“Just call me Jill, please,” she said, and followed him to the coffee table.
“That’s Valerie’s computer,” Jill told Glenna and Judd. “She had her notes on the Internet and was downloading them when she went outside to get her flashlight and shotgun from the minivan.”
Judd knitted his brow. “Shotgun? Why on earth would you two need a shotgun?” he asked, stifling a chuckle.
Jill quickly explained, and added what had happened after she heard Valerie’s bloodcurdling scream.
Judd scratched an imaginary itch on the back of his head. “Well, Jill, the message that’s on the computer screen sure ain’t no notes.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Take a look for yourself.” He swiveled the laptop around.
As Jill studied the strange screen, her knees weakened, and she collapsed unconscious to the floor.
“Dear heaven, what’s that thing say?” Glenna asked Judd, as she tried to revive Jill.
He bent beside her. “It’s some damn fool website called The Death Clock. It supposedly tells you when you’re going to die.”
“That’s a lot of hogwash,” Glenna huffed.
“I know, I know,” he agreed. “But this one, though, is made out in Jill’s name, and it tells the exact date and year of her death.”
“My poor baby,” she said, patting Jill’s ashen cheeks. “Why do you suppose she got so upset by it?”
Judd ordered one of the cops to get the medic.
“Well,” he said, “if someone told you that you were going to die next month, wouldn’t you be a might upset, Glenna Guttentag?”
Chapter 26
Nick headed out of Washington, DC and began his long trip to Grandmother’s House. At 1:15 am, his cell phone rang.
“Nick. Neo. Rance told me to contact you immediately if I heard from that Jill Sandlin again.” He paused. “Well, that pesky bitch called about ten minutes ago.”
Nick didn’t laugh. She was now his one and only lead on the case. Suddenly, Jill Sandlin was important. “Get to the point,” he said. “And I’d appreciate a little professionalism when you’re referring to our civilian informants.”
“Up yours, man. I got enough troubles around here without putting up with your crap, too,” he grumbled.
Alarms bells went off. “What kind of troubles?”
Neo groaned. “Rance told me that until your investigation is completed, I gotta take orders from you!”
Nick managed a grin. “Smartest move he ever made.”
“Says you.”
“So what did our Miss Sandlin want?”
Nick heard the shuffling of papers.
“I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget how crazy it sounds,” Neo replied. “Miss Sandlin said she rendezvoused – her word, not mine – with one Valerie Jacobs earlier tonight at a cabin in some hick woods outside some hick place called Duneden.”
“In Ohio?”
“Yeah, yeah. You gonna let me finish?”
“Shoot.”
“After she and this Valerie Jacobs were in the cabin awhile, Miss Sandlin got the feeling that they weren’t alone. She thought the Creeper might be hanging around. Anyway, Valerie Jacobs went out to her truck to get her shotgun and flashlight, and that’s the last Miss Sandlin saw of her.”
Nick suddenly turned the wheel sharply to avoid a collision with a road sign. Nick eased his car back off the shoulder and back onto the highway.
“You okay, man?” Neo demanded.
“Just dancing with a road sign, but she avoided my advances,” he replied lightly.
“No more dancing, okay? I can’t have my boss issuing orders from a hospital bed.”
“You’ve got a point,” Nick said, smiling. “So what about this missing Valerie Jacobs?”
“Miss Sandlin said that she heard Jacobs scream, and that’s the last Sandlin heard from her. When she went outside to look for her, Jacobs was AWOL, but her minivan was still there.”
“So why’d Sandlin call us? She should’ve called the local boys.”
Neo hesitated. “This is the crazy part, Nick. She did. And when the local law arrived, they told Miss Sandlin that Valerie Jacobs had been murdered earlier that day. Positive ID.” He cleared his throat. “Looks like your Miss Sandlin had a meeting with a ghost tonight.”
Nick’s brain was sorting the sketchy details at warp speed.
“Like one of your ghosts,” Neo added.
Nick pulled off the highway at a 7-Eleven and phoned Jill Sandlin. He had expected a muzzy voice, but instead, she was surprisingly animated.
“Thanks for returning my call so late,” she said.
“The FBI never sleeps,” he answered, trying to conceal his apprehension about the Valerie Jacobs affair.
“I think I’m going nuts,” she said. “At least, that’s what the local sheriff thinks.”
“Agent Thompson and I don’t think so,” he said, although he wasn’t as certain as he sounded.
“Thanks for that,” she replied softly.
“You’re welcome. Now if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d like you to tell me what you told Agent Thompson.”
When she had finished her story, Nick asked, “Just who is Valerie Jacobs and why were you meeting her?”
“My dad was murdered when I was only sixteen years old, Special Agent Bellamy. The Chicago police couldn’t find a motive or the killer.”
“How was he killed?” Nick asked gently.
“His throat was . . .” Jill’s voice broke.
Nick waited patiently for Jill to regain her composure.
She sniffed. “His throat was torn away. At first, the cops thought an animal had attacked him, but there was no forensic evidence to support that theory. In fact, Special Agent Bellamy . . .”
“Nick, please,” he insisted. Throat torn away. The Creeper’s M.O. to a tee. The son-of-a-bitch had been around longer than Nick had realized. Nick suddenly wondered why Mr. Sandlin’s murder hadn’t shown up when Crow had run a murder match four years ago. Four years of investigating and nothing to show for it. Now in one day, the case had more twists than he could assimilate.
“Okay, Nick.” She sniffed again. “In fact, the coroner didn’t find any evidence of the killer. No hair. No prints. Not a dammed thing.”
Nick waited again. Impatiently.
“So I made it my life’s work to track down Dad’s murderer.”
“What did Valerie Jacobs have to do with your dad’s murderer?” he asked.
“Valerie Jacobs used to live here a long time ago.”
“Where?”
“Duneden. Ohio. Where I’m at now,” she replied.
“All right, I’m with you. Go ahead.”
“She knew my dad when he stayed here before he moved to Chicago.”
“Stayed?” Nick asked. “Does that mean he was just visiting Duneden, or did he live there?”
“Um, visiting, I think. This wasn’t his hometown, if that’s what you mean.”
That’s exactly what he meant.
“Something happened here. Something horrible. Something that had to do with the Creeper.” Her words came in short bursts. “I know the Creeper killed him, but I don’t know why. Valerie told me that she knew why, and that’s why we met.” She paused. “Or so I thought.”
Nick didn’t like what he was hearing. Jill Sandlin was in real danger in Duneden.
“I’m going to ask you a few more questions, if you’re up to it,” he said.
“Sleep is out of the question tonight, so don’t worry about keeping me up.”
“Did you think about bringing a weapon to your meeting with the Jacobs woman? Since you had never met this woman before, she could’ve been dangerous. She might’ve even wanted to stop your investigation to protect herself.”
“I didn’t need one, I . . .” She stopped cold.
“What, Miss Sandlin?”
“You’re going to think this is silly, but I was wearing a protective charm made
by a . . .”
“A what?” Nick’s blood pressure spiked. God, he needed a drink.
“Uh . . .”
“Charm made by a witch?” he asked, hoping he was way off base.
“Yes, a witch,” she answered defensively. “Is there something wrong with that?”
Nick just shook his head. Witchcraft? He’d had his fill of that nonsense. After one lousy night, the world had gone haywire. He had gone to bed a happy man last night with a snootful of scotch and had awakened in a magical world where nothing was what it seemed. God, he desperately hoped that he was still asleep and this was only a real bad dream. “No, no, witchcraft’s good. I’m glad you had a charm with you,” he lied. Twenty-four hours ago, he hadn’t believed in witchcraft and magic. Or for that matter, Santa Claus. But now . . .
“One more question, okay?” he said.
“All right.” Her tone was edgy.
“This might sound off the wall, but did you get a headache during your meeting with Valerie Jacobs?”
There was a lengthy delay before she responded.
“You know, now that you mention it, I did. How on earth did you know that?”
Sensory flashes of fear and death in the underground DEA facility iced his blood. Jill Sandlin had been as close to death in that cabin as he and Lynn Baker had been down there. And both times, the women were spared. The question of why had him absolutely stumped. In Jill’s case, could it have been the charm?
“Is there anything you haven’t told me?” he asked.
“I think I’ve covered everything,” she said too quickly. “I suppose you think I’m a nutcase, too. I swear that I met with Valerie Jacobs, and even though the facts might prove otherwise, I know it was her, and nothing you say will change that belief!”
“You didn’t meet with Valerie Jacobs in that cabin, Miss Sandlin.”
“Dammit, I just told you that . . .”
Nick interrupted her. “You were face-to-face with the Creeper!” he shouted.
Jill’s shrill yelp was followed by a heavy thud - then silence.
Nick turned off Interstate 270 in Frederick, Maryland, and drove directly to a storage facility near Fort Detrick. No one else knew of his storage rental there, not even Neo. The facility housed what he liked to call his alter ego, and although he kept the stored items in pristine condition, he hadn’t used them recently for an undercover investigation.
After parking the Navigator inside the large storage area, Nick pulled the door down. He unlocked a wide, tall cabinet and opened its airtight door, revealing an assortment of clothing from tuxedos to fishing plaids in the dim, overhead light. There were banks of locked drawers that flanked the hanging clothes and a full-length mirror on the back of the door.
His blue Jeep Cherokee’s ghostly presence waited silently behind him. Its license plates were registered to Dave Findlay, a fictitious cover ID developed in great depth by Crow. Findlay’s identity was a top-level NSA official who had the highest government security clearances and was considered an untouchable to local law enforcement agencies throughout the country. This false identity was validated in every major computer data bank in the country.
Nick opened several drawers and grabbed the things he’d need for the near future. One of them was Dave Findlay’s scrambler cell phone. He dialed Neo.
The call was answered with a straining groan and a great rush of air. “Can’t a guy in this department get some sleep?” Neo grumbled.
Nick quickly described his phone conversation with Jill Sandlin.
“Witch’s charm?” Neo mumbled, and then his voice was directed away from the receiver. “No, honey, I’ll explain later.” Nick heard the rustle of sheets. “I’m back,” Neo said.
“Try to keep this under your hat, even from Liz,” Nick said tersely. He knew Neo and his wife were close.
“Yeah, but it ain’t going to be easy. She’s got a way with me, you know.”
“Any knowledge of our investigation could put Liz in extreme danger from the Creeper.”
“Yeah, I hadn’t thought of that. These lips are sealed, my man.” He yawned.
“Good. Now that we’ve cleared that up, I want you to pack tonight and get your ass out to Duneden tomorrow morning.”
“But . . .”
“And don’t book commercially in your own name. We’re being watched, and I’d like the element of surprise on our side when you show up in Duneden.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do there, Nick? Learn to make some hick magic charms?”
Nick snapped his fingers. “Not a bad idea,” he replied. “You’re going to need all the voodoo-hoodoo you can get to protect Jill from the Creeper.”
“Oh, that’s just frigging great. And where the hell are you going to be while I’m playing the expendable bodyguard with a straw between my teeth and your orders up my ass?” Neo demanded.
“Fishing at Grandmother’s house.”
“Why me, Lord,” Neo groaned and hung up.
Chapter 27
Senator Hollis Danforth stared at the ringing poolside telephone as if he’d seen a ghost. The dark menace prowling his eyes, the leer distorting his mouth, and an ice-blue glower exposed a man very much unlike his public persona, but this phone number displayed on his caller ID rattled his cruel arrogance.
The senator’s curvaceous girl of the week, Charlene, was stretched naked on the chaise next to his. His eyes quickly roamed her luscious body, absorbing every detail of its delectable curves.
He frowned at the phone. Damn that Thomas. He knew never to disturb him at the vacation beach house where communications security was insufficient for their conversations.
Danforth removed his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew better than to ignore the call. Thomas was capable of anything if he became enraged.
The senator replaced the sunglasses and forced his thin lips into a smile. “Hello, Thomas!” he boomed. “I haven’t heard from you since your little vacation . . . down south. I heard that all went as planned.”
“How’s your health?” Thomas replied.
Danforth stiffened. “What?”
“Your health?”
Danforth was puzzled. Thomas knew he was in excellent shape. He was a tanned, tall strapping man with a surgically tight face, taut muscles, and a full head of salt and pepper hair, extraordinary for a man his age.
“Is there something in particular you’re concerned with?” he asked Thomas.
“Let’s just say I’m surprised you’re still alive. I’m sure by now your South American friends know who was behind the Columbian incident.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
A laugh rumbled from Thomas’s throat. “Who’s the bimbo of the week?”
Thomas’s crude reference to Charlene rankled Danforth. “That’s none of your damn business!”
“Is she there?”
Is she there? Danforth glanced at his twenty-something lover and felt a stirring in his bathing suit.
“Yeah.”
“Forget her for the moment. We’ve got business to take care of.”
“This better be important.”
The laughing rumble came again. “She’ll keep for a few more minutes before she’s ripe.”
Danforth despised that laugh. It was hollow and soulless. “Let’s get this over with.” His earlier trepidation was displaced by annoyance. “And don’t forget who you’re talking to.”
“You mean the next President?”
“Quiet!” he hissed. “You’ll ruin everything.”
“Don’t you mean that I’ve set up everything?”
“Let’s get down to business,” Danforth grumbled, unused to being bullied.
“I’ve got Bellamy playing for our side.”
Silence.
Finally, Danforth composed himself. “How did you manage that?”
“Never mind.”
“Are you sure?”
“Have I ever let you down?”
�
��No, but this . . . was quite unexpected. Good work.” He paused. “What about our other nuisance . . . acquaintances? They can ruin me – us, you know.”
“After the Colombian incident, they’ve suddenly gone underground, but they can’t hide from me for long. They’re as good as dead.”
“How many left now?”
“Just three.”
“Excellent. Anything else?”
“One small fly in the ointment. Sandlin.”
Danforth’s eyes nearly burst from their sockets. “But Sandlin’s . . . dead!” he sputtered.
“Of course he’s dead! My kills don’t come back to life, you fool,” Thomas growled. “I’m talking about one of his daughters who’s snooping around Duneden, looking for the motive for her daddy’s murder.”
“Jesus!”
“She’s getting damn close, too.”
“Then it’s time you retired her.” His voice was lower. “If she ever stumbled onto Mortal Eclipse, I’d not only lose the Presidency, but also my freedom.” Those damn, meddling Sandlins! Would he ever be rid of them?
“You’re a merciless old coot,” Thomas’s deep voice rumbled. “I like that.”
“Just get it done,” he snapped. Glancing at Charlene, he felt his groin tingle. “Need any money for your handiwork?”
“Do I ever?”
Danforth was always amazed how Thomas managed his extravagant kills without payments. Where did he get his money? And where did he live without being seen coming and going so often? Danforth hated unknowns, especially when they concerned the always-dangerous Thomas.
“Let me know when you’ve completed your mission.”
“You can read about it like everybody else.”
Danforth’s jaw tightened to keep him from ranting.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to your corpse before she gets too cold to play with,” Thomas said sarcastically.
Danforth glanced at Charlene’s blue-bloated face. God, she made him horny.
“Have a little respect for the dead!” Danforth said quietly before licking his lips.
“Just make sure that she’s disposed of properly. We can’t afford to get careless with the election a year away, can we, Dad.”
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