Soul Walk (A Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 7)

by Melissa Bowersock

  “A little girl,” he said softly, sadly. “Jesus. Five years old. He raped her, then strangled her. A gag in her mouth, taped shut. She’s crying, choking. Can’t breathe. He’s so heavy, his body on top of her.” He closed his eyes, his jaw tight. He shook his head. “Five years old,” he barely whispered. “Five years old.”

  Lacey could feel his sadness, see it in the sag of his shoulders. She almost felt guilty about filming this, as if she were some paparazzi vulture filming a family funeral from the bushes. For the first time, she imagined this image plastered across millions of TV sets. People unknown to them, some sympathetic but some not, watching this subtle yes uncharacteristic display of emotions. The thought rankled.

  Sam turned to face her. “That’s all,” he said. He breezed past her and Kevin and took the stairs down.

  ~~~

  NINE

  Diana was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and was clearly confused when Sam brushed past her. He strode out the front door, into the cool dark night.

  Lacey and Kevin stepped off the stairs and stood with Diana.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Lacey shrugged. “He’s done.”

  “Done?” She glanced from Lacey to Kevin hopefully, but her cameraman had nothing to add. “That fast?” she asked Lacey.

  “Yup.” Lacey stowed her phone in her pack. “He gets what he gets and he’s done.” Lacey locked eyes with Diana. “This was a tough one.”

  “Tough…?

  “A five-year-old girl was raped and strangled. That’s difficult to witness, in any form.” Lacey held Diana’s gaze for a few long seconds, hoping the hard set of her mouth conveyed the gravity of the situation. Not exactly popcorn fodder, is it, she thought.

  “Oh,” Diana said finally. “I see.”

  Do you?

  Lacey turned to Kevin. “Did you get everything you needed? I didn’t get in your way?”

  “No, it was good,” he said, his quiet voice telling her more than he said. He got it, even if Diana didn’t.

  “What’s next?” Lacey asked.

  “Uh.” Diana roused herself and checked the paper on her ever-present clipboard. “Next is talking to the owners. Come on outside for a few minutes while the crew sets up here in the dining room.”

  She led the way, and Lacey followed. The November night was cool, chilled by the moist sea air. A block away, the PCH was alight with street signs and car headlights. The slow, rhythmic breaking of waves was a low rumble underneath the traffic noise.

  Lacey searched for Sam, and found him two doors down in the shadows near a closed insurance office. She went to him and slipped her hand into his, then just stood there beside him. The two of them stared up at the dark sky, only a few stars visible in the light that leaked from the city.

  “I’m sorry,” she said finally.

  He held himself tensely for a moment, then exhaled heavily and relaxed his shoulders. “Just another image I’d really rather not have in my head,” he said.

  Lacey nodded. “We’ll free her. I know it doesn’t… erase what happened, but we’ll set her free.”

  “Yeah.” It was half acknowledgment, half promise. He turned toward her. “What now?”

  “We’ll talk with the owners,” she said. “The crew is setting up for the next shot. It’ll be in the dining room.”

  He dragged in a deep breath and blew it out. “Okay.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Thanks.”

  She nodded, unsmiling.

  They rejoined Diana and another couple in front of the B&B. Diana introduced Vince and Bobbi Offendahl, the property owners.

  “Hi,” Vince said.

  “So glad to meet you,” Bobbi gushed as she shook hands. “We’re anxious to hear what you found.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” Diana said, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t talk about the case until we get set up inside. We want to keep it fresh, spontaneous, you know?”

  They all nodded. Bobbi stepped back, putting a bit more space between herself and Sam, and Diana left them to check on the preparations.

  The Offendahls, Lacey thought, were in their early forties and no doubt doing well with their B&B. Bobbi flashed several rings, her wedding set alone sporting two or three carats of diamonds. She wore her dark hair up in a French twist, and kept herself neat and trim. Vince was on his way to male-pattern baldness and was slightly overweight, but diamonds also adorned the two heavy rings he wore. Money is sexy, Lacey thought.

  They were all relieved when Diana called them in. She directed them to certain seats around the table, Bobbi at the head with Vince on her left, Lacey and Sam on the side at her right. The crew had set up lights on tall, telescoping tripods, and a couple of silver reflectors to minimize shadows. Once the four of them were seated, the crew made subtle adjustments as Kevin checked the light levels for his camera.

  “Okay,” he said finally, nodding to Diana. He was on one camera and Skip was on another. “We’re good to go.”

  “All right.” Diana stepped forward and leaned in between Vince and Bobbi. “Just do this as you normally do,” she told Sam. “The Offendahls will tell you everything you need to know. Anytime you’re ready.”

  Out of habit, Lacey laid her digital recorder on the table and switched it on. She also had her notebook and a pen at hand.

  “So now that Sam has walked, we’d like to know what you two have experienced here,” she said. “Bobbi?”

  Bobbi looked startled to be called on first. She glanced at her husband, took a breath and started in.

  “Well, the two places that are the most troublesome are the back left room and the front right upstairs. I, uh, heard crying in that back room a couple times. At first I thought it was someone outside, or maybe downstairs, but there was never anyone there. It’s very soft, but it definitely sounds like crying.”

  So far so good, Lacey thought. “Any other manifestations in there?”

  Bobbi shook her head. “I don’t think so. But some guests have reported the crying to be so loud and so pervasive that they can’t sleep. I haven’t heard it like that, but a few have. Oh, and one guest said they saw a little girl. They spoke to her, then she just disappeared.”

  “Okay. And the other room, that front right?”

  “That one,” and Bobbi shivered, “is worse. I feel a deep sadness in there, a heaviness. If I stay in there very long, I start to get real depressed.” She swallowed nervously. “One time, I was, uh, cleaning in there, and I opened the closet door. I saw a man hanging there, just for a second, and then he was gone.”

  “Hanging in what way?” Lacey asked.

  Bobbi looked as if she might gag. “Hanging by his throat. I don’t know if there was a rope or what, but I remember his eyes kind of bugging out. And they were looking at me. Like I said, it only lasted for a second, but it scared the hell out of me.”

  “Yeah, I would think so,” Lacey said. “Have others reported seeing anything there?”

  “Not that anyone’s said, but I have had guests leave after just one night when they’d planned on more.”

  “Did they say why?”

  “Oh, family emergency, work problems. But I could definitely see they were in a hurry to get out. I, uh, try not to book anyone in that room if I have anything else available, but sometimes it’s all I have.” She looked from Lacey to Sam and back. “You can imagine what it does to business when people don’t want to stay.”

  Lacey nodded. “Of course. Although we did notice that you use the word haunted in your business name. Do you find some people come just for that?”

  “Oh, a few,” she said. “I thought it would be more.”

  No such luck, Lacey thought. She turned to Vince. “What have you experienced?”

  His eyes shifted uncomfortably. “I, uh, really haven’t seen anything. I don’t spend as much time here as Bobbi does, but I’ve never seen anything I’d consider strange.”

  For the first time, Sam sat forward. “Any cold spots anywhere? A
ny sudden mood changes?”

  Vince’s eyes widened slightly, then he sat back in his chair. “There’s a draft in that front right room. People have complained, and I’ve had an A/C guy out, but we haven’t been able to find where it’s coming from.”

  “Do you have other employees?” Sam asked.

  “Two,” Bobbi said. “Part-time. They’re both students at Pepperdine.”

  “Have they reported anything to you?”

  “The girl doesn’t like going into either of those rooms. She’s never reported anything specific, just says they feel creepy. The guy thinks it’s all a bunch of hooey.”

  Sam thought a moment longer, then glanced at Lacey. “I guess that’s it.”

  “But—but what did you find?” Bobbi asked.

  Sam stared at her. “Exactly what you’ve heard and seen. A man hanged himself in the front right room. A five-year-old girl was raped and murdered in the back left. We’ll have to research it to find out more details.”

  Bobbi looked a little green around the gills. She swallowed nervously. “Five?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Are they… related?” she asked. “I mean, was he the one…?”

  “No,” Sam said. “Totally different situations. Different times.”

  Lacey stepped in. “When did you folks buy the property?”

  Bobbi looked to Vince. “Two thousand … twelve?”

  “Yeah. June.”

  Lacey jotted that down. “Had you been told of any issues with the place?”

  “Oh,” Bobbi said, waving a hand, “in passing, you know. Supposed to be haunted, ha ha. We didn’t really take it seriously.”

  “Do you know when the place was built?”

  “Nineteen twenty-eight or twenty-nine,” Vince said. “Just before the Depression. We heard it went belly up almost immediately, then was vacant for years.”

  Lacey tapped her pen on her notebook. “So in all those years, I’m guessing it’s gone through a few iterations of types of businesses.”

  “We heard it was apartments before we bought it, and a little pastry shop before that.”

  “Sounds about right. I’ll have plenty of research to sift through.” Lacey glanced through her notes, then looked over at Sam.

  He was taking one last look around the room, his eyes coming to rest on the stairs. “Yeah, I think that’s all we need right now.”

  “All right.” Lacey closed her notebook. “We’ll work on this and get back to you with what we find.”

  “But you can get rid of them?” Bobbi asked.

  “Absolutely,” Sam said. “We’ll find out what’s keeping them tethered here and then we’ll release them.”

  Bobbi relaxed visibly. “Oh, good.”

  Lacey clicked off her recorder, stowed it in her pack and pulled out a card. “If you think of anything else, or have any questions, just give us a call. Otherwise, we’ll get back to you when we have more information.”

  They all stood and shook hands. Lacey looked up and noticed the lights and cameras; she’d forgotten all about them. She saw Kevin give her an OK sign. Guess they did all right.

  Sam and Lacey went outside and were immediately joined by Diana.

  “That went well,” she said, smiling. “We’ll check the dailies and see if we need to reshoot anything, but it looked good.”

  “So we’re done for tonight?” Lacey asked. The late hour was beginning to tell on her. At least she didn’t have to get up early to go to work, but Sam did.

  “Yes, we are. Thank you both so much. That was pretty easy, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, not bad,” Lacey said, “except for the waiting. We’re not used to having to stand around.”

  “Oh, that,” Diana laughed. “You’ll get used to that. It just goes with the territory. So now you’ll start your research, and let us know what you find as soon as you get anything, okay? Once we know what you’ve got, we’ll set up film dates and locations.”

  Lacey nodded. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Great. All right, have a nice night. Goodbye.”

  Lacey’s feet felt heavy as she walked to the car. She wished they didn’t have the drive home, but at least there wouldn’t be much traffic this late. She had to make two tries at getting the key in the door to unlock it.

  Suddenly Sam was there, pulling the keys from her hand. “I’ll drive,” he said. “You’re toast. Go get in on the other side.”

  She was about to argue but realized he was right. “Thanks, partner.”

  “Just part of our friendly service,” he said.

  Friendly service, she thought as she slid into the passenger seat. Friendly…

  She was asleep before he pulled away from the curb.

  ~~~

  TEN

  The next morning she had every intention of getting up with Sam, but she still felt dopey.

  “Get some more sleep, You’ve got all day.” He kissed her and pulled the covers up around her.

  “I love you,” she sighed. “You’re so sweet.”

  He chuckled. “I love you, too. Talk to you tonight.”

  It was more than two hours later before she was able to roll out of bed. Jeez, she thought; she hoped all the film sessions didn’t go that late. Sam was the night owl, not her.

  After a shower and breakfast, she felt ready to tackle the research. The only place for her to set up was at the kitchen table, but luckily her laptop, notebook and phone didn’t take up a lot of room. It still felt weird to be doing this at Sam’s. For a fleeting moment, she thought of going back to her apartment, but that was silly. She wiped the idea from her mind and hunkered down.

  First order of business was the old standby, property records. Vince had been correct; the place was built in 1928. She had trouble imagining Malibu in 1928, but wondered if someone had seen the potential for all things Southern California during the rise of the movie business. If they had, their dream had been short-lived. The Depression had nixed a lot of dreams over the next ten years.

  Unfortunately for her, that still left a lot of time for property owners to come and go. Over the life of the property, she found fourteen separate owners. Three were banks, leaving eleven individuals or couples that might be able to verify ghostly manifestations. But running down that many names would take a lot of time. She printed out the record and set it aside.

  Instead, she tried a different tack. She found out the Malibu newspaper was the Malibu Times, founded in 1946. The webpage had no link for archives so she did a search on that. Great news: The Pepperdine University Library had digitized newspapers from 1946 to 1960 and the archive was searchable. Bad news: her first search for man, hanged, suicide brought her a zillion hits for the word man. She quickly realized that this was no Google Boolean search; this was a straight matchup of words, and to make it worse, the results only told her when a word appeared in an issue, not where it appeared. She then had to go page by page through an issue to find the matching word and the article it appeared in.

  She had to be very specific—and very lucky.

  She searched on suicide and got just over a hundred hits. If she had an idea of the year, it would certainly make her job easier, but the possible entries spanned the full fourteen years of the digitized records. And what if the man killed himself before 1946, or after 1960? Her frustration level already ticking up a notch, Lacey made a note to herself to ask Sam if he had any sense of the year.

  She tried again, searching on suicide and the property address. Still over a hundred entries. She quickly realized she had to put the address in a closed string, like “1234 Main Street.” She typed in the exact address in quotes and hit the enter button.

  Still the same hundred hits. She drummed her fingers on the table. This time, she left out the word suicide and searched only on the address.

  Bingo; only nine hits. Nine different editions of the paper. She could browse through nine editions. Luckily the search string was highlighted, so at least when she reached the page where it
occurred, she could easily zero in on it, and didn’t have to read every word of every article.

  She started with the oldest first, simply because that’s the way the results came up. December 14, 1946: a fire at that address, quickly subdued, minimal damage. The place was then the Pacific Crest Hotel.

  Next: July 28, 1949.

  Man found dead in room of Pacific Crest Hotel. Hanging in closet. Suspected suicide.

  Lacey sat bolt upright in her chair. Halleluiah! This had to be him. She made a note of the date in her notebook as she printed out the image of the newspaper page.

  Okay, she thought. Now she was cooking. She went back to the beginning and searched on suicide again. The term came up in an edition dated August 6, 1949. She paged through the photos to the third page.

  The LA County Sheriff’s office has released the name of the man found hanging in a room of the Pacific Crest Hotel as Gerald Brandt Mayhill, 30, of Tuna Canyon Road. Mayhill was found on July 26 hanging in a closet. The sheriff’s office suspects suicide and found no evidence of further foul play. Mayhill’s wife reported he had been growing increasingly more depressed over the last several months, noting that he suffered from shellshock after his time in the European theater during World War II.

  Lacey sent the article to the printer and sat back in her chair. Shellshock, of course, was the old name for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD, and she knew it wasn’t treated as seriously back in the forties as it was now. She remembered reading something, somewhere, about shellshock victims only being prescribed rest, then they were expected to “get over it” and return to normal life. It wasn’t until the next generation, the Vietnam vets returning from that green hell, that PTSD began to be understood as a serious and pervasive disorder that was not easily “gotten over.”

  Lacey wondered what Mayhill had done during the war. She grabbed her phone and retrieved her video of Sam last night.

  “Heaviness of guilt,” he’d said. “Of lives lost.” Had Mayhill been forced to take many lives in the war? Some men were just not made for war. Even the old “kill or be killed” motto was not enough for some to erase the horror of taking a life, of watching a man’s life seep away in a stream of blood or watching him turn sightless eyes to the heavens.