by Ursula Bauer
He followed her out, yelling her name, and caught up with her. “You should be happy. The case is near solved. Now, with good police work, Jen will get the justice she’s been denied all these years. This will make a phenomenal book. How is that a bad thing?”
The mere fact that she had to explain the real issue to him, that she felt things were not done, that he didn’t support her because there was a better game in town, was proof they would never, in ten million years, work. And then he threw the book in too, as if he even had a clue of how unimportant it had become in light of the case and her feelings for him. “It’s great. Fantastic. And for the record, not over. I don’t think you’re following the right lead. You’re missing pieces, and the picture you’re putting together with what you have is missing something important: the real killer.”
“The evidence is there,” he said tightly. By now she knew him well enough to recognize the armor coming into place. “Even you can’t ignore that.”
“Even me?” She laughed as her heart broke into sharp, jagged pieces. Cold rain misted around her, freezing her to the core. “And you wonder why I hate cops?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”
“Don’t apologize for what you believe to be true.”
“Can we talk about this later? Back at the lodge?” He tried to inject the boyish charm, but it didn’t work. It fell flat between them. “This isn’t the time or place.”
In that, she agreed. Nowhere was the time or place, because their time was up. And there was no place for them anymore. Using iron will, and years of life on the grift, she pushed her anger down and ran a con on the man she’d thought she could love. She let out a deep sigh, sloped her shoulders, all signs of acquiescence. She had to get away from him. “Go talk to Jake.”
He mistook her act for giving in, as she’d intended.
“Thanks.” He kissed her lightly on her head, and she burned as if branded.
The minute the door to the police station closed, Emma promptly found a deputy and bummed a ride back to the lodge. She’d give the spirits one last shot to give her what was needed to get the picture right. Then, she was getting the hell out of dodge. The sooner she could pack her bags and put this all in her rearview mirror, the sooner she could forget Sam Tyler and get on with her life.
Chapter Fifteen
Jake was talking but Sam had trouble concentrating. He knew he’d played things badly with Emma, but she was being unreasonable. Evidence was evidence. And her fixation with the necklace was crazy. Who knew what it meant? She herself had said spirits were unreliable. A trail of cold hard facts was turning up and leading the police straight in the direction of truth. What did she expect him to do? There were viable suspects with all the right things pointing in all the right ways at guilt.
“Tyler, you with me here?”
Sam refocused. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
“The evidence is good, but not good enough. We need Audrey’s story. According to Mike she’d shown him the gun years ago. She asked him to help her learn to use it. She’d only ever fired rifles.”
“If we believe Mike, then Audrey stole the gun from her husband.” Sam’s eyes were drawn to the copies of the old crime scene photos scattered on Jake’s desk. Mixed in with them were pictures of Lou Preston’s place, and the bodies pulled from Holloway Lake. “Why?”
“If she stole it she must have had a plan to use it for something.”
Sam heard the words but was having trouble with focus again. A chill breeze blew across his skin. The hair on the nape of his neck raised. Time slowed to a crawl. He saw Jake talking but didn’t hear the words. The brawny man was pointing to something, but Sam’s brain was hurtling in a different direction.
A photo on Jake’s desk held him fast. It was a picture from the first crime: the coffee table and surrounding rug with four drinking glasses and one brandy bottle. Between the anger at himself with how he’d handled Emma, his own desire to make all the evidence fit as neatly as possible, and the spirit visitation, something shook loose. If he believed Mike’s account, there should be two empty brandy bottles, an empty Pellegrino bottle on the floor, and a fifth glass. His cop’s instinct gnawed on the information as the picture burned itself into his brain.
Jake’s booming voice pierced the strange fugue state. “Tyler, what the hell is wrong with you?”
Sam ignored the question and grabbed the picture. “Mike was unconscious when you got on scene at the lodge, right? And Lora?”
“Dead drunk is more like it.”
“Was Mike wet prior to your dunking?”
That brought the sheriff up short. “Come to think of it, yes.”
If Emma’s vision was correct and Sam treated it like fact, Mike was either asleep or faking it before Jen was killed. This shed reasonable doubt on him being directly involved in her murder. Sam took another leap, merging Mike’s account of the night with Emma’s vision and then Wesley’s version.
“Emma had this vision, Jake. When I put it together with what we have, things spin in a different direction.” Sam gave a brief version of what Emma saw. It caught Jake’s interest.
“I’m listening,” he said, “where’s it leading you?”
It was a risk, following this line of, what did she call it? Hoodoo voodoo. But he took it anyway. Maybe saying it aloud, things wouldn’t seem important and he’d be more in favor of his original theory of the murder. Then again, maybe he’d see what Emma said was missing.
“Mike and Lora had the brandy from bottle one and more important, most of the contents of missing bottle number two. They both passed out. Wes and Audrey had some of bottle two, but Audrey didn’t go to bed with her husband and stayed up somewhere on the grounds. Wes passed out, without his wife in bed. Jen who didn’t drink from either bottle of brandy, and wound up not drinking most of her water, is also awake.”
“Those who drank from bottle number two passed out,” Jake said, making the same leap as Sam. “Those who didn’t, stayed awake. Then bottle two vanishes. Which makes me mighty suspicious about the contents. I’m thinking more than brandy was in that bottle.”
Like gears falling into place, everything started to mesh. Facts. Evidence. Visions. Intuition. And memory. “You know anything about that case Wesley helped the Albany Police department with five years ago? The serial rapist? Wasn’t Audrey involved too?”
“As I recall, some creep was using roofies on co-eds all over town, so it was hard for the cops to get any solid leads. Audrey was still dabbling in social work at the time and helping with rape crisis counseling. She hooked Wes up with the cops and he developed a profile. They caught the guy because of Wes’s help. Why?”
“Roofies. Of course. Freaking Rohypnol, why didn’t I think of this sooner?” Rohypnol could knock out a bull elephant, and left a drugged person with a form of amnesia. As if life had simply stopped happening at one point, creating the perfect black out scenario. “Someone on roofies would be in an unconscious stupor. Like how you found Mike. The case file contained voluntary blood alcohol screening results. Did anyone test for drug usage?”
“The Foyles, Wes and Audrey all admitted to being plowed. No one thought to test for anything exotic like a date rape drug or sedatives. You think someone slipped roofies into the brandy?”
“Someone drugged the brandy to make sure everyone was asleep. Roofies are a good possibility.” Sam shook his head. How had he missed something so obvious? “Someone wanted the partiers out of commission. Jen screwed up the plan. She was snorting coke and drinking water.”
“If we go with the line that someone wanted the people at the lodge drugged, then they may have attempted to drug Jen as well,” Jake added. “I bet they spiked her water.”
“It spilled, so between that and the coke, whatever trace amount of sedative she had in her stood no chance of working. Whoever killed her wanted her out of the way. That means she wasn’t a planned kill, she was an afterthought.”
“
We’ve been stumped all these years because we’re looking at the wrong crime.” The sheriff swore and shook his head in disgust. “I always knew there was some weird angle to this case we’d missed. Damn it. You think Robin Taggert was the intended victim?”
The theory began to build, and Sam used evidence to put the picture together, treating Emma’s information as much as fact as well. “Here’s what I think I know. Someone had Robin at the lodge on the down-low. That New York City club thing was probably a hoax she cooked up to disappear without her father knowing what she was up to.”
“She’d had a history of doing that in the past, so I can buy it.”
“Jen’s party shows up at the lodge unannounced. They’re drugged so they don’t screw up whatever’s planned with Robin. Except Jen doesn’t do what she should and is awake. Taggert gets killed, and then Jen. Why? Because Jen witnessed Taggert’s murder.
Jake crossed the room and stared at the same photo that had grabbed Sam’s attention. “The night Robin was taken, one witness, a homeless guy, said she got into a dark SUV, acting drunk. The jeep fits the description of Heath’s vehicle. Maybe he gets a taste for her, seeing her around town. Follows her to the city, where he drugs her. She’s easier to abduct. He figures he can do her anywhere on the grounds as long as it’s just Wesley and Audrey. When the others show unannounced, he drugs them too. After he uses Taggert he kills her so she can’t identify him. Jen sees it and has to die too.”
“Then Heath would have stolen Wesley’s gun. The evidence points to Audrey as taking it, though we don’t know why. What links them and the gun?”
“Maybe Audrey’s also having an affair with Heath? Or, maybe she’s like Jen and doesn’t get as drugged up for whatever reason. She catches her boyfriend with another woman, and shoots her. Jen sees it, so Jen has to die, but in a way that doesn’t tie her death back to Audrey. Heath helps conceal the killing with a fire.” The sheriff thought aloud through the rest of a potential time line. “Audrey takes some Rohypnol to fit in with the rest of the crowd. Later, she has Lou Preston kill Heath and they hide his body and Taggert’s in the lake. The last place anyone would think to look since the focus is on the fire and Jen. Lou’s smart enough to wear gloves. That’s why we have Audrey and Mike’s prints and no one else’s.”
“Audrey was smart, but that’s a large amount of work to hide a murder in a short time frame.”
“She had Brad to help at first, then Lou, and Mike.”
“And the necklace? What happened to that?” As he spoke the words, he knew Emma was right. Missing pieces were the key. Not what they had at hand right now.
“You have a point.” Jake rubbed his thumb along the picture, lost to his own thoughts for a moment. “Chances are good there’s an outside party involved we haven’t come across. Bet they have the necklace.”
~ * * * ~
Things weren’t as neat as he’d thought. He had to run this by Emma. Get her to throw some Tarot cards or do her spirit stuff. Whatever. Even just bounce it off her to get her take on things. Sam couldn’t stop himself now from thinking about missing pieces, any more than he could stop the feelings Emma aroused in him. Emma was under his skin, in his blood. And more, she was right. “I need to talk to Emma. Can your questions wait?”
“Sure, but I saw her get in a car with one of the deputies. Probably back at the lodge by now.”
His heart locked up with fear. He had to get back to the lodge. Pronto. If he didn’t, she’d be gone. “I have to go.”
Sam tore out of the station and hit the road. He’d made a critical error. He should have trusted Emma and her instinct about the pattern of evidence. Forcing something to fit because it was the easy way out always screwed things up, but Sam had wanted it so bad to fit. He wanted it all to be over. But it couldn’t be over until all the truth was out. Even if it meant truth that wouldn’t stand up in a court of law. They needed to find the necklace. The final missing piece. That meant listening to the spirits.
He should have trusted her, and when he got his hands on her, he’d make her understand. Make her forgive. Then they’d put this thing to bed for real, and get the fresh start they both needed.
~ * * * ~
Emma stood in the parking area where she’d first had spirit contact. She tapped the energy and instead of usual malicious intent Emma felt a pregnant pause. Forces gathered strength and readied for release. And she planned to pull the trigger that would set them free.
The electrician’s van was parked alongside the stairs, but the other police car had gone, reassigned to one of the many searches that day. Between the small department and the help from the state police, resources were stretched thin. All she had to do was wait out the electrician, and she’d be alone. She could do what she needed to do, and hopefully get the information she needed. Then, she could leave.
Emma headed upstairs and packed her bags in record time, and lugged her stuff into the hall and down the stairs. It the foyer she paused, taking another read on the vibe.
“I want to help you,” she said aloud to the thin air. “Everyone but me thinks they have the truth. If I’m right, and you still need help, you need to do something and soon. If you don’t, I’m leaving and I won’t be coming back.”
Silence reigned around her. The air was thick with energy, but nothing happened. She waited for a count of twenty, torn over what to do next. She wanted to stay to find the truth. The real truth that would bring justice to the dead. On the other hand, she couldn’t stomach staying a moment more in Sam’s presence, and, even if she could, he’d declared the case over and done. This was his property, not public grounds. If he’d decided the game was over, the game was over.
“Fine,” she said to the air, “if you can’t help me, I can’t help you.” If the spirits were satisfied, then so was she. She owed it to herself and what remained of her professional and personal dignity to move on as quickly and quietly as possible.
The electrician ambled into the front hall as she gathered her bags
“I’m done for the day,” the sandy-haired man with the friendly face said. “This place is a mess. The main renovation wasn’t so bad, but who ever got their hands on the wires next was a menace. There are several areas of surges and hot spots I need to address tomorrow.”
She’d seen him around during the last few days. Based on the way he was relaying information to her, he must have assumed she was closer to Sam than a hired hand. She’d thought the same up until about half an hour ago.
“That’s great,” she said, not sure what else he wanted.
“Those original renovation plans really helped. I left them in the kitchen if Sam needs them. Can you tell him I’ll be back around noon tomorrow? I think I know what we need to do to fix things.”
“Sure.” A chill danced across her skin.
Emma leaned her garment bag against the rollaway suitcase and fought the urge to glance around. The sensation fanned out, teasing her nerves.
“Thanks.” He reached for the door. “One last thing. Be careful in the den with switches and plugs. The worst of the trouble’s in that room. I'll pull the wall paneling off tomorrow and see what’s going on. Until then, don’t touch anything in there.”
The lights overhead flickered. The electrician looked up and scowled. “Thought I’d fixed that already. One more thing to add to the list. Old houses are a nightmare.”
“I completely agree.”
She waited until the electrician climbed into his van before reaching out into the psychic net forming around her. Restless energy swirled to life, shaped into tumbling words.
Runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun.
Jen’s voice echoed inside Emma’s skull. The chant was a distant whisper compared with earlier occurrences. Yet more insistent. Plaintive.
Emma shrugged out of her jacket and walked slowly around the foyer. “What am I missing Jen? If you can’t tell me, then show me.”
RUNRURNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN.
As the warning came, so di
d a sign from the spirit world.
More flickering lights, a ghostly runway guiding her on. Emma followed the lead to the kitchen. The spirits were hushed no longer, the lodge vibrating with unseen will and spectral energy. It spooked her despite her professional connection with the unusual. Spirits were unpredictable in general. Those in residence were also angry. Emma had to hope they were helping and not setting her up.
At least she was getting somewhere with communication. Perhaps they were impatient with the investigation progress and had conserved energy so they could manifest in a way that would lead Emma to the truth with more expediency? Given what Eric told her they could be up to, this was the most palatable and least frightening option. It helped to think that instead of more horrific options.
When she reached the room, the restored hanging pot rack shook vigorously, drawing her attention. On the island beneath were rolls of architectural plans detailing various renovations done on the lodge over the years. The sink window blew open, and a harsh wind sent the plans scattering.
Emma’s instinct told her to run, as the ghost had warned. Her pounding heart threatened to explode out her chest. But her sense of duty, and her curiosity pushed her forward. She had to see this through. Jen might be telling her to run. Someone else, Keith most likely, was leading her to the truth. A different truth than Sam’s evidence showed. Or maybe a version a shade or two off. If Keith was here, he must have left off shadowing Wesley to return to the lodge.