Krewe of Hunters, Volume 2: The Unseen ; The Unholy ; The Unspoken ; The Uninvited

by Heather Graham

“I agree. Until it’s proven that Alistair is innocent,” she told him, bravado in her voice.

  “We both agree on that.”

  A guard unlocked the door for them.

  The room was hardly the customary jail cell or hospital room. It was a suite. They could see the bed through an open doorway, while the main door opened into a parlor or seating area with a wide-screen TV and game station.

  There was a table in the center of the room, and Alistair was seated there with his father; they both appeared calm and were engaged in a game of gin rummy.

  Alistair, dressed in jeans and a rock band T-shirt, glanced up as they were ushered in. When he saw them, a look of hope and pleasure flashed across his features and he leaped to his feet. He raced over to them, throwing his arms around Madison first, holding on to her tightly, and then hugging Sean with equal enthusiasm. “I didn’t believe it!” he cried, stepping back, studying them both as if he was afraid they were a mirage. “I didn’t believe my friends could have faith in me—I mean…I know what it looks like. Oh, God, I know what it looks like. And I’m not crazy, I swear to God, I’m not crazy. I didn’t lose my mind and kill her. I was nuts about her— I…I don’t care what they keep trying to say to me, I’m not crazy and I didn’t do it.”

  “Oh, Alistair!” Madison said, hugging him again. “It’ll be all right. We will find out the truth.”

  He nodded, then shook his head and burst into tears. “It can’t be all right. She’s dead. Jenny is dead. Nothing can ever be okay again.”

  “Alistair, I didn’t mean that,” Madison told him, sorrow in her voice. “We do believe you, and we’ll learn the truth, and we’ll make sure the whole world knows you’re innocent.”

  Sean hoped she wasn’t naively giving Alistair promises they couldn’t keep. It didn’t look good at all. And yet…he did believe Alistair. Anyone might conclude that the young man didn’t even know what he’d done, that he’d had a psychotic break, killed Jenny Henderson, blacked out—with no recollection of anything. That was the logical explanation in a locked-room case in which the accused was so passionately and sincerely sure he was innocent.

  But Sean reminded himself that he’d actually communicated with the victim. And Jenny Henderson might not have known who’d killed her, but she had been certain it wasn’t Alistair.

  It was still going to be incredibly difficult to prove what a dead eyewitness knew.

  And yet, maybe not. It hadn’t been a random murder. Had Jenny been targeted? Not likely. As he’d already observed, Eddie and Alistair were the ones who’d been targeted, and if the Krewe could delve into the situation and find a motive, they could trace a path through the maze.

  Eddie had stood, as well, and watched Alistair greet Madison and Sean. He spoke up quietly. “Thank you for coming.”

  Sean nodded. “I can hardly be effective if I don’t talk to Alistair.”

  Eddie smiled at Madison and let out a sigh. “Sit down, please.” He collected the playing cards and set them, with the score pad, on a corner of the table. “Everyone, sit down, and then, Alistair, you tell them what happened. And remember, think hard. Tell them every little detail that comes to mind.”

  Eddie sat as he spoke; Madison took a chair across from him. Sean followed her, and Alistair sat next to his father, facing Sean and Madison.

  “Jenny snuck in to see you, right?” Madison said.

  “Yes.” He stared down at his hands. “I told the police all of this. I told them everything.”

  “That doesn’t matter, Alistair. You need to tell us,” Sean said.

  Alistair released a long breath. “Everything. Okay. I went to the Black Box Cinema. I waved in the direction of the camera when I arrived, trying to let Colin Bailey know I was there. I went in.”

  “You were at home before you went to the cinema?” Sean asked.

  Alistair nodded. “Home, and then straight to the cinema. I went and got the reels for Sam Stone and the Curious Case of the Egyptian Museum. I love that movie. It’s not as well-known as some film noir, but I love that movie—and I’m thrilled we’re doing the special effects for the remake. I was just watching the part where Dianna Breen comes to Sam Stone’s office to tell him how she couldn’t possibly have killed her husband when Jenny snuck in on me.”

  “How’d she get in?” Sean asked.

  Alistair looked troubled. “She said I left the door open.”

  “Did you?”

  Seconds ticked by as Alistair’s frown deepened. “Well, she said I did. That surprised me.” He glanced at his father. “I realize I’m privileged. I try to be super careful to follow all my dad’s rules. But…honestly, I just don’t know. I thought I’d locked it. Maybe I didn’t. I don’t know.”

  “Okay, Alistair, that’s fine for now. Thanks. So, Jenny came in and startled you. And she wanted to get into the studio,” Sean said.

  “She…” he started to say, but he paused again, turning to his father. “She really wanted one of the bit parts that still had to be cast for The Unholy. And she believed that if she could just see some of what was being done—you know how the props and effects can affect the whole mood of a movie—she’d have a better chance of being cast. Oh, God, Dad, I’m so, so sorry,” Alistair said, and it looked as if he’d burst into tears a second time. The moment was both ironic and poignant. Alistair was truly devastated over Jenny Henderson’s death; he was also heartsick and grieving about the fact that he’d betrayed his father’s confidence.

  He was in a bad way, Sean thought.

  Madison reached out, her hand covering Alistair’s. “Hey, come on, now. Your dad’s worried about you. He’s not angry.”

  Eddie grimaced. “Right now, that’s the least of our worries, son. It’s not like I’ve never been twisted around by a woman. You’re young. I understand, but don’t let it happen again,” he added lightly.

  Alistair tried to smile.

  They all knew there might not be an again.

  “So, Jenny talked you into taking her through the tunnel to the studio,” Sean said.

  Alistair nodded. “And at first, it was fine. Oh, my God! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked through that tunnel. I can describe every tableau down there with my eyes closed.”

  “Did anything appear different about any of the tableaux?” Sean asked.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Alistair said.

  “Even the Sam Stone tableau?”

  “I…I remember looking at it and thinking how much I love the movie,” Alistair said. “And, of course, that was the movie I’d been watching.”

  “But you watch that movie a lot, don’t you?” Madison asked. She smiled. “You’ve talked to me about it. We discussed the special effects. Digital is fantastic—but only when it’s really right and when the script and everything else is just as strong. If you look back at film history, some images seem amazing because the costuming was so good—and because the actors were so good. Like Lon Chaney, Jr., who could turn himself into anyone and anything. The effects that were created for the Sam Stone movie were excellent. Nothing fancy, certainly not by today’s standards, and yet genuinely frightening.”

  Alistair nodded, staring at her, troubled again. “Yes, I do watch the movie a lot. Most people know it’s my favorite film noir. Does that…does the movie I was watching matter?”

  “Anything can matter, Alistair,” Sean told him. “In this case? Yes, I think so. Now, you went through the tunnel, and the tableaux were just as they always were. Then…”

  “Well, then we were at the door to the studio. And I saw that it was ajar.”

  “So the door to the studio was open,” Sean repeated.

  A slight look of annoyance crossed Alistair’s face. “I’ve told that to everyone. Over and over. Yes, the door to the studio was open. Slightly ajar. And it should’ve been locked. So I walked up to it and that’s when I heard Jenny scream.”

  His voice quavered on the last few words.

  Sean leaned forward. “Alistai
r, tell me exactly what you saw then. Try to remember every detail.”

  Alistair’s hands were trembling. He tried to still them where they lay on the table, then gave up the effort. He swallowed hard. “He—he was there. He’d stepped down from the tableau. He had Jenny. And…I saw. I saw him slit her throat. I tried to stop him. I cried out. I wanted to think it was make-believe—I mean, we’re all about make-believe, right? I wanted it to be make-believe, my dad pulling a stunt on me to teach me a lesson. Or some jerk from the studio playing a game. But…but…it was real. Oh, God, it was real, and blood sprayed everywhere and I could see Jenny’s eyes. Oh, Lord, I could see her eyes….”

  “Alistair, it’s—” Madison held his hands hard, clutched in her own. Her eyes were locked on Alistair in searing empathy and sorrow; she’d been about to say, It’s all right, Alistair.

  But it wasn’t.

  “Alistair, we’re here with you. We’ll find the truth,” she vowed softly.

  “Son…” Eddie said miserably.

  “Alistair.” Sean kept his voice hard and flat. “Go on. I need everything. Every last detail. You saw him slit Jenny’s throat. You saw her eyes—what about his eyes? What about the killer in the robes?”

  Alistair seemed to stare past him. For a moment, Sean feared that he’d lost him, that Alistair had slipped into some blank realm in his mind.

  Alistair finally spoke. “His eyes? He had no eyes. He had no face. It was—the whole area where the face should have been…it was just black. He had no face at all. He had no eyes…no eyes… How… Yes, I’m remembering this right! He had no eyes!”

  He paused, concentrating. He lowered his head, and then peered up at Sean again.

  “He had no face, and he had no eyes. But he was looking at me. I knew it. I knew he was looking at me. And…”

  “And?” Sean asked.

  He shook his head. “I—I knew he was laughing. There was no sound. He was laughing, and he was evil. Triumphant. Staring at me with nothing, no eyes…just evil.”

  * * *

  “Madison?”

  Madison started. She hadn’t been listening. She couldn’t forget Alistair’s face as he’d spoken about the murderer.

  She turned toward Sean Cameron, who was driving. California roads were insane, and if you were smart, you were defensive. But Sean knew that; he’d lived here. Once upon a time, he’d been employed in the very same place where she was now employed. He had done the same things she did.

  He was an expert California driver—a specialty in itself—and was able to glance over at her as he said her name in a questioning tone.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I said, food, lunch. I’m suggesting we go to lunch before our next stop.”

  “Which is?”

  “The morgue,” he told her.

  “The morgue?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound like the coward she was.

  “Yeah, let’s eat first. Where do you want to go?”

  “Ah, anywhere. Anyplace along the way, I guess.”

  He nodded; he seemed to like the fact that she was up for whatever. And he seemed to know that while he was an FBI agent and probably accustomed to morgues, she was not. Yes, definitely, food before the morgue. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat afterward….

  They wound up stopping at a Buca di Beppo. Homestyle Italian food. It was en route and a national chain that was pretty damned good—a plus, since neither of them cared much about what they were eating; they just needed to eat.

  The menu was set up for sharing. They opted for a salad and lasagna. When their friendly waiter was gone, Madison said, “I’m…I’m grateful that you’re here. I know you worked for Eddie, and I know you’re FBI. I don’t understand all the dynamics, but it doesn’t matter. You’re here and you believe in Alistair.” She hesitated. “And I believe in Alistair. I work in special effects, so I’m aware of what’s possible, but…I’m also aware that mannequins don’t come to life.”

  “No,” he agreed, “mannequins don’t come to life. Unless they’re rigged to do so. Or digitized in a movie. So, we know a mannequin didn’t kill Jenny Henderson.”

  “The alternative is almost as bizarre. There were security cameras. From what you’ve told me, no one came in, and no one went out. You haven’t seen the footage yet, have you?” He shook his head. “I’m sure the police have, though. And if anyone had gone in or out, the police—as in Detective Knox—would have told you, and that person would be questioned.”

  He was thoughtful, spearing a leaf of lettuce. “Yes. As standoffish and pedantic as Knox appears to be, I think he’s a good cop. And I think he’d pull me in on anything he considered out of the ordinary.”

  “So, nothing on the tapes. We have an empty studio and an empty cinema. Except for our security guard, Colin Bailey. And while we can’t rule Bailey out, he’s a totally unlikely suspect—not to mention that the police interviewed him immediately and looked into his background. I love Colin. He’s such a reassuring presence. And he’s been loyal to Eddie for twenty years and so fierce when it comes to the studio. So that leaves Jenny Henderson and Alistair—and the mannequins,” Madison said, feeling bleak.

  “Just because a studio is in lockdown doesn’t mean it was locked down,” Sean reminded her.

  “But…you’ve seen the security system. You’ve worked at the studio. And we both know, we all know, that if you want to keep your job, you really don’t mess around, sneaking people in during lockdown,” Madison said. “But, of course, you don’t commit murder if you want to keep your job, either. Not if you’re…normal. But the killer isn’t really normal, is he?”

  “I’ve never figured out ‘normal,’ to tell you the truth,” Sean said. “Whoever is doing this is organized. He—or she—has a plan and is thinking it through. And he knows something we don’t, because I don’t believe in a locked-room mystery. There’s a crack in the door somewhere, and we have to find it. Right now, the studio contains secrets that the killer knows, and we don’t. Back when I worked for Archer—”

  “Why did you leave?” Madison asked, and then regretted it. His face changed; he’d become guarded.

  “Texas is home,” he said simply. “I was needed at home.” He changed the subject. “To return to the concept of normal—the average employee wouldn’t know enough about the studio to carry this off.”

  “You think someone was in the studio. That this person was hiding out somehow, somewhere, someway, and knew that Alistair would be there, and that he’d come through the tunnel,” Madison said.

  “Yes.”

  Madison frowned. “First, you have to get in—without the security cameras picking it up. Then you have to hide. Then you have to find the right costume to become the mannequin. And, after committing the murder, you’d have to get rid of the bloody garments you were wearing and get out of the tunnel and the studio without anyone seeing you and without leaving any kind of trace.” She lifted her hands. “That’s where I’m lost. Suppose the killer did somehow hide overnight and wait and wait—how did he escape without being on the security cameras?”

  “Because a locked room with any kind of access or egress is never really a locked room,” Sean said.

  Madison shook her head. “If Knox is the detective you seem to think he is, and if he respects the FBI, he’ll make sure you know what he knows.”

  “Forensic materials aren’t analyzed instantly,” Sean said. He shrugged. “And sometimes it’s not the forensic evidence that matters most—it’s the logic.”

  “As in, it had to be an inside job?”

  “Absolutely. You have to know about Colin Bailey and the other guards—and all about their schedules. You have to know about the locks and the keys and the security system—actually, it’s not much of a security system. Eddie is a trusting guy.”

  “He’s not so technologically inclined,” Madison agreed. “We’re always explaining some feature on his cell phone to him.”

  “And you know that ab
out Eddie because you work for him, and because he likes you and respects your work. You’re close,” Sean said.

  “Honestly, I wasn’t sure I was all that respected and liked until I received the call yesterday morning,” Madison said. “Don’t get me wrong. Eddie is a great boss. He loves his artisans. I just didn’t realize I’d been singled out.”

  “But Alistair is crazy about you, too,” Sean pointed out.

  “I felt like a very naive kid when I started with Eddie. And now, Alistair is a naive kid. He’s a lot like Eddie—he has a big heart. I owe them both. And I like Alistair. He’s never been—well, for lack of a better term—a spoiled jerk. He blends right in. The only time I ever heard Alistair say anything that made him sound like a rich kid was when he said I didn’t need to hurry, that the plane would leave when I told it to. I had to tell him that in the real world, planes left on schedules, and only private planes left on the owner’s schedule.”

  Sean laughed. “Yep, that sounds like Alistair. And you’re right. He’s never been an affected rich kid. And, through three marriages, he remains Eddie’s only child. So, what would that mean to you—as a sleuth?”

  “That he’s a rich kid…and…”

  Sean pushed his plate aside. “Which means that Alistair stands to inherit his father’s fortune and the studio and the cinema. So, first suspect? We know that Alistair’s mother died a long time ago.”

  “First suspect—Eddie’s wife,” Madison said.

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “Yes, we decided last night that she doesn’t seem bright enough to pull off something like this. But appearances can be deceptive. Or…she might have been working with someone else,” Sean said. “I know we already dismissed that idea. However, I’m not a hundred percent convinced.”

  “Trust me—I work about eighty hours a week. The only time I have ever seen Helena at that studio is when one of the directors, set designers, or casting agents comes through. I honestly don’t think she knows enough about the studio to have done any of this.”

  “You think,” he said.

  “I thought you agreed with me on that?”