The Seance (24 page)

A part of him wanted to rush right back to Christina's, but another part of him wanted to go home and look at his files again. The second part won out, so he put the car in gear and drove to his town house.

The minute he entered, he realized how barren his home was. Of course it was. He had made a point of it. He hadn't been able to stand looking at the pictures, the knickknacks, the souvenirs of laughter shared, of…life.

There was no personality here, while already the house Christina now claimed as her own was full of individuality.

He smiled to himself.

Hell. If he were a ghost, that was definitely where he would go if he had to pick a place to haunt, he had to admit. The house was steeped in personality. It held a whisper of the music that had been her grandfather, and the homey atmosphere that had always surrounded her grandmother. There were pictures everywhere…. Christina's mother as a child, as a teenager, posing with her date for the prom, her wedding…

He gave himself a shake, walked over to his desk and impatiently spread out the files. He found the notes Larry Atkins had made after interviewing Beau about Janet Major. According to Officer Kidd, they were not heavily involved. The officer said they had met at O'Reilly's, off International Drive. He kept reading, but the words began to jumble on him.

He picked up another file, the one on Grace Garcia. Again Larry Atkins had written the notes.

“Miss Garcia worked part-time at O'Reilly's,” Atkins had written. “Her manager, Peter Hicoty, was in tears when I spoke with him. ‘We all loved her,' he said. ‘We all loved her here.'”

Jed set down the file. He glanced quickly through the rest of them. He'd read them all before, but he hadn't realized what he was looking for then. O'Reilly's.

He couldn't find a connection in every file, but given where the dead women had lived or worked, it seemed likely that, at the very least, they had all stopped in at O'Reilly's to eat or grab a drink.

How had everyone missed the possibility?

He immediately called Jerry, even though it was late.

Jerry immediately asked, “You got something?”

“Maybe. O'Reilly's.”

“O'Reilly's?”

“Yeah, it's a pub down near International Drive.”

“I know it,” Jerry said.

“Check it out. I'm not suggesting that anyone at O'Reilly's is the guilty party. But I think it's where the killer chooses his victims,” Jed said.

“It's something,” Jerry told him. “I'll get a car out there.”

They rang off. Jed looked around his town house. The emptiness, the coldness, weighed on him. He glanced at his watch. It wasn't really that late, he told himself. He went out, got in his car and drove back to Christina's.

He parked out front, then sat in his car and looked around. Only two cars remained in the driveway: Christina's, and the SUV Thor, Genevieve and Adam had driven up in.

The house looked quiet. He told himself that he should just drive away, but he hesitated. He had said that he would come back, even if he hadn't said when.

He exited his car and started up the walk. Before he could knock, Thor opened the door. “I thought I heard a car.” He smiled. “I see you decided to come back tonight after all.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, come on in.”

Together they walked into the living room, where Thor had been watching a movie.

“So what did you think about tonight?” Thor asked.

Jed shook his head. “I'm not sure. When Adam and I were talking earlier, he was about to say something, but then we were interrupted. I suspect he's sleeping now, though.”

“Why don't you go up and check? He might still be awake.”

“You think?”

“He's not the type to leave anything unsaid,” Thor told him. “At least go up and take a look. He won't mind.”

“All right. Thanks.”

Jed headed for the stairs.

 

Christina tossed and turned.

It was happening again.

She was in agony from the things that had been done to her, and she swallowed, choking down her tears. The monster would come again, she knew, but that wasn't as bad as knowing that her time was ticking away. She read the papers. She knew. Once they were taken, the victims had only a few days left. And then…

She tried to scream. It was a silent sound behind the gag.

And then it wasn't.

 

Jed never made it to Adam's room. He heard Christina scream, and he turned, tearing down the hallway, throwing open her door.

She was sitting up in the bed, but she didn't seem to be seeing anything.

He rushed to her side. Shook her. Sat beside her and drew her against him. “Christina? It's me. Jed. Christina!”

By then Thor, Genevieve and Adam had rushed into her room and were standing around the bed, looking concerned.

“Christina?” Jed said again.

She shuddered, cried out, then buried her face against his chest.

“What is it?” Jed asked.

“He…he has someone right now,” she whispered. “I'm sure of it. When I dream, I'm…her. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. He has a woman, and she's terrified. She knows she's going to die.”

Adam walked closer, taking her hands. “What does she see?” he asked gently.

“Nothing. It's dark. She's blindfolded. And she can't cry out, because she's gagged.”

Jed inhaled and held his breath. What she was claiming was…impossible.

And yet, it sounded so convincing. Christina wasn't lying. He would stake his life on that. Whether what she had seen was a dream or something more didn't really matter. To her, it had been real.

“And they were all here tonight…” Adam murmured.

“What?” Jed demanded.

“Adam thinks Beau appeared because someone in the house is the killer,” Thor explained.

“That's ridiculous!” Christina exclaimed. “You're talking about Ana, and Mike and Dan. Or my next-door neighbor and his girlfriend. It's impossible. There has to be another explanation.”

“There could be, of course,” Adam said.

O'Reilly's. The name filled Jed's mind like a giant neon sign.

“Dan,” he murmured consideringly. He hated to think it, but Dan was an actor, used to pretending to be someone he wasn't, and he'd known one of the recent victims, as well as the woman who'd supposedly fallen in the fog.

“What?” Christina demanded indignantly.

She was furious, and he knew it. He should have seen it coming, in fact. Christina was fiercely and understandably loyal to her only living relatives.

She leapt out of bed. “That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. We're going to go see him right now and he can tell you so himself.”

A few minutes later, all five of them went downstairs and headed for Jed's sedan. Killer followed, barking and running around their feet.

“I'll lock him in the house,” Christina said. She picked up her dog, hugged him and talked to him on the way back to the house, but she was firm. He was locked inside.

When she rejoined the group she turned to Jed and said challengingly, “Are you sure you don't want to knock on my next-door neighbor's door and accuse him of being a murderer, too, huh?”

“All right, why not?” Jed said equably, and together they walked over to Tony's door. He could almost feel the waves of anger emanating from her. He had attacked her family. That was a sin for which there might be no such thing as forgiveness.

She knocked at the door of Tony's sprawling ranch. All the windows were dark, but in a few seconds they heard a sleepy voice asking what was going on, and Tony opened the door. He was wearing a robe, which he had apparently thrown on quickly, since it was inside out, and his hair was tousled.

“Sorry, Tony, you were sleeping, I take it?” Christina said.

“Um…yeah.” He was only half awake, but he still tried to offer a smile.

Ilona appeared behind him, asking, “What is it, Tony?” She, too, was wearing a robe, and she was yawning.

Jed thought he could hear a television from somewhere deep in the house. They must have fallen asleep in front of the bedroom TV.

“I don't know,” Tony told her, then turned to Jed and Christina. “What's up?”

“We're just checking to make sure you guys got home safely,” Christina lied.

“Um, Christina,” Tony said as if he were talking to someone who wasn't quite there mentally, “I live next door.”

“I know.”

“Did you guys make sure Ana got into her house okay?” Jed asked.

“Dan walked her home,” Tony said.

Christina could be as angry as she wanted, Jed thought, but he wasn't taking any chances. He turned, leaving her to say good-night, and he was running by the time he reached Ana's property.

He banged the door hard.

He heard what sounded like a scream inside and got ready to break down the door, but in the end he didn't need to. There was a flurry of footsteps and the door was flung open, revealing Ana, in pajamas and a robe. She stared at him as Christina came loping up behind him.

“What are you two doing here?” Ana asked.

“You're okay?” Jed asked anxiously.

“Of course I'm okay,” Ana said, puzzled.

“Dan walked you home, right?” Christina said.

“Yes. So why are you…?” She paused, staring at them.

“What is it?” Christina asked.

“Haven't you heard?” Ana said. “There's an alert out. Another woman is missing.”

Christina let out a moaning sound.

“And…we know her,” Ana went on.

“Who is it?” Jed demanded.

“Angela McDuff,” Ana said. “Mike's ex-wife.”

T
he cop who interviewed Mike was named Jerry Dwyer, who, it turned out, knew Jed well.

As soon as Mike heard about Angie he had expected to be called in and questioned. After all, wasn't the ex always the first one to be suspected? He'd expected to be stuck in a bare-bones interrogation room and questioned harshly.

You were married to her, but she twisted you around her little finger and used you to get ahead. Then she left you and tried to take you for everything you had. A real redheaded bitch, huh?

Then they would start trying to tie him to the earlier murders. Of course, he would point out that he'd been a kid back then, only eighteen, to which they would respond that lots of sickos started killing by eighteen.

But apparently he'd been watching too much TV. Dwyer hadn't been anything like what he'd expected. The man had asked him questions, of course, but sitting in Mike's own living room and perfectly pleasantly.

“When did you last see your wife?” Dwyer asked.

“Ex-wife.”

“Ex-wife.”

“I was at work. She stopped by my office almost a week ago.”

“Did she want more money or anything like that?” Jerry smiled to show it was nothing personal. “Sorry, I have to ask.”

“No. She didn't want more money. She keeps thinking I can do more to advance her career,” Mike said.

“Can you?”

“Yes and no. I suggest names. But the producers and sometimes the directors have the last say on any casting decisions.” He'd dragged on a pair of jeans when he'd heard the pounding on his door, but for some reason Mike felt as if he were wearing a tie and it was getting too tight. He inhaled, exhaled. “Look, if I'd been going to kill Angie, it would have been a long time ago, back when she took me for a ride until I couldn't help her anymore, then dumped me. I'm not that patient.”

The cop almost smiled. “She like to get her hair done?”

“You name it, she likes to get it done. She likes being perfect.”

“Sounds like you still know her pretty well.”

Mike smiled. “Hey…if you knew Angie once, you know her forever. She's not what you'd call deep.”

Jerry watched him, nodding gravely. They were sitting on the sofas in the living room, two modern light-toned leather pieces perpendicular to the gas fireplace. Mike couldn't help thinking that the cop was going to get up at any minute and start going through the place room by room, taking it—and him—apart.

Instead Dwyer simply stood and said, “Thanks.”

“Thanks?”

“That's it, at least for now.”

Mike stood, as well, and stared at Dwyer. Swallowed hard. “You'll call me if…you find her?”

Dwyer stared back at him. “Of course. And keep thinking. You never know…you might be able to tell us something that can help us.”

“Of course.”

Mike walked Dwyer to the door. He could feel his heart hammering, and all he could think of was the old Edgar A. Poe story—“The Telltale Heart.”

He was sweating bullets.

He couldn't breathe.

And his heart was beating so loudly they ought to be able to hear it on Mars.

“Good night, and thank you again, Mr. McDuff.”

“Absolutely, Detective Dwyer.”

As he closed the door behind the policeman, Mike thought he might have to dial 911; he was practically gasping for breath.

 

“Hey, don't break it down!” Dan called out irritably. A second later, he opened the door. His red hair was tousled, he was clad in gray sweats, and his feet were bare. He stared in confusion at the group on his doorstep—a group that now included Ana, who'd declared herself too spooked to stay home alone.

“Is it trick-or-treat already? Did someone drop a bomb? What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

“Can we come in?” Christina said.

He backed away from the door, running his fingers through his hair. “Sure, why not? You guys do know it's late, right?”

“Dan,” Christina said, leading the way in, “Angie is missing.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment, then said, “Angie is…missing?”

“Yes.”

Dan looked genuinely shocked and confused, Jed thought. And why not? He was an actor.

Still sounding at sea, Dan asked, “Didn't she divorce Mike a long time ago? Drag him through an emotional wringer and hang him out to dry?”

“That's the point, Dan,” Jed said.

Dan looked more confused than ever. “I should be concerned because the woman is a total bitch who did her best to destroy my brother?”

“Yes, a totally bitchy redhead who's missing!” Ana exploded.

“Dan,” Adam Harrison explained quietly, “the police have probably questioned your brother about her disappearance already. She was supposed to meet friends for dinner the other night, but she didn't show up. The friends called the police, and since she's an attractive redhead, the police are taking her disappearance seriously.”

Dan's jaw dropped, as if he'd suddenly figured out the reality of the situation. “Omigod!” he said in one breath. “I'll call Mike right now.”

He went to get the phone, and Christina stared at Jed. She looked disdainful, but he realized as she turned away that she was going to search Dan's house.

“Mike?” Dan, who either hadn't noticed or didn't care what Christina was up to, said anxiously into the phone.

While Mike was talking on the other end, Jed's cell phone began to ring. He knew it was going to be Jerry Dwyer, and it gave him no satisfaction to be right.

“Can you meet me?” Dwyer asked.

“Yes, sure. Where?”

“Where else?” Jerry demanded dryly. “O'Reilly's.”

“I'll need a little time.”

“Just be as quick as you can. I'm wondering how much more time she's got,” Jerry said morosely.

 

Christina sat next to Dan on his couch, her fingers entwined with his. Ana was on his other side. Everyone else was dispersed around the room, and everything seemed fine.

Meanwhile, Jed had taken off without a word about where he was going. She had a feeling it had something to do with Angie's disappearance, though, and she was furious with him for not sharing whatever he knew, or even what he thought he knew.

Not to mention that he didn't believe in ghosts and clearly thought she was nuts because she did. And on top of everything…

How dare he suspect her cousin of being the killer? Just to satisfy his curiosity, she'd searched Dan's place, and she'd found nothing to indicate that he could possibly be holding anyone captive.

Just then the doorbell rang, and Dan went to answer before sitting back down next to her.

It was Mike. He paced the room, trying to remember every word he had said to Angie, every word she had said to him, in hopes of remembering something that might help the police. Then he threw up his hands. “I can't think of anything at all, damn it.”

“Are you sure she's not doing this herself as some kind of a publicity stunt?” Dan asked. “God knows, she's ambitious enough to try damn near anything,” he argued.

Mike let out a long sigh. “You want to know the really sad thing?” he asked.

“What?” Christina asked him.

“I should be worried about being questioned by the police, about being a suspect. But you know what gets me the most?” His words were almost a whisper.

“What?” Adam said.

“I'm half insane because I'm worried about her. Is that pathetic or what?”

“Actually, it's just human,” Adam told him. “So don't give up hope. They may find her yet.”

 

“I don't know. You think we made a mistake, putting her name and picture out there?” Jerry asked Jed. “Think the killer will panic and kill her? I mean…sooner than he would, anyway?”

“I don't know,” Jed told him.

“I questioned Michael McDuff. I wanted to tell you, since I know you know the family,” Jerry said, motioning to the woman behind the bar. “Another Scotch, neat, please,” he said, then looked at Jed and scowled slightly. “I'm off duty.”

“Did I say anything?”

“Yeah, well, you were a by-the-book kind of guy, but I'm almost as legit,” Jerry told him.

“I just came from Daniel McDuff's place,” Jed said.

“Figured it might have been something like that. Word has it you've been seeing a redhead yourself—Christina Hardy. Come to think of it, you're connected to Christina Hardy, who's connected to several of the victims, and Katherine Kidd. You're starting to look pretty interesting yourself.”

“You've got to be kidding.”

Jerry shrugged and grinned. “Hell, I can't get a decent date, and there you go…seeing two gorgeous redheads.”

“I'm not seeing Katherine Kidd. I'm working for her.”

“She's paying you?”

“I'm working for her because I feel like a piece of crap where her brother is concerned. Jerry, you know that, so why the third degree?”

“Exasperation, frustration,” Jerry admitted.

Mal O'Donnell came in and took the bar stool to Jed's left. “Black and tan, sweetheart, thanks,” he said to the bartender.

When the woman had moved away, O'Donnell stared at Jed. “You're on to something.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I wish I was,” Jed said tensely.

“Want to know what I think?” O'Donnell asked.

“Clue me in,” Jed told him, taking a long swallow of his own beer.

“Beau Kidd did kill the first set of girls,” Mal said.

“I think you're wrong.”

“No. This is a copycat. Beau killed the first girls. Then he was shot, and the killings ended,” Mal said.

“They ended because Beau made a good scapegoat, and because you've got a damned smart perp, one who moved on to other places to feed his sick fantasy,” Jed told him.

“How come you're so sure?” Jerry asked him.

“Because he's got a thing for the guy's sister,” Mal said, nodding knowingly.

Jed shook his head. “I really don't think Beau did it.”

“You helped with one thing, anyway,” Jerry said to Jed.

“Yeah?”

“We reinterviewed everyone in hell today, and you were right about one thing,” Jerry told him.

“And that was?”

“This place.” Jerry lowered his voice. “Each victim—then and now—frequented O'Reilly's.”

“So you've interviewed everyone who works here, then?” Jed said.

“Of course.”

“And?”

Jerry shrugged.

“Whoever's taking the women has seen them here, then followed them from here at some point to figure out the pattern of their movements,” Jed murmured.

Jerry leaned closer to Jed. “Angela McDuff was last seen leaving the Straight-N-Hair-O Salon, right across the parking lot over there.”

Jed looked out the large plate-glass window. The parking lot was huge. There were plenty of lights, but also plenty of areas in deep shadow.

Jerry pointed. “Her car was found right over there. She left the salon with a big smile on her face. And then she was gone. No one saw anything.”

“There must have been a fair amount of people in the mall and in the parking lot,” Jed mused aloud, studying the layout.

“Maybe,” Mal said. “But no one saw anything. She disappeared, and it had to be with someone she either trusted or knew, because she didn't scream or someone would have noticed. She knew there was a serial killer out there targeting women just like her, and she still got into a car and didn't even scream.”

“What the hell does that give you that we haven't had from the beginning?” Jed demanded. “The women are being taken by someone they trust.”

“Or someone they know,” Jerry added.

“Either way, someone they see as nonthreatening,” Jed said.

What the hell was his own reasoning? Jed asked himself. Adam Harrison claimed—based on the appearance of a ghost, for God's sake—that the killer had been in Christina's house. The first night…the night of the Ouija board. And at the séance, too? That meant Mike, Dan or Tony Lowell. Or himself. Or one of the women.

“What am I doing here tonight? Why did you call me out?” he asked the two cops.

“Fair warning,” Mal O'Donnell told him gravely. “We feel we have a real suspect.”

“Mike McDuff,” Jerry said.

“You interviewed him tonight, right?” Jed inquired.

“I chatted with him at his home,” Jerry admitted.