“Was there evidence tampering of any other kind?” Aidan asked.
“Oh, yeah. Mrs. Eames was switched with Mr. Nelson down in the morgue, some of the desks were rifled, and bullets taken from six victims found in the last twelve months have disappeared.” Abel stared at him, shaking his head. “Flynn, trust me, this has nothing to do with your case. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back in and go back to assessing the damage.”
“Hang on. Even if the bones are gone, what about the blood scraping and the dress? I’d still like to get them up to Washington.”
Abel stiffened irritably. “All right. Wait.”
He returned with a brown bag and a small box. “Your blood is on a slide in the box, and the dress is just as you gave it to me. Is that all?”
“Yeah, thanks. Hope you get everything straightened out soon.”
Aidan left the coroner’s office and headed straight out to the police station to see Hal Vincent, who wasn’t at his desk. Aidan decided to wait.
An hour later, Hal came in. When he saw Aidan, he held back a groan, then told him to follow him on back to his office. Hal took his chair and watched Aidan through weary eyes. “You want to know about the break-in at the morgue, I take it?”
Aidan nodded.
“All right. Someone dismantled the alarm—which anybody with a decent knowledge of wiring could do, because it’s a pretty basic model.”
“Did the security cameras catch anything?”
“Shadows. We’re trying to enhance the images now, but so far, it looks like two people walked up to the rear door at two different times.”
“Could it be a college prank? Abel said a couple of bodies were switched.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“In my opinion? It was made to look like a prank to camouflage what was really going on. My guess is it’s tied to the missing ballistic evidence and someone’s trying to keep one of those cases from going to trial. That’s all I know right now, Flynn. If I get anything else, I’ll let you know.”
“One more thing. Did you bring the FBI in on this?”
“We were the ones who went over the place, dusting for fingerprints, looking for evidence. But I informed the FBI, yes.”
“Thanks.” Aidan left the cop then and headed straight for Jonas’s office. Jonas wasn’t in, so again he waited.
When Jonas arrived, he, too, seemed to hold back a groan. “Aidan, I’m sorry you didn’t get your bones back. Bad timing.”
“I want to know what you think about the break-in.”
“Not too much. It’s a local matter.”
Aidan nodded. “I’d like to use your mailing facilities. I still have a blood sample and a dress I’d like analyzed.” He didn’t mention that he had tucked the hairbrush in the box, too.
“And what are you going to compare them to?” Jonas asked.
“I’d like to know if the dried blood goes with Jenny Trent, the woman who wore the dress.”
“You’re talking a long time, Aidan. I doubt if they can get anything.”
“That’s okay. I have a friend at Quantico who won’t mind trying.”
“I’ll take you down to the mail room myself,” Jonas told him.
After the package was duly sent off overnight to Aidan’s friend, Robert Birch, Jonas led the way back to his office. He seemed in no hurry to get rid of Aidan. “So you’re seeing the Montgomery girl, huh?” he asked.
Aidan nodded.
“She’s a pretty girl. Mysterious.”
“Mysterious?”
“Claims she can read the future, doesn’t she? I’d call that mysterious.”
“Do you believe in any of that?” Aidan asked him.
“Do you?”
“How’s Matty?” Aidan asked, changing the subject. “She’s worried about you. Worried about the two of you.”
Jonas flushed. “That’s none of your business, Aidan.”
“No, it’s not, but if you want out of your marriage, you ought to just tell her.”
“I said it’s none of your business.”
“Yeah, well, we used to be friends.”
Jonas looked up at him. “We still are, aren’t we?”
“Talk to your wife, Jonas,” Aidan said. He turned to leave, then swung back and asked, “Where’s Jenny Trent’s car?”
“I don’t know, it’s been a long time. Still in impound, maybe.”
“Find out, would you? I’d like to take another look at it, and I’m tired of waiting for Hal Vincent’s men to get to it.”
Monday morning was busy at the shop, but Vinnie came in to help, which made everything easier. Kendall had a friend at the paper, Jean Avery, and she called her, telling her about the diary she had found in the attic, and the new twist in the sad legend of Flynn Plantation. Jean promised to run a small piece the next day, and a larger human interest story on the weekend.
“Think you can get me the okay to go out there and take a few pictures?” Jean asked. “I’ve heard about the Halloween party, and this could get them some good PR for it, though I gather it’s almost sold out already.”
“A haunted plantation for Halloween. What could be better?” Kendall asked, and it was true. A lot of people who didn’t attend might send in checks anyway. You couldn’t give to a cause you knew nothing about.
“I’m sure I can arrange a photo op.”
Vinnie was passing by just then and elbowed her, giving her a meaningful look.
“The Stakes are going to be playing that night,” Kendall added. “Maybe we could get them together ahead of time to pose by the old barn or something.” She was sure Vinnie genuinely cared about the charity, but she was equally sure his biggest interest was in getting publicity for the Stakes.
“Sounds fun. I’ll get back to you.” Jean paused and cleared her throat, then said, “I hear you’ve been seeing one of the new owners. Just can’t get that plantation out of your blood, huh?”
Kendall was left speechless for a moment. She forced a light tone when she replied. “I guess that’s it. Thanks, Jean, we’ll talk soon.”
She hung up. “Why does everyone think I was expecting to get that plantation?” she asked Vinnie with aggravation.
“Gee, let’s see. You were everything to Amelia, you took care of her, and no one knew any heirs existed. How’s that?” Vinnie suggested.
“Look, there’s a customer, Vinnie. Go help her.”
Behind the counter, Kendall took out the sketchbook she’d been filling with designs for the decorations. She’d started out with a basic sketch of the interior of the barn, then added in the stage and even made notes about wiring, then begun to plan what decorations would go where. At around five-thirty, the phone rang, and she picked it up absently.
“Kendall, it’s Joe Ballentine. Sheila’s boss. At the Society, you know.”
“Hi, Joe,” Kendall said, her heart sinking. All day she’d hoped to hear from Sheila, too afraid to make the call herself. If Joe was calling, it couldn’t be good.
“I’m just wondering if you’ve heard from Sheila. She didn’t come back to work this morning, and she’s not answering her phone. She might have taken a few more days or been delayed, but I have to admit I’m worried.”
Kendall felt as if someone had just tied a rock around her heart and dropped it.
She suddenly knew that no one would ever hear from Sheila again.
“Kendall?”
“I haven’t heard from her, Joe, but I have the key to her house. I’ll run out there and see if maybe she did get home and is just sleeping through the phone.”
She hung up, set her sketchbook under the counter and brought out her handbag. “Vinnie, Mason, close up for me?”
“Where are you going?” Mason asked.
“Home to get my car, then out to Sheila’s.”
“I can run to Sheila’s if you want,” Mason offered.
“Just lock up for me.”
It was close to six, Kendall reali
zed, as she hurried out the door.
The minute it closed behind her, she felt…eyes on her.
She tried to tell herself that she was being silly, that no one was watching her. She tried even harder to convince herself that Sheila wasn’t dead.
But she was. Sheila was dead, just like Jenny Trent and, if Aidan was right, at least nine others.
A fall evening, almost six, growing dark. There were people still on the streets, and plenty of businesses were still open or just closing up.
But among all those people, someone was watching her. She knew it.
Kendall started to run. She made it to her house and down the alley where she parked her car. She looked around as she opened the door and slipped into the driver’s seat. No one. She slammed the door and locked it, looking around again. There was still no one near her. She revved the engine and eased out onto the street, convinced all the while that someone was watching what she was doing.
Jeremy had come to stay out at the plantation, on call with the workmen, that day, while Zach had stayed in the city to take advantage of the high-speed Internet connection while he chased down more leads via his computer. Aidan had asked him to look at everyone who had entered their sphere of friends and acquaintances since they had returned, because he was beginning to think that the voodoo dolls had not been a prank, but a warning, though he had no guarantee that whoever was sending the message was someone they knew personally.
He was certain the disappearances had something to do with Flynn Plantation. He just didn’t know what. Someone wanted to stop a large group of people from coming to the house, and that someone also wanted them out. And the only explanation was that there was something on Flynn land the killer didn’t want them to find.
Because someone was using the plantation—his plantation—for murder.
Zach called Aidan late in the afternoon and read off a list of all the police officers who had been with the force in one way or another for a decade.
That list included Hal Vincent.
Zach had confirmed that the medical examiner’s office had been contacted regarding each disappearance and given descriptions of the women, so their bodies could be identified if they were brought in. The office of coroner was an elected one, but most of the people who’d been working there ten years ago were still there, including Jon Abel, who had, interestingly, written a book on cases he’d solved using forensic identification when there were only skeletal remains with which to work.
Vinnie and all the rest of the Stakes had grown up in New Orleans, as had Kendall.
Mason had been a frequent visitor from D.C., until he had moved down permanently five years ago. “By the way, like Kendall, he has a degree in psychology.”
“But he wasn’t here ten years ago.”
“I didn’t say that,” Zach corrected. “I just said he didn’t live here. I made a thorough check. And guess where Mason Adler was when our first girl disappeared?”
“Where?”
“Spring break, New Orleans. And I have another one for you that you may not have known.”
“Shoot.”
“Your friend Jonas was assigned here then, too.”
“That has to be wrong. I was with Jonas at Quantico ten years ago.”
“That was actually his second time around for the FBI. He worked for the field office here in a civilian capacity. Then he decided to make a career of it, and that’s when he wound up in Quantico with you.”
If it hadn’t been for that piece of information, he probably would have begged off when Matty called, crying, and asked him to meet her again, but knowing what he did, he decided that meeting her might turn up some valuable information.
He headed to the same café, checking the time as he entered. After five. He didn’t have long. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want Kendall leaving the shop and going home alone.
The minute he sat down across from Matty, she handed him a plastic bag.
“I found this in Jonas’s car,” she told him.
He took the bag and looked inside.
It was a woman’s wallet.
According to the ID, it belonged to a woman—Sheila Anderson. A pretty blonde smiled up at him from her driver’s license photo.
He stared at Matty.
“I found it under the passenger seat,” she told him. “I think he must be having an affair with her.”
He rose, suddenly anxious. “I’ll look into this, Matty, I promise.” He found himself hesitating. “Don’t throw your marriage in the garbage just yet, okay?”
She tried to smile. “I won’t. I just…help me, Aidan. Please.”
Sheila lived in a more residential section, just inside the boundaries of Orleans Parish. She rented a big old Victorian that had been built in the late 1800s and was now on the historic register. It sat apart from its neighbors, with a good thirty yards on each side, and the rear of the property was filled with huge trees and overgrown brush, because Sheila didn’t believe in gardening down nature.
Her car was in the driveway, but that was no surprise; Sheila would have taken a cab to the airport rather than pay to park there for an extended period.
“Sheila?”
Kendall banged on the door. Nothing. She tried to peek in the windows, but only a few lights had been left on and the curtains were down, so she couldn’t see anything.
Kendall dug into the bottom of her bag for the ring of keys she didn’t use on a daily basis, because her key to Sheila’s house would be on it, along with one to Vinnie’s, one to Mason’s and extra set for the shop.
She slid the key into the lock and turned. The door opened to silence and gloom.
She stepped into the vestibule and set her purse down on the table. The house seemed very dark, so she closed and locked the door behind her, then fumbled around for lights. “Sheila?”
Kendall turned on every light as she went through the house, which was clean and neat, everything in its place, until at last, dreading what she might find, she walked up the stairs to the second floor.
There were three bedrooms. One was Sheila’s home office and guest room, one was her storage room and one was where she slept.
Kendall noticed that in contrast to the neatness of the rest of the house, a casual cotton dress was lying on the bed, and a pair of shoes sat on the floor next to it.
As if they had been set out for her to change into quickly.
Kendall looked anxiously around the room. There was no luggage, which meant Sheila had probably left the house with it. But why had she left the outfit on the bed? Had she decided on different clothes at the last minute and not had time to put these away before her taxi arrived?
Leaving the lights on for reassurance, Kendall hurried back downstairs and into the kitchen, where Sheila tacked up notes on a bulletin board. There was a number for the hotel where she’d planned on staying in Caracas. Kendall reached for the phone and dialed it.
A man answered, speaking Spanish. Kendall fought for a few of the right words to be polite, then asked if anyone there spoke English. The man switched languages immediately. As they spoke, Kendall felt her heart sink. Sheila Anderson had been a no-show. She had never checked in. And the man was sorry to say that her credit card had been charged for the first night. They had a cancellation policy.
As she slowly set the phone back on the receiver, Kendall turned back to the board, where Sheila had tacked a message to herself: Call Mason.
There was nothing weird about that, she told herself. Sheila had had a bit of a crush on Mason for a long time, and she was pretty sure that Mason, for all his flirty ways, harbored a soft spot for Sheila, too.
But now Sheila was gone.
Sheila was dead. She knew it.
As she stared at the board, the house was suddenly pitched into darkness.
The door to the shop was locked. Aidan could see Vinnie sweeping up and Mason zeroing out the cash register.
He banged on the door.
Vinnie looked up, gri
nned and walked over to let him in.
“Hey, Aidan, guess what? Kendall called a friend at the paper. She’s going to do a piece on the benefit. The band would be thrilled to come and pose—”
“Where’s Kendall?” Aidan demanded.
“She left. Someone called her, and then she just told us to clean up, she was going over to Sheila’s.”
“Sheila’s?”
“A friend of hers, hot little blonde,” Mason told him.
“You let her go off alone?” Aidan asked angrily.
They looked at each other. “Um, yeah,” Vinnie said. “She is an adult.”
Aidan was being unreasonable, and he knew it. “Where does Sheila live?”
“I’ll write it down for you,” Vinnie offered, and hurried to get a pen.
Kendall let out a cry of alarm, then stood dead still and listened. Nothing.
She wished she had thought to bring a flashlight.
Too late.
Trying to retain a calm center, she made her way out of the kitchen, feeling her way along the hallway wall. Her heart was thundering. All she wanted was to get the hell out of the darkness of the house and into the nice reassuring darkness of the yard. She inched forward, bit by bit.
She thought she heard something from the back of the house and paused to listen. It was a creaking noise. So what? she asked herself.
Old houses creaked.
But there was a feeling in the air. She couldn’t see anything, couldn’t smell anything in the air, and yet…
She knew.
Someone was in the house with her.
She gave up all thought of keeping quiet and, guided by the glow of the streetlights coming in through the front windows, ran for the front door. She fumbled with the bolt, certain that any second someone would come flying down the hallway and slam into her, pinning her against the door.
She wrenched it open and went flying outside just as a car came jerking into the drive.
Aidan’s car.
She raced toward the driver’s side. He stepped out before she got there, and she threw herself into his arms.
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