She didn’t want to discuss this, not when her world had just finished crashing down on her head. “Why?” she mumbled.
“Because the arsonist scrawled something on the sidewalk in front of the gallery. It says ‘you can run, you soulless bitch, but you can’t hide.’ ”
Grace had to lean against the wall to stop herself from falling. “Soulless,” she mumbled.
“Yeah. That’s the exact word he used, and he repeated it when I was slapping the cuffs on him.”
“What?” Grace was certain she’d misunderstood the cop. “You arrested this man?”
“Sure did. I’m about to haul him off to the jail.”
“Who is he? What’s his name?” And she couldn’t get out the questions fast enough.
“He won’t say,” the detective answered, “but I should be able to get it out of him during interrogation. My advice for you is to get here as fast as you can before this burner lawyers up. Because as riled as he is about you, I’m betting if he gets one look at you, he’ll be ready to spill his guts.”
Chapter Fourteen
There was a tornado going on inside Dana’s head. So much information to process. So many questions. However, at the moment Vince and Grace were at the top of her list.
Where the heck was Vince?
And how were they going to convince Grace to stay put until they’d sorted out what to do about the man the Austin police had in custody?
Jack and Dana had returned to the safe house, hoping to go over the information they’d gotten from Janski, but instead they’d come face-to-face with a very pissed off Rusty who’d announced that Vince had run off. Dana had figured Grace would know something about that, but her twin was also trying to leave, to go to Austin to get the killer to confess. And according to Rusty, Grace had been trying to do that for the past half hour.
Jack caught onto Grace’s shoulders and met her eye-to-eye. “This might not be the killer,” he said. “It could be some kind of trap to draw you out.”
Good logic. Dana wished she’d thought of it because it could easily be true. Now, if they could just figure out a quick fix to get Vince back.
“But he torched my gallery,” Grace argued. “He said I was soulless.”
Yeah, that soulless threat had gotten to Dana, too. An instant jolt that had nearly made her want to hightail it to Austin. If this was indeed a ploy, then the killer knew how to push their buttons.
Did that mean the killer knew them?
She thought of Janski, of the puzzle of information he’d given them. Maybe. And maybe that killer was Janski. Except he wasn’t in police custody in Austin.
With his laptop balanced on his forearm and his phone still pressed to his ear, Rusty came back into the foyer where Jack was blocking the front door. Blocking Grace, too.
“I have video feed of Austin PD,” Rusty announced. “The detective should be bringing in the suspect any minute now. When he appears on screen, you can un-mute the audio.”
Grace quit struggling to leave, and her attention zipped to the screen where they could see an interview room. An empty one.
“If we recognize this guy,” Jack said, “we can let the cops know. But for now, they have him. If he’s the killer, then the danger’s over.”
But not the damage. Patricia Snyder and James Murphy were dead. Grace’s galley had been destroyed. And Dana didn’t want to know how many nightmares they’d all have because of this.
“For now, let’s sit and wait,” Jack insisted. He took the laptop from Rusty. “Find Vince,” he barked. “He’s probably at Dr. Hartwell’s estate or trying to get in to see Layton’s former business partner, Kirby Arrington. And get some extra guards out here. Also, start making plans for another safe house.”
“We’re moving?” Grace asked Jack.
“Yeah. Vince could have compromised the location. And if the arsonist isn’t the killer, then we’re right back where we started.”
Oh, mercy. Yet something else to deal with. Dana didn’t have the distrust for Vince that Jack did, but if Vince tried to come back, and he would, someone could follow him.
“I’ll get on it,” Rusty said, and he headed back in the direction he’d come.
“Vince wouldn’t put us in danger,” Grace insisted. But then she shook her head. “Jeez, listen to me. I’m into this hook, line and sinker. I don’t know why. Trust isn’t my strong suit, but I know he won’t bring a killer back here.”
“Maybe not intentionally,” Jack mumbled.
With his arm around Grace, Jack led her into the living room but not before glancing at Dana. Probably to reassure her or maybe to see how she was responding to the close contact between Grace and him. She didn’t like it. Was jealous as all get-out. But for some strange reason, the arm embrace that he was giving Grace gave Dana some comfort, too.
“First things first,” Jack said once he had Grace seated on the sofa. “Where did Vince say he was going?”
“He didn’t. He said he needed to do an errand.” Grace wearily put both her hands to the sides of her head. “Vince was upset that you hadn’t included him on the information loop.”
“Because we didn’t know if there was loop,” Jack insisted.
“Is there?” Grace asked.
Jack sank down in the chair across from her. He glanced at the laptop screen. The interview room was still empty.
“It’s more like information soup,” Jack said. “We got lots of pieces and no real answers from Dr. August Janski.”
“Putting some of those pieces together,” Dana continued for him, “about thirty years ago Dr. Hartwell might have been trying to use cloned embryos to see if she could capture a person’s soul at the time of death. She was also into eugenics, trying to perfect the human race.”
“What?” Grace asked.
Dana dropped down next to her. “I wish I could say we'd be able to clear this up with an explanation, but we can’t. Dr. Hartwell was into some strange stuff, and according to Janski, she didn’t mind crossing a few moral and ethical boundaries.” She paused. “By the way, Janski was in love with Alyssa.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “How’d he react to you?”
“He’s still in love with Alyssa,” Dana verified.
Grace took a deep breath. Nodded. And looked at the computer screen. “So, how does the arsonist-killer fit into all of this?”
Jack lifted his shoulder. “Maybe he’s connected to Hartwell’s experiments. Or maybe to her will. Maybe to nothing.”
“Well, he’s not an ex-boyfriend or disgruntled employee as the cop suggested. I haven’t had a boyfriend in years, and I run the gallery by myself.”
“He still might not be the killer,” Jack reminded her. “Rusty talked to the cop who arrested him, and the guy didn’t have a tranquilizer gun on him.”
Dana wished that he had because it might truly mean this ordeal was close to being over. Well, except for all those pesky questions about who they all were.
“I keep going back to the soul question,” Jack mumbled. “And the fact that I got the sensation of James Murphy being choked to death.”
“Same here with Patricia,” Dana said.
“Me, too,” Grace added. “But what does it mean?”
“Let’s go with Dana’s theory of identical siblings with interconnected thoughts. It’s not exactly scientific, but there have been enough documented cases of it.”
“So, Dana, Patricia and I were triplets, but we look identical to Alyssa who was born nearly three decades before us,” Grace concluded. “How does that make sense?”
Jack leaned closer. “Two possible ways. Maybe the four of you all came from the same set of identical embryos. Alyssa was born first. The rest were saved and implanted years later.”
“Did the technology exist for that fifty plus years ago when Alyssa would have been conceived?” Grace asked.
“Maybe. There were a lot of similar experiments going on in Nazi Germany.”
“Great,” Grace mumbled. “So maybe we’re really
just Hitler's lab rats. You said there were two ways. Give me one that doesn't make me want to throw up.”
Jack shook his head. “Janski was also doing cloning research so maybe that’s what we are--clones of a murdered couple.”
“I’m going with that theory,” Dana volunteered. “And the connection we have to each other is genetic memories.” She looked at Jack. “It would explain this instant attraction we have for each other.”
Grace bobbed her head, made a sound of agreement. “Because Alyssa and Layton were soul mates.” Her head snapped up, and she turned to Dana. “You feel that way about Vince, too?”
Dana looked at Jack, but a look was all she managed before the movement on the laptop screen caught their attention. A dark haired man came into the room, and he stepped in front of the camera. Jack pressed some keys so they’d be able to hear the audio.
“Detective David Ryland,” he said.
Grace jumped from the sofa and hurried to the laptop. “I’m Grace Fletcher. What'd you learn about the man who burned my gallery?”
“Well, I learned there’s no need to interrogate him. He’s willingly giving a statement about the fire.”
So, good news. Well, maybe.
“Who is he?” Jack asked.
Detective Ryland shifted uneasily. “I can’t see you. Something’s wrong with the screen in here.”
Probably not an accident. When Rusty had arranged for them to watch, he’d probably managed to have the two-way feed cut. That way, no one at Austin PD would be able to get a look at the house. Plus, the cops would no doubt have questions if they caught a glimpse of Grace and her, and if they noticed the striking resemblance between them and the dead Patricia Snyder.
“I’m Grace Fletcher’s attorney,” Jack lied. “Who’s the arsonist and what’s he saying?”
The detective made a small sound of concern, no doubt because he hadn’t expected the victim to have a lawyer. “His name’s Wally Spencer. We confirmed his identity through his fingerprints.”
Dana repeated the name but had to shake her head. She didn’t recognize it.
“Spencer has a record,” Jack stated.
“Yeah. A long one going back a dozen years. Mostly petty stuff. He’s also a diagnosed schizophrenic, and from what I can tell, he’s off his meds.”
Dana’s heart dropped. Someone half crazed couldn’t have managed to get to James Murphy. Still, this guy had written the magic word--soulless--and maybe he’d been on his meds for the two murders.
“Spencer had a wad of cash in his pockets,” the detective continued. “He said someone paid him to burn the gallery and write that cryptic warning on the sidewalk.”
“Who hired him?” Jack jumped to ask.
“That’s the only thing he’s not coughing up. He said Satan paid him to do it.” The detective rolled his eyes. “He’s a nutjob all right. He’s been out of psychiatric lockup less than twelve hours, and his butt’s about to go right back.”
“Wait,” Grace said. “He just got out twelve hours ago? You’re positive?”
“Yeah.” The detective looked suspicious. “Why?”
“No reason,” Grace mumbled. Another lie.
This Wally Spencer wasn’t the killer.
“Keep pushing to find out who hired him,” Jack insisted. He disconnected the feed and turned to Grace. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, though Dana could see that Grace was barely keeping it together. Jack must have seen that, too, because he stood and pulled her to him. Grace didn’t fight it, and it was just a few seconds before a hoarse sob tore from her mouth.
Dana braced herself for the punch of jealousy, and there was some, but mainly she was just sympathetic for a woman who’d lost everything. Jack stared over her from over Grace’s shoulder. His lifted eyebrow was a question--was she okay with this?
Dana just nodded.
“The killer hired this man to burn my gallery,” Grace said. She stepped back from Jack and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “But why?”
“To punish you,” Dana said without thinking. “He wants to punish all of us.”
Grace shook her head, wiped away more tears. “But why?”
“I think because we were born.” But Dana rethought that. “Or made. Clearly, he doesn’t think we have souls.”
“In his eyes we’re abominations,” Grace added.
It was the exactly the word that Dana had been thinking. “And that brings us back full circle to Dr. Hartwell.”
Jack stepped closer to Dana, his eyes studying hers. “Do you feel that way about Vince?” he asked.
It took Dana a moment to remember the question Grace had asked. Did she feel Vince was her soul mate?
That required a deep breath.
“He’s not you,” she settled for saying.
Jack lifted his eyebrow again.
Dana leaned in, brushed her mouth over his. “He’s not you,” she repeated.
And that pretty much sealed her fate with Jack. Heck, maybe it’d been sealed the moment she’d been conceived. She felt as if she belonged with Jack. No doubt the way Alyssa had felt about Layton. But Alyssa had fewer headaches in the romance department. There’d only been one Layton.
Jack looked ready to ask for yet another clarification, but his phone rang, and he jerked it from his pocket. “It’s not Vince,” he let them know. “It’s the lab.” He put the phone to his ear. “Jack Cain.”
He paused a moment, looked at them. “The DNA test results are back.”
#
Over the years Vince had learned that if you flashed a badge, any badge, it would usually open doors. In this case, the fake badge he showed to the efficient looking executive assistant at the offices of Arrington Enterprises got him ushered right in to the VP’s office. Clearly, Kirby Arrington wasn’t a concerned man or he would have had much tighter security measures in place.
Vince was thankful he hadn’t.
“Detective Ted Smith,” the executive assistant said to her boss when she opened the door. “He says it’s important.”
Vince went in ahead her, gave her a get-lost look and shut the door.
Kirby Arrington glanced up from his spider solitaire games and did a double take. Yep. Kirby recognized the face. A real blast from the past since Layton Hughes and he had been business partners at the time of Layton’s murder.
A murder that Kirby might have committed.
“I’ll bet you’re thinking I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past,” Vince joked, except there was no humor in his voice.
Kirby stood slowly. He was wearing a perfectly tailored suit but no shoes. Vince didn’t intend to ask him why. In fact, he didn’t intend to ask him much but was rather hoping that Kirby would get a bad case of verbal diarrhea.
Maybe even confess to a murder or two.
He came out from behind his desk, his gaze still attached to Vince, and he rifled his hand several times over his balding head. Apparently, Kirby wasn’t a vain man because he’d made no attempts to hide the balding or to cut back on the calories. He had a paunch and broken veins spidering along his nose. He looked about a decade older than his fifty-eight years.
“The Ghost of Christmas Past, huh?” Kirby laughed. “More like Layton’s doppelganger. Don’t you just love that word?” he asked without waiting for Vince to comment. “I mean just how bad can the whole body double thing be for someone to come up with a word like that for it? A little like coming up with a label for brown eyed people with warts resembling Christ.”
He came closer and drew in a long breath. “I’d recognize that scent anywhere. It’s Layton’s.”
Vince wasn’t exactly comfortable with another guy sniffing him. Or saying that he smelled like a dead man.
Kirby ducked down a little and looked at Vince from a different angle. “So, what are you exactly? Layton didn’t have any rug rats so that means you’re one of their experiments.”
“Their?” Vince repeated. He got even more uncomfortable when Kirby circl
ed around him. Hell. Was the gutted wonder making sure Vince had an ass?
“The Zeus people. You know, creating the perfect human race by selective breeding,” Kirby added when Vince just stared at him. “Eugenics. That old biddie, Cornelia Hartwell, was into it in a big way. She must have figured out a way to get Layton’s DNA into a new body. Your body.” With that, he flashed a smile.
If this tool tried to hug him, Vince would knock him cold.
“Did the old biddie do that sort of thing often?” Vince asked.
“She was into all kind of shit. Obsessed with creating the perfect human being. She thought she’d succeeded with Layton.” He shrugged. “She was wrong. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t tried to clone God just so she could make pretty babies with him.”
“So, you think I’m a clone?” Vince made it sound like a guessing game.
“Maybe. Or you could be Layton’s identical twin, born from an embryo the old biddie stored and planted into some unsuspecting surrogate. Or…” He paused. For a long time. “You really could be the Ghost of Christmas Past.” Kirby laughed so hard that his paunch wobbled like suit-covered Jell-O.
“If I’m that kind of ghost,” Vince said, “then that means you’re in for a bad night. Lots of relieving the past. Stuff to repent. You got stuff to repent, Kirby?”
“Loads,” he admitted without a second of hesitation.
There was only room for one smart-ass in his conversation, and Vince wanted that honor. He decided to shake things up a bit. “Where’s your soul, Kirby?”
Kirby had just a fraction of a response. Barely there, but Vince caught the split-second grimace.
The laughter and smile vanished. “Likely the same place your soul is--lost in hell,” Kirby finally answered.
Vince thought that might be too close to the truth.
“How’d you manage to lose yours?” Vince pressed.
“The old-fashioned way. Greed, lust, gluttony. I’m a poster boy for six of the seven deadly sins.” Definitely no good mood now. He rubbed his head again and made his way back to his desk.
“So, what do you want?” Kirby asked. “Are you here because you think I cheated Layton out of some money and now you want to right an old wrong?”
Dead Ringers Page 12