Dead Demon Walking (22 page)

I nodded.

“
Then she dropped the
bombshell. Elizabeth did
not
die in Nagka!”

An odd crawling sensation prickled
over my skin.

“
Edward was determined to
take Elizabeth’s body home to England. They dug in the rubble for a
week before they found her miraculously alive. By the time they
reached Rangoon, Elizabeth had regained her health and Edward knew
two things. One, Elizabeth was insane. She had withdrawn inside
herself. She would not speak. She had to be force-fed.”

Like Maureen
Owen
, a corner of my mind said, though it
meant nothing.

“
This was punctuated by
abrupt, violent outbursts when she screamed and tore at her hair
and body. Her only coherent words were a plea to be taken back to
Nagka. The second thing Edward realized: Elizabeth was
pregnant.

“
Elizabeth died in an
asylum when thirty-five. She was Maureen’s great-great-great
grandmother.”

She stared at me, waiting
for my response. “Wow!” I said as I thought,
Holy cow
. The connection to the Hulme
family.

She fluttered her hands. “The
factuality of any indigenous population’s lore is difficult to
verify, the tales corrupt over the passage of time. But the events
in Nagka occurred fairly recently, a little over a century ago, and
Professor Stadelmann did find evidence of fire damage in Nagka, and
the pyramid-temple was razed. The Lady Morgan’s passenger list,
when it sailed to England, did not include Elizabeth. I found
Edward’s signature on inpatient forms belonging to the Saint Beryl
Sanatorium in East London. The sanatorium was closed in 1934 and
most records lost or destroyed. The papers with Edward’s signature
are fragments, preserved in the West Grentham Museum of Victorian
History in Kent. My conclusion? Elizabeth died. Edward returned to
England a broken, grieving man and recuperated in the sanatorium. I
now know my research produced inaccurate results.”

Another pause. I imagined a dramatic
expression on Janine’s face. I nodded encouragingly.

“
Saint Beryl’s had two
facilities. One, the sanatorium, the other an asylum for women,”
she continued. “I believe Edward smuggled Elizabeth back to
England. Maureen told me
Elizabeth
, not Edward, went to Saint
Beryl. Edward had her committed to hide the shame of his daughter
giving birth to a bastard child.”

She rattled on so fast I couldn’t have
got a word in if I tried. “Do you know anything about Victorian
asylums for woman, Miss Banks? They were no more than prisons in
the first half of the seventeenth century, but popular belief began
to change in the middle of the eighteen hundreds and the physicians
of the time decided those who suffered did not do so from
God-decreed madness, but from a brain disease, one that could be
studied and eventually cured. So I don’t think Elizabeth’s
incarceration was barbarous, but her caretakers must have decided
nothing could be done for her. She was incurable.

“
Thousands of women and
teens who were considered morally degenerate were hidden in asylums
by their families. They were pregnant, or
wayward
, or in other ways made
Victorian society uncomfortable. They were not, by modern
standards, ill. Elizabeth was both deranged and pregnant with an
illegitimate child, and diagnosed with nymphomania.”

“
Nympho - ?” I managed to
say before her voice overpowered mine.

“
The idea of nymphomania
developed during the Victorian era. A woman could be placed in an
asylum for nymphomania if she was promiscuous, bore illegitimate
children, was a victim of assault or rape, caught masturbating, or
even overly flirtatious.”

She fell silent. I pushed my fingers
through my hair. “How did Maureen know what really happened to
Elizabeth?”

“
Maureen’s
great-great-grandmother Alice, Elizabeth’s daughter, was born in
the asylum. Edward removed her and saw to her adoption with a
decent family on his country estate. Hence, Alice did not bear the
name Hulme. And then Edward washed his hands of both her and
Elizabeth.

“
Alice learned of her
mother. I don’t know how that came about; perhaps from her adoptive
parents? I’m sure Edward was displeased, if he knew of it. Whatever
prompted the meeting, Alice did see Elizabeth, who became talkative
when she realized Alice was her daughter. The asylum said Elizabeth
suffered from dementia and Alice probably believed that, because
the tale of a young British girl’s romance with a heathen king was
passed down from one generation to the next as the eccentric
ramblings of a crazed ancestor. None thought to validate the tale,
but people nowadays have more interest in their ancestry. Happily,
Maureen decided to research her forefathers.”

Did her interest lead to her parents’
death, and her suicide?

“
We had such a nice visit.
We were up late talking, so Maureen stayed the night in the guest
room.”

Janine’s enthusiastic gestures stilled
and I knew what would come next. “But how do you know
Maureen?”

Always the bearer of bad news, that’s
me. “We believe the same man who. . . .”

I don’t know why it’s so hard to say
the word “murdered” or “killed” to the victim’s face. “The man you
found here, we think he killed Maureen’s parents.”

Janine looked past me and although her
expression could not change, I heard the deep sadness in her voice
as she murmured, “And Maureen?”

“
She committed
suicide.”

She put her hand to her brow and sat
on the blood-mottled chair.

I liked Janine, and regretted
saddening her, but I had to pull myself together and get on with
it. I cleared my throat and tried to make my voice businesslike.
“Did you see Maureen again, or talk on the phone?”

She shook her head.

“
She called you that first
time, though.”

Another shake of the head. “She
arrived on the doorstep. She was touring. She confided she and her
husband were having marital difficulties so she wanted to get away
for a few weeks.”

“
Did she fly?”

“
She drove.”

“
And you didn’t speak to
her again after she left, or write?”

“
No, I. . . .” She clenched
her hands to fists. “When did. . . ? Did he kill Maureen’s family.
. . ?”

“
After you,” I said in a
low voice.

She shot up from the chair. “My notes!
He read the notes I made after Maureen left. I didn’t want to
forget anything she said.”

My thoughts churned furiously. Did the
killer, like a detective, follow a lead? Did he look for anything
to do with the Nagka expedition and come to Vegas to read
Stadelmann’s book - as I did, as Maureen did - and found Janine’s
book, and Janine?

Her hands went to her mouth and I
heard her say through her fingers, “I led him to her.”

Poor Janine.

One last question. “Janine, did you by
chance tell Maureen about me?”

She dropped her hands. “I did, in
fact. We were chatting, and she was as enthralled as I that
Elizabeth’s journal was part of a police investigation.
Why?”

“
She called me before she
died. Which is why I’m helping the FBI with their investigation.
Did you give her my phone number?”

“
No, but I let her read
everything in my file and I keep your card in there. She has - had
- an eidetic memory. What did you and Maureen talk
about?”

I let my head sag, feeling the strain
of facial muscles trying to maintain a calm expression. “We didn’t,
Janine. She called twice, but both were disconnected before she
could say more than a few words.”

Help me!

But I saw it now. Maureen knew the
killer’s identity. She dug in her crazed mind and came up with the
telephone number of a professional, a person who knew something of
Elizabeth’s history, who knew Janine, who might, just might,
believe her wild tale. And reached out for help.

***

Saying good-bye to Janine was
difficult. She didn’t want to let me go. She brought up question
after question, repeating herself, trying to keep me there. I
didn’t mind telling her what I knew. You can tell a shade anything,
it’s not as if they can pass it on, but I didn’t want to be here
all day.

Finally, she turned her head to Royal.
“Before you go, what is he?”

Like me, the dead see demons as they
truly are. I smiled. “What do you think?”

“
Oh my dear,” she said, “If
I were not stuck here, I’d think I died and went to
heaven.”

***

Back in Clarion -
zoom zoom
- Royal and I
sat at the kitchen table. I sipped a diet cola. Royal looked over
my head, brooding, trying to make sense of what we knew and
suspected.

The old fridge stopped
humming and shuddered into silence. The clock on the wall
tocked
with a sound like
a tiny hammer striking plastic. Jack pretended to lean against the
backdoor as he pretended to pick at his fingernails. Mel,
kitty-corner to me across the table, heaved a huge sigh. Mac lay
asleep on my feet, stubby little front legs paddling air. In his
dream, he was running.

“
Maureen did not phone
Janine. She did not fly. She did not stay in a hotel,” Royal
said.

I tried to concentrate on his words,
but had difficulty blocking my furious inner musings.
“Hm?”

Royal gave his clasped hands a pensive
look. “So unless she used her credit cards for some purpose, there
is no record of her in Las Vegas. If there were, surely the Bureau
would have found it by now.”

Right,” I agreed, not all that
interested.

I thought of Gia, who wrote novels
about vampires and I’m sure fostered her fans’ belief she was
herself one of the dastardly undead. Like a vampire, her lifespan
could be abnormally long compared to a human’s. Gia Sabato, who
told us to drop this case.

I thought of poor Maureen,
which reminded me of Elizabeth Hulme. Elizabeth, buried beneath the
pyramid temple in Nagka until her father dug her
out
. If Elizabeth was still alive. . .
.

The pilot light in my brain
flicked on.
Mother of God!

I ran it through my mind
again. I’m good at making connections, but this was extraordinary
even by my standards.
I
must
be way off base.

Daughter, now you are
free.

“
Royal, do all Dark Cousins
live as long as Jacob?”

I pictured Jacob as I last saw him, an
emerald-eyed adolescent with hair in long yellow ropes, his teeth
filed to points. He was called Teo-Papek when Hans Stadelmann found
him in Myanmar, the only Dark Cousin to come out of Nagka alive.
Stadelmann gave him the name Jacob when he brought him to the
States.

I sensed Royal’s hesitation before he
said, “Yes.”

My mouth slowly closed on my next
question, replace by another. Surprised I didn’t think of it
before, I finally released it, voice low and husky because I wasn’t
sure I wanted to know. “And Gelpha? Do you live as long as Dark
Cousins?”

A pause, then he said with a twisted
smile: “No, Tiff. If we are lucky, we will see each other grow
old.”

Relief swept through me. Why? Royal
and I wouldn’t be together till our senior years. My life doesn’t
work that way.

“
Jacob survived
Nagka.”

“
Tiff, what are you
thinking?”

Daughter, now you are
free.

“
Bear with me.”

That’s another thing I appreciated
about Royal: he knew when I needed his patience and silence so I
could think things through. He didn’t butt in with questions,
though I’m sure he wanted to ask.

This time, my cogitations scared the
you-know-what out of me.

“
Ask yourself why Gia,
Daven and Jacob returned to Nagka. To look at the place? I don’t
see them as tourist types, especially not Jacob. For an insight
into their forefathers, or what exactly happened in Nagka? Jacob
could tell them all that. And Elizabeth. . . .”

I gave him a pale imitation of a
smile. “I don’t think only Jacob and Elizabeth
survived.”

I saw when our thoughts aligned. His
eyes flared wider, his lips parted.

He reached to grip my hands in both
his. “If we’re right, and I think we are, only one force apart from
his people can take him down.”

“
And that might
be?”

His eyes were a bright,
hard copper. “
My
people.”

Chapter Fifteen

In a midnight-blue suit, iron-gray and
blue hair clubbed at his nape, Gareth waited at the door of the
High House. I met Gareth when I came here with Royal and the Dark
Cousins. I don’t know what position he holds, but he is certainly
more than a doorman.