The Seance (16 page)

Jed frowned. “So you're saying that even if he had been the killer, discovered there with the body, he could have just pretended he had discovered the corpse?”

“Bingo. You're a lot brighter than those louts down at the precinct.”

“You suggested that to the cops?” Jed asked. He'd never seen it in any of the notes. He hadn't interviewed Forest Kidd or the family when he'd written his book. He had been writing fiction, for one thing, and he'd been convinced that the family of a serial killer would hardly want to talk to him about their beloved son. Not when they were still denying what everyone else was taking to be the God's honest truth.

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Jed asked quietly.

Forest Kidd stared at him for a long moment. “Ask my daughter, Kitty, about the truth,” he said softly. “Katherine. I hear you met her in the cemetery. She said you were there at Beau's grave.”

“I saw your daughter there, yes.”

“She seemed to think that you…well, hell. She seems to believe you're a decent guy.”

“I'm trying to discover the truth, Mr. Kidd.”

“Here's the truth. You ask any member of my family. Beau couldn't have been guilty. He lived in a small apartment. And trust me, they searched it. They looked and looked and looked for a hotel or motel where he might have stayed, where he might have held a woman and abused her until he killed her. They didn't find anything. And you know why? Because there was nothing to find. Beau wasn't guilty.”

“Thank you,” Jed said.

“You prove it,” Forest Kidd told him as Jed started down the hallway. “You know, if you can prove it, maybe you can live with yourself again,” Kidd called after him.

Jed didn't respond.

“I know your wife died of cancer,” Kidd said. “No man out there can change that. And that includes you, Mr. Braden. But maybe you can change things for the better if you prove that Beau was innocent. Go for it. Please.”

When Jed reached the front door and looked back, Forest Kidd had disappeared.

Jed let himself out.

 

Dan was at the door of the old family house, about to ring the bell, when he saw Ilona come outside. She saw him, too, and waved. “Hey, there!” he called to her.

“Hey!” she called back, but she didn't come over. Was she looking at him suspiciously? he wondered.

“Have you seen Christie?” he asked.

“She went out a while ago,” Ilona told him.

“Did she say where she was going?”

Ilona shook her head. “I didn't ask her. I just happened to see her car drive by. Can I help you? Hey, don't you guys all have keys to that place?”

“I'm sure I had a key at some point,” Dan told her. “Oh, well. It's not that important. I had some spare time before work, and I just thought I'd stop by.”

“I see,” Ilona said.

Dan felt a cold sweat break out at his nape. She was looking at him suspiciously. “Well, I guess I'll get going,” he said.

“Good to see you, Dan.”

He nodded. “Tell Tony hello for me, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

He got into his car. Just as he did, he saw Christina coming around the corner. She waved to him cheerfully as she pulled into the driveway.

Ilona was still watching them, Dan thought as he got back out of his car and waited while Christina stepped from hers, a cup of take-out coffee in her hand.

Her new dog jumped from the car. He barked happily at Dan, his tail wagging.

“Hiya.” Christina walked over, and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “What's up?”

“I had about an hour, so I thought I'd stop by.”

“Cool. I'm waiting for the locksmith.”

“Oh, yeah?” He looked at her questioningly. “You really think Mike or I would break in just to play a joke on you?”

“Of course not,” she told him, shaking her head. “I just don't know how many keys might have wandered out over the years. That's all.”

“Good point,” Dan said.

When they went into the house, it seemed to Dan that she was behaving strangely. She kept walking around, looking into every room, almost as if she expected to catch someone there.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

“Of course.”

“Do you think the dog—and the new locks—with be enough?”

“Enough?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “I don't know. I'm feeling edgy, I guess. The newspaper headlines, the warnings on the news…I knew her, Christie. I knew Patti Jo.”

Christina walked over to him, setting an arm around his shoulders. “I'm okay, Dan. I'm really okay. I'm always careful, and I've got Tony and Ilona right next door.”

Just then the dog began to bark. He really did sound quite ferocious, Dan thought.

The locksmith was at the door.

While the man worked, Christina played some of her newest tunes for Dan. He'd worked for her a few times, and he liked doing jingles. She had a nice voice herself. They had both loved singing with their grandfather when they were kids.

“Shit!” he swore suddenly.

“What?”

“Work. I've got to go. The Grim Reader has a gig tonight.”

When she walked him to the door, the locksmith was just finishing.

“All right. You got good old Killer and your new locks, so I'm out of here. Don't forget, you said you'd come see me.”

“I'll talk to Ana. Tomorrow night?”

“Sounds good to me. I'm off Saturday.”

“Maybe we can have a get-together here again.”

They hugged briefly, and he left. He was halfway down the path when she caught up with him, holding out something toward him.

It was a key.

“Should I have this?” he asked her.

“Of course. Someone else has to have the key to the house. What if I lock myself out? And I've told you and Mike, this will always be your house, too.”

He hefted the key in his hand.

He shouldn't take it, he thought. He wasn't sure why, but he just had a feeling he shouldn't have the key.

“Christie…” he murmured.

“Take it and get going. You have to go to work.”

He nodded. “All right. Love ya.”

He hurried on to his car.

 

Jed called Jerry and arranged to meet him for coffee.

When Jerry arrived, he looked at Jed hopefully. “Anything?”

“Nothing—other than the fact that I'm convinced Beau Kidd never murdered anyone. I can't even find anything that resembles real evidence against him. When Larry Atkins shot him and Beau died, that seems to have created the case.”

Jerry looked at him and shook his head. “Okay, say you're right. So whoever is out there kills five women. Then he lets twelve years go by and starts again. Now what?”

“That's where you come in.”

Jerry groaned.

“Come on, you guys have to be on this already. Whoever the killer is, no, I don't think he stopped, not unless he was in prison or otherwise out of commission. Maybe he slowed down. Maybe he left town. Maybe he even changed some of his methods. I don't know. But the facts on Beau Kidd are clear. The man was railroaded.”

“Hey,” Jerry protested. “You're the one who wrote the book.”

“Yeah, a novel. And I was suckered in by the fact that the man was dead and the killings had stopped.”

Jerry leaned back in his chair. “What's up with this? You get bought off by the family or something? I hear the sister is really good-looking.”

“She is. I've met her,” Jed said. “She's a beautiful redhead.”

Jerry threw up his hands. “There you go. Maybe it was Beau and it was some Freudian thing.”

“Jerry, she was twelve when this whole thing started,” he said.

Jerry picked up his coffee cup, giving Jed a morose look. “I have a twelve-year-old daughter, Jed. You should see the way she dresses, the way she acts. It's scary.”

Jed shook his head impatiently. “That's not it. And you don't believe it, either. That's why you called me. That's why you let me back in on this.”

Jerry shrugged.

“I need everything you get, Jerry. You can talk to the FBI, looking for links to deaths in other states, and I need to know what you find out.”

Jerry nodded, looking down at his hands. “Do you know that the FBI believes there may be hundreds of serial killers at work in the United States at any given time?” he asked wearily.

“I do.”

“Do you know how many are never caught?”

“Jerry, we're going to get this one,” Jed told him.

“Actually, I have a meeting tomorrow with a behaviorist, if you want in on it. Tiggs, he doesn't care if you make an appearance.”

“Great. I'll be there.”

 

Dan and the locksmith were both gone. But once she had locked the door behind them and headed down the hall, she hesitated, her footsteps slowing with dread. Then she squared her shoulders and forced herself to keep going to the parlor.

And when she looked into the room, he was there.

Once again Beau Kidd was at her piano, petting Killer, who was clearly fond of him.

She groaned.

Beau turned and grimaced ruefully. “I'm sorry,” he told her softly.

“Can't you go haunt someone else?” she asked him. “Someone who could actually help you?”

He shook his head. “I can't. I…I have a connection to you.”

“Just because I tossed a flower on your grave when I was a kid?” she asked.

“Well…that, and the Ouija board,” he said. But he looked puzzled. “That and the Ouija board…and something else. But I don't know what. Only that there is something else, another link.”

“If we discovered that link, would you go away?” she asked hopefully.

He lifted his hands. “If you would just help me…”

“I can't help you. I would help you if I could. But I'm not a cop.”

“Jed Braden could help you help me.”

She ignored that and sat at the far end of the piano bench, setting Killer on her lap. “It's so strange,” she murmured. “Killer seems to know you're here.”

“Dogs have special senses,” he said. “Cute pooch, too.”

“Yeah. My Rottweiler,” she joked.

He grinned. “You knew no one was breaking in, right? I was trying to be a good guest, trying to be helpful and make the coffee and stuff.”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“But I didn't,” he said softly. “Because you knew.”

She shook her head. “I knew not to play with that stupid Ouija board,” she said.

“Maybe you should play with it again,” he told her.

Scowling fiercely, she stared at him.

“Or, maybe a séance,” he suggested.

“What?”

“A séance might be good.”

“You…” She pointed at him in exasperation. “You really have to go away. People already think I'm some kind of emotionally fragile flower. I don't need a damn ghost hanging around, driving me crazy for real.”

She stood and headed for the kitchen, but he followed her and leaned against the wall, wistfully watching her.

“You can't ignore me, you know.”

“I can't? Watch me.” She started singing.

But then she felt him. He had set his hands on her shoulders.

She spun around and stared at him. “What?”

“You can't ignore me because I'm not just talking about clearing my name,” he said very softly.

“No?” she whispered.

“No. I'm talking about saving the lives of all the other women some monster out there is planning to murder.”

F
iles and notes were spread out before Jed when the phone rang. He picked it up and said, “Hello?”

“Jed? Jed Braden?”

He didn't recognize the female voice on the other end of the line.

“Yes, this is he.”

For a moment there was silence. He kept his number listed and sometimes got calls from nuts. Was this one? “Who is this?”

“Katherine.”

“Katherine…?”

“Katherine Kidd.”

“Of course,” he said, wondering why he hadn't realized who it was as soon as she said her first name. “Hello. How are you?”

“Fine. I wanted to know…how are you coming along?”

He hesitated. “How am I coming along? Fine. I guess you know I went to visit your father. I no longer believe your brother was guilty. But I'm not a cop. And though I believe I know who the killer wasn't, I'll be damned if I have any idea who it is.”

“Thank you for that. It means a lot.” She hesitated. “Would you have coffee with me?” she asked softly.

“I'm not sure—”

“Right. You don't think it would be such a great idea to get personally involved with a client. I'm not looking to go on a date,” she told him. “But if we talked…I think I might be able to help.”

“Where should I meet you?”

 

He couldn't see much that was going on inside the house. The old lace Victorian curtains hid pretty much everything, other than the shadow of her figure as she moved from room to room.

He should have gone inside when he had the chance. Too late. Now all he could do was watch. But he loved to watch. He always watched first. Half the pleasure was always in the anticipation. And talking and sharing, of course.

But tonight there was no chance to talk, so he settled for watching her as she moved through the old house.

She was so pretty. Just his type. Tall, with that rich, red long hair. And those eyes…But since he couldn't see any of those details tonight, a lot had to be left to his imagination. What he could see, even with the curtains in the way, was the elegance of her movements.

He felt a deep hunger, a pain that was almost agony, seize him. If only…

No, not tonight. Not tonight.

But the jaggedly slicing pain shot through him again. He had to have something, someone, to ease this agony.

He should go home, he told himself, and from there he could take care of everything.

He calmed himself by reminding himself that the time would come. And thinking that he could make history repeat itself…

That was even better.

 

Christina sat on the floor in the middle of the parlor, a box in front of her, and looked around warily. Beau Kidd was nowhere in sight. She hadn't seen him since he'd followed her into the kitchen. Of course, even when he was gone, she couldn't stop doubting her own sanity.

She dug into the box in front of her, glad that Gran had never thrown anything away. The box was full of newspaper clippings, including the entire local paper from the day of her grandfather's funeral. She took a moment to read the memorial to him that had run right on the front page. Unfortunately, her grandfather's article had been shortened to make way for a long recap about the just-identified Interstate Killer. She read through it carefully, searching for clues.

Each girl had been on her way to or from her car when she disappeared. All the cars had been found abandoned in the same parking lot where the victim had left it. Other than that and the fact that all the women had been young, attractive and red-haired, there were no clues at all.

She set the paper down and sighed. No wonder everyone had been so willing to believe that Beau Kidd had been the murderer. The evidence pointing to him had been slight, but it was more than they had to incriminate anyone else.

Depressed over reaching a dead end, she decided to go through some of her own boxes and see what she could organize. Almost immediately, she came across a huge article from the Miami paper about a treasure ship. One of the divers who'd found it was a friend of hers, Genevieve Wallace. She remembered going down to the Keys for her friend's wedding and meeting several people who worked for something called Harrison Investigations, a firm specializing in paranormal research. Now, why hadn't she remembered that sooner?

She jumped up and headed to the dining-room table, where she'd set up her computer. As soon as she got online, she began to search for Harrison Investigations. Their Web site certainly made for interesting reading. They sounded like nothing less than real live ghostbusters.

She clicked on the Contact Us link, then hesitated and instead picked up her cell phone, went through her contacts and called Genevieve.

“Christina!” Genevieve said happily when she answered. “How are things going up there? Are you finding enough work?”

“Work is fine. With all the theme parks, it's an advertising Mecca.”

“You're safe, though, aren't you?” Gen asked, suddenly serious. “The news media down here keep talking about those highway killings.”

Christina paused for a minute. “Actually, that's sort of what I'm calling you about.”

“The highway killings?” Gen asked, puzzled.

“I met some friends of yours at your wedding. The ones from Harrison Investigations.”

There was a brief silence; then Gen said warily, “Yes?”

“Gen, I need help.”

“In what way?”

“I have a ghost living in my house.” She rushed to get the words out, then waited for Genevieve to laugh at her.

“Are you joking?” Genevieve asked sharply.

“No.”

There was another silence. Then Gen asked, “Do you know who this ghost is?”

“Beau Kidd,” Christina said.

Again silence. Then, “You're really not joking?”

“I wish I was.” She hesitated, then asked, “Do you think you could call them for me, since you know them and all?”

“I'll make the arrangements as soon as I can,” Genevieve told her. “In the meantime…”

“Yes?”

“In the meantime, be careful. Don't trust anyone, even people you think are your closest friends, your nearest relatives. Okay?”

Christina felt a chill and bit her lower lip. The locks were brand-new. She was safe.

“I'll be very careful. I promise.”

 

They met in a café right on International Drive. Katherine Kidd was already there, a large iced tea in front of her, when Jed arrived. He greeted her, went in for a cup of black coffee, then joined her at the table. This town was certainly tourist central, he thought, dodging the crowds on his way. Across a dozen lanes of traffic, he could see the dramatic facade advertising a dinner show. More signs touted an Arabian horse show and various theme parks. Two feet from where they were sitting, a wire rack held brochures and coupons for dozens of area attractions.

Once upon a time, and not so very long ago, the only thing here had been orange groves.

“Amazing, isn't it?” Katherine said to him. “They all know there's a killer out there, but they just keep going, no matter what. In a small town, a college town, something happens and everything comes to a stop. But here…”

He reached across the table and took her hand, squeezing it. “Have you thought about the fact that you fit the profile of the victims?” he asked.

She nodded. “Of course. That's one of the things driving me crazy. Some people think my brother was some kind of sicko who was trying to kill me with every victim. It's ridiculous. I was just a gawky kid when everything happened.” She shook her head as if to clear it of unhappy thoughts. “You said you believe my brother was innocent,” she told him.

“Yes.”

“Well, here's something you should know. He didn't start dating either one of those women until after the killings began. I doubt if you'll find that in all your files. I think the case was a personal thing for Beau—because of me. Because I said something about how the killer kept going after girls with red hair. So he started warning women who fit the description, and that's how he ended up dating two of the victims.” She looked around and focused on a poster advertising the seasonal goings-on at one of the parks. “You'd think that they'd stop some of this gruesome Halloween stuff, what with a killer being out there and all,” she said.

“It's hard to stop a money machine,” Jed told her.

As they talked, he saw a woman entering the café who looked vaguely familiar.

Tall. Long reddish-brown hair. He knew her from somewhere, though he was sure it had been a very long time since he had seen her.

“All right, so the news you have is that Beau didn't know any of the victims until he tried to protect them,” Jed said.

Katherine nodded. “And because of that, I think someone out there thought Beau would make a good scapegoat.”

“Do you think the killer might have been Larry Atkins?”

She let out a long sigh. “Maybe.”

Jed mulled that over for a moment. Larry Atkins certainly had a remote place where he could be hiding women now…. But where had he lived twelve years ago? Jed thought back to his previous interviews with the man. Larry had lived in a town house. That didn't clear him, but…

The woman left the counter carrying a to-go cup with steam emanating from it. She paused by the table. “Hi, Jed, how are you doing?”

Who the hell was she, and how did he know her?

Katherine smiled, rising slightly, extending a hand. “You're Angie McDuff. I saw you on TV a few days ago.”

Angie McDuff. Mike McDuff's ex. How the hell could he have forgotten her? Though, admittedly, it had been a few years, and she had a lot more red in her hair than when he had seen her last.

“Thanks so much,” Angie said to Katherine, sounding genuinely pleased to have been recognized.

“Hi, Angie, how are you doing?” Jed said.

“Good, thanks. Though not as well as you are, it seems.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She smiled. “Your face has been all over the news.”

“Great,” he murmured.

“They can't keep that book of yours on the shelves. I mean, I know it was fiction, but you know how people are. They're interested in anything with a hint of scandal attached to it. I bet you'll be getting a lot of calls soon, people wanting to interview you about Beau Kidd and what you think is going on now. Was Beau railroaded while the real killer got away, or is the current murderer a copycat?”

“Angie, this is Katherine Kidd,” he said politely. “Beau Kidd's sister.”

Angie gasped, turning a mottled shade of red. “Oh. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories.”

Katherine shrugged. “It's all right.”

“Well, nice to meet you. Jed, good to see you again. I think I saw your cousin Ana a few months back. And I heard that Mike's cousin, Christina, has moved to town.” She flashed him a broad smile. “I bet she'll find a lot of work here, and she's going to need vocalists, of course.”

He tried to keep his smile in place. Angie McDuff never stopped.

“Put in a good word for me, will you, if you run into her?” she asked.

Was she kidding? But he kept his smile in place. Christina Hardy was one of the most loyal women in the world. No way would she hire her cousin's ex, not that he was going to tell Angie that. “Sure,” he said, and left it there.

Angie waved goodbye to them both with another smile and walked away.

As soon as the other woman was gone, Katherine started speaking as if they'd never been interrupted. “My brother was good friends with Larry Atkins, but still…All I know is that Beau wasn't guilty, and Larry's the one who shot him.”

“He was kneeling over one of the victims. And he drew his own weapon,” Jed said.

“You could at least talk to Larry again.”

“All right, why not?” Jed told her. So what if he'd just been out there? he asked himself, thinking again about the amount of land Larry Atkins had now. It was hill country out there, too. Maybe there were a few secret places out on the property.

Katherine set her hand on his, breaking into his thoughts. “Want to see me home?” she asked softly. Suggestively.

He glanced at her hand. If this invitation had come a week ago…? But it hadn't, and things were different now. “I'll follow you home, see that you get inside okay,” he told her.

She drew her hand back. “There's someone else?”

In the past years, there had been a number of someone elses, he thought. This could have been the same. But it wasn't.

“Yes, there's someone else,” he said huskily. “But I'll be happy to see you home.”