The Raven Master

by Diana Whitney

  “Quinn,” she croaked. “Edna has a g—”

  A sharp retort stung her ears. The kitchen window shattered and the pungent smell of gunpowder mingled with wafting smoke. Then the entire house shook violently the revolver clattered to the floor and the parlor exploded into flames.

  A nuclear heat blasted into the kitchen, searing Janine’s lungs. Still lying on the floor, she rolled away from the burning wind. A moment later, two denim-clad legs appeared and she was lifted by strong arms.

  As Quinn carried her toward the back door, the dining room glowed like orange neon and a thick black cloud spilled into the kitchen. A squat figure stood in the doorway, enveloped by smoke. Like an evangelist at the gates of hell, Edna raised her arms and proclaimed, “Satan fell like lightning from heaven. With fire did God smite His enemies.”

  Quinn shouted at her. “The place is going up. Save yourself!”

  With a shrill cackle, Edna dashed back into the raging inferno and was enveloped by the devouring flames.

  Quinn muttered a sharp oath, kicked open the door and carried Janine into the backyard. She greedily gulped fresh air, coughed convulsively, then filled her lungs with another wheezing breath. Damp earth touched her back and a cool palm brushed her cheek. “Are you all right, honey?”

  With some effort, she opened one eye and squinted into his anxious face. “I, uh—” A coughing spasm cut off her words but she managed a jerky nod.

  A cool breeze brushed her cheek, and she realized that Quinn had gone. She propped herself up on one elbow and was stunned to see that he was braving the blasting flames in a futile attempt to reenter the building. “No, Quinn!” Janine struggled to her feet. “It’s too late! You can’t help her.”

  A second explosion knocked out the laundry-room wall and blew Quinn off the porch. He landed twenty feet away.

  Terrified, Janine stumbled to his side and cradled his soot-stained face in her lap. “Oh, God, Quinn.” Wiping his singed brows, she inspected him anxiously. His hair was badly scorched. One side of his face was blistered. “Can you hear me?”

  He blinked, winced and for a dazed moment didn’t seem to recognize Janine. Then he stared past her toward the second story and his eyes widened in shock.

  At the same moment, Janine heard the familiar screech, barely audible over the roar of the fire. She looked up, saw the smoke pouring from the window of Quinn’s room and uttered a cry of dismay when she recognized the terrified creature frantically hopping along the windowsill.

  Quinn rolled off her lap and struggled to stand but was still shaken by the force of the blast. Janine leaped to her feet and quickly positioned herself under the window. Shading her eyes against the fiery glare, she shouted, “Edgar! Jump!” She clapped her hands to capture the frenzied bird’s attention. “Come on, Edgar! You can do it!”

  The raven cocked its head, looked down at Janine and then focused on a nearby oak tree. Flapping madly, Edgar flung himself at the nearest limb, tumbled down through the branches until the squawking, ruffled heap landed in Janine’s outstretched arms.

  Instantly Quinn appeared, grasped Janine’s waist and hustled her across the yard. When they reached the redwood picnic table, she collapsed on the bench, clutching the raven to her breast.

  Quinn dropped to his knees in front of her, framing her face with his palms. He closed his eyes, lowered his head and shuddered. After a moment he inhaled deeply, and when he looked up again his expression was an odd combination of despair and profound relief. “I—” his voice broke and he coughed away the weakness “—I thought I’d lost you.”

  Still holding the passive raven with one hand, Janine caressed his burned hair. “And I thought I’d lost you.”

  He gently wiped blood from her brow. “You’re hurt.”

  She caressed his jaw, taking care not to touch his blistered flesh. “So are you.”

  Telltale moisture gathered in his eyes. “I thought you were safe. I swear to God, honey, I didn’t know until to—”

  “Shh.” Her fingertip brushed his lips, silencing him. “You saved my life. If not for you, I’d be dead now.”

  “It’s all my fault. I was so damned arrogant, thought I had everything all figured out….” Words failed him. Quinn shook his head miserably, then moved up to the bench and embraced her.

  A distant siren wailed.

  Absently stroking the passive raven, Janine laid her head on Quinn’s shoulder and they silently watched as the historic Victorian was completely engulfed in flames.

  Two hours later, red-and-blue emergency lights strobed over a charred heap of smoldering embers, all that remained of Janine’s boardinghouse. Fire fighters rerolled their massive hoses. Deputies, medical personnel and curious onlookers shuffled though the yard, whispering to each other and sneaking compulsive glances at the carnage.

  Earlier, in the midst of the chaos, Jules had returned, and upon discovering his grandmother’s fate had to be physically restrained from dashing into the flames. The distraught young man had finally collapsed in Quinn’s arms, sobbing hysterically. Because of Quinn’s effectiveness in calming Jules, the sheriff had been content to keep a watchful eye on the elusive “fugitive” without immediately placing him under arrest.

  Althea, who’d also been drawn by the blaze, stood in the middle of the yard like a horrified statue, neither moving nor speaking until the roaring inferno had subsided into a cloud of sizzling steam. Then she found Janine, and the two women had embraced silently.

  Now Jules was lying on a stretcher beside an open ambulance, his pathetic sobs punctuated by an occasional grief-stricken wail. In spite of everything, he had loved his grandmother. Edna had been a sick woman, but to the terrified young man his grandmother’s death was yet another cruel abandonment.

  Quinn stood beside the stretcher, gripping Jules’s hand and waving away the frustrated paramedic who was attempting to tend his burns. Althea moved from her seat on the ambulance bumper to the stretcher. “Let them take care of you,” she told Quinn. “I’ll stay with Jules.” She laid a gentle palm on the young man’s forehead, leaned over and whispered, “Everything will be all right, hon. Auntie Althea’s here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  Quinn hesitated, then turned away and went to Janine. He touched the white gauze taped above her ear then opened his arms. She eagerly fell into his warm embrace, hugging him fiercely and offering a silent prayer of gratitude that the man she loved had been spared a fiery death.

  But her heart was filled with guilt and shame at having doubted him in the first place. Like the court that had imprisoned him unjustly, Janine had convicted Quinn in her mind even though her heart had known he was incapable of such heinous acts.

  Now she was deeply conflicted, torn between maintaining a wall of silence and being honest with a man who deserved nothing if not the truth—a truth that would hurt him deeply. When Quinn learned that Janine had planned to give damning evidence to the sheriff, he might hate her but that was a risk she had to take. Lies of omission would eventually evolve into an invisible wall of mistrust that could never be overcome. She had to reveal everything and hope that he understood the lapse of faith instead of considering it an unforgivable betrayal.

  Wiping her sooty face, Janine reluctantly stepped away and stared at the front of his shirt sharpening her determination. Just as she opened her mouth, however, a masculine voice captured her attention.

  “Excuse me.” Sheriff Rhodes acknowledged Janine awkwardly before speaking directly to Quinn. “As you suggested, we’ve contacted Delacourt’s psychiatrist. He’s on his way here.”

  Quinn nodded. “Good.”

  Rhodes pulled the familiar notepad from his breast pocket. “Miss Taylor, I understand you were inside when the fire started. I have some questions, if you’re up to it.”

  Quinn slid a protective arm around Janine’s shoulders. “Can’t this wait? Janine has been through a lot.”

  Rhodes frowned. “I suppose, but…”

  Janine touched Quinn�
��s arm. “It’s all right, really.” She turned to the sheriff. “What do you want to know?”

  “For starters, how did the fire—” Rhodes waved a hand toward the smoking ruins “—start?”

  Holding on to Quinn for support, Janine took a shaky breath. “It was Edna Fabish. She killed Marjorie Barker and tonight…” Janine closed her eyes as Quinn encouraged her with a comforting squeeze. “Tonight she tried to kill me.”

  With Rhodes frowning skeptically, Janine explained how Edna had used a hypodermic tranquilizer to immobilize her victims for the final purification. “And since there were pieces of a syringe in the tunnel, I knew that—”

  Rhodes’s hand froze over the notepad. “What tunnel?”

  At that point, Quinn intervened. “There’s a passageway leading from the house to the ravine below the lumberyard. When I used it tonight, I found a couple of suitcases by the exit. They’re probably packed with Edna’s personal things.”

  The sheriff’s narrowed gaze slid from Quinn to Janine and back again. “I guess that explains why you were gone when my men and I arrived this morning. But I still got that warrant in my pocket, Coulliard.”

  Quinn didn’t blink. “I’m sure you do.”

  “I should cuff you right this minute and haul your butt to the station.”

  Janine went rigid but Quinn simply nodded. “I understand.”

  Rhodes tapped his pen on the notepad’s spiral binding. Finally he emitted a pained sigh. “Aw, hell. Just finish the damned story, and I’ll figure out what to do with you later.”

  With both the sheriff and Janine listening intently, Quinn explained how he’d spotted the sheriff’s vehicles from his bedroom window, then slipped into the tunnel and escaped. “I borrowed a truck from the lumberyard parking lot—”

  “A blue pickup with lambskin seat covers and a load of rolled wire in the bed?” Rhodes moaned and uttered a succinct oath. “That was Fred Watson’s truck. He’s been pounding his fist on my desk all afternoon.”

  Quinn shrugged. “Perhaps in the future Mr. Watson will avoid leaving his keys in the ignition.”

  “So now we can add auto theft to that warrant.” Scribbling madly, Rhodes spoke without looking up. “Where’s the vehicle now?”

  “Back in the parking lot.”

  “Why’d you take it in the first place?”

  “I had to get to Eugene.”

  “What in hell is in Eugene?”

  “Jules’s psychiatrist.” Quinn rubbed the back of his neck and nodded at the deputy’s notepad. “You might as well put breaking and entering on the list.”

  Janine, who had been listening in stunned silence, suddenly found her voice and grabbed the sleeve of his leather jacket. “Oh, God, Quinn, what did you do?”

  “I went to the mental health clinic and searched Jules’s psychiatric files.” His eyes softened, pleading for understanding. “I thought he was the one who’d killed Cynthia and all the others.”

  Rhodes’s head jerked up. “How many others?”

  Ignoring the perplexed sheriff, Janine spoke to Quinn. “The people in the clippings?”

  “Clippings?” Rhodes blinked in bewilderment. “What clippings?”

  Quinn frowned. “You found them?”

  “The lamp fell over and the base came apart,” she explained hastily. “I know I shouldn’t have opened the envelope and I honestly didn’t mean to pry—”

  A sharp whistle cut off her words. Taken aback, she turned just as Rhodes took his fingers away from his mouth. “Now that I have your attention,” he said politely, “perhaps you’ll start at the beginning and tell me what in hell is going on here.”

  Quinn glanced warily at Janine, then faced the sheriff. “Have you read the files from California?” When Rhodes indicated that he had, Quinn’s jaw twitched. “Then I won’t reiterate the details of my ex-fiancée’s death except to say that I had a gut feeling that the fire was no accident, so I started my own investigation.”

  Rhodes scoffed at the concept that an untrained civilian could uncover evidence that had eluded police, but when Quinn’s story continued, both Janine and the sheriff listened in rapt fascination as an eerie set of circumstances was revealed.

  Quinn explained that after the trial Cynthia had apparently been tormented by guilt and had turned to religion, joining a congregation that included Edna, Jules and Marjorie Barker. Quinn’s focus shifted to Jules because it soon became apparent that the young man was severely disturbed.

  After traveling to Boston, he’d discovered that when Jules was sixteen his mother had suffered a fate almost identical to Cynthia’s, right down to the hands-folded position. Within days of the incident, Edna had taken her grandson and left town.

  At that point, Quinn had been certain Jules was the killer so he’d scrupulously reconstructed the young man’s movements over the following years. After researching old news reports, he saw a pattern of similar fire fatalities, which had occurred in locations in or near towns where Edna had worked. Shortly after each incident, the woman had resigned her position and moved on but the cycle had always begun again.

  Rhodes folded his thick arms and eyed Quinn skeptically. “With a whole passel of dead folks lying around, it’s not likely that some police officer wouldn’t have made a connection.”

  “All the deaths were ruled accidental,” Quinn pointed out. “So the cases were closed without being entered in the computer network.”

  The sheriff cringed and glanced away, apparently embarrassed by the flaw in communications between law-enforcement agencies. He cleared his throat. “That all sounds well and good but I just keep coming back to the fact that you were in town when Marjorie Barker died. How’d you know to come here?”

  “A hunch,” Quinn replied. “The last fire on my list was one that happened about eighteen months ago in Seattle. By the time I got there, Edna and Jules were gone but I’d kept tabs on their friends and knew that Marjorie Barker had sold her bookstore, then moved back to her home-town.”

  The sheriff rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So that’s why you came to Darby Ridge?”

  “Yes, but I was too late.” Quinn gazed sadly toward the smoldering ruins of the boardinghouse. “After that, I was determined that Jules wouldn’t get the chance to hurt anyone else.”

  The air rushed from Janine’s lungs all at once. Now the veiled warnings and comments about Jules’s fragile psyche made perfect sense. She also realized that Quinn’s absences had coincided with Jules’s schedule. “All those times you left the boardinghouse, you were following Jules?”

  “Yes.”

  “But sometimes when Jules was out, you stayed at the boardinghouse.”

  “Since I’d never figured out what his motive was, I couldn’t predict who he’d victimize next but I was determined that it wasn’t going to be you. I tried to make sure you were never alone with him. Unfortunately I also concluded that he wasn’t a danger to anyone as long as he was with his grandmother. That’s why—” His voice broke. Obviously shaken, he blew out a breath, closed his eyes and took a moment to compose himself. When he looked up again, his eyes were filled with silent misery. “That’s why I went to Eugene tonight. I knew the church service wouldn’t end until ten and assumed that they’d be together until then. I swear to God, honey, I thought you’d be safe.”

  “I know. It’s not your fault.” Janine squeezed his arm, then glanced at the sheriff. “Have you spoken to Jules about when his grandmother left the church?”

  “I tried,” Rhodes replied. “The most I could get from his babbling was something about his grandmother needing air about halfway through the service.”

  Quinn gestured toward the ravine. “Edna must have walked the two blocks from the church to the lumberyard, climbed down the embankment and used the tunnel.”

  “I heard the panel open,” Janine told him. “At first I thought it was just the house settling, then there were noises downstairs. I guess that must have been when Edna was lighting the fireplace and spread
ing newspapers around the parlor.” Since that was also the moment that Janine had decided to turn Quinn in to the sheriff, she avoided his gaze and spoke directly to Rhodes. “The newspaper articles I found will substantiate everything he’s told you. I’m sure we can get copies.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Although Rhodes’s skepticism hadn’t disappeared completely, his interest was definitely piqued. “One thing I can’t quite figure, Coulliard, is why you went to the trouble of digging up that information but didn’t turn it over to the authorities.”

  “I tried, but I the evidence was too circumstantial to be taken seriously. I didn’t believe that Jules would be prosecuted unless I could provide absolute proof.”

  Rhodes rocked back on his heels. “Is that why you broke into the doc’s office? For proof?”

  “Yes, but since anything I found was privileged information, it was more an act of desperation than intelligent reason.” Quinn rubbed his face. “As it turned out, I learned a great deal more than I’d expected.”

  The sheriff glanced furtively around then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “So what’s wrong with Delacourt, anyway? Some kind of Freudian thing?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t reveal that.” Quinn hesitated before carefully adding, “But I can say that Jules spent considerable time in mental institutions and was hospitalized when two of the fires took place.”

  “So that’s when you realized that Edna must be involved?” Janine asked.

  “Yes.”

  Rhodes was unconvinced. “But if Jules knew about the murders, he could still be charged as a conspirator.”

  “I don’t believe he had any knowledge of what his grandmother was doing,” Quinn insisted. “With the exception of Marjorie Barker’s death, I doubt Jules was even aware of the other fires. Edna was a cunning, manipulative woman. She completely controlled her grandson’s access to information and even managed to convince the poor kid that his mother had simply walked away. Edna took her grandson away without even notifying the school. To this day Jules truly believes that his mother is still alive.”