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

by Heather Graham

  “To the best of my knowledge, it’s been decided that the studio will stay open for the next few days while they explore beneath the church. After that, I’m not sure. At least we’re open for now, so let’s get this done.”

  “Yep. And there are still cops in the studio,” he said, lowering his voice. “They’re guarding the elevator shaft. And Bailey’s guarding the building entrance and marching around like a dictator, spying on everyone.”

  “Well, they’re here. Makes you feel safe, right?” Madison asked.

  “Madison, come on, give! You’re sleeping with the FBI, for God’s sake, you gotta know something that’s going on!”

  She glanced up at him, not really startled, but curious about how he’d figured it out.

  He just grinned at her, as pleased as the Cheshire cat.

  “Alfie, the FBI keeps a lot of things silent,” she said. “Personal…relationships are irrelevant. I don’t know what’s going on, and you keep easing up on the rubber and the fabric. Hold it tight, will you?”

  “Sure.” He was quiet for a few minutes. “Can we eat soon? Maybe send out for pizza?”

  “Yes, Alfie, we can eat soon.”

  * * *

  By the time he returned to the cemetery, the body of Helena LaRoux had been removed and was on its way to the morgue. The crime scene techs were finishing up. No one currently with the studio was still at the site. After Kelsey had driven Madison to the hotel to change and then to work, Logan had sent her over to the hospital to stay with Eddie and Alistair. Logan himself had gone back to the cemetery. Jane remained at the police station, Kat was heading to the morgue and Tyler was at the studio keeping watch.

  The cemetery director was beside himself; he’d known about the crypts, but there hadn’t been a burial or entombment there for fifty years. They hadn’t sealed off access because the supporting structure might need to be repaired or reinforced at some point. Earthquake construction codes had been strengthened since the chapel was built. The managing offices for the cemetery weren’t on the grounds but across the street. Police regularly patrolled the cemetery, which was closed to the public at dusk. They’d had a few instances of vandalism but, perhaps thanks to the studio and the Black Box being where they were, they didn’t even get a lot of kids breaking in to play pranks, and they’d never had a case of grave-robbing.

  Since the young cemetery manager was an emotional wreck, he was allowed to go back to work—or home for a tranquilizer.

  Logan and Sean waited, observing the crime scene techs going in and out, doing their last sweeps and bearing bags of dirt, twigs, possible footprints, fibers—minute specks of anything that might lead to the truth.

  As they watched, Logan asked, “She didn’t speak to you, did she? Helena LaRoux, I mean. Was there any sign of her…still being here with us?”

  Sean shook his head. “Nothing. Doesn’t mean she isn’t, but…”

  “Sometimes they don’t stay.” Logan shrugged. “Sometimes they do.”

  “We’ll take a trip to the morgue later,” Sean said. “I really want to go into those tunnels, though. I’m anxious.”

  “Looks like we’re getting the opportunity soon,” Logan said as the lead investigator emerged.

  Armed with his flashlight, Sean moved forward. Knox stood just outside the church. “I’ll keep two men on duty out here,” he said. He offered Sean a radio. “I don’t think any corpses are going to rise up and attack you, but hell, these days… This radio should work anywhere in the region of the tunnels, the cemetery, the studio.”

  Sean accepted it. “Thanks, Detective.”

  “You want to get in there before they bring in the engineers, right?”

  “Yeah,” Sean said. “Are you okay with that?”

  “Well, you’ve shaken the tree, that’s for sure,” Knox said. “And LaRoux’s note proves the kid wasn’t guilty—or crazy. I say go for it. But if any of those crypts cave in, it’ll be on your head, not mine—no pun intended.”

  Sean gave Knox a grim smile, and he and Logan entered the church again, hurried to the rear and down to the tunnels.

  They took the stairs, pausing to study the false crypts that connected with the area where Helena had been found.

  “I’ll lead. I’m getting accustomed to the spiderwebs and crypt dust,” Sean told Logan.

  “Be my guest,” Logan said.

  “We’re assuming that our killer entered the cinema from down here and exited the same way. So we have to find the path that goes toward the Black Box,” Sean said thoughtfully.

  “There’s only one path.”

  “I don’t think so, but let’s follow this route for a while. And keep an eye on the walls. I think we’ll discover other false fronts—walls of tomb ‘shelves’ that are really doors to other corridors. This was a major undertaking. What they were doing, or so I understand, was providing services for the poor and for illegal aliens. From what I’ve heard, the old pastor really cared about people. I’m sure he gave the family members a lot of solace.”

  They’d traveled carefully for almost an hour when Sean was startled by a voice on the radio. “It’s Knox. Oliver Marshall is on his way to the station. Do you want me to interview him, or are you two coming in?”

  “One of us needs to go,” Sean said.

  “And no one should be alone down here. It’s far scarier than any house of horrors ever devised by a master of illusion.”

  Sean grinned wryly. “That’s what the Claymores were—masters of illusion.”

  “We’ll go back. We can spend the entire day tomorrow searching the tunnels,” Logan decided. “Or all of tonight, whichever you prefer.”

  “Knox, Logan and I are coming up,” Sean said. “You’ll keep men on guard here, right? We don’t want anyone else slipping in.”

  “You got it.”

  * * *

  There was nothing on the minds of anyone at the studio other than the discovery of Helena LaRoux’s body. Speculation abounded. Some claimed they’d always known that Helena was up to no good. Mostly, however, the speculation revolved around the business itself. Quite a few workers wondered if the business could possibly survive, if the producers and directors who contracted the studio to create the special effects for their projects would continue to do so.

  Alfie ordered a pizza, then he and Madison had a late lunch with Mike in the conference room. While she’d never been truly disturbed by any of their props before, Madison found herself studying “Matilda,” and feeling ill at ease. It was ridiculous, of course; she’d attended meetings and eaten her lunch in the conference room dozens of times, and all she’d ever felt was tremendous pride in the work the studio did.

  Alfie finished his pizza and announced that he was going to the men’s room, and he’d meet Madison back at her station.

  “How’s Eddie doing?” she asked Mike when he’d left.

  “I thought he was going to fall to pieces,” Mike said. “Then he suddenly pulled himself together. Eddie’s going to make it. He was heartbroken when Alistair’s mother died, but they were childhood sweethearts—they really had a love match. I think Eddie’s married for lust instead of love since she died. He’ll get over Helena, especially if he finally accepts that she meant to ruin his life.” He leaned over and gave Madison a hug. “We’re all going to make it, kid.”

  Andy Simons came in a few minutes later. He hadn’t thought to order lunch and stared at the pizza longingly. “That’s all leftovers,” Madison said. “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” He joined them and wolfed down a piece, then looked at Madison and Mike. “I just talked to Eddie. He’s back at the hospital with Alistair. The D.A. has dropped the charges, thanks to the suicide note, but Eddie is staying with Alistair—and they’re both staying at the hospital. Eddie sounds like a cat with his tail caught in the door. He’s suspicious of everyone. Including me,” Andy added wearily. He raised his hands in a despairing gesture. “I’m his partner. We’ve been together for years.”

&nb
sp; “His wife is dead, Andy,” Madison said. “He’s in agony, and he can’t accept the fact that Helena wanted to hurt him. He must be suffering humiliation, too, since he didn’t have any idea of what she was doing.”

  Andy shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. Well, I’m going to take off. I want to get to the hospital to see Eddie and Alistair.”

  “Give them my love, please,” Madison said.

  “I’ll do that,” Andy promised.

  He grabbed the remaining two slices of pizza and left. “Back to work,” Madison said cheerfully. She glanced at her watch—almost three. “Oliver’s suit is just about completed. They can pick it up tomorrow. We already did his stunt double’s version, so we’re on schedule.”

  Mike smiled at her. “The monster is ready, too. We’re supposed to go out on location soon.” He seemed to brighten. “We’ll hang on to The Unholy. Even if they close us down again, it’ll be okay, since we’re going to be on location.”

  Madison nodded as she gathered up the empty pizza carton and napkins and put them in the room’s recycling bin.

  As she headed back to work, she felt as if icy rivulets were snaking down her spine. She spun around and stared at the creatures in the circular area that separated the conference rooms from the elevator and stairs.

  Something wasn’t right. She studied the creatures standing there—the werewolf with his golden eyes and dripping fangs, the beautiful evil witch, the victim with her one destroyed eye….

  And then she saw movement.

  A scream rose in her throat.

  16

  “Yes, I am related to the Claymores—and therefore the studio and the cemetery,” Oliver Marshall said, sitting across from Sean in the interview room at the station. Like Benita, he seemed to realize that others were watching the interview. He waved to the mirror, as if waving to fans. “So, Helena is dead,” he murmured, turning serious. “Suicide? Who would’ve figured?” He looked at Sean, expression quizzical. “Do you really think I could have had anything to do with this?” he asked. “I had an ancestor who owned it all, yeah, but none of it came to my family or me, and I never exploit the connection.” He seemed earnest, courteous and polite.

  “Oliver, we’re checking out everything and everyone. In the stories you heard from your family, did anyone talk about the crypts underneath the church?” Sean asked him.

  “Sure. I never knew if what I heard was real or the kind of exaggeration you get when a story is told and retold over and over again.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “Oh, I heard the underground was riddled with tunnels, but I didn’t think that could be true! Someone would’ve found them by now,” Oliver said, grinning. “There’s often a crypt under an old church, so I figured that part was true. And the original Claymore, the guy who first bought the property, was supposedly a real humanitarian. My dad said he arranged for real religious ceremonies for illegal aliens and poor people who died. Their families, if they had any, couldn’t afford funerals or burials, so…”

  Sean changed his tactic. “Did you ever work with Helena LaRoux?”

  Oliver frowned. “Yeah. Well, I never spoke to her on set. We were both in a pilot for a series called The Legal Way.” He made a face. “It wasn’t picked up by any of the networks. I was playing a character named Harper Mulligan. I was the brash P.I., flying beneath the radar while my partner was a by-the-book guy. Helena was a victim, killed before my character even comes on.” He paused suddenly, going pale. “Wow, I’d forgotten about that. It was several years ago. Eddie Archer was married to Benita Lowe at the time, and I actually remember there was a bit of work done at the studios. Eddie’s team created some of the corpses for the show. I remember talking to Benita on set when she showed up with Eddie. I talked with her more than I did Helena.”

  “Did you know she was related to Pete Krakowski, the bit player who was killed on the set of the original Sam Stone?”

  “I did.” He nodded as he said that. “We talked about our associations with the place and the fact that while they could be discovered if you dug deep enough, we both preferred to keep them quiet. I’m not sure why I did, other than that pride thing of wanting to make it on my own. And, of course, I doubted it would do anything for me. But Benita really didn’t want anyone knowing about her relationship to Krakowski. She said he might be an ancestor of half the people she knew—he was chronically unfaithful and a deplorable cheat. Pity. She and Helena seemed to be friends back then. But I guess Helena screwed her over, although Benita and Eddie split because of other differences. I never knew exactly what those differences were and they’re none of my business. I’ve never asked. But I know Benita did care about Eddie, and…” He lifted his shoulders. “Benita was honestly fond of Alistair, as well. I don’t see her being involved.”

  “Okay, routine question, and you’ve probably been asked by the cops already,” Sean said. “Where were you the night Jenny Henderson was killed?”

  Oliver smiled. “In Las Vegas—not having fun. We did some scenes on a set built out in the desert that night. We filmed until the wee hours, and that’s something you can verify with dozens of people.”

  Sean stood and shook Oliver’s hand. “Thank you for coming in, and thank you for all the help.”

  “If I can do anything… Archer’s studio is great. So is Eddie. I don’t want to work with anyone beside Madison—she’s fantastic. I’ll help if I can. Just call me.”

  Sean joined Logan and Knox outside the interview room as Oliver left the station.

  “Where do we go from here?” Knox asked. “You really don’t think Helena pulled the whole thing off, do you?”

  “No, I don’t,” Sean said firmly. “This is the second time we’ve heard about Benita’s feelings regarding Pete Krakowski. The guy was a cheat but what we should do is find out who he was cheating with. Trace back some family lines. I still say there has to be a reason somewhere in the past for these murders. And I think we need to uncover it quickly. We were supposed to find Helena’s note—but not her body. And if by some chance we did find the body, it was supposed to support the suicide theory, maybe prove that Helena knew about the catacombs. But we’re still searching, so it must be obvious that we’re not just saying, Wow, look at that, Helena’s guilty. The killer has to be feeling a little desperate, and that’s dangerous.”

  “Well, the workday is over,” Knox said. “The studio will be empty except for our guys, the security guard and I’m assuming you have a man there, too?”

  Logan nodded. Sean turned to him. “Logan, can you work with Jane and get on the computer, pull every resource we have, see what we can learn about Pete Krakowski? I need to know who he was having affairs with.”

  “Krakowski?” Logan said. “You think it’s a vengeance killing? According to Benita Lowe, his wife made a bundle. Sounds like he was no loss, and the family was happy to receive the money.”

  “Sure, his current wife, beaten and ignored and cheated on, might have been happy. But maybe he left someone in the dust. Maybe he had a mistress at the time.”

  “She’d be dead now or too old to pull this off— Oh, I see! You’re thinking Krakowski had an illegitimate child?” Logan asked.

  “Yes. And that the illegitimate child had a descendent or descendents who grew up with feelings of hate and anger, believing that if Krakowski hadn’t died, their lives might’ve been different. That if he’d lived, he would have divorced his wife, married the pregnant mistress—if there was one—or…whatever,” Sean said. “It’s a wild card, but Oliver has an airtight alibi…and Helena is dead.”

  “A legitimate child who didn’t grow up with any kind of stigma might recognize that Krakowski was a womanizer and an alcoholic,” Logan added, “but that he would never have divorced his wife.”

  “Right. Benita learned that her great-grandfather was a cheat. That’s what she was told, at any rate. And as you said, maybe an illegitimate child would teach his or her heirs that they would’ve been legitimate and have
everything—if their ancestor hadn’t been killed by carelessness on a set. Or murder…”

  “Do you really think Krakowski was murdered?” Logan asked him.

  “It’s a case that occurred well over half a century ago,” Sean said, “and it was generally accepted as an accident. We may never know—but what matters isn’t what really happened, it’s what a certain person believes might have happened. Hey, even Bogie thought it could’ve been murder. The killer seems to blame the Claymore studio, which did the special effects on the Sam Stone movie, not the Waterton film studio where the accident took place. And he doesn’t care that Eddie, who had nothing to do with any of it, now owns Claymore’s. At least, that’s the only alternative I can see at the moment,” Sean said. “It may be a long shot—and it may be the right shot. But there has to be a connection. Helena was obviously an accomplice. However, she’s dead, and I don’t believe she killed herself. There has to be a second suspect, and he—or she—has an agenda. There’s a good chance that agenda is connected to Krakowski.”

  “I’ll get on the computer,” Logan promised. “I’m pretty good at research, but finding out who a guy was sleeping with…hmm.”

  Sean grinned. “Jane will help you. She’s good at reading between the lines. I’m going to the studio now.”

  “Yeah, you do that. And when you’re back at the hotel, maybe you can do some of your computer-whiz stuff and see what you can figure out, too. First, though, why don’t you drive Madison home—and maybe find out if Bogie knew anything about Krakowski’s sleeping habits,” Logan suggested.

  “Will do,” Sean assured Logan.

  He thanked Knox and the other cops and said goodbye, leaving the station. As he did, he called Madison’s cell number.

  No answer. He tried Tyler’s phone next; he did answer.

  “Everything all right there?” Sean asked.