Krewe of Hunters, Volume 1: Phantom Evil ; Heart of Evil ; Sacred Evil ; The Evil Inside

by Heather Graham

  But, first, they stopped by Blair House for Jake’s laptop so that they could access his codes and programs. The street had reopened, but the police presence in front of the House of Spiritualism site and Blair House was still heavy. Will had remained at Blair House that day, following the police proceedings and studying the markings on the wall. Angela was with him, going through the film from the night before in hopes that one of the cameras might have caught something. They had both agreed that it would be good for the three of them to settle into Andrew’s house for the afternoon, especially if they intended to look up records on New York’s finest.

  Whitney told Angela that as ridiculous as it might sound, she was wondering about Ellis Sayer.

  “No, but it is curious, the way he was the one to find Captain Tyler. And it is curious that Captain Tyler was kidnapped from the veterans’ hospital—and that Ellis found him wearing the coat,” Whitney said.

  “I think we’ll get him over here later tonight,” Angela said. “With just Jude, if we’re growing suspicious of everyone else. I don’t like to believe that the culprit could be a cop or an agent. But we can’t eliminate any possibilities.”

  Angela watched her curiously as she spoke. “Hey, help me out in the kitchen for just a minute before you leave, will you?” she asked, “Hannah, you and Jake don’t need Whitney if you’re only going to grab a computer, do you?”

  “Of course not!” Hannah said.

  Angela drew Whitney into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you last night. You knew where the second victim in the double event was going to be found. How?”

  “Oh, Angela, I was having the nicest evening of my life, and then I fell asleep. I dreamed I was here at Blair House, and the dog came to me—and all the victims. They led me back to the foundations of the old House of Spiritualism. And that thing—that seething black shadow we keep seeing on film—rose and became a silhouette of the movie image of the Ripper. I think…that the old ghosts were trying to warn me, except that others were with them—Sarah, Jane Doe—she didn’t give me her real name—Melody and Virginia Rockford. Somehow, it goes back to the site. I wish I could figure out how!”

  “We need to visit the site again,” Angela said. “And you need to pay heed to that dog. He led you right to his mistress’s grave site—and to the other skeletons.”

  “But last night was a dream, Angela. When we found the skeletons, I was awake when the dog came to me.”

  “We need to find out what that site has to tell us,” Angela said.

  Jake stuck his head into the kitchen. “I’ve got the laptop.” He arched his brow. “You need more time?” he asked quietly.

  “No, let’s go on over to Andrew Crosby’s apartment,” Whitney said. “You never know what he may have to tell us.”

  * * *

  The cast and crew of O’Leary’s was valiantly struggling on, a man in a sweatshirt bearing the title of the movie informed Jude and Jackson. He was one of the film’s executive producers, Griffin Byrd. They were having the assistant director work with crowd scenes that day, and they weren’t avoiding Lower Manhattan, they were merely choosing sites to the north because there was obviously more space. Or so he put it.

  “I can’t believe that Angus Avery is guilty and, of course, he has our support,” Griffin told them. “This business is terrible—absolutely terrible. But you’ve had our cooperation all the way. We were out of the Broadway site before the investigation really began, and we’ve opened our props and costumes to the police, and the sets, of course. To our knowledge, everyone has cooperated fully. Sherry wasn’t on the shooting schedule today, and I understand that she did come into the station. Bobby is just finishing a gang scene. I’ll have him in here—” he paused to indicate the trailer where they sat, apparently Byrd’s on-set office “—to speak with you as well.”

  “Mr. Byrd, if I were you, I’d shut down production until this situation is solved,” Jackson said.

  “But you’re not me—shutting down would cost us millions,” Byrd said.

  “I thought this started out as a low-cost production,” Jude said.

  Byrd seemed to smirk at him. “Yes, that is millions,” Byrd said.

  Jude forced himself to smile. “Mr. Byrd, the killer dressed up in a costume from this set.”

  “That’s why you arrested Angus Avery, isn’t it?” Byrd responded.

  “Mind if we watch the filming?” Jude asked.

  Byrd frowned, as if that was a confusing question.

  “It’s a closed set—there’s been so much publicity,” Byrd said.

  “But I’m FBI,” Jackson said politely. “And Detective Crosby is NYPD. We’re hardly your customary gawkers.”

  Byrd apparently wasn’t happy, but he couldn’t think of a sound reason to refuse.

  Jude was glad they had come out; the scene had just finished shooting, and Bobby Walden seemed to be hurrying away from the office.

  “Mr. Walden!” Jude called.

  Still in costume, breeches and a drab gray poet’s shirt, Bobby paused. He turned back slowly, and then waved to them. “Hey, I was just going to change.”

  “We only need a few minutes,” Jackson said.

  A score of extras was walking behind the facade; flats that had nothing behind them except for the costume and prop tents that had been set up. The camera people were pulling equipment, and techs were running around as well, closing down for the day.

  Bobby strode toward them. He smoothed back a handful of dark hair. “Bummer, huh? Who’d have figured old Angus, eh? And I guess he really was innocent—or had an accomplice.”

  “May we use your trailer?” Jackson inquired of Griffin Byrd, making certain that his tone implied that they wished to interview Bobby alone.

  “Naturally. I’m just in from the West Coast, gentlemen, so you’ll forgive me if I leave you for the day? I’m always available,” Byrd assured them.

  Jude glanced at Jackson, and he knew that they were thinking on similar lines.

  Byrd didn’t give a damn about any of the actors. He was a money man. He’d help the police; he’d hand over his own mother if that meant saving the movie.

  Bobby came into the trailer and threw himself on the sofa, as if he were a nineteenth-century tough. He stared at them. “Guess you guys had something wrong, though, huh, what with what happened last night. There you go—another major bummer.”

  Jude realized he didn’t like Bobby. He really didn’t like Bobby Walden. But that didn’t mean that he was guilty of anything other than being a self-serving prick.

  “Bobby, we know that a cloak was stolen from wardrobe on this movie set, and worn by the killer who attacked Virginia Rockford,” Jude said.

  Bobby stared back at him, a flash of confusion in his eyes. “Yeah—it was worn by Angus Avery. I thought that was what you all figured.” He sat up suddenly. “They don’t include details on the news. Were the other women—the women killed last night—all chopped up?”

  Jude didn’t answer. “Bobby, do you realize that if you know anything at all, you could be charged as an accessory to murder? And if you can help us and you don’t, other people can still die.”

  Bobby’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know a damn thing. And if another woman is murdered, it’s because you’re inept.” He stood. “Catch me if you can—isn’t that what Jack the Ripper wrote when the London police couldn’t find a bull’s-eye ten feet in front of them? If a cloak was missing, and it was found with Angus’s DNA or whatever, you’ve got your answer. Oh, but wait—Angus didn’t kill anybody last night, did he?”

  “Where were you last night, Bobby?” Jude asked him.

  “On set until seven—and my limo driver took me home. My doorman saw me go in, and I promise you, he didn’t see me go out,” Bobby said.

  “So, you were home alone?”

  “What do you think? I was with a young lady. And if you want me to say more, you’ll have to speak to my attorney. I don’t k
iss and tell. Why the hell would you suspect me? I’m a star!” he said, shaking his head. “May I change out of my costume now? It’s been a long day!”

  15

  “Here’s a reference to the Cult of Satan,” Andrew said, bringing a book over to the desk where Whitney was sitting.

  Jake and Hannah were busy at the computer. Since it was awkward for them all to stare at the screen—and Hannah and Jake were experts, and she was not— Whitney determined to let Andrew delve through his collection of books on New York history and tell her more about New York’s past.

  He produced a book. “I just read through this earlier. I’d heard rumor the Cult of Satan had a secret sign, see there—it was the emblem of Gilles de Rais.”

  “The serial killer who abused and murdered children—hundreds of them—in fifteenth-century France,” Whitney said. “Yes, we’ve actually tossed his name around a few times since this all began.”

  Andrew nodded. “That’s his coat of arms, with the blue edge and the fleur-de-lis. It was used as an emblem by the Cult of Satan. They would embroider it somewhere on their clothing, and show it to one another, because they didn’t want their beliefs known. That book is on the cult. I guess it’s not shocking. Life in Five Points must have been miserable, and poverty always breeds violence in one way or another. I suspect that the House of Spiritualism began as a place for tarot card readers and spiritualists, but Jonathan Black did move in and take over. Well, you’ve found the women he sacrificed. After I talked to you on the phone I looked up what I could find on the place, but there really wasn’t much more. Except that I thought you might find this interesting. Satanists also valued reliquaries.”

  “Many religious tenets respect reliquaries,” Whitney said. “I’ve thought about that as well—that a modern killer might be worshipping the body—or fragment—in a locket or a reliquary of some kind.”

  “Exactly. I think you were on the right track all along, and this may help you. In this book I discovered that Jonathan Black was rumored to have had an exceptionally ‘holy’ relic, if you will. He had a finger bone that had belonged to none other than Gilles de Rais.”

  Whitney stared at him. “And our killer knew, after more than three centuries, that he had the finger bone of Gilles de Rais?”

  Andrew smiled. “Irish and Catholic here, Whitney. We believe in our relics, no matter how many years have passed. We cherish splinters of what we believe to be the true holy cross. It wouldn’t be that different for a Satanist.”

  “I know, I know. We’ve talked about that, but I hadn’t imagined anything so specific.”

  “We still don’t know anything—it’s a theory.”

  Whitney was thoughtful. She let out a sigh. “A good one. Jonathan Black was supposedly killed and buried at the site when he scared even his own followers? I wonder if they saw all those women die—and began to wonder if they might be next.”

  Hannah came rushing into the office. “Guess what we found out?” she demanded.

  “What?” Whitney asked.

  “Dr. Wallace Fullbright has often been consulted for films and television. And, tada! He’s worked as an extra in seven movies in the last ten years!” Hannah said.

  “And,” Jake said, coming in behind her, “we missed something in the records the other day. We didn’t go back far enough. Ellis Sayer worked as a vet’s assistant during his high school years. He could have assisted at many a surgery. Mammalian anatomy is pretty similar, when you’re talking mainly cats and dogs. Not to mention the fact that the man has attended dozens of autopsy operations.”

  * * *

  Jude and Jackson met up with the team and Hannah at the house at around seven; he was tired and hungry.

  He listened to Jake and Hannah’s new evidence. “No, we can let Ellis off the hook,” Jude said, leaning back on the sofa, closing his eyes and gratefully taking a long swallow of his beer.

  “Look, Jude, I know you work with the man—” Jake began.

  Jude opened his eyes and looked at Jake, grimacing. “I don’t deny that anyone can wear a mask, that we only think we really know people. But Ellis showed up too quickly on the scene to have carried out the last murders, at least, those which were carried out while Angus Avery was locked up. Ellis was with the first body last night when we found the second. The killer works with amazing speed, but Ellis couldn’t have been where he was that fast. And I don’t want to shoot down any theories, but Fullbright was at the morgue until he was called to the scene. I saw him arrive in the morgue vehicle. Hell, Fullbright is so excited about this rather than appalled, it has chilled my bones. But he’s an M.E., and really good at what he does, and a body is a challenging puzzle to him.”

  “Jake, you’ve got to realize that what you’re saying is true—and not true. Ellis Sayer had a right to be there with the body. Fullbright would have had the opportunity to destroy trace evidence on the body.”

  “I say it’s one of the actors on the movie,” Jude said.

  “I don’t think you’re being fair!” Hannah said.

  They all looked at her.

  “My boyfriend has been an extra on movies. And he’s the nicest guy in the world. You’re being cruel to actors,” Hannah said.

  “Hannah, actors are fine people. Many are nice. Some may be crazy,” Jude said patiently. He sighed deeply. “Okay, I don’t believe the timing would have allowed Fullbright or Ellis Sayer to have been involved. But I’m close to the two of them, and I don’t want it to be either one of them. I suspect an actor. Hannah is seeing an actor, so she doesn’t want it to be an actor. We’ll take the personal out of it. I’ve replayed the scenarios over and over in my head since I spoke with you, Whitney, and realized that yes, it could be someone really close,” Jude said.

  “I still say that Bobby Walden or Sherry Blanco are involved,” Hannah insisted.

  “Dr. Wallace Fullbright,” Whitney said.

  “One of the above. Or one of the other cops on the task force,” Jude said wearily. “Or half the city of New York.”

  Will Chan was thoughtful. “Actors convince you that what isn’t real is real. They have a talent to evoke emotion,” he said.

  “And magicians work off sleight of hand, convincing you that you’re seeing what you’re not,” Whitney said. “A good magician can make you believe just about anything. Now you see it—now you don’t.”

  “True. And it’s a subtle talent. Bobby Walden might be a screen star, a personality,” Jude said, “but a great actor he isn’t. “

  “Sherry Blanco won’t be taking away any awards, either,” Whitney agreed.

  “We should have them all to dinner,” Jackson suggested quietly.

  Whitney grinned at him. “Jackson, neither Sherry Blanco nor Bobby Walden would accept an invitation to come to dinner here,” Whitney said.

  Jude looked at Jackson. “But, hey, we do take whatever we can get. The more people you eliminate, the better the focus on other suspects.”

  “The rest of the millions of people in Manhattan,” Whitney said.

  But Jude shook his head. “We know the killer. I honestly believe that—it’s someone who is close to us, or someone we’ve had an interest in. And the killer—the second killer, because I don’t believe that Angus Avery is innocent, just that we’re supposed to think that—is high on his success regarding the last two kills. He feels that he is invincible. We’ve talked to and interviewed the killer, or he’s someone we see every day. As far as wearing a costume and mask through his day-to-day life, he’s doing that beautifully. But we know him, and he knows us, and that’s how it’s so easy for him to be a step ahead.”

  “And you really think we should ask Ellis Sayer and Fullbright to dinner?” Whitney asked.

  “We are bound by the law. We’ve arrested Angus Avery because we had the evidence with which to arrest and charge the man. Our evidence trail is going nowhere. We have to trip this person up before they kill again.”

  “But what if we’re wrong? What if it isn�
��t Ellis or Fullbright?”

  “And we may not learn the truth from a dinner. But at this point—what the hell? The two of them will accept an invitation. Let’s go for it.”

  * * *

  It was Whitney’s turn to cook.

  She’d decided on some down-home cooking and though she really should have had a lot more simmer time, she decided to throw together a jambalaya. Jude came into the kitchen while she was stirring her spicy mixture together. He slipped his arms around her waist and leaned low, inhaling the scent of her hair.

  She was surprised at his action, but it didn’t disturb her. The team knew about their relationship, and they all seemed to approve. She thought, too, that he needed a human touch that night.

  “You all right?” she asked, turning into his arms.

  “Hell, no, I’m scared to death. This guy is following in the Ripper’s footsteps, but he isn’t going by any timetable. More time passed between the second kill and the third and the fourth. Last night, he killed two. And if he manages to follow the Ripper’s trail, the next event is someone indoors, and it will be the most gruesome murder yet. We have one man locked up who may or may not prove to be guilty, and it doesn’t matter, because the murders are continuing.”

  “Stay here tonight?” she asked him.

  He smiled. “Maybe. I know that I’m exhausted. This afternoon, I did mistrust everyone around us. But logically, I realized I know who it can’t be.”

  “You don’t think it can be Ellis,” she said gravely. “But you’re still willing for us all to set him up.”

  “I don’t believe you’ll prove anything against him.”

  Whitney hesitated, looking at him. “I think it’s someone who is a member of the current Cult of Satan.”

  Jude looked at her.

  “The Cult of Satan was what Jonathan Black became high priest of—at least, I think,” Whitney said. “I think that somehow, our guy was at the site next door—he may have even slipped in at night, like teenage kids are bound to do at dangerous but spooky places. He knew all about Jack the Ripper—and all the theories that the Ripper killed Carrie Brown, and he knew that Jonathan Black had been here, that he had a base of operations here. Whether any of these theories is true or not, it’s as you once said—perception matters. I was with your dad today, and he showed me an emblem that all the members wore sewn secretly into their clothing somewhere. And he also told me that Jonathan Black was said to have had a cherished relic—something that contained a finger bone from the skeleton of Gilles de Rais—and he thought that his power came from the relic.”