She shook her head. “No. I will not live my life in fear of that kind of monster. You will take him down. I know you will.”
“Kylie, you’re risking your life.”
She smiled grimly. “If you don’t take him down, Jon, I’m not going to have much of a life. You heard his lovely wife. Please. I have faith in you. Have faith in me.”
Seventeen
At Devin’s cottage that night, Kylie was nervous.
It had been her idea to be bait. She wanted Westerly taken down. She had never been so sure of anything in her life than that Michael Westerly had killed Annie Hampton.
She didn’t know what was going on with Sandra, and she didn’t know who else might be helping him. Maybe not with murder, but with information. But she did know Westerly was a killer. And hopefully, if he was caught threatening her, the rest would fall into place. Maybe not easily, but bit by bit.
Still, when Jackson drew out the map of the cemetery, she kept looking around. Someone seemed to have eyes and ears everywhere.
Devin saw her and smiled. “I have special windows here now—we can see out, no one can see in.”
“Like an interrogation room,” Kylie said.
“Hopefully not quite,” Devin said, and hesitated. “I met Rocky because a horrible murder had taken place when we were young—and then another here, and another. But I couldn’t give up this cottage.”
“I should hope not!” Auntie Mina called from the kitchen.
Devin smiled. “I couldn’t give it up, but I couldn’t stay here without being certain I was safe at all times. It is, in a way, a tech fortress.”
“Not to mention Poe,” Rocky said.
“And Mina!” came another call from the kitchen.
“And Mina!” Devin said.
“What is she doing in the kitchen?” Kylie whispered.
“Supervising. I put some muffins in the oven for later. She’s convinced I’m going to burn them,” Devin said.
The two of them realized Jon, Jackson, and Rocky were waiting for them to give their undivided attention to the map.
“All right,” Jackson said. “The archway is the obvious access. The wall is fairly high, but it can be climbed over. If Westerly does show up, he could hop the wall. We also believe he comes with an accomplice—most probably his wife. She’ll be in the car, and I believe he’ll just come through the archway. But we’ll be stationed all about—Devin watching the archway from behind this tomb, Rocky here by this massive oak, I’ll be back closer to the old holding house, and Jon will be on that side of it. We’re going to have to hope stray civilians don’t wander over to the cemetery, but it’s unlikely. We did manage to find a truly-out-of-the-way place.”
“Ben has four of his best men who will be taking positions behind ours. Two of his guys were army sharpshooters. I don’t believe we can be any more prepared,” Jon said.
“My plan is to get dropped off by a ridesharing service—” Kylie began.
“Which will really be an officer of Ben’s,” Jon put in.
She nodded. “And I’ll make my way casually through the graves and around behind the holding house.”
Jon nodded. “The view from the street and even the front of the cemetery is obstructed. The holding house is pretty large. When the cemetery was laid out, the ground would freeze too hard for burial in the winter, and they needed enough space for their dead until the earth thawed.”
“And that’s it,” Kylie said. “I guess I just wait to be attacked.”
“We believe he’ll approach you there,” Jackson said. “We can’t be certain. Until we see what he does, we’ll be close enough to move in no matter what’s happening. Once we see him head in your direction, we’ll follow. Carefully and discreetly, of course. We have to keep him from suspecting anything.”
“To that end, we’ll have you come to the police station with us at first,” Jon said. “We’ll leave our cars there. Ben has it set up for us to exit out back with his officers. You’ll come out of the station alone, pull out your phone, and pretend to call a ride.”
Kylie nodded. She tried to summon a bright smile. “I like it.” She glanced at Jon and then looked around at the others. “She threatened me today—outright threatened me! Sandra Westerly is almost as scary as her husband. I believe she might well have put him up to it. Except that...”
“That what?” Devin asked.
“He enjoyed it,” Kylie said. “He liked killing Annie.”
Auntie Mina appeared in the parlor. “Muffins,” she said firmly. “I understand you’re saving Kylie and that’s all important, but you can do so without burned muffins.”
Kylie was grateful for the woman; she made Kylie smile and forget just how nervous she was—and how her anxiety was growing, even as she tried to hide it from the others.
The muffins were delicious. They had them with a hearty soup. Devin turned on the television while they were eating.
The arrest of Matt Hudson still filled the media.
Watching, Kylie asked, “If Westerly kills me now, won’t he worry that they’ll let Matt Hudson go?” she asked.
Jon shook his head. “Police evidence is going to prove sketchy, at best. The rumor will have surfaced by now that his lawyer will be arguing first thing tomorrow, and Matt just might be out on bail sometime by then.”
He nodded at the television. “And in Westerly’s own mind, he’s beloved—which he really is by many people who see his public persona. Those people won’t want to believe he could have possibly done this. His spin would be the horrible injustice of a system that lets a heinous murderer back out on the streets. Or, if he can’t make it appear that Matt really is the murderer, he can blame the FBI. We haven’t caught this atrocious serial killer and he’s struck twice in Salem. Remember, Westerly can prove he wasn’t in the places where at least two of the other murders took place.”
Kylie nodded grimly. She arched a brow at him. “We’re all right, legally, doing this?”
He nodded, reassuring her.
They talked a while longer with Jackson, Rocky, and Devin, pointing out specifics of the cemetery. They were prepared to go.
Everyone stayed up late, too keyed up to sleep. When they finally went to bed, Jon asked Kylie again if she was sure she wanted to go through with the plan.
“I do.” She slipped her arms around him and said, “I may not be physically trained to kick butt, but I’m mentally a tiger!”
He laughed softly. She kissed his lips, sliding against him.
“I can just hold you tonight,” he told her. “I know you’re nervous... I’m all right with that.”
“That’s great, but I’m not. I need you to keep this kick-butt mind of mine occupied,” she said.
“Oh? Okay, sure, I can do that!”
And he was very good at keeping her mind occupied.
Morning came, and Jon was up first; he showered and woke Kylie. She should have been tired, considering how little they both slept, but she was anxious and ready to move.
When she was dressed and ready, she found she was the last to arrive in the kitchen for coffee. There wasn’t a lot of conversation. It was time to head to the police station.
As she headed toward the door, Kylie felt a strange mix of cold and warmth behind her. She turned. Auntie Mina was there. She gave her a strong, ghostly hug—one Kylie was certain Mina could feel.
“Get him, young lady. Get that monster!” Auntie Mina said.
Kylie nodded, a small smile curling her lips. Somehow, the sprightly little spirit gave her something she hadn’t expected.
A true feeling of strength. Yes, she would be the best bait ever. They would get their man.
* * *
What could possibly go wrong?
There were always dozens of things, seen and unseen...
No law enforcement agency in the country was
happy with using a civilian. Jon knew it had been done before, that it was sometimes the best way to proceed if the civilian and law enforcement were in agreement. And if it had been anyone other than Kylie, he wouldn’t exactly be pleased with the arrangement, but he would see it as a solution.
But in this case, Kylie was insistent. And he understood.
He still held her for a moment, looking deep into her eyes before leaving with the others in police cars from the rear of the station. He wanted to be with her, but he couldn’t be. He had to have faith in the ardent young officer who was acting as her driver. The car she would go to the cemetery in had been outfitted with stickers advertising several rideshare companies. Hopefully the disguise would help.
He held her tight, heedless of where they were. Then he smiled and walked away. When he looked back briefly, she gave him a thumbs-up.
“I’m not worried about Kylie,” Jackson said as Jon joined him in the back of one of the police cars. “Are you doing all right?”
Jon nodded. “We have to do this. I’ll just be glad when it’s over.”
“I’ll be glad if it’s over. We could have this massive array of hidden agents and police, and still nothing might happen.”
“I know,” Jon said. “But I don’t think so. Westerly himself hasn’t made any direct threats, but his wife has.”
“And if you watch her on TV at a rally or something, she seems so wholesome.”
“The trick here,” Jon said, “is to catch him in the act. Do you think that even that will be enough? We can’t let him get far. He’s a killer. If he gets too close to Kylie with a knife, she’s dead.”
“If he has the knife on him, even if he cleaned it after Annie’s killing, it’s the evidence we need. We’ll find trace amounts of blood, or the size and shape will match the wounds on Annie’s body,” Jackson said with assurance.
“Maybe he’ll use a new knife.”
“Let’s hope we know our killer as well as we think we do.”
They arrived at the cemetery. An agile enough person could leap the stone wall surrounding the place, but it was high enough that someone not in decent shape wouldn’t manage such a feat. The iron gates—with the arch reading The Resting Place above it—were open. Still, the cemetery seemed exceptionally forlorn.
There was obviously some maintenance done here; the place hadn’t returned to the total wild. But there were weeds and scruffy grass growing everywhere, and several large trees grew through old stones. There were aboveground tombs and, down what remained of a path, the holding house.
Jon and Jackson arrived ahead of Rocky and Devin; they all knew their positions. Jon broke from Jackson, aware that police would be filtering in to surround the cemetery as well.
There were several monuments in the cemetery, created in the 1800s rather than the 1600s. Angels with broken wings rose above illegible slate stones and more recent markers hewn from marble.
“There’s a large crying cherub holding a lamb right behind the holding house,” Jackson told Jon.
“Great hiding place. We’ll test our mics and earpieces as soon as we’re in place.”
Jon nodded and went to take up his position.
For some reason, a holding house seemed a sad place. He remembered when a family friend had died one bitter winter; they’d waited until spring to lay him next to his wife. And of course cemeteries—despite the Victorian effort to make them more beautiful—were always sad places. They held memories of the lives that had come and gone.
Yet, maybe the alternative was worse. Lives lived and lost...and not remembered.
The sun was rising overhead; the sky was blue. Jon realized the grass, even the weeds protruding through it all, were a bright, vibrant green.
Green grass, blue skies.
Maybe there was something to Dr. Sayers and his abilities after all. This was the cemetery Jackson had seen.
As Jon settled behind the large lamb-holding cherub, he realized it was a perfect place to wait, to watch—until the time came to act.
He heard Jackson’s voice through his earpiece. “In position.”
“In position, and you’re right, it’s perfect,” Jon said.
“I saw Rocky wandering into place. The waiting begins.”
The waiting was half of it. With the sun overhead, time ticked by as if each second lasted for minutes.
Jon didn’t need to check for his Glock—he knew exactly where it was. And he was ready to use it.
* * *
Kylie didn’t hear a word her driver said. The officer was a pleasant young man, speaking easily, not chatting incessantly.
He was from New Hampshire. “Live free or die,” he told Kylie dryly when she asked if he was from the area. His name was Liam Decker. He assured her she was working with some of the finest officers to be found anywhere. And everything after that was lost in the blur of her nervousness.
When they arrived at the cemetery, she looked out at the archway and its sign that read The Resting Place for several seconds before reaching for the door.
Panic almost seized her. She tamped it down. The arguments she had made were real; if they didn’t find a way to lock up Westerly, she might be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life. She could topple into the subway, go flying over a high cliff...or be stabbed in cold blood when visiting St. Paul’s or Trinity or another cemetery, anywhere, anytime.
“We’ve got your back,” Decker told her. He gave her an encouraging grin. “And your front and sides, too.”
She managed a smile in return and remembered she was giving a performance again—she was supposed to be excited to be there. She had Jackson’s book in her hand, and she could study different parts of the cemetery as she wandered through it.
She’d been wired with a microphone, and as she left the car, gazing up at the archway, she heard Jackson’s voice: “Kylie at the archway.”
She heard an echo of voices assuring her agents and police were around. She knew she heard Jon’s most firmly.
“Kylie, just be the historian-slash-tourist you are. Take your time. It could be a long wait,” Jackson warned.
She had to remind herself not to nod. She pretended great interest in the archway; it was hard to take the first steps into the cemetery. Then she saw someone in front of her.
Not Michael Westerly.
And not anyone—solid.
It was Obadiah Jones. He looked at her, nodding acknowledgment and respect. “I’m here, too,” he told her. “Walking with you every step of the way.”
She managed not to say thank you, not to say anything at all until she had started down the rocky, overgrown path toward the holding house.
She stopped to study one of the oldest, broken slate stones and bent down, softly telling Obadiah, “Thank you!”
She knew Jon and the Krewe would know she wasn’t speaking to them; she heard a few murmurs from police on the wire.
“Take your time, Kylie,” Jackson said again. “Matt Hudson’s lawyer just gave a statement in front of the courthouse. They did a damned good job, ripping into the FBI and the local police for hitting up a man with so little evidence because we’re all inept at our jobs. But we could be sitting here another few hours—our ‘acting’ attorney is crowing because he’s gotten his client out on bail.”
Hours!
“I’ll show you some intriguing graves,” Obadiah offered, “introduce you to some friends. Okay, well, most have moved on, but they’re still great history. Now, this section is all from the late 1600s and early 1700s...”
He led her to a chipped, moss-covered, aboveground tomb. “This was Ethan Hammersmith, a good man. He escaped arrest by fleeing the colony and returned to help those who were jailed. A great man. He helped me when I thought all was lost and continued to help my family when I died. He was distantly related to Rebecca Nurse—there were few women
who so loved her church and led such a fine life! When she was accused, and convicted, Ethan became convinced the only devil in Massachusetts was in the power of suggestion and fear.”
Obadiah sighed. “It’s always difficult when people choose to stay blind to even the facts when they point to something they don’t want to believe.”
There were stones from all manner of graves that people had re-etched over the years. On one were sad words.
Goody Jane Purcell, beloved of her family, strong in spirit, loving only her God, resting now in his arms for keeping that faith.
“She was in jail a long time. Even when it was over, families struggled to pay the room and board for their loved ones’ time in the old place. As with me,” Obadiah said.
Even with her ghostly guide keeping her occupied, Kylie began to feel she’d been in the cemetery forever. They had known it might go this way, that they had taken tremendous resources to dangle a carrot...and their prey just might not bite.
She was making her way around the holding house when she heard the warning from Jackson.
“Westerly is in the cemetery.” He was quiet for a beat and continued with, “He’s wearing jeans and a dark hoodie.”
A man in what he hoped was stereotypical criminal garb, a disguise that might make him invisible in plain sight if someone saw him?
The disguise didn’t matter.
It was Westerly.
* * *
Jon never should have doubted Kylie.
He could see her easily, and he was grateful to see Obadiah walking by her side. He could only provide moral strength, of course—Obadiah didn’t have what it would take to stop a vicious assault by a knife. But Jon was nonetheless pleased that his strange but very good old friend was with her.
For Kylie’s part, she kept referring to her book. She knelt by different stones, studying them, moving weeds aside, swearing softly as she knelt in a place just a little bit too rocky. She was playing the role of engaged researcher perfectly.
Then came the moment they’d all been waiting for.
Seeing Darkness Page 26