“My husband will want to see you,” she said, staring at Jackson.
“My colleague, Jackson Crow,” Sam explained quickly.
She nodded and opened the door wider. “Please come in. Neighbors are here—and my mom is out back with the kids—but Ricky is in his office. I’ll show you right in.”
Ricky Sedge was behind his desk in his den, a small room with shelves that held books and trophies and pictures—family pictures. Sam winced inside, wishing he didn’t have to cause the man more pain. It was evident that his had been a close-knit family; most of the pictures were family shots, many of Milton Sedge holding two little boys, many with Sedge and his wife, and several of various weddings, two older couples with the next generation of Sedges.
Ricky Sedge had been sitting there, squeezing an exercise ball with a vengeance when they walked in.
He stood, surprised, and looked at his wife.
“This is the attorney, Mr. Hall, Ricky. And his associate, Mr. Crow. I thought that you’d want to talk to them.”
He stood and, to Sam’s surprise, he seemed pleased to see him. He was glad. He’d half suspected that even if Sedge believed that his father had been murdered, he’d want to blame Sam. He was the one pursuing the case others thought was sewn up, after all.
“Finally! Someone who might believe me!” Ricky Sedge said, indicating a couple of small chairs in the room. “Sorry, sorry, about the space. It’s kind of a full house…Margery is dealing with all those trying to help. People don’t realize that sometimes you’ve got to be alone. Although, I guess it’s good to keep the kids occupied—they loved their Papa Milty.”
Sam and Jackson took seats.
“Mr. Sedge—” Jackson began.
“Call me Ricky, please. Every time I hear Mr. Sedge, I see my father.”
“Ricky,” Sam said quietly. “I understand you found your father.”
“I found him. Yes. I made a mess in all the olive oil, trying to revive him. But, of course, he was cold as ice,” Ricky said.
“And you called it in as a homicide,” Jackson said.
Ricky Sedge hesitated a minute. “You know, sure, it looks like an accident. Unless you knew my father. He was a careful, honest, really good man. He would have never allowed those tins to be set up in a display that would have just fallen down on its own. When I say that to anyone else, they just want to pat my back and tell me that time will heal my wounds. And that the store was fairly dark, so accidents can happen, especially to the elderly. But my dad was in good shape, and he had great eyesight. Said he couldn’t read a menu anymore without his glasses, but he could spot a bird in the sky a mile away. He didn’t just walk into those tins of olive oil. Someone was in that store. Thing is, the police don’t believe me—they just want to pat me on the back, too.”
“What about a security tape?” Sam asked.
Ricky groaned. “Dad didn’t have a security camera. He said that if someone needed groceries that badly, then they were probably hungry. The clerks knew all the neighborhood kids, and they knew how to catch the petty little gum-stealers. Dad ran a real family business.” He leaned forward, studying both men. “Can you make someone pay attention? Dad was the only one who was going to swear that Malachi Smith didn’t kill Earnest Covington. He was killed because he’d be willing to swear that up and down in a court of law!”
Sam let out a breath. “That’s what I believe, too,” he said. “And I’m so sorry.”
Ricky Sedge lowered his head for a moment. Then he looked Sam in the eyes. “You don’t have to be sorry. My dad believed in honesty and justice, and he wouldn’t have changed what he had to say, no matter what. You didn’t kill him. But if you want to help, find out who did. Make the police realize that he was murdered, and find out who did. Make sure that they do face justice. That’s what I want! That’s what my family needs. Don’t let my father have died in vain for doing the right thing.”
* * *
Jenna looked into the wine bar, but none of the others had arrived. She went back out into the pedestrian throughway and decided that she’d catch Will’s magic show and see how he was doing.
Will had a little girl with him up on his impromptu stage. He was pulling quarters out of her ear and delighting the crowd.
He caught her eye. She frowned as she saw him jerk his head to the left.
Looking over at the edge of the crowd, she saw that he was indicating someone who was slowly drifting away from the scene.
Someone wearing the horned god costume.
She nodded to Will in acknowledgment.
The horned god moved away, toward the road. She waited. He moved again, and she followed.
After a couple of blocks, he headed down a side street, toward the graveyard. She followed.
When she reached the area, she cursed silently. She’d lost track of her quarry.
Dusk was coming, but the gate hadn’t been locked yet. Jenna walked into the cemetery. In the misted light, she closed her eyes against the souls who seemed to hover around the graves, some aware of one another and chatting quietly, and one following a tourist from stone to stone, tugging at her sweater now and then and laughing delightedly when she looked around to see who was touching her.
Jenna wandered toward the area near the rear of the wax museum, reading stones as she went along. Some were very sad, so many having died at such a young age.
She felt something behind her back and whirled around. It wasn’t a person; no one wearing a horned god outfit.
It was the same older man who had warned her away before, the ghost who had wanted her to know that she was being stalked. Of course, she was being stalked by the boy, Marty Keller, but the ghost hadn’t known that.
“Go! Go!” he told her.
He lifted a thin arm, pointing toward the huge tree that had grown right through the centuries-old graves. “Hurry!”
But as he spoke, a figure emerged from the tree—a figure in the horned god costume.
He was wielding an ax. He hefted it in his hands.
Another kid trying to scare her?
There were still others in the cemetery, but they were more toward the memorial benches.
“Put it down!” she said angrily. “I’m calling the police!” She reached into her bag for her cell phone.
The horned god immediately charged, ax swinging.
Just like in her visions.
16
“I can’t imagine why she’s not here yet,” Angela said, taking a seat at the wine bar. “I talked to her quite some time ago. She was visiting the members of the church, but she should have been back by now.”
Sam frowned, wondering why he felt such an instant jab of fear. He dialed Jenna’s number, and he was rewarded with her answering machine.
“What if the church members…”
“No, no!” Angela said. “A mom went home with two kids. I saw her, Sam, and I don’t know how to explain it, but no—they wouldn’t have hurt her!”
Sam wasn’t sure that he believed that at all. He stood and looked at Angela and Jackson. “Sorry, you wait here for her. Angela, give me that address. I’m going over.”
“All right. We’ll call you, and you call us if you hear from her. I honestly believe she’ll be right along,” Angela said.
“Go on, can’t hurt,” Jackson said.
Sam headed out into the street. Immediately, he saw Will performing, and Will, seeing him, looked concerned. “That way!” he said, working the words and a nod strategically into his act. “That’s magic,” Will cried to the crowd. “I say that way—and you look that way while I’m going the other!” Sam didn’t wait to see more. Will had indicated the road down to the cemetery by having him reverse his gaze.
He started out at a walk, then began to run. As he neared the graveyard, he heard screams.
People were hurrying out of the graveyard; he saw that a number of them had pulled out cell phones and seemed to be called the police.
He stopped one woman. “What’
s happening? What’s going on?”
“There’s some maniac in there with an ax! He’s after a woman. Oh, God, I hope the police get here fast enough!”
Sam let her go and tore into the cemetery himself. He rushed through the wide-open gate and looked across the expanse of graves and grass.
And saw the horned god, and the ax. Jenna was desperately dodging and ducking his every swing of the blade.
And then she rushed him, making Sam’s heart nearly stop.
Knocking the figure down, she rolled herself off him to get away.
But the horned god was back up, staggering, reaching for his head.
Sam took advantage, letting out a loud roar as he raced for the figure. Crashing into him, he took the demon back down, sending the ax flying to the side, cracking the man’s head against a tombstone and falling in front of it. Sam stood quickly, crying out. “Jenna!”
“I’m here, I’m fine,” she said, hurrying to his side.
The horned god was still down, unconscious. Sam bent down and stripped the mask off his head. They both stared down in puzzlement. It was a man, a grown man. And it was someone Sam had never seen before.
“Do you know him?” he asked Jenna.
“No!”
By then, they could hear the police sirens. They stood a few feet from the man, waiting. Sam wasn’t surprised to see that John Alden was leading the pack of officers who came rushing into the cemetery. If John had heard the word about a situation in the cemetery from the dispatch office, he would have been the first on the scene.
“I should have suspected you two!” he said, walking up, pulling out his phone and telling the paramedics to move in. He bent down by the body, feeling for a pulse. “Still breathing. Wait, I did suspect you two. What the hell…?”
“Hey, I was just walking in the cemetery, and he came after me. With that ax!” Jenna said, pointing.
“And he meant business. I saw it,” Sam said.
“And—?”
“And I tackled him, right after Jenna rushed him, and if she hadn’t known something about defense, she’d be bleeding to death right now!” Sam said angrily.
“All right, all right,” John said, feeling in the man’s pocket for a wallet or ID. “Nothing, of course,” he said with disgust. “Let the paramedics through!” he called to his men. “We’ve got a live one here—and we need him alive!”
He looked at Sam and Jenna and sighed. “All right. Your attacker is out cold. Let the doctors do what they can for him. They’ll call me as soon as he can be questioned. You know the drill—it’s time for the paperwork.”
* * *
Before they left the cemetery, Sam called Jackson, to let the others know what was happening and that Jenna was all right. Jackson said that they’d head to Jamie’s and wait for them there.
The paperwork was tedious but didn’t take as long as it might have. The horned god ax-wielder in the cemetery hadn’t come to. Apparently the shot to his head was quite severe, and the man was in a coma. His prints, though, were taken at the hospital and run through the police system, so before they left, John Alden came and reported to Sam.
“His name is Gary Stillman. Does that mean anything to you?” he asked them both.
They shook their heads.
“He’s in the system for misdemeanors in Boston. Seems he has a crack habit, too. That’s expensive. But he wasn’t really out to rob you, was he?” John asked Jenna.
“Nope. Definitely there to kill,” she said flatly.
John scratched his head. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here. He didn’t kill the Smith family, that’s for sure. He was being held in Boston on drug charges the night that the Smiths were killed.”
“Gun for hire. We need to track a money trail on him,” Sam said.
“I told you, he wasn’t the Smith family killer. He was being held on drug charges,” John said.
“Yeah, and you’re hedging. Come on, John. Like you said, crack is an expensive habit. He was hired to kill Jenna. And you really know, somewhere inside, that no accident killed Milton Sedge. There’s a killer loose here, because you’ve got the wrong suspect behind bars.”
John stared at him. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t know how to do my job, Sam!”
“I’m not!” Sam argued. “You were right to arrest Malachi—he was covered in blood. It’s my job to prove he didn’t do it.”
John waved a hand in the air. “Get out of here. Ever since you drove in, my life has been a nightmare!”
“I’ll see you at the school in the morning,” Sam said.
John gritted his teeth. “Yeah, yeah, first thing in the morning!”
An officer dropped them at Jamie’s house. Jamie hugged his niece fiercely, berating her for walking into danger.
Jenna hugged him fiercely in return.
“You’d have been in trouble if Sam hadn’t happened upon you!” Jamie told her.
Angela and Jackson kept discreetly silent.
Sam found that he had to step up to the plate. “Actually, Jenna does know what she’s doing, Jamie. She was holding her own.”
Jamie looked disgruntled. Jenna shot Sam a glance that held a speculative, wry smile.
“Uncle Jamie, I’m not quitting my job.”
“Well, you all need to stop—this is getting too dangerous!” he protested.
“Uncle Jamie,” Jenna said quietly, “living is dangerous. I love what I do. It’s important. And more people might die if we don’t get to the bottom of this. It’s always better to face danger head-on when you have to fight it.”
Jamie opened and closed his mouth several times. “I’ll get the stew,” he said at last, then gruffly added, “You set the table for me, eh, lass?”
“I’ll help, too!” Angela said, jumping to her feet.
They compiled the information they had all garnered during the day. Sam listened gravely to Jenna as she explained what she was certain the crime-scene photos told her. “It wasn’t as if I could say, ‘Oh, the person who did was left-handed or right-handed’ or anything like that. But it appeared that the Andres murder was just something to be accomplished, while the Covington murder showed a greater violence, and the Smith family was—well, pure rage. And, yes, I know, escalating violence is often part of the profile of a serial killer, but, in this instance, I can’t help but think there are distinct two killers.”
She looked at Sam expectantly.
“I thought that myself today,” he told her.
They both looked at Jackson, who nodded.
“So, we think that Andy Yates and Samantha Yeager are having an affair—and that they’re making sure that they each have an alibi for murder?” Angela clarified, a statement more than a question.
“It is a theory,” Sam said.
“A good one,” Jenna said. “I know that Michael Newbury, Jr., believes that David Yates has been disappointed in his father, that he believes his father hasn’t stood up for him enough. What better way to prove your love than kill the family of and incarcerate the boy who supposedly gave David the evil eye?”
“Why the others?” Angela mused.
“Peter Andres—because he chastised David Yates,” Sam said.
“What about Earnest Covington?” Jamie asked. “What did he do to anyone?”
“In that instance, I believe that he was just there, collateral damage. He was in the community. The trail for finding out who had killed Peter Andres was growing cold. Bring it close to the Smith home—and have a son who will swear that he saw Malachi come out of the house—and you have a good fall guy. I think that the Earnest Covington murder was a setup, and when that didn’t work, the family had to go. And Earnest Covington was such an easy mark. He lived alone. He never locked his door,” Sam said.
“And the man in the graveyard tonight?” Jamie demanded.
Sam sighed. “Even John Alden will be looking for a trail on that. But,” he told Jackson, “you should get your computer whiz on it. I have a feeling that
we’re not going to find out that any huge checks have been written. We need to look for alternate indications of money transfer.”
“Murder for hire is expensive,” Angela said.
Sam’s lips formed into a white line. “Expensive? That’s relative. Apparently, the guy from the cemetery was on crack. The kind that will make you do just about anything for money.”
“But what was it going to achieve?” Angela asked.
“Jenna’s death?” Sam stared at Jenna and let out a soft sigh. “I don’t know if our killers know what you all do, with ghosts and spirits and all that…but I do think that the killer is afraid of her. He or she—or they— believe that she can see more than most people, somehow.”
* * *
Of course, when they eventually went to bed, they didn’t sleep, not right away. Jenna wondered if her own brush with the edge of an ax had made her more appreciative of living that night.
She and Sam made love until exhausted, and as they lay together she wondered what he was thinking.
“Thanks, by the way,” she murmured.
“For?”
“Helping me out with Jamie.”
He was silent, and she wondered if her time with him was ending soon. Sad, for in such a short time she had realized that he was what she wanted desperately. Sam was the reason she’d never been serious before—she’d been looking for someone just like him, with his eccentricities, and his sense of honor and ethics. She cared far too deeply. He had what she needed in a man, and she was falling in love, even with his arrogance.
Sam rolled over to look at her. His eyes were deep and serious.
“Do you still think I’m a jerk?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” she said, threading her fingers through his hair, smiling.
“Good. Because sometimes I still find you scary as hell.”
“Because I see ghosts and have postcognition?”
“Because…because I thought I was going to die tonight when I believed you might have been struck by an ax.”
“You’re always out there on the front line,” she said.
“I’m an attorney.”
“Oh, now…that’s the truth, and not the truth. Last I heard, you defended a man who was entangled with the mob.”
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 1: Phantom Evil ; Heart of Evil ; Sacred Evil ; The Evil Inside Page 112