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

by Heather Graham

  But there was something really wrong with this picture, no matter how it appeared….

  He walked to the body, reaching up to place two fingers against her throat, but he knew before he touched her that Helena was gone, cold as ice in the underground crypt. He moved away from her, not wanting to destroy any evidence.

  She looked like a prop, like “Matilda” back in the conference room—victim number one or any of a number of rubber, latex and wax deceased that they’d made over the years at the studio. Except that she was real. She’d been Helena, flesh and blood, but now, she was no more alive than a mannequin in the studio.

  “Logan?” he shouted up. “It’s Helena. I’m going to get Madison out of here. Can you step outside and call Knox? Tell him he’s going to need the M.E.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Madison was sitting at the rear of an emergency vehicle, a cup of coffee in her hand, a blanket around her shoulders. She was dirty but not hurt. It was difficult to convince them all that although she’d taken a bad fall, she must have landed right. She hadn’t broken anything. She hadn’t even cracked anything. She’d probably be sore the next day, but she was fine—just anxious to leave.

  She couldn’t forget what she’d seen. When Logan’s light had first fallen on the crypts, she’d noticed the shadow, more darkness in the darkness. And then the light had focused more directly on what was there in the crypt.

  Helena, dangling from the rope, her eyes open, her skin white, just hanging there, the red around her wrists, blood congealing where it had dripped down the marble of the tombs behind her, and onto the marble slab she’d used to jump off in order to take her own life.

  Madison wondered if she’d ever forget the sight of her open eyes.

  Sean was in deep conversation with Knox and Logan as more and more techs arrived, suited up and looking as if they’d come to contain a biohazard. The manager of the cemetery had joined them with members of his staff, and they seemed to be in shock.

  Sean broke away from the group and came over to her.

  “Does Eddie know yet?” Madison asked.

  “Mike Greenwood is on his way to Eddie’s. He’s going to give him the news.”

  “Was she guilty, Sean?” Madison whispered. “Is that why she killed herself? We saw Lucas Claymore. He said she’d been in the cemetery, talking on the phone, waiting—as if she was going to meet someone here.”

  “Logan told me. And that adds to my feeling—I just don’t believe she killed herself. It doesn’t seem like Helena. But her car is parked outside the wall, so she did drive herself here.”

  “We were sure she wasn’t bright enough to carry this off,” Madison said.

  “I still don’t think she was bright enough to carry any of this off,” Sean remarked. “But the forensic experts will know more than I do. First, I don’t see Helena crawling down into a basement tomb to kill herself. She’d do it dramatically—if she was going to do it at all. Secondly, I don’t see her slashing her wrists or hanging herself. She would’ve arranged a grand finale, beautifully decked out, and she would’ve taken some kind of overdose. I don’t believe this at all.”

  “You think her conspirator killed her?” Madison asked. “And that she was in on Jenny’s murder?”

  “Oh, she was in on it—that’s how she came to be here,” Sean replied. “I’m sure she’s the one who knew that Alistair would be here watching the movie, and that she’s the one who knew Jenny was coming. I think she stole Eddie’s elevator key and had a copy made. I don’t think she committed the murder.”

  “You mean, she was in on Jenny’s murder, but then her partner…decided she was a liability?”

  Sean nodded. “Maybe she was getting nervous because she found out we were going to question her down at the station, and she met with her partner to find out what to say. Or maybe her partner was nervous about her—that’s easy to believe. I don’t think she was intended to be a victim at the beginning. Or maybe the killer figured he’d get her, too, when he was ready. I can’t help feeling she was involved. Why else do you drive to a cemetery and sneak in? But who knows—we’re still missing a piece of the puzzle. When this began, I suspect the intent was just to make Alistair go to prison for the rest of his life. But I think we’re close to the truth now.”

  “You’re saying you know who the real killer is—whoever actually carried out the murders?”

  “No. I don’t know who else is involved. Obviously, with Helena dead, we won’t be able to question her at the station and throw her off. But we’ve found it—the tunnel,” Sean said grimly. “I haven’t taken it all the way through yet. I will once the tech people are finished down there. I’m sure that tunnel goes to the studio. And I’m sure that’s how the killer escaped.”

  “Why did he leave Helena down there?” Madison asked.

  “I’m assuming it’s because he didn’t want Helena found right away—in case we didn’t believe it was a suicide. But now that Helena has been found, Alistair could be released soon.” He was thoughtful for a minute. “I also assume the killer didn’t think we’d ever find the tunnels. He probably figured we’d go crazy trying to trace the tunnels through the studio, that it wouldn’t occur to us to backtrack.”

  “Can you or Logan speak to the D.A. or the A.D.A. on the case? Alistair should be released now. I don’t really understand the legal chain, but all they have to do is drop the charges against him, right?”

  “It has to be done before the judge,” Sean said. “If they were to release Alistair—or even announce that they were releasing him—it could force the killer’s hand.”

  Logan walked over to join them. “Knox just told me they opened her car. She left a suicide note on the driver’s seat.”

  Sean’s eyebrows shot up. “There’s a suicide note?” he asked incredulously.

  “So I’ve been told. They’ll test it forensically.”

  “I’m willing to bet it was typed,” Sean said.

  “Oh, yeah.” Logan nodded. “Forensics can try to match it to a printer—and we’ll start with the computers at the studio and Eddie’s house.”

  “I need to see that note,” Sean insisted. “I need to know exactly what it said.”

  “I’ll have Knox get it.”

  Sean turned back to Madison, as Logan hurried off. “The police will have to close the studio again, but the work can go on until the last minute. The whole place has to be closed until they really get a grip on what’s going on underground.”

  “How will they do that?”

  “They’ll bring in a score of engineers. We’ve just got to find out how the killer’s been using the labyrinth, get every bit of evidence from the tunnels before the engineers go down there.”

  “What’s going to happen with the studio?” Madison asked anxiously. She was worried sick about Eddie—first Alistair and now his wife. But the studio meant a livelihood for so many people.

  “We’ll have to see,” Sean told her. “I don’t know.”

  Logan came back, bearing the letter Helena had supposedly written in a clear plastic evidence bag. Sean read it aloud.

  “‘I can no longer bear the guilt and the shame. I killed Jenny. I wanted more than you could give. Eddie, forgive me. May my death bring an end to what you are suffering, and may Alistair and God forgive me, too. Helena.’”

  “Well?” Logan asked.

  “Bull,” Sean said. “Helena LaRoux did not write this.”

  “It is dramatic,” Logan murmured. “And kind of sad. She asks Eddie, Alistair and God to forgive her—but not Jenny, whom she killed.”

  “That’s because she didn’t write the letter.”

  Knox approached the ambulance. “Agent Cameron, Eddie Archer has heard what’s happened. We really don’t think he should come here. Mike Greenwood is with him at his house, and Eddie wants you there, too.”

  “When the medical examiner’s taken the body and the forensics team’s done, I want to get back in those tunnels. But I’ll go over to
Eddie’s first.”

  “What should I do?” Madison asked.

  Knox looked at her. “You should stay out of the way right now, Ms. Darvil. The teams will be busy for a while.”

  “Did Eddie want me, too?”

  “Just Agent Cameron. You might want to go home and get some rest. Or, if you’re up to it after crashing through the floor you could go to the studio,” he said, “Mr. Simons has gone in. I still have men posted there. The employees know what happened.” He gave her a white-lipped smile. “From what I hear, it’s a gossip fest. But the work’s going on.”

  “What do you want to do?” Sean asked her.

  “Clean up and go to work.”

  “Okay. I’ll get Kelsey to take you back to the hotel.”

  * * *

  Eddie wasn’t usually much of a drinker.

  That day, he was. He didn’t need to fight to save Alistair anymore; he couldn’t save Helena.

  When Pierce let Sean in, he found Eddie sitting on the sofa at the back of his beautiful house. The L.A. sun was shining brightly, casting a benign light on the pool behind the glass and the perfectly manicured lawn that surrounded it. Mike Greenwood was sitting in the chair across from the sofa, trying to lend what support he could.

  Pierce, shaking his head sorrowfully at Sean, seemed anxious, worried—and not at all triumphant that Helena had proven to be venomous.

  Eddie looked at Sean with dazed, red-rimmed eyes. “It was Helena? You saw her? There was no mistake? It was really Helena?”

  Sean patted his friend’s knee and sat next to Eddie. “Yes. I saw her. I’m sorry, Eddie.”

  “She killed herself?”

  Sean hesitated. “Eddie, she was dangling from a rope. It was attached to the hook set into the crypt for flowers. She’d also slashed her wrists, and she left a note.”

  Eddie nodded. “The police read me the note. I didn’t buy it. Did you buy it, Sean?”

  “Eddie,” Mike interjected.

  “Sean, did you believe it?” Eddie demanded.

  Sean inhaled on a deep breath. “No,” he admitted. “Except…”

  “What? What the hell are you trying to say?”

  “Eddie, it really looks like she drove herself to that cemetery. I think she was meeting someone.”

  Eddie gulped down his glass of whiskey. “You’re trying to say that my wife is a murderer, that she killed a girl—killed her!—just to hurt me…to hurt Alistair. She’s dead, Sean! Helena is dead.”

  He wasn’t sure how to respond. Anything he could come up with sounded lame. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m so sorry.”

  Eddie rose, heading for the Scotch bottle again. “Be careful what you wish for! That’s what they always say. I wished desperately that my son would be freed. I did everything I could to bring in the FBI—to find the truth and prove Alistair innocent. So now, supposedly, Helena wrote a suicide note claiming to have committed the crime. She cut her wrists, and when she didn’t do that properly, she hanged herself. That’s what the police say. And they think it’s all over, that what she wrote is the truth…but it can’t be. It just can’t be.”

  Sean was silent.

  “There’s more, isn’t there?” Eddie spun on him, whiskey sloshing precariously near the rim of his glass. “You’re thinking a lot more than you’re saying.”

  Sean lifted his hands. He wasn’t going to lie to Eddie. “I don’t believe Helena killed herself. But I do believe she was partners with whoever killed her—and Jenny,” he said bluntly. “That’s no comfort to you, I know.”

  Eddie let out a long shaky breath.

  Sean’s phone rang and he answered quickly. Logan was calling from the police station.

  “Here’s something that might help Eddie,” Logan said. “They’re releasing Alistair. The D.A. was able to get before the judge and they’re dropping the charges. The police will remove Alistair’s ankle bracelet and he’ll be free to go home.”

  He hung up. “The charges against Alistair are being dropped. You can bring him home, Eddie.”

  Eddie stiffened his shoulders, staring out at the yard but obviously not seeing anything. He shook his head slowly. “Alistair is staying where he is. Someone’s after my family. I’m not letting them get to Alistair. They destroyed Helena, and they’re trying to destroy me and the studio. I’m not going to let them.”

  Mike stood. “No, Eddie, we won’t let them ruin the studio,” he vowed.

  Eddie took a sip of his whiskey. “So, go back to work, Mike. You, too, Sean. Go get the bastard for me. Don’t let the cops put it all on Helena, like they were trying to do with Alistair.”

  Sean glanced at Mike, and Mike looked back at him unhappily. “Eddie,” Sean said. “We’re all worried about you.”

  Eddie lowered his head. “Don’t be. Pierce is with me. I’m going to go and stay with Alistair for a while. Don’t worry—I’m not driving. Pierce will take me, and we’ll stay together. We may be an odd family, but we are family. And I’m all right. I’ve got it under control. Mike, save the studio. Sean, get the bastard. Go—do it, please. We’re going to be fine, aren’t we, Pierce?”

  “Yes, Eddie,” Pierce said. “We’re going to be fine.”

  There were still tears in Eddie’s eyes. Because Helena was dead or because she had so bitterly betrayed him? Or both?

  Sean rose to leave. Mike Greenwood followed suit. “It’s all right, really,” Pierce said. “I’ll take him to be with Alistair.”

  As Sean and Mike departed together, Mike whispered, “Poor Eddie. Nicest damn guy in the world. And he fell for a manipulative bitch like Helena.” He paused, raising his voice as they left the house. “Do you think she really killed Jenny Henderson—and then herself? You can be forced to write a suicide note, but no one forced her out of the house. There’s an alarm. Pierce would’ve protected her, not that he liked her himself, but she was Eddie’s wife. Maybe she was going to the store and she was kidnapped—yeah, that’s possible!”

  “I think she was involved. How involved, I don’t know.”

  He stopped at the cars and looked back at Mike. “You’re going to manage, keeping the studio open?”

  “As long as Andy and Eddie tell me to, I’ll manage. Somehow. And, of course, as long as the police let me. Will they close us down again, do you suppose?”

  “They’ve closed the cemetery for the day, and a couple of cops—as well as my team—will hang around there. This particular investigation could go on for a while, so I don’t expect that anyone will ask you to close, not for the next few days, anyhow. If at all.”

  “Then I’m going back to work,” Mike said. “See you later, Sean. Thanks for becoming—whatever it is you’ve become in the FBI.”

  Sean watched him go. He remembered working for Mike Greenwood, a steady guy who never raised his voice. He was pretty sure Madison felt the same way. He waved to Mike as Mike revved his car, murmuring, “I always was what I am now, Mike. I always was.”

  He slid back into the Prius and eased into traffic.

  As he drove, a call from Jane advised him that Logan had arranged for a meeting with Oliver Marshall at the police station as soon as Oliver was finished shooting for the day. He expected to be available in about four hours.

  Sean mused that Oliver Marshall was heading into the glare of major stardom. Why would he be involved in a case like this?

  But who ever really knew what drove another human being? Who could tell what perceived slights and wrongs motivated acts of vengeance or bitterness? And if Oliver wasn’t involved, he still might know something they didn’t.

  How well had Oliver Marshall been acquainted with Helena LaRoux?

  He hoped they were going to find out. But for the time being, he planned to get back down to those tunnels.

  They were connected to the studio. He wanted to figure out just how and where. It was becoming evident to him that the killer had used the tunnels, certainly to make his escape.

  The killer had known the studio backward and for
ward and had some connection to it. Helena had managed to get the basement key for the killer and she’d probably been the one to reveal that Alistair would be at the Black Box Cinema—and that Jenny would join him. Sean didn’t just need to know who was familiar with the studio and the Black Box; now he also needed to know who’d been privy to the information about Peace Cemetery.

  * * *

  People were, naturally enough, tense. But whether anyone had tried to hush up the news about the discovery of Helena’s body, Madison had no idea. She did notice that she wasn’t included in most of the whispering among her coworkers. As they day wore on, she often caught them staring at her, and then quickly looking away.

  She couldn’t help being aware of them as she worked on Oliver Marshall’s costume with Alfie. He was holding the rubber shield in place on the shirt material while she stitched it in. Simple task, but because of the type of fabric and the need for perfect positioning so that Oliver and his stunt double could rip up his clothing and be clad as an Egyptian warrior, the work required two people.

  “Everyone’s staring at you,” Alfie told her.

  “Yep.”

  “They think you’re in the know,” Alfie said, “and, of course, you are. Scary. I would’ve died! You found her—ugh. Weird. Do you have, like, corpse radar or something?”

  “Alfie, I fell through bad flooring!”

  “How weird! She left a suicide note in her car, then took herself down to some hidden crypts to kill herself. On the other hand, she never did seem really normal. No, wait, for Hollywood, she was normal, trying to play the climb-up-the-ladder game. I just don’t get it, though. Can you imagine how she must have done this? Oh, but wait, she’d definitely know Alistair’s and Eddie’s habits, what they were up to and stuff like that. She’d know how to use the security equipment…maybe. I never thought of her as a technical genius. Actually, I never thought of her as a genius at all.”

  “I guess we’ll never know now, will we, Alfie?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “So, you think it’s going to end? I mean, they’re keeping the studio open. First, one corpse, and Alistair is arrested. Then Helena winds up dead! Of course, she was found in the cemetery, so that doesn’t affect the studio, but it does affect Eddie. Wow. Who’d a’ thunk?”