The girl immediately turned white and tears popped up in her eyes.
“Has he taken time off?” Sophie asked.
“He’s working...he needs the money. But...” The young woman indicated toward the bar.
Jace Brown was a handsome guy, about six feet tall, with a swatch of ink-dark hair that fell devilishly over his forehead.
But staring at them, he looked stricken.
“Thank you,” Bruce told the girl. He and Sophie walked across the little room between the few scattered tables in the front.
“You’re that cop, the main cop,” he said. “I saw you on TV.”
“My partner is the main cop. And we met at the station the other day,” Sophie told him, settling on a barstool in front of him. “I am so sorry. We know you loved Lili. We just hope you might be able to help us. As you probably heard, Lili and the other woman, Brenda, were both lured to meet someone out at an abandoned studio.”
Jace nodded gravely. Tears rolled down his cheek.
“Lili wanted it all. She’d perform anywhere for anyone. She—she took chances. But she told me that this was so aboveboard, I wouldn’t be worried in the least. She could just tell the guy was a straight shooter.”
“We think he might have found the girls through the Hollywood Hooligans. We’ve recently discovered that Brenda Sully was going to audition there. Can you think of anyone who was at all their performances, or who seemed too interested?”
Jace Brown almost smiled. “Sure. Several of the moms. And, yeah, the Hooligans have a fan base. They’re good, you know?”
“If you were to think about it, do you think you could recall a man who might have been watching—maybe several times?” Bruce asked.
Jace Brown wiped his face and glanced down the bar. A young couple had just taken two of the stools. “I gotta work,” he said. “The owner here...he knew Lili. He’d have given me time off, but...I gotta pay the rent.” He paused and frowned, looking from Bruce to Sophie. “I have pictures from the performances. You can see a lot of people standing around. When I’m home, I can email you everything—all digital. I’m not sure I’d know a suspicious character...but I don’t know, I’d do anything to help... I loved her,” he said, ending with a whisper.
“That would be deeply appreciated,” Sophie said, producing her card. He quickly put it in his pocket.
“I’m off days,” he said. “So I could do auditions with Lili, when something came up. Kenneth is great like that—he wanted people to succeed. If you need me tomorrow, just let me know.”
They both thanked him and headed out.
On the street, Sophie consulted her case notes again. “The ex, Ian Sanders, lives in Burbank. The detective who questioned him said that he had an airtight alibi. He’s a guitarist—he was playing up in San Francisco over the weekend and didn’t even get back into town until Monday morning.”
“You still want to see him?”
Sophie sighed. “You’ll probably think I’m obsessive.”
“We can all be that way on a case.”
He realized that her quirks—and dedication—were part of what made her so fascinating to him. Beyond the obvious—she was a compact design of fitness and perfection, with a killer smile, gorgeous eyes and a sweet sensuality that haunted a man, no matter how cool and professional her demeanor—she simply had a mind that was equally as stunning. She cared. She loved her work, served justice and was determined to be a good cop—not for the accolades, but for people.
“After Burbank, we call it a night. Yeah, the powers that be have put the FBI in on this, but I’m not even FBI—I’m a consultant. And I’m not having Vining kicking me off the case, okay?”
She nodded. “No, we won’t have Vining kick you off the case. I’ll act like a normal cop and go to sleep at night.”
* * *
Ian Sanders lived in a garage apartment at a house on Burbank Road. It was about eight when they arrived—not that late.
The apartment was dark.
Sophie looked at Bruce, and Bruce shrugged and knocked.
Nothing.
He knocked harder.
A woman with wild blond hair answered the door, barely clad in a bright green kimono. She stared at them balefully.
“What? Who are you? What the hell do you want?” she demanded.
Sophie introduced herself and Bruce, producing her credentials. “We need to speak with Ian Sanders. Is he here?”
“No! And I’m sick of this shit—cops have already been all over us because of that whore he was dating.”
“Allison!”
The woman’s name was called sharply by a male voice.
Ian Sanders appeared at the door in briefs; it was apparent that the two had been in bed. Sleeping or not, Bruce wasn’t sure.
But he didn’t like Allison, so he didn’t care much if they had been sleeping or not.
“I believe you’re referring to Lili Montana, who was brutally murdered, miss, and liked and admired a great deal by everyone else we’ve spoken to,” Bruce said pleasantly. He looked at the man then. “Ian Sanders, our apologies.”
“But we do need to speak with you,” Sophie said.
“Of course. Anything,” he said softly.
He stepped outside.
Allison slammed the door behind him.
“I’m sorry. This has unsettled Allison.”
“So we see,” Bruce said.
“I’m sorry,” Ian Sanders repeated. He was tall and blond—a beach-boy type. “Lili... I still love Lili,” he said softly. “Always will.” He inhaled. “I never thought that we’d stay split up. We had one of those fights about the future. I—I wanted marriage. She wanted a little more time. I supported her in the Hooligans. Lili wanted more. I went away one weekend—we weren’t living together, but we were still talking. She didn’t cheat on me or anything. We were technically split up. But...when I came back, she’d found a new guy, and...well, I admit, I spied on them. And they were happy. And I...” He glanced toward his door. “I don’t guess this will last.”
“Sorry,” Sophie murmured.
“How can I help you? I spoke with detectives right after...right after they discovered it was Lili. I...wasn’t here when she was...killed.”
“We know that. We’re hoping that you might know something about the person she was supposed to meet, or how she might have met him. Frankly, we’re hoping for anything. We have discovered a studio where she was the night she died, but we’re falling short on leads from there.”
“I...wow. We’ve been split up a couple months, you know. I don’t think that...” He paused, thinking again. Then he frowned and said, “She did tell me once...ah, man, had to have been about eight or nine weeks or so ago now...”
“That’s okay, tell us, please,” Bruce said.
“Well, she did tell me that she might have finally made a great connection at...at...”
“At?” Sophie pressed gently.
“Sorry, I’m trying to remember. Oh, yeah! They did a performance in a cemetery—the Hollywood Hooligans did. It was really cool. You know, some people think all that is disrespectful, but I like it. It means that we remember and honor the dead while we’re living, and with happiness.”
“I understand that,” Sophie assured him with a smile. She glanced at Bruce.
Somewhere “weird.”
“Well, this is an old, old place near downtown,” Ian said. “The property is privately owned by some company that specializes in preserving old churches and cemeteries. I don’t remember the name, but I know you can find it. Once you’re on Olvera Street, you just head south and then west...” Ian drew them a map in the air. “There was an old church there and an old burial ground. Started with the Spaniards, and then the Mexicans, and then...well, I don’t know, but it’s old. And the Hollywood Hooligans did a special Saturday n
ight performance there for one of those service clubs. I was actually there, and I didn’t see who she was talking about, but when we came home that night, she was revved. He’d said that he wasn’t quite ready yet, but that he’d find her when he was—he said he grew up here and wanted to be independent. He was coming into some money and had an amazing indie project and she just might be perfect for it.”
“We’ll find the place,” Sophie assured him. She handed him a card. “Call if you think of anything. I’m so sorry to have bothered you this late.”
Ian Sanders shook his head.
“No, it’s fine,” he said. “A part of me will always love Lili. Please, get this bastard...”
“We will find him,” Bruce said firmly.
Ian went back in. Sophie and Bruce headed to the car.
“It’s a bit awkward, interrupting someone like that,” Sophie murmured.
“I think we did him a favor. I’m betting that he got himself involved with the kind of woman who would not be his usual mate, and that we might have let him know tonight just how hard a person she might be.”
Sophie glanced at him and grinned. “You mean he’s going to ditch that bitch now.”
“Something like that,” he said, grinning, too.
“Cemetery, burial ground, old church...”
“By daylight,” Bruce said.
“But what if he has another woman there? He killed two people in two days...”
“And now he’s lying low.”
“We have to go see it.”
“We’ll drive by.”
Bruce drove; Sophie had her phone out.
“It’s called St. Augustus of the Lambs...according to this, it’s owned by a company called ‘Everlasting.’ They specialize in saving old things, just as Ian told us. For the upkeep, they rent out churches, burial grounds and other ‘salvaged’ places and institutions by renting out for parties, theatricals, and—get this—even weddings.”
“And the exact address? I’m trying to follow Ian’s finger map, but...”
She laughed and read off the street address.
Traffic was heavy; the highway was jammed. Bruce pulled off to weave his way through the streets.
Eventually, south side of downtown, he found the address. Sophie quickly hopped out of the car.
She was looking up at the old iron and stone archway that announced the church and the burial ground.
She rushed to the gate.
“Locked,” she said. “Padlocked. Look, Bruce, you can see the old church just down that path. And the family vaults and mausoleums...it looks like there are a ton of them, like something you might see in New Orleans...”
“I think that was a Spanish style,” Bruce said. “If I remember right, Spain was in charge when the old St. Louis Cathedral was built in New Orleans...and this would have been a Spanish mission originally here.”
“There are a few floodlights on,” she murmured.
He read off the sign on the gate. “It’s open from 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m.”
She looked at him. “Let’s climb over the fence.”
“Sophie! You’re the cop. If we don’t have a warrant...”
She cupped a hand to her ear. “I really might hear screaming.”
He groaned.
But he was coming to know Sophie.
“Let me go first. I’m taller. I’ll get better leverage. Not at the gate—not at that arch. I can hop up on the wall, and get over, and pull you up.”
She smiled widely.
“Let’s go!”
He didn’t feel good about what they were doing; he prayed this wouldn’t come back to haunt them.
Then again...
It was a graveyard.
Who might just have hung around here after death...
And who, among the dead, might have something to say?
10
Thursday night
The place might have been less eerie, Sophie thought, if it weren’t for the floodlights.
They created little spits of light...surrounded by fields of looming dark shadows.
Some of the graves were ancient—whatever had once been etched into the stones that marked them had long ago worn away.
Some—for instance, a small but very old vault—had evidently been researched, and a plaque in front told them that the man interred there had been a farmer, beloved by his wife and children. His wife, and many of those children, now lay with him in the vault.
There were carvings of angels and cherubs. Some broken, some weeping, and in the strange light, it looked as if they mourned time itself—time, and all those forgotten as it swiftly passed on by.
No grave with readable stones or plaques seemed to be less than a hundred years old, making the burial ground feel like a museum of funerary art. There were stacked graves, one stone or concrete sarcophagus atop another, mausoleums, vaults, plain markers for soldiers lost in World War I, and tombstones depicting death memorials in styles ranging from old Spanish to Victorian.
Bruce stood amidst a row of sculptured lambs, a field where children had been buried. Spanish names blended with English and other European names.
From where they were, they looked up at the old church.
“What do you think?” Sophie asked him.
He turned and looked at her. “No ghosts.”
She arched a brow. She hadn’t been looking for ghosts.
The whole thing about ghosts being real to her was far too new.
“The church...might have catacombs. What do you think?” she asked him.
He answered by walking to the church door. He tried it. It was double-padlocked.
“I think you need a search warrant,” he told her.
She nodded, admitting the truth. Yes, she would need a search warrant. They were on private property. A lie about hearing screams might not stand up in court, and if they were to find something, a good attorney could have it all thrown out.
“I think there’s something here,” she said.
“Can you get a search warrant?” he asked.
She shrugged. “We can just ask the owners, too. We’ll get a hold of Kenneth and find out about his contacts with them... They’ll probably let us search. And the burial ground is open by day. It’s small and compact, and honestly, I didn’t even know it existed, but others apparently do.”
“Then we need to get started on the proper channels,” he told her.
“We could check for an open window,” she said.
He smiled slowly. “Meet you around the other side.”
“Right,” she said.
She had to admit, as she walked around the far side of the building, where the floodlights provided little glow, that she felt chilled.
Chilled—and frightened.
And she wondered why a dark graveyard—with its old, broken, moss-covered and decaying stones—could create such an unease in her heart.
She jumped, certain that she had heard something out of place. A strange sound, like a swift whispering, with a rush of air. And then a small crack, like a step on gravel.
She froze, listening. It didn’t come again. There seemed to be some commotion from the other side of the enclosing stone wall, but she couldn’t see over it.
Teenagers?
She kept studying the windows on the church—many of them very beautiful and old, but covered over with more protective glass and securely locked.
And then—just as she was about to come around the other side—she stopped dead, something like terror suddenly filling her heart.
Someone was there.
Someone in a white gown that seemed to catch the slight breeze and move.
Sophie almost reached for her gun. She remembered Michael Thoreau’s words. She could shoot him, but he was already dead.
&nb
sp; “Hello,” the vision said softly.
Sophie wasn’t sure how she managed to speak. “Hello.”
“You see me. You hear me.”
“I do.”
“You can’t stay. It’s very dangerous here,” the image said.
Somehow, Sophie made herself move closer. Her vision was that of a very pretty young woman. The flowing white gown was of a long-gone age.
Sophie swallowed and spoke softly, “Why? And can you tell me...”
“I’m Ann Marie. I’m waiting... I try so hard...”
Bruce came hurrying around from the other side. The ghost swirled around. Bruce saw her; he went still.
“I’m Ann Marie. I’m waiting,” she said. “You must go. Please, take this lady. Take her...and leave.”
“But we fear for someone else,” Bruce said.
“There is no one here tonight. Leave...wait for the light!”
With those words, the image faded away.
Sophie stared at Bruce.
“There’s no entry. We’re getting out of here now. We’ll come back by the daylight—with permission to search.”
“But—”
“You heard Ann Marie. There is no one here now.”
“But—”
“She won’t be back tonight to help us anymore, Sophie. We’ll come back. By day—legally.”
She nodded. He was right.
He caught her hand and they continued around the church, through the stones and the vaults and the cherubs and the angels to the spot where the wall was low.
Bruce paused for a minute. She knew that he was much more experienced with the dead than she was. He waited. Was he...waiting to see if anyone—unseen—might be there?
Then, he hefted himself up, and then reached back for her. They got back into the car and Bruce drove.
Sophie started to call the station and then decided to call Kenneth Trent instead, and he was quick to give her what he could about the old place.
Then she immediately called the contact number he had given her.
Unsurprisingly, she reached voice mail.
She hesitated, and then identified herself, and said that they’d like to search the premises.
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