by Rebecca York
"I have a P.I. friend who has fantastic… tracking abilities."
"The man you mentioned before?"
"Yes. I already brought him that sample of Heather's clothing. He can probably locate the grave. I'll go out there with him. If he finds something, I can use him as my source—and keep you out of it. As long as I can testify to a judge that I've used him before, that the information gleaned from him has proven truthful and productive in the past, and that he's credible, I'm in good shape." He explained, then continued as though he were giving a lecture to a new recruit in the detective squad. "I've also got to make a case that revealing his identity would endanger his life or his effectiveness or his credibility.
"Then I've got to come up with corroborating evidence to support the information. It doesn't have to be that much, just enough to show the judge that I've done some background. If Ross says he traced the killer to a wooded area at Sugarloaf Mountain, I can check the vicinity for footprints, fresh-turned earth."
"You think it's worth investigating," she said carefully. "But you'd go to all that trouble to keep me out of it?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"A lot of reasons. The best one is that I think paranormal evidence is going to get the case laughed out of court. And I want to get a conviction on this case."
He got up, and she knew that she didn't want him to leave. But there was no use trying to give him her reasons. If she told him she thought they'd connected on a more meaningful level this morning, he probably wouldn't want to hear it. But there was another issue, too. A nagging fear that tugged at her.
She found herself trying to prolong the conversation. "You're going out there today?"
"Late this afternoon."
"Why not earlier?"
"My P.I. friend works best at night."
She might have asked him to explain that. Instead she said, "Sugarloaf Mountain must be a big place. You don't need my help?"
"You gave me some good landmarks. It's above the East View parking area. Not far to the left of the trail."
"Yes. But…"
"If I need more from you, I'll get back to you."
"Promise you'll call me and tell me what you find."
"I will."
He took two long steps toward the door, then turned. "One more thing. I'm going up there with Ross Marshall. Let me give you his number, just in case."
She felt another flicker of unease that she couldn't explain. "Jack, be careful!"
His face contorted. "I was going to say the same thing to you. I don't like hearing that you saw a car sitting outside last night. Or that somebody tripped you up yesterday morning. Is there somewhere you can go for a few days?"
She felt her chest tighten. "You think I need to?"
"I don't know. It would make me feel better."
She wanted to ask if that meant he cared about her beyond the fact that she was a witness in a case he wanted to solve. But she didn't press her luck. Instead, she said, "I'll keep the doors locked. I won't go out after dark. And you said you'd have patrol cars watching out for me."
"Yeah. You have an alarm system, right?"
"Yes. My grandmother had it. I don't use it much. I'm on the second floor."
He sighed. "Then it's probably not state of the art. Is it connected to a service that will call the police if somebody breaks in?"
"No. It just rings an alarm here."
"Well, turn it on when you're inside. And when you go out."
"All right."
She wanted to go to him, cling to him. She was afraid—not for herself, but for him, although she couldn't explain why. So she stayed where she was, feeling helpless and worried.
After he left, she turned the bolt on the door, then hurried to the window to watch him get into his car, still struggling with fears she couldn't name.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
« ^ »
A YEAR AGO, Jack would have turned himself in to the department shrink if he'd contemplated digging up a grave in the woods based on the kind of evidence Kathryn had given him. She'd seen a ghostly figure in a dream. On the face of it, he should dismiss her story out of hand. Yet he'd traveled far enough into the unknown that he took her report at face value. He'd even come up with a reason why the figure had looked like a ghost.
He snorted.
Then there was the nice authentic touch that she hadn't been able to dredge up the location, although she'd obviously wanted to tell him where she'd been.
Sugarloaf Mountain wasn't a sure thing. But if he had to bet on it, he'd bet he was going to find something when he went out there.
In the parking lot at police headquarters, he called Ross from his cell phone.
"I've got a new development in the missing person case," he began. "And I could use your help."
"With?"
"My contact gave me the approximate location of a grave. It's up at Sugarloaf Mountain."
"A nice ride in the country. You want me to do some… uh… sniffing around up there?"
"Right. I was thinking, we could get there around four. That way, we could do some looking around before dark. Then you could do your thing," Jack said, aware that they weren't on a secure line.
"Yeah. You know the Park and Ride on this side of Frederick?"
"Yeah."
"I'll meet you there."
After hanging up, Jack told Emily he'd be out on an investigation that evening. Granger had started the ball rolling with a request to tie the Heather DeYoung case into several previous missing person cases.
Now, as Jack collected more information on all of them, in the back of his mind he was thinking that if there was one grave up at Sugarloaf Mountain, there might be more. And he wanted to be prepared to do identifications.
Why Sugarloaf, he wondered as he looked up the phone number of the office there, then called to say he would arrive around four in the afternoon on police business and wanted access after hours.
They wanted a fax with the information, so he typed that up and sent it.
His mind was only partly on the work. He kept thinking about the details of the interview with Kathryn.
He hadn't realized her dream experience had been different from his. He'd simply appeared in the Alma-Tadema picture—although he hadn't recognized it at the time. She'd been drawn to a strange, airless world, where an indistinct but massive creature was watching her. He grimaced. A supernatural being?
What did it want with her—and him?
Something.
As he thought on that for a moment, a ready explanation leaped into his mind. He and Kathryn had met because he was assigned to the missing person case. What if the damn thing wanted the two of them to solve that case?
But why?
Maybe it was a ghost. One of the victims. And it was in purgatory until the murder was solved. Was that misty, airless world she'd described purgatory?
He pursed his lips, marveling that he was thinking along those lines. If a ghost broke the case, he'd better have a lot more evidence to back it up.
Inevitably, his mind went back to Kathryn. Her magic wand had been the guidepost to her exit. An interesting touch.
The image of something familiar. Something from her world—in that hostile place she'd described.
But why the wand?
He'd spent several hours each evening with the books he'd borrowed from Ross. And he'd learned some pretty amazing stuff—which he hadn't been prepared to share with her, because he could hardly believe he was considering such oddball scenarios.
Of course, some of it was pure twaddle. Like the myth of Atlantis, which he'd read about in several books. But he'd definitely been interested in an essay on hypnosis as a possible explanation of what had happened to himself and Kathryn. Suppose some agency was beaming suggestions to both their subconscious minds? That might account for their apparently sharing a dream, although it didn't explain how it had been done when they'd started out in completely different locations.
He could
even fit Kathryn's latest dream into that script. Forget the ghost. Suppose someone had knowledge of the disappearances—now probably murders. And that individual wanted to feed information to the police without getting caught.
Clairvoyance was another mechanism he found himself considering. He'd read an account of the famous mystic Emanuel Swedenborg interrupting a dinner party in the summer of 1759 to go outside. When he came back, he was pale and shaken—insisting that a fire had already burned several houses near his own and that his residence was in danger. The dinner guests were startled by the report, since Swedenborg lived in a city three hundred miles away, an enormous distance in those times. The next evening, a messenger confirmed the mystic's account of the fire.
Something similar could have happened to Kathryn in this latest dream, although she claimed she'd never had any mystical experiences before.
Of course, if he was honest, he couldn't rule out drugs, although he couldn't figure out how someone had slipped the same hallucinogen to both Kathryn and himself. But LSD had turned up as part of the case. Kathryn said she'd found it in a drawer of Heather's bureau. Was she telling the truth?
He grimaced. He was still considering her as a suspect. Probably because he wanted to distance himself from the growing relationship developing between them.
Relationship? No way! This had started off as pure, unadulterated lust. Yet a relationship was what it had felt like this morning at her apartment.
He pulled his thoughts away from Kathryn and back to the investigation of the four missing person cases.
By three, it was time to leave for his meeting with Ross. Just as he was packing up, Granger sought him out again.
"You making any more progress on those cases?" he asked.
"Uh…"
"Jack, what's going on with you?" the captain asked.
He shrugged. "I've been a little distracted lately. Lily went missing. I found her, but it was kind of traumatic."
The captain pinned him with a look. "I got a complaint about you this afternoon. From a guy named William Strong. He says you were engaged in public lewdness yesterday morning."
Jack swore. "Oh, yeah? I'd hardly call it that! A kiss isn't lewdness."
"You were with Kathryn Reynolds. Were you on your own time?"
"No."
"I'm going to have to write this up."
Jack felt his chest tighten painfully, until several thoughts occurred to him. He struggled to drag in a breath before he said, "You say a man named William Strong reported me and Reynolds? He claimed he was looking for an address in the neighborhood. So he didn't live there. I gave him my name. How did he know Reynold's name?"
Granger shrugged.
"Do me a favor. See if his name and address check out before you write it up."
"You think he's not legit?"
"Yeah, that's what I think," Jack said. He didn't have any solid facts—just a hunch and the hope he was right. "Maybe something else is going on," he added. "Reynolds has been having some problems with vandalism. And someone was watching her house last night."
"Did she report it?"
"Yes."
"I'll check that out."
"Fine."
Since he'd joined the Violent Crimes unit, Jack had gotten along with Granger. Now he wasn't so sure. And the captain's next words made him blink.
"I let you drop the Westborn investigation to focus on the missing person cases. Was that because you wanted to spend more time with Reynolds?"
Jack studied his superior. "Wait a minute. You asked me to try and come up with connections on the missing persons. And if you remember, I didn't even know Reynolds then. You sent me to her house."
Granger ignored the last part, meeting his gaze head-on. "No. It was your idea."
Jack stood there, wondering if he was going crazy—or was it Granger? The captain had told him to drop Westborn, but this was the second instance where he seemed to have forgotten about it.
Jesus, he wished he had some proof of how he'd gotten the assignment. He swallowed. "Can we talk about this later? I have a meeting set up with an important contact."
"Okay," the captain agreed, looking just as reluctant as Jack to continue the conversation. Maybe until he got a line on William Strong.
"I think I'm going to have a breakthrough in the missing person case," he said, hoping to hell it was true.
"I'll be waiting for your report."
Jack nodded, gathering up some papers and shoving them into his briefcase.
He left the building, his pulse pounding.
What was going on?
The old man who styled himself William Strong had called in a complaint. He'd like to check him out. But he didn't have time to do it now.
And Granger was acting like he had early Alzheimer's. Great!
He could come to no conclusions about that, and he tried to bring his thoughts back to the upcoming task as he approached the Park and Ride. Ross was waiting for him, his hips propped comfortably against his Jeep Grand Cherokee.
He waved to Jack, then grabbed his knapsack and loped forward with the easy stride of a predator. A wolf. He looked relaxed and ready for an adventure. Probably he and Megan had gotten the baby to sleep so they could have some quality time together.
The speculation made Jack flash back to his own situation. Why was he resisting the pull of Kathryn Reynolds? They were both consenting adults. Making love with her wasn't going to hurt anybody else.
He recognized the rationalization for what it was as soon as it surfaced. He wasn't free. He had his family to consider.
"I appreciate your meeting me on short notice," he said as Ross slipped into the passenger seat of the unmarked.
"Well, it's a chance to get out in the woods—for a good cause."
"Yeah."
Ross gave him a long look.
"You appear… disturbed," he said.
"As in crazy?"
Ross laughed. "As in worried. Want to talk about it?"
Jack sighed, wondering where to start. "Granger got a report that Kathryn and I were engaged in public lewdness."
"Chasing each other naked around the Rockshire parking lot?"
Jack laughed. "No. Kissing outside her house. Unfortunately, I was on duty at the time."
Ross whistled through his teeth. "Not good."
"The really interesting part is that the guy who reported us claimed to be looking for an address in the neighborhood. He asked my name. But not Kathryn's. Then he included her name in his complaint."
"You're right. Interesting."
"I asked Granger not to write it up until he checked the man's name and address. I'm thinking he'll find they won't exist."
"Which should let you off the hook."
"Yeah. But that's not my only problem." Quickly he filled in Ross on Granger's memory loss.
"Nothing like that's happened before?" Ross asked.
"No."
"So—what do you think?"
"I wish to hell I knew." Jack sighed. "As long as I'm spilling my guts, maybe I can ease into the rest of it."
Ross remained silent. Jack shifted in his seat and said, "I keep running into more paranormal stuff. That's why we're taking this ride in the country. This time Kathryn had her own dream. I mean, I wasn't there. It wasn't a fantasy setting. She was up at Sugarloaf, a location she'd never been to before, but she described it pretty well to me. She saw a guy burying a body a little way up the hill from the East View parking lot. And I'm betting that you'll be able to find the spot."
"I'll do my best."
"There's a strange element," Jack added.
Ross shook his head. "You mean stranger than what you've already told me?"
Jack laughed. "Unfortunately, yes. The guy she saw looked like a ghost."
"So maybe it's a hundred-year-old body."
"That occurred to me when she first started describing what she'd seen. But after the guy finished burying the evidence, he drove away in a late-model car."
&
nbsp; "Did she recognize him?"
"Not so she could pick him out of a lineup. But she said there was something familiar about him."
"Mm hmm." Ross took in more details. "Have you been reading the books I lent you?" he finally asked.
"Avidly—when I can snatch the time. I never knew there was so much weird stuff floating around."
"You've led a sheltered life."
Jack laughed again. "There are few people who could say that to a detective who works in Violent Crimes."
"Yeah. It probably takes a werewolf. Or a vampire."
Jack's head snapped toward his friend for a moment, then he brought his gaze back to the road. "You believe in vampires?"
"Why not? The ancient myths must come from somewhere."
Jack felt a wave of cold sweep over his skin. Vampires. And what else?
"I get the feeling you've had a bunch of frightening thoughts over the past few days."
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Like what?"
"Nothing that makes perfect sense. But maybe you can comment." Jack began summarizing his reading. "So, what do you think?" he asked, trying to breathe around the tightness in his chest.
"None of it seems quite right."
"That's what I was thinking."
Ross was studying him again. "You're in a unique position, you know. For centuries, humankind tried to figure out the secrets of the universe. We had all sorts of mechanisms for explaining the unexplainable—for warding off the devils and the darkness. Modern man, pardon the non-PC designation, feels more secure because he's got science to explain his world. Now you're thrust back into the dark pit of the unknown."
"Gee, thanks for pointing that out. What should I do, have an exorcism ceremony?"
"I wouldn't recommend it. Unless you believe in devils."
"I don't!" Jack insisted, wondering if he meant he didn't want to believe in them. He cut his friend another look. "When you talk about being thrust into the dark pit of the unknown, I take it you're speaking from experience."
"Yeah."
"What did you do?"
"I found Megan. And she helped me make peace with the furies nipping at my heels."
"Don't suggest that I put my trust in Kathryn. She's part of the problem."
"So was Megan, if you remember. But I figured out I needed her." Ross made a low sound. "Okay, that's not quite accurate. She forced me to admit that I could trust her."