Carefully, she stepped into the barren room. She shivered when she heard the lock sliding into place behind her. The only things in the room was a mirror in the back, a long table running in front of a window and a plastic chair.
He was already seated on the other side looking lost. She took a seat and spread out her notes. As she did this she took a moment to observe him. He was just an ordinary man who bore no resemblance to the monster she had expected.
“Mr. Conklin, I’m Faith Charles. I’d like to ask you a few questions if I may?”
“Sure,” he answered quietly with a thick accent that could only be heard in Maine.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” she carefully began. “I’ve been to the island.” He stiffened and nodded. “Tell me what happened? When you first got there, what was it like?”
“Been there before,” he was so quiet she was forced to ask him to repeat himself.
“I’m sorry, I have a hearing problem.”
“Been there before,” he repeated a little louder. “When I was a kid, the Davis brothers used to toss me a couple of bucks to help bring supplies over.”
“What was it like then?”
“Nice,” he sighed rubbing his hands together. “Beautiful in fact. Miss Muraille was a nice lady. Used to let me run around barefoot. She didn’t like wearing shoes herself. She said that it was a necessity that should be avoided at all costs. She was like that, despite the money she was good people. Shame what happened to her.”
“Do you know what happened to her?”
“Everyone said those men killed her. Well, almost everyone and then there are folks that say she was three sheets to the wind and took a header. Shame either way.”
“What happened in 1972? You lost your boat?”
“Took a hit in a storm,” he looked down tightening his fist. “I couldn’t afford to get it fixed. Bank didn’t care. We were going to lose the house. I had to take a job on another boat. Less money but I had to do something. Miss Westbrook must have heard, cause she showed up asking if we’d be interested in becoming caretakers for the main house on the island. It sounded perfect. I’d go out on a run for a couple of months. My wife Franny would get paid by Miss Westbrook and we’d have a roof over our heads. It was real nice. I shipped out and Franny and the kids moved over to the island.”
“Everything seemed to be working out.” She encouraged making notes as he spoke.
“Yup,” he nodded with a hint of a smile. “Franny did mention that the boys were acting up, every time she managed to get me on the radio. I told her I’d straighten things out when I docked.”
“Just the boys?”
“Yup, of course my oldest girl was away at College.”
“How did things go when you got back?”
“I was so excited after we docked in Cape Point. Grabbed my pay and had Austin Davis run me over to the island. I ran all the way up the path to the gate. I couldn’t wait to see my family.”
“Must have been a nice home coming.”
“Should have been,” his voice turned grim and he looked into the empty space as if he was there. “Why are you running? She should be down here to meet you. Supper on the table. That’s what the voice said.”
“Be a man. I ignored it, I just wanted to see my family. I stepped inside the house and something snapped. I kept hearing it this voice, telling me to be a man. My kids jumped all over me, happy to see me and I brushed them off. I yelled at them to get off and show some respect. I hollered for my wife to put supper on the table. She was shocked. She said what do you call that? There was nothing but empty plates on the dining room table. I slapped her, and the kids ran off. Take care of the brats and get me some food. I kept repeating what the voice was telling me. Be a man. Take control. She is only here to serve you and to carry your seed. It kept telling me I wasn’t a man. I couldn’t feed my family. A real man would have provided instead of taking charity.”
“Had you ever struck your wife before?” She tried to remain calm.
“Never,” he vowed. “I had never raised my hand in anger towards my wife or my kids. Next thing I knew I was smashing the dishes and yelling at Franny to get her arse upstairs and spread her legs. I never spoke to woman that way in my entire life.”
“What happened next?”
“Franny went into the kitchen. Came back with a cast iron skillet and clocked me upside the head.”
“I can’t say that I blame her.”
“Neither can I,” he smiled. “Franny never took any guff from anyone.” The smile quickly faded. “When I woke up it was worse. He was there telling me I had to serve him. He was the vessel for the master. The master must be served. If I wanted to be a man, I needed to control my property. I had to do what he said or like the man he called brother, my family would be dragged into the depths of hell.”
“And what did he want you to do?”
“I had rescue the chalice, clean it and purify it.”
“The chalice?”
“He told me where to find it,” he began to shake his voice grew weak. “It was buried in the basement. Took me a day and a half but I dug it up. Took me awhile to figure out where he wanted me to look. It was buried in an old coal bin. It was bigger than I thought. I cleaned it up. He was there the whole time telling that if I didn’t do what he said my family would suffer for eternity.”
“And how were you to purify it?”
“The blood of the innocent,” tears rolled down his cheeks as he struggled to get the words out.
“Your children’s blood?”
“Yes?” He sobbed. “It was the only way to save them. I used my knife. I had to kill Franny first. He told me that if I didn’t she’d try to stop me and my children would be lost. I smashed her head against the wall. While she was begging me to stop what I was doing, I stabbed her. Then I gathered the children and tied them up. He said if I slit their throats it would be the best way. One by one I did just that. Simon was to be the last, then they would be free. I don’t really remember what happened next. I was on a boat, tied up and covered with blood. Then I remembered and I begged Chuck Dunklin to shoot me or throw me overboard. I didn’t deserve to live. I still don’t and no I’m not depressed. Just remorseful. Now, they want to let me out. How could I do what I did and not be crazy? A man like me doesn’t deserve to walk around free. So, are you a shrink? You gonna tell them that I’m nuts or are you gonna do the right thing and get me sent to prison?”
“I’m not a mental health professional and I don’t work with the prison.”
“Then who are you?”
“I work with a paranormal investigator.” She brightly announced fully aware that the medical staff behind the mirror were shouting.
“A para what?”
“Someone who thinks that there might be someone or something on the island who told you to do what you did. I know it sounds crazy.”
“That sounds crazy?” He laughed. “After what I just told you? Lady that is the sanest explanation I’ve heard in decades. I’m not saying that I believe you.”
“I’ve been out to the island.”
“They should set fire to the place and salt the ground.” He bitterly spat out.
“Tell me something, what did the voice sound like?”
“Low, whispering, creeping and he had an accent.”
“Male?”
“Yup.”
“What kind of accent?’
“Don’t know, kind sounded like something out of Hogan’s Heroes.”
“Okay, did you see anything else?”
“Just Miss Muraille standing by the cliffs.”
“You didn’t find that odd?” Faith choked out.
“Not really, just assumed it was her spirit. Cape Point is an old town, you see things now and then.”
“Did she make contact with you at all?”
“Once,” his shoulders slumped. “She told me to go. To take the children and get out of there. I wish to God I had listened.”
/> “That’s it!” The good doctor along with several others in white coats burst into the room. “You should have mentioned that you’re some kind of ghost hunter.”
“I find that most of the time that does not work in my favor.” Faith confessed. “Thank you, Mr. Conklin.”
“Miss Charles,” he called out as they were pushing her towards the door. “I don’t want you talking to my kids.”
“I won’t. I promise.” She managed to get out before she was shoved out.
“You are unbelievable,” the doctor was practically foaming at the mouth. “So, this was all about the devil made him do it? Mental illness is a serious matter. People, like you want us to go back to the dark ages.”
“Hold on there, Skippy,” Faith snarled. “I agree that mental illness is a serious matter and medications a necessity in most cases. You told me yourself, there’s nothing wrong with that man. Now, just because you don’t like my profession you’re going to jack him up on drugs again?”
“You heard him, he heard voices.”
“In 1972 and hasn’t heard them since. How do you explain that?”
“Get off this property before I have you arrested for trespassing.”
“Yeah, yeah I know the drill.”
Chapter 23
Augusta, ME
September 19, 2017
Faith paced in front of her car with her phone pressed against her ear. She stopped to gas up and relax. Sitting in a Burger King, she had been thumbing through the old police files when she stumbled across something that filled her with concern.
“Come on, pick up.” Faith pleaded blowing out a sigh of relief when the person she was calling answered.
“Chuck its Faith Charles. I wanted to thank you again for all of your help.”
“How did it go with Leo?”
She told him what Leopold had told her. She felt certain that Sheriff Dunklin was left still scratching his head.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Why didn’t you mention that Ella Westbrook was once a suspect in Temperance Muraille’s death?”
“I honestly forgot about that bit of nasty business,” he chuckled. “Now, my old man was just a patrolman. Sheriff Burkehead was running the show. He was a good guy. I doubt he would have thought twice about Miss Westbrook if Miss Muraille’s brother hadn’t been such a pain in the ass. Sheriff thought his accusations were a bunch of nonsense but he was obligated to check it out.”
“Was there something to his allegations?”
“Sheriff didn’t think so. My father certainly thought it was a load of crap. If I recall, her brother thought her claims on the estate were just as bogus as the Jordan’s.”
“She was one of the last people to see her employer alive,” Faith pointed out while jotting down some notes. “We know the will was valid but that does give a gal incentive. Plus, by her own admission they argued that night.”
“When you put it like that,” he tersely responded.
“I’m just curious if she was dismissed as a possible suspect because she was well liked or was there something else that led the police to that conclusion. I can see how, a couple of Nazis versus a sweet little lady could give an investigator a case of tunnel vision.”
“I see your point.”
“I don’t think there’s anything to it, I was just curious.”
“Something like that is bound to make you ask questions.”
“You mean like did the police go after the wrong guys?”
Of course for Faith the bigger question was did she just send Shawn off to meet with a killer?
Central Park West, NYC
September 19, 2017
Shawn found herself sitting in the lobby after calling Faith. She felt uneasy. Just to the left of the reception desk she spied a woman in a long fur coat. The woman kept pushing the elevator button and shaking her head. A few times she actually pounded on the doors.
“Now, who wears fur in this day and age?” She questioned taking in the woman’s complete attire. “No one.” She concluded, as she made her way over to the elevator. She came to an abrupt halt when a security guard stepped in her way.
“Sorry, Miss those are the private elevators.” He curtly informed her. “You’ll need to go to the front desk to be rung up unless you have a key.”
The figure turned and glared at her. At least she thought she was glaring at her. It was hard to tell since the woman’s long blonde hair covered half her face. A style very reminiscent of the 1940’s, like Lauren Bacall.
She thanked the guard and backed away. She needed to find a spot where she could observe or perhaps engage with the irate entity without looking like a complete lunatic.
The best she could conjure up was ducking behind a potted plant.
“What are you doing? If I’m not going upstairs, no one is.” The specter hissed. “If she thinks she can keep me out, she has another thing coming. Stupid little farm girl, took everything. That money should have been mine. I can forgive Tempe for slumming it. We did from time to time, but you don’t leave them your money. This building, that apartment. Mine. It’s all mine.”
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Who am I? Who am I?” She repeated with disdain. “I am Helena Landers. “Who are you? This is mine do you hear me. I can’t believe that Iris betrayed me. After everything I did to keep her family in the social register. Junior doesn’t get to win. She stole Tempe from me and now she’s living in what should be my home.”
“Gotcha,” Shawn took a step back bumping into the security guard. “She fell in love with someone else and you’re bitter.”
“Love? How positively mundane.”
“Who are you talking too?” The guard nervously questioned.
“That was an amazing car,” Daniel prattled on much to Ella’s dismay.
“It was lovely,” Ella sighed dramatically. “What I never understood was why your cousin never learned to drive.”
“She never had to.”
“She could fly an airplane.”
“You know, I thought that woman was delightful.” Daniel blurted out seemingly out of nowhere.
“What woman? You’re not going on about the receptionist at your podiatrist office again, are you? She’s half your age.”
“Not her,” he groaned. “The little blonde psychic. I wonder what she can tell us. Do you think she can contact Nora?”
“Don’t you go all soft on me,” she cautioned. “I don’t think I could handle that right about now; listening to fortune tellers. Next thing you know you’ll be forgetting to put on your trousers.”
“Don’t get all sassy,” he grunted. “You know what I think. I think that all of this business with the island is stirring up far too many memories for you.”
“It is,” she sighed turning to stare out the window. “Did you know, after the first time we were close, there I was in her bedroom and what do I hear but Mrs. Culvert stirring about.”
“Oh, dear. I take you weren’t prepared.”
“Not a stitch of clothing and the cook banging about.”
“What did you do?”
“I grabbed one of Tempe’s robes and made a mad dash. You know the layout of the penthouse. I had to sneak out of the master bedroom, down the hall past the guest rooms, through the office and into the sitting room. Picking up articles of clothing along the way. Then I had to carefully, make my way through the dining room, where I’d be seen for sure if Mrs. Culvert had been in the right spot. Somehow, she didn’t see me before I ducked into my apartment.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Daniel erupted into a fit of laughter.
“It is not funny.”
“Oh, it is.”
Central Park West, NYC
October 3, 1938
“Look at you with a spring in your step,” Mrs. Culvert brightly greeted startling Ella.
“It’s a glorious morning,” she choked out thankful that she had somehow gotten back to her
apartment and cleaned up before preparing for the day.
“Something odd is going on here,” Mrs. Culvert announced turning serious.
“Whatever do you mean?” She squeaked certain that the older woman had seen right through her.
“I checked on the lady,” she nodded towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “She’s still asleep.”
“Oh?” She stammered filled with relief. “She worked late.”
“Never kept her in bed before.”
“It was a demanding evening.”
“I hope she’s not getting sick.”
“She’s in fine shape, trust me.”
“Who is in fine shape?” Temperance yawned tugging her robe closed in order to conceal her pajamas.
“You.” Ella blushed suddenly worried about what would happen now.
“Thank you.” Temperance nodded giving her a curious look. Ella found the look, infuriating. She was looking for some sign. After the night before, just how was she to behave or not behave.
“It’s not like you to still be in bed when I arrive. The coffee is ready. Just toast as always?”
“Actually, I famished.” Temperance confessed. “Would you mind? Ella are you feeling a bit peckish?”
“I can never turn down something delightful to eat.” She innocently comment causing Temperance to choke on her coffee.
“I didn’t,” she whispered once she had realized what she had said. She stood there feeling lost. “I need to call the police.”
“The police?” Jenny gasped as she joined them.
“What is it, what’s happened?” Mrs. Culvert demanded.
“I’ll make the call,” Ella reassured Temperance giving her a pat on the shoulder. “What was the exact model of your Bentley?”
“1938 Derby,” Temperance supplied with yet another yawn.
“This is about Wallace, that scoundrel.” Mrs. Culvert fussed as she begin mix a thick waffle batter.
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