Science. I could easily be wrong."
"But?"
"But… there's Hailey."
"You don't seriously believe Hailey could have killed four men in cold blood?"
"What I believe is that, so far, we haven't found a better connection between the men. They all had secrets, fairly nasty ones, and one of those secrets was that they all had a sexual relationship with Hailey at some point."
"I told you I don't believe George Caldwell had any kind of relationship with Hailey."
"Then maybe," Max offered, "he was killed for a different reason. Because he knew something, found out something. Because he was a threat. Maybe the reason why your people haven't found any secrets in his life is because he didn't have any."
"Believe it or not, that had occurred to me," Ethan snapped. "I know my job, Max."
"I never said you didn't."
"Funny, that's what I heard you say."
"You're imagining things."
Nell wasn't so tired that she didn't recognize signs of rising tension between the two men. Max was upset with her because he thought she was refusing to "deal" with discovering the truth about her mother, and Ethan was mad because the FBI had been right here under his nose without his knowledge or consent. Both of them wanted to let off steam.
The way her head was hurting, Neil was afraid that if they did that, she'd shoot both of them.
"The point," she said before an argument could really get started, "is that for three out of four of the murders, we can tie the victims to Hailey. Each of them had a secret sexual relationship with her. And each of them, according to the profile, was killed as punishment for his sins. Was killed because the murderer was unable to get justice for what were in all likelihood personal injuries."
"You're saying Hailey could have killed them because they all hurt her?" Ethan demanded.
"I'm saying it's possible."
"Yeah? Then explain to me why Patterson was killed more than twenty years after he played his sadistic little games with Hailey in his basement. If, that is, you're right about how old she was when it first happened."
"We don't know their relationship ended when Hailey was a child," Nell pointed out.
Ethan wasn't as shaken by that possibility as he might have been the day before. "Okay. But the question stands."
Remembering the morning's vision of Hailey as a child witnessing a brutal marital rape, Nell said, "It was probably a cumulative thing. Not being hurt just once, but again and again. The years passed, the hurts piled up, and finally Hailey couldn't take it anymore."
"She left," Ethan said. "Maybe she did get fed up, but her response was to leave Silence. What, you think she's been hiding out somewhere nearby for the past eight months, slowly killing off the men who treated her like shit? And nobody's seen her, not even a glimpse of her?"
Without answering his questions, Nell said, "There's one more factor that makes me feel sure Hailey is involved."
"And that is?"
"The first man to die last year was our father."
"Wait a minute. You think Adam was murdered too?"
"Yes. I think—"
Nell.
After a startled instant, Nell reached up to rub her temples soothingly. It was just the headache, that was all. Just this strange, pounding headache. There was nobody whispering in her ear.
Nobody.
"Are you all right?" Max asked.
"I'm fine. Ethan, I know he was supposed to have died of a heart attack, but I think it's at least possible that—"
You're wrong. You're wrong about all of it.
"Nell?"
She stared at Ethan for a moment, then shook her head. "Sony. I'm… sorry. I'm having a little trouble concentrating."
"You need to rest," Max said in a voice that could best be described as determined. "If a blackout is coming—"
"It isn't. At least, I don't think so. I just have a headache, that's all." Nell sighed. "But I think I probably do need to rest. Ethan, I can arrange to have the remains taken to the FBI lab for analysis, if that's okay with you. It'll be quickest, and quietest, so nobody in town has to know until you're ready to tell them."
Ethan swore under his breath, but said, "If Hailey's behind this rather than a cop, keeping quiet won't matter. But just in case your profiler is right, I think it would be best not to have any of my people deal with this."
"Then I'll arrange it."
He nodded. "Far as I know, FBI agents seldom work alone. You have a partner here, don't you?"
Nell didn't hesitate. "As you say, we seldom work alone. But sometimes we do have to work very quietly, behind the scenes. Even undercover."
"And I'm not supposed to ask, I guess."
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't." Nell smiled. "Please don't think of us as spies, Ethan. We're doing our jobs, just like you. Trying to do the right thing, just like you. Trying to catch a killer—just like you."
"Okay, point taken." Ethan settled his shoulders with the air of a man accepting, however reluctantly, something he didn't like but really couldn't fight. "Do you still want to see George Caldwell's place today?"
Nell didn't wait for Max to object. "Maybe later this afternoon, if I'm up to it."
"I still want to hear all this about Adam's death," Ethan said. "And sooner rather than later."
"I know."
"But for now, I need to get back to town, and you apparently need to rest." Ethan eyed Max. "I gather you're staying?"
"You gather correctly."
All Nell said was, "We should close the cellar doors just in case some kid wanders past, but there'll be someone here to collect the remains within an hour. With any luck at all, we should have at least preliminary results by sometime tomorrow."
"Fast work," Ethan grunted. He went over to close the cellar doors, then rejoined the other two, and they walked back through the woods to the Gallagher house. Ethan had dropped his deputy off in town before joining Nell and Max here earlier, so his cruiser was waiting for him.
"Let me know later if you feel up to seeing the Caldwell apartment," Ethan told Nell. He added flatly, "And I expect to be kept informed from here on out about the activities and conclusions of the FBI."
"You will be."
Ethan's radio muttered quietly but imperatively, and he reached for it to turn up the volume and respond to the summons. They all heard his dispatcher's urgent announcement.
"Sheriff, we've got another one. Another murder."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
You didn't have to stay," Nell said.
Max debated silently but decided there was no benefit in arguing about it, at least not at the moment. So he ignored the question. "Is your partner taking care of the… remains?"
"More or less. Supervising the removal."
"He can hardly watch you from way out there. Some guardian."
Nell smiled faintly. "He knows you're here." She sipped her coffee, keeping her gaze fixed on the dark fireplace. This living room wasn't her favorite part of the house, particularly since even throwing open the heavy drapes did little to brighten it, but the sofa was comfortable and it was infinitely preferable to resting in bed—which Max would otherwise have insisted on.
"You weren't surprised about this latest murder," he observed.
"No. I was… warned there had probably been an-other one. And for it to be so soon after the last one is a bad sign. A very bad sign. We're running out of time."
From his chair near the fireplace, where he could watch her, Max said, "You can only do what you can do. Nobody expects more of you than that."
"Yeah. I know."
"Headache gone?"
"Well, there's still a faint throb," she admitted. "But it's not nearly so bad as it was. And at least…"
"At least what?"
"At least this one didn't herald a blackout."
Max frowned. "That isn't what you were going to say."
"You read minds now?"
Max leaned forward to set his cup on the coffee table, and said coolly, "Yours sometimes, yeah. But you knew that."
Nell looked at him finally, expressionless.
"You knew it," he said as though she'd argued with him. "Even though you've done everything in your power to shut me out since you came home, you've known all along that you haven't been able to. Not completely."
"That door is closed."
"Yeah. You closed it. And all these years, you've refused to open it again, except for those moments when your guard slipped, when you were too tired, or too upset, or sometimes when you were dreaming. Then it opened, just a little. Then I could catch a glimpse of your life, a flash of your feelings."
"I never meant—"
"To shut me out? Or to let me in in the first place?" He paused, but when she didn't answer, he said almost mildly, "Do you have any idea how frustrating it was for me to know that door was there—and not be able to open it myself?"
Nell drew a breath and let it out slowly, not looking away, an expression in her eyes that was both wary and numb, as though she expected a blow of some kind. "Yes. I do know. I'm sorry."
"You could have cut me loose."
She flinched. "I didn't want—I tried. I couldn't."
"And now?"
She wavered visibly, then just as obviously shied away from answering that question. With a glance at her watch, she said, "It's been nearly an hour since Ethan left. I wonder if—"
"Don't change the subject, Nell."
"Look, don't you think another murder takes precedence over—"
"No. I don't. Not this time. Ethan made it clear he wouldn't grant you access to this latest crime scene until his people did their jobs, both to avoid alerting the killer if it is a cop and to keep your undercover status solid as long as possible. So it'll be hours at least before there's anything new for you to consider."
"Even so—"
"Even so, you'd rather talk about anything else. Anything but us."
"There is no us." Nell put her cup on the coffee table and got up, moving to stand before the fireplace. "It's been twelve years, Max. We've both moved on. You said that. You said you got over me."
"And you believed me?" He laughed without amusement as he rose to his feet. "Did you really think there could be anybody else for me? Really believe I'd settle for something… ordinary? Something that could never be half of what we had? Could you? Did you?"
"You know I didn't."
"Just like you know I didn't."
Nell fiddled with a decorative gold box on the mantel, then straightened a black-framed picture of her family that looked to be more than thirty-five years old. "Even so, twelve years is a long time—"
"I know it's a long time. Christ, I know. And I won't say I didn't try to forget you, Nell. Because I did. I didn't want to admit even to myself that no one else could take your place, could mean as much to me as you did. But I finally had to admit it. Because no one could. No one even came close."
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