“Lester was a twin. His identical twin brother was killed in a hunting accident in nineteen sixty-eight. Guess what his twin brother’s name was.”
“Sy Akers.”
“Yep. Or, more correctly, Sylvester Roger Akers. And get this: When Lester and Sylvester were in their early thirties—this was in ’sixty-six—there was a small string of unsolved murders in that part of town. Three women over the course of a year were found brutally stabbed to death, and the last victim had her throat slashed.”
I put a hand to my mouth. “No way . . .”
“Way. And wanna know what else?” I nodded eagerly. “Sylvester Akers was questioned by police, but his brother, Lester, offered up an alibi.”
“Oh . . . my . . . God . . .”
“It gets even better,” Gil said. “Or worse, depending on how you look at it. About six months after the last woman was found murdered, Lester’s fiancée was brutally attacked by a knife-wielding unidentified assailant. The victim—”
“Rose,” I said.
“Rosemary,” Gil corrected, and my breath caught again. Sy seemed particularly fascinated by my name whenever he came through any of the men he possessed.
“Tell me about the attack on her,” I said.
“According to the Boston Globe, which reported the incident, Rosemary was walking over to Lester’s place on Comm Ave when she was grabbed from behind and her throat was slit. She barely survived, but her vocal cords were cut, leaving her mute for the rest of her life.”
I closed my eyes and felt a well of sadness for her and, quite frankly, for Lester when I thought back to how sweetly he described the last time he’d heard her voice and how he’d learned to sign, just for her.
“Was she able to identify her attacker?” I asked, already guessing at the accident.
“No. The news report said that she had no memory of that night or her attacker. Police strongly suspected it was the same man who’d killed the other three women, but Rose wasn’t stabbed, so they couldn’t be sure. And then there were never any more murders like that in the area, so the trail ran cold.”
“Tell me about the hunting accident,” I said next, remembering what Gil had said about the way Sy had died.
“There’s nothing much to tell,” Gil said. “During deer season, Akers was upstate when he was shot about a hundred yards away from his hunting shack. The police concluded that it was likely another hunter who probably didn’t know he’d shot a man, not a deer. They never found the shooter.”
I had another theory entirely, but I didn’t voice it out loud. “Is that all of it?” I asked.
“Nope, there’s one more little tidbit that I think you’d be interested to know. Sy’s obituary states that at the time of his death he lived in the home his parents had left the brothers, which was on Stoughton Street.”
“The parents set up the trust,” I said, and recalling the name, I added, “The LSRLA Trust. Lester and Sylvester are the first two initials.”
“The parents were Roger and Louise Akers,” Gil said, shifting windows on the computer screen to show me his notes from Sy’s obit. “So the acronym must stand for the Lester, Sylvester, Roger, Louise Akers Trust.”
I had almost all of the pieces. Almost. I knew I had to go back to the nursing home.
Standing up, I said, “Okay, I gotta run another errand. You stay here and keep that vest on.”
“I need a shower,” Gil said, giving himself a cursory sniff.
I turned away, anxious to get back to the nursing home. “Then drape the vest over your shower door,” I called over my shoulder. “I mean it, Gilley. Keep that thing close.”
“It’s annoying!” he yelled back.
I paused at the door. “It’s only for another day or two,” I said to him. “I promise.”
With that, I headed upstairs and found Heath just getting up. “Hey, pretty woman,” he said when he saw me. “Feel like a run?”
“No. And you need to get dressed and come with me.” I moved into the room and pulled open the dresser drawer, tossing a pair of jeans and a shirt at him.
“Can I wake up first?” he asked.
“No,” I said, pulling open the curtains to let in the light. “Come on, babe, we’ve got to go!”
“Where’s the fire?”
“I’ll explain in the car.”
Heath drove and when I got to the part about how I’d already been to the senior center once that morning, he nearly pulled over to lecture me about the stupid risk I’d taken. “You should’ve woken me up,” he said.
I apologized and kept telling him about everything that’d happened. Gradually his anger at me subsided, especially when I told him about Lester’s twin brother, Sy, and how Lester’s fiancée and future wife had been attacked by a knife-wielding assailant who was never identified or caught.
“What do you make of the hunting accident?” Heath asked.
“I find it highly suspicious,” I told him. “And that’s why I want to get back down to the senior center. I want to talk to Lester.”
“Okay, but no more of this going it alone—you hear?”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Then no more sleeping in for you.”
Heath reached out and squeezed my hand. “I’m being serious.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. You’re right. I should’ve woken you.”
We got to the center and asked to see Lester at the desk with the same cheery elderly woman still behind it. “I’ll call his room,” Daisy said.
After a few seconds she put the phone down and said. “I’m afraid Mr. Akers isn’t answering. Sometimes he has trouble staying awake in the afternoons, and he’ll sleep right through to dinner. You’re welcome to come back this evening and try again, or tomorrow morning. He tends to be at his most alert in the mornings.”
I drummed my fingers on the countertop. “Thank you,” I said. “We’ll be back.”
Heath and I left the center and went back to the condo, where I spent much of the rest of the day pacing the floor and muttering to myself. Heath tried to coax me into going for a run, but I was too distracted. I was missing something, I just knew it. Something vital, and it felt like it should have been right in front of me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
And then, like a little bubble finally breaking the surface, a thought came to me and I raced to make a call. “Courtney?” I said when she answered.
“Did you find out something?” she asked by way of hello.
“Maybe. Listen, I need to know how your brother came across the house on Stoughton Street.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how was it that he rented that particular house?” The thing that’d been bugging me was that it simply felt like too much of a coincidence that Luke—whose sister lived right next door to the house Lester Akers had lived in for fifty years—would rent the very house across town that was once the residence of his evil twin brother.
“I think he just saw it on Craigslist,” she said.
“Is there any way you can check for me?” I pressed.
“I can try,” she said. “But, M.J., I have to be careful, because Luke’s attorney has already warned Steven and me that our phone calls with Luke are all recorded by the county and our conversations can be used against Luke in court.”
I paced back and forth several steps. This was risky, but I felt so strongly that it was a crucial question. “I understand, but please, Courtney, I swear I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t vital. I’m so close to figuring out who killed Brook and attacked Kendra. I need to know.”
“Okay,” she said, but she hardly sounded happy about it.
“Can I ask how Kendra’s doing?” I said next.
“She’s still alive, which is a good thing. Still critical too, but we got her through the night, which is a tremendous victory.”
“Is there any way to get us in to see her?” I asked, knowing that was probably impossible, but I was still struggling with some serious guilt about not being there for her in time to prevent the attack the day before.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry. Not only is that against hospital policy, but they’ve stationed a guard outside her door, and nobody but immediate family is allowed to visit her.”
“They’ve stationed a guard?” I repeated.
“Yes, that’s typical in cases where there’s been an attack on someone’s life—especially this close to the hospital. She really was lucky she was right next door at the senior center.”
And there it was—that elusive thread tugging at me again. Kendra had been at the senior center for a reason, and I assumed that reason was to interview Lester . . . but the odd thing that I couldn’t quite figure out was that, in the photo from Kendra’s phone, Lester’s face wasn’t visible, and Raymond Eades’s face was only partially visible. Had Kendra really recognized Ray? Had she been following him around all day and discovered he was a friend to Lester? Why had Kendra been so ready to meet me at the senior center and what had she wanted me to work out from the photo?
And then I had another idea and begged off the line with Courtney. I then called the TV station where Kendra worked and asked to be put through to her producer. “Campbell,” a man barked into the line when he picked it up.
“Uh, hello, Mr. Campbell, this is M. J. Holliday calling—”
“M. J. Holliday?” he repeated. “The M. J. Holliday? The person who saved my reporter’s life yesterday?”
I blushed. “Uh, I don’t know about that, sir, but my boyfriend and I were the ones who found her after she’d been attacked.”
“You calling to get an update on her condition?” he asked me.
“No, sir. I mean, I’ve got a source who tells me that she’s still critical, but she’s made it through the first night, so that’s a positive sign.”
“Yeah, that’s all we know too. So what can I do for you?”
“I was on my way to meet Kendra when she was attacked, and she had a lead on this Brook Astor investigation that she wanted to talk to me about, but she never got a chance to tell me about it. I’m wondering if she talked to you or any of your staff about what she might’ve discovered.”
“She didn’t talk to me about anything new, but that’s pretty common with Kendra. She doesn’t bring me something until it’s solid. You might want to check with her assistant, though. Chandler’s usually in the loop on this stuff. She should know something.”
“Chandler?” I asked, moving over to the pen and paper I kept in the kitchen to write the name down. “How do I reach her?”
“I’ll patch you through. I think she’s out right now, but she’s pretty good about returning voice mails. Hold on a sec and I’ll send you over.”
Kendra’s producer clicked off the line before I could ask for Chandler’s direct number. A moment later I was listening to a voice recording of Chandler Wilcox, who sounded all of sixteen years old. I was sure she was older than that, but probably not by much.
At the sound of the beep I said, “Chandler, this is M. J. Holliday. I was working on an investigation with Kendra Knight and supposed to meet with Kendra when she was attacked yesterday afternoon. I know she had discovered something she wanted to tell me about, but she never got the chance. I’m wondering if you might know what lead Kendra had discovered that she might’ve wanted to share with me. If you could please return my call as soon as possible, I would very much appreciate it.” I then left my number, repeating it twice, and hung up.
Heath came back from his run at that moment and he swept me up into his arms. “You’re sweaty,” I said, and I couldn’t help the small giggle that came out when he twirled me around.
“I’m horny,” he said, dipping down to nibble at my neck.
“Oh, you’re always horny,” I said, pretending to push him away.
He then pulled his head back and in an instant his expression changed. “Hello, Mary,” he said, and I froze. Heath blinked and instantly let go of me. Backing away, he put his hands to his head and said in a strained voice, “Run!”
“Heath!” I cried out, reaching for him.
“Get out!” he yelled, backing farther away from me. “Em, just get the hell outta here right now, okay?”
“Call Whitefeather!”
Heath’s voice became even more strained. “I am!”
I was trembling and I didn’t know what to do. Heath backed farther away from me, and I could see he was trying hard not to look at me. “Where’s the vest?”
“Bedroom,” I said, taking a step in that direction.
“No!” he said. “Just get out of here until I can get this thing out of my head!”
I fought back the tears of fear and frustration that were forming at the corners of my eyes and finally grabbed my messenger bag, my cell, and flew out of the condo.
I made it down the steps and to Gilley’s door. I knocked hard and tried the knob, but it was locked. “Gilley!” I called desperately. I didn’t know what to do to help Heath. Sy’s appearance had happened so unexpectedly, and I was terrified that Heath seemed to be struggling mightily against the evil spirit.
The door opened as I pounded on it and Gilley stood there with a wicked look on his face. He wasn’t wearing his vest, but he was holding a very sharp knife. “Hello, Mary,” he said. “I was wondering when you’d come by for our date. . . .”
As if in slow motion I saw the knife start to arc up toward me and I leaped back, taking several blind steps backward. “Heath!” I screamed as I tripped and went falling down the stairs. I rolled down several steps, feeling every hard bump, until I could stop myself. Twisting myself around, I saw Gilley on the landing, still holding that knife and looking like he was getting ready to come after me.
“HEATH!”
Up the stairs I heard a door open. “Em?!”
“He’s got Gilley!” I shouted, scrambling to my feet and heading down several more stairs.
“Run!” I heard Heath shout. “Em, run!”
I didn’t wait around for him to yell it again. I turned tail and got the hell out of there.
Chapter 15
I didn’t stay at the condo. Instead I got in my car and drove like a bat out of hell, gripping the steering wheel and bawling my eyes out. I reached for the phone several times to call the police, but each time I stopped myself. What was I going to say? That my best friend was possessed by an evil spirit that also was making an attempt to possess my boyfriend and both of them were trying to kill me?
It was all so crazy I could hardly believe it myself. I did finally call Heath, but it went straight to voice mail, and I wondered if Sy had drained the battery again. I tried Gilley’s line next, and got the same thing. “Dammit!” I yelled, striking the steering wheel with my palm. Knowing I might be a bit of a road hazard, I pulled over and tried to collect myself. There was no one I could call and nothing I could do until either Heath or Gilley called me.
Except . . .
I wiped my eyes and wondered if I had the courage to face Lester alone. After a little debate with myself, I decided I did have the courage and drove straight to the senior center. I found Daisy again and she called down to Lester’s room. He was up and agreed to have a visitor, and then Daisy gave me directions. “He’s got one of the best rooms with a garden view,” she said. “It’s the end unit all the way down corridor B on the right-hand side. Here’s a map. It’ll help.”
I took the map and referred to it several times as I navigated the maze of hallways on the way to Lester’s room. I found him groggy but sitting up in bed, watching TV. “The lovely lass from this morning,” he said when he spotted me. “Hello, young lady. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
I closed the door and moved to his bedside. “Mr. Akers, my n
ame is M. J. Holliday, and I’m investigating a murder. A woman named Brook Astor was viciously attacked a week ago outside her apartment on Commonwealth Avenue.”
I watched Lester’s face very closely, and as I suspected, it registered first confusion, then great shock and sadness. “Brook?” he said. “You mean, Brook Astor from the fund-raiser?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, no,” he said. “Oh, that’s terrible.”
“Mr. Akers, I want to talk to you about your brother.”
Lester’s expression immediately darkened and became wary. “My brother?” he said. “My brother’s been dead for over forty years, M.J.”
“Yes, but Sy the Slayer has been hard at work, hasn’t he?”
Lester’s face drained of color and his mouth fell open. “How do you know about him?”
“Because he’s been taking over the minds of various men throughout the years, Mr. Akers. He’s been haunting them day and night, but mostly at night. He’s been coaxing their mean streaks, their anger, and maybe even their psychosis, and he’s been encouraging them to kill. He’s also had them all use the same weapon to carry out their evil deeds.”
“No,” Akers said, shaking his head vehemently. “No, I’ve got him under control.”
My brow shot up. “You have him under control?”
Akers seemed to understand he’d said something incriminating. “I . . . I . . . I mean . . .”
“You mean you know your brother’s ghost is around?”
Lester shut his mouth and stared at me for a long moment, defiant. I met his gaze and mine didn’t waver. At last I saw the defiance fade, quickly replaced by guilt. “Sy showed up in my dreams after his death,” he admitted at last.
I narrowed my eyes at him. Time to drop another bomb. “You mean, he showed up in your dreams after you took care of him out in the woods, right?”
Lester’s eyes widened and his mouth pressed into a thin line. I could see I’d hit on the truth. “Sy was never quite right in the head,” he began softly. “My earliest memories are full of his cruelty to me, to our pets, to other childhood friends. He had a fascination with blood. He liked the smell of it, the taste of it. It was like an addiction to him. He seemed to thirst for it, and it scared our parents to the point that they wouldn’t let Sy out of their sight. My dad would take him hunting, hoping to satisfy Sy’s sick need, but it only seemed to excite my brother even more, and eventually Dad stopped taking him. Then he nearly killed me in a fight we had when I was seventeen and my parents told me it was best if I moved out. So I did, and they were stuck with him.
The Ghoul Next Door: A Ghost Hunter Mystery Page 28