Blood Game

by Iris Johansen

See.

  Hear.

  Open.

  What on earth was happening to—?

  “Hello, Joe.”

  He whirled toward the porch swing,

  A little girl was curled up on the swing. “I’ve wanted to come to see you so many times, but I couldn’t do it. I’m so happy I can do it now.”

  In the dimness of the porch she was only a blur, but she couldn’t be more than seven or eight. The nearest house was miles away. How had she gotten here? “Who are you?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be here. Where’s your family?”

  “Coming. But you’re my family, too, Joe. You closed me out for so long, but something . . . happened. You’re open to me now.”

  Hear. See. Open.

  “Yes, that’s right, Joe.”

  “No, it’s not right. None of this is right. You should go home. Your parents must be worrying.”

  She shook her head. “You know that won’t happen. You know who I am.”

  “The hell I do.” The dawn rays were gradually banishing the pool of darkness surrounding the swing, touching the little girl’s curly red hair and small face with light. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. This was crazy. Yet he didn’t feel crazy. He felt a weird sense of . . . peace. “Who are you?”

  “It’s going to be all right, Joe. I promise you.”

  “Who are you?”

  The sunlight was now surrounding her as had the darkness before, revealing the Bugs Bunny T-shirt she was wearing.

  “Why, Joe.” Her luminous smile lit her face and reached out to touch him, embrace him, enfold him in love. “I’m Bonnie.”

  ________

  MADNESS.

  That sense of peace vanished, and he had turned and run down the porch steps in a panic.

  It wasn’t real. It was a hallucination. It was all craziness, and there was no reason for him to feel this—His heart was beating hard. Why was he afraid? Not of that little girl in the swing. She wasn’t real.

  Insanity. The breakdown of the mind was the enemy, that was why he was in this panic. He had always been so sure of what was real and what was fantasy. It was the bedrock of his character and now that bedrock was shifting, crumbling.

  He’d forced himself to look back at the swing on the porch. No little girl with a luminous smile. He’d felt a little of the tension leaving him. He was still shaken and alarmed, but the first panic was gone. He’d known it was only a momentary aberration and would never be repeated.

  Just as he was sure of that now, hours later, as he drove toward Lake Allatoona. There had been no ghostly visit from Eve’s daughter. Stress, the strain of the last days, and imagination had combined to make him lose it for a couple minutes. But now he was back to doing what he did best, and even the thought of Bonnie was fading.

  A few minutes later, he pulled over behind the medical examiner’s van. Back to his reality. Not pleasant. Often grim.

  Today he welcomed it.

  He got out of the car, ducked under the yellow tape, and made his way toward the bank where Detective Gary Schindler was standing.

  “Nasty.” Schindler turned to face Joe as he approached. He nodded at the body of the girl a few yards away surrounded by the forensic team. “She was just a kid.”

  “Naked. Do we know if she was raped?”

  “Not yet. She was wearing jeans and a red University of Georgia sweatshirt. Her clothes are piled over beneath that tree. Very neatly. Her body and hair are arranged neatly too.” He was silent a moment. “Ritual killing?”

  “Could be.” Joe took a careful step forward to get a closer look. Poor kid. Her eyes were closed, but her expression was twisted with horror. “Her throat was cut.”

  “Again, very neatly,” Schindler said. “One neat swipe of the jugular, or so the M.E. said. Her wrists have rope burns. She must have been tied down before or during the killing.”

  “Not enough blood for that kind of wound.”

  Schindler nodded. “Oh, there was blood. The bastard cleaned her up so that she’d be all pretty. Except for the goblet. He left traces in the goblet.”

  Joe’s gaze flew to his face. “Goblet?”

  “Her right hand.” Schindler pointed. “It’s half under her body, but there’s some kind of gold or brass goblet in her hand. I think it has carvings on it. We can’t move it until forensics gets finished, but you can see the blood on the inside of the cup. That’s why I was leaning toward a ritual killing.”

  Joe stiffened.

  Gold cup, intricately carved, Eve had said.

  Joe squatted to get a better look at the goblet in Nancy Jo Norris’s hand.

  The gold glittered in the early-morning sunlight. He couldn’t make out what they were but there were definitely carvings on the goblet.

  Shit.

  THREE

  EVE WATCHED THE POLICE CAR with the young officer who had picked up the goblet go down the drive, passing the other police car parked on the road.

  “There, it’s gone.” She turned to Jane. “Now will you go to bed and get some sleep?”

  “Yep.” Jane gave her a hug and turned toward her bedroom. “It made me uneasy. No, it scared the hell out of me. The thing just reminded me of an Aztec or Mayan sacrificial cup. Not the most soothing thought to lull one to sleep. Now it’s in the hands of the police, and we’re doing something about it. Joe will get to the bottom of it.”

  “Yes, we can count on that.” Eve watched Jane go into the bedroom and shut the door. She knew what Jane meant about the uneasiness. She’d had the same reaction when she’d seen the goblet.

  Forget it. She couldn’t do anything about it now. There was a guard on duty. The alarm-company inspector would be out in a few hours to make sure the alarm could not be tampered with again. Keep busy. Check the mail. Check her e-mail to see if there were any requests for her to work on any of the children found on the island in the swamp. She reached for the pile of letters on the coffee table.

  Her phone rang. Megan, again.

  “I’m fine, Megan,” she said as she picked up. “I know you’re concerned, but I’m not experiencing any—”

  “What about Joe Quinn?”

  Eve froze. “What about him?”

  “How much physical contact did he have with me while I was unconscious?”

  “You were in shock and ice-cold. On the way back to the dock, he held you in his arms to warm you.”

  “Damn.”

  “Megan, you were unconscious. According to what you told me, this particular gift doesn’t usually work unless you’re fully aware and in a high emotional state.”

  “Usually. I don’t have that much experience with it. I just don’t know. But I told you, I could hear those murdered children even while I was in a coma. That means every part of my mind was still keyed up and functioning. Maybe that facilitation effect was functioning too.”

  “If it was working, then maybe Joe and I are immune.”

  “God, I hope so. Your Joe isn’t behaving differently?”

  “No. He’s working on a case now. I talked to him on the phone a few hours ago.” Eve tried to smother the sudden flash of anxiety that made her hand tighten on the phone. “Okay, he was a little . . . stiff with Jane when she first came. Maybe a little emotional with me. But he’s been through a hell of a lot in the past few days. I’m not willing to ascribe a slight difference in behavior to your voodoo.”

  “Would he talk to you if he had a problem that was off the normalcy scope?”

  “He talks to me.” But Joe was the ultimate realist. Would he even admit to himself that he was experiencing something neither real nor acceptable to him? And he hadn’t been able to talk to her this morning about what was troubling him.

  “But you’re not sure,” Megan said shrewdly. “Not in this case. I don’t blame you. I don’t blame him. None of the usual rules apply. You question your sanity. That’s the first reaction. After that, I imagine it’s up to the individual.”

  “Megan.” Eve had to say it. “I believe that
you heard those dead children. It was very difficult for me to come to that conclusion. As you said, it breaks all the rules. But I can’t believe in this facilitation business. I know you do, and I respect you, but I think you must be mistaken.”

  “You said that very diplomatically,” Megan said. “It’s only what I expected.” She was silent a moment. “We’ve become friends, Eve. I hoped you might trust me in this. It’s lonely carrying this by myself.”

  “We are friends. Friends don’t always agree.”

  “That’s true.” She added, “But friends also protect each other, and I have to keep trying to do that. I have to protect you, and I have to protect Joe Quinn.” Her voice vibrated with intensity. “Even if I had no personal feelings for you, I have a responsibility. I won’t let either of you be destroyed by something I did, something I am. Promise me that you’ll keep an eye out for anything out of the normal?”

  “Of course.”

  “And promise you’ll call me. Don’t keep it to yourself.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  “Good. I know that was hard for you. You prefer to keep things to yourself.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “Sure. We have a good deal in common. Maybe that’s why I feel so close to you. Good-bye, Eve.” She hung up.

  Yes, and that was why she felt close to Megan, Eve thought as she hung up. They both had a past that cast shadows on their present and had fought through nightmare pain. She hadn’t wanted to tell Megan that she doubted her. Megan was her friend, and that friendship was a rare and special thing in Eve’s life. She led a very solitary existence except for Joe, and, of course, Jane. Megan had almost exploded into her life while they were searching for the remains of a little boy, and they had formed bonds that would be hard to break.

  Eve went out on the porch and down the steps to the lake path. Why was she fighting Megan so hard in this? Megan had shown her bizarre and chilling things that had rocked her to her core. Yet Eve found she couldn’t take that final step and swallow all that business about her touch releasing latent psychic gifts. She had rejected it almost instinctively. She should have at least—

  ________

  “You were afraid, Mama.”

  Bonnie.

  She glanced at the tall pine tree beneath which Bonnie was sitting cross-legged. Same Bugs Bunny T-shirt, her mop of red curls was shining in the sunlight, and her smile was warm and bright. Eve felt a rush of love so intense that she couldn’t speak for a moment. “And how do you know that?” she asked lightly. “There aren’t many things that I’m afraid of, Bonnie.”

  “Because you’re not afraid of being hurt or dying. Because you think you’d be happier with me.” She shook her head. “But I keep telling you that can’t happen. We will be together but not for a long time. You have to stay and take care of Joe and Jane. They need you.”

  “Lecture number fifty-six.”

  Bonnie chuckled. “More than that. You just don’t listen, Mama.”

  “You’re either a ghost or a dream. Why should I listen?”

  “Because you love me. Because you know I’m right.”

  Yes, she loved her. From the moment she had given birth to her, Bonnie had been the center of her life. When her little girl had been taken from her, she had thought her life was over. Then these dreams of Bonnie had begun to come to Eve about a year after she had disappeared. Dream or spirit? During those first years, telling herself these appearances were only dreams was a safety net and kept her certain of her own sanity. Nowadays, she didn’t really care whether her daughter was a dream or a ghost. She was real to her, she was here. “You always think you’re right, young lady.”

  “Because I am. Especially where you’re concerned, Mama.”

  “And why do you think I’m afraid?”

  “Because of Joe. You’re afraid for Joe.” The tiniest frown wrinkled her brow. “I’m afraid, too.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s not like you. I love Joe. I was so happy . . . But he’s not like you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Bonnie looked at her. “You’re afraid because Joe may be different. Megan scared you.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Joe is like an anchor for you. He is what he is. You don’t want him to be changed.”

  “Everybody changes. That’s what life’s all about. You learn to love the changes too.”

  “What if Joe doesn’t love the changes? I went away, but I don’t think she will.”

  “Megan? Look, Bonnie, this psychic thing is completely without—” Her cell phone rang and she reached in her pocket. “It’s Montalvo.”

  BONNIE DIDN’T ANSWER.

  Eve didn’t have to glance at the pine tree to know that Bonnie would no longer be there. Disappointment sharpened her voice as she answered the phone. “What do you want, Montalvo?”

  “In what order?” Montalvo asked. “No, I can tell by your tone that you’re not about to indulge me that way. I called to tell you that there was another credit slip for Kevin Jelak issued at a gas station in Calhoun, Georgia.”

  Calhoun. That was a town not too far from Chattanooga. “He’s coming closer. What was the date on the slip?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “He’s leaving a trail. It’s stupid of him to use a credit card that can be traced.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know that we know about him.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he wants us to know he’s heading this way.” She gazed out at the lake. “Why now, Montalvo? It’s strange that he should appear right on the heels of Kistle’s death. All these years, and we heard nothing from Jelak. Did those investigators of yours stir him into action?”

  “Possibly. I’m expecting a report on him later today. They’re tracing his background through the credit-card application. I’ll let you know.” He paused. “Is everything all right with you?”

  A gold goblet stained with blood.

  “Everything is fine.”

  “I don’t believe you, but I’ll let it go. I’ll call you when I have anything of interest to you.” He hung up.

  It didn’t surprise her that Montalvo would sense her disturbance. He knew her very well. Too well.

  She turned and moved back toward the cottage. She would finish going through her e-mail, then maybe take a nap while Jane was still asleep. She’d had only a few hours’ sleep before she’d had to go pick up Jane at the airport.

  As if she’d be able to relax, she thought ruefully. Her mind was skipping from Jelak to Megan’s worried questions about Joe, to that damn goblet. Everything was swirling around her, leaping closer, like a tornado, hovering, then touching down.

  And Bonnie was the eye of the tornado, calm, loving, a shimmering orb that vanished as the storm overtook them.

  She glanced back at the pine tree where Bonnie had been sitting and remembered those last cryptic words.

  I went away, but I don’t think she will.

  Uneasiness, again.

  She impulsively reached in her pocket for her phone and dialed Joe. She wanted to reach out, touch him.

  “I was just going to call you.” His tone was curt. “I’ve been busy as hell. This crime scene is a media circus. We have to cordon off the entire area to keep the journalists from sneaking past the tapes.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s right, I didn’t tell you. The victim is Nancy Jo Norris. Her father is Ed Norris. He’s flying down from Washington now, and we have to get the forensic investigation done and Nancy Jo moved to the morgue before we have him coming here and causing more uproar from the media. I’ll be late getting home.” He paused. “After I leave here, I want to stop by the precinct and take a look at that goblet. We should have a preliminary report on the blood by that time.”

  “Nancy Jo Norris.” Eve felt sick. “I saw a photo of her in the newspaper last month. She was playing soccer in some tournament. She was smiling, and she looked positively radiant.”

  “T
hat’s one of the reasons the media is hyped. A 4.0 student, popular, good at sports, on the student council . . . and a daddy who might run for president someday.”

  “Poor girl. Everything to live for . . .” She shook her head. “I’d be out there on top of you too. Any clues as to who did it?”

  “One.” He paused. “Schindler thinks it may be a ritual killing.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Maybe. I’ll talk to you about it when I get home tonight. Do me a favor. You and Jane stick close to the cottage today. Is the squad car there?”

  “Yes, he’s parked down the road.” She was silent a moment. “I thought I might be overreacting. You’re really worried about that goblet.”

  “Damn right. And you’re not overreacting, Eve. Just stay close to the house, okay?”

  “Okay. Jane and I have some catching up to do anyway.”

  “I’ll be home soon as I can. By the way, why did you phone me?”

  Joe was so blessedly normal Eve felt foolish that she had yielded to the temptation to call him. “I just wanted to talk to you. Is everything all right with you?”

  He didn’t answer directly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “No reason. I’ll see you tonight.” She hung up. Lord, she was relieved. He sounded much better than he had earlier. She had told Megan that she and Joe talked, but she had slid away from telling Joe about Megan’s call. He would have just laughed and made some kind of derogatory comment about Megan’s voodoo.

  You were afraid, Mama.

  But there’s nothing to be afraid of, baby. Joe is doing just fine.

  “I’M ON MY WAY BACK TO THE precinct,” Schindler said as he watched the M.E. vehicle pulling away from the curb carrying Nancy Jo Norris to the morgue. “You too?”

  Joe nodded. “Right away. I want to take a look at that goblet they pulled from her hand.” He was moving toward Johnson, who had placed the goblet in a clear plastic bag and was sealing it. “I won’t be long.”

  “Better not. They’re going to want our reports in a hurry. Everything is going to have to be in a hurry. The captain will need answers.”