Anna and Pratt shared a look. “Ghost?” Pratt asked.
The boy shot him a look. “Yeah. It was in that room. I could feel it. I wanted out of there bad. That’s why I was trying to get those boards off that window. I was gonna go out that way.”
“What did the ghost look like?” Pratt asked.
The kid shook his head. “I don’t know. I just felt it. And saw…” He gave Pratt a sheepish look and dropped his gaze, clamping his lips closed.
“Tell us,” Anna urged.
“You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“No. We won’t,” Anna responded firmly.
When the kid lifted his gaze to hers, her expression was open, totally without judgment.
He frowned. “It put a…a handprint on the glass when I pulled the first board off.” He watched Anna as if trying to gauge her reaction.
She nodded. “Could you tell by the size of the handprint if it was a man or a woman?”
“Or a child?” Bill asked.
“Woman, I think. It was small, but not small enough to be a kid.” Mack slid his gaze over them, his expression hopeful. “You believe me?”
“Yes,” Anna said. “We do.”
The kid sighed. He closed his eyes and dropped his head to the pillow. His whole body relaxed. “I thought I was losing my mind.”
“You’re not losing your mind,” Pratt assured him. “Can you…”
The kid’s eyes opened.
“…can you tell us how the ghost felt?”
“Felt?” Mack frowned.
“Its mood,” Bill said. “Did it feel peaceful, neutral, mad?”
“Oh, that’s easy. It felt really ticked. Violent even. It felt like if we didn’t get out of there soon, that thing was gonna tear us to pieces.”
They stood next to Pratt’s Jeep in the parking lot of the hospital. Bill was a few feet away, on his cell. He was talking to another ex-cop friend of theirs.
“It’s interesting the girl didn’t mention the ghost,” Pratt said.
“Yeah. It is,” Anna agreed. “But I’m sure she heard Joss earlier. She’s obviously sensitive. If anyone would have heard the ghost, it would be her.”
“Unless the ghost wasn’t verbal,” he said. When Anna looked a question at him, Pratt explained. “Morty says poltergeists tend to focus their energy on either physical manipulation or verbal communication. It takes a really powerful ghost to manage both simultaneously.”
“Like a savage spirit,” Anna said.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “A savage spirit would have the energy for both. But so far, our ghost has been satisfied to create only physical manifestations.”
“A poltergeist is unlikely to have killed Mitchel,” she pointed out.
“Yeah. There’s that. We might be looking for a flesh and blood killer.”
Bill rejoined them. It was strange to see the cop dressed in a button-up denim shirt and jeans. Anna had rarely seen him out of his uniform when he was working. “That was Will. I’d asked him to dig into the history of the Mistren house.”
William Bowler was a fellow cop from Saint Louis who had quit the force after sharing the same terrifying ghostly experience that had caused Pratt to leave the force and relocate to Crocker. Since following Pratt to Crocker, Bowler had become something of a ghost hunter. And he’d accumulated a ton of information about the local spirits and their activities.
“Did he find something?” Pratt asked.
Bill nodded. “There was a death in the home about five years ago. On Halloween night. A young cousin was visiting the home, and she and Mitchel had been planning on going to a party. But apparently the girl, Stephanie, and young Mitchel had a fight. He headed to the party without her. A few hours later, he returned to find the girl dead.”
“Was it murder?” Anna asked.
“It was ruled an accident.” Bill fixed them with a knowing look. “The girl was found lying at the bottom of the stairs.” He held out his cell and showed them a pretty blonde girl with a shy smile.
“Just like Mitchel,” Pratt said, frowning.
“But…” Bill went on. “A couple of other young women were found around that time too. Their deaths were also declared accidents.”
Anna’s eyes went wide. “Do you think we could be dealing with a serial killer?”
“It’s possible. They were never connected at the time.”
“Where were the Mistren parents that night?” Pratt asked.
“According to the case file, they’d been at an adult party across the street. The neighbors…” he quickly checked the notes he’d jotted into his phone. “…Stan and Edith Baker said Mrs. Mistren arrived at around eight PM, and her husband showed up just a few minutes later. He’d apparently been trying to convince the visiting cousin to join them at the party. But she said she wanted to stay home and pass out candy with Mitchel.”
“I thought Mitchel was out of the house too?” Anna said.
Bill nodded. “He was. But Stephanie reportedly insisted he was coming back to scare trick or treaters.” He glanced down at his notes again. “The parents walked back into the home shortly after Mitchel did.”
“What do we know about the parents?” Pratt asked.
“There isn’t much to know,” Bill said, reading quickly through the text Bowler had sent him. “Father was a beloved coach…girls’ volleyball. Mother was a housewife who volunteered at the hospital and the school. Both were well-liked.”
“Multiple ‘accidental’ deaths of young girls in the area and no investigation.” Pratt sighed. “It looks like we have an ice-cold serial murder case to solve,” he said, looking grim.
“Maybe not ice-cold,” Pratt said, lifting his phone to show them a text from Bowler with a name and address.
“Who’s that?” Anna asked.
“That,” Bill said with a smile. “Is our suspect.”
6
By the time they made it across town to their new suspect’s address, the streets were starting to get busy. Tiny witches, skeletons, and devils shared space with famous film stars and controversial political figures.
Most of the homes on Frank Tiller’s street were well lit. In some cases, homeowners were dressed to trick and equipped to treat.
Tiller’s lights were off and there was no sign he was home.
Bill knocked on the door as Anna watched a tiny M&M toddling along the sidewalk. The baby’s mother grinned with pride as the father pilfered a piece of candy from the child’s pumpkin-themed basket. Catching the dad’s eye, Anna grinned, giving him a thumb’s up.
A chorus of “Trick or Treat” sounded up and down the street, and Anna sighed wistfully. She didn’t get many trick or treaters in her apartment above The Finishing Touch, Crocker’s own flooring store and funeral parlor in one.
The door finally opened after Bill knocked several times.
A man who was probably in his mid-thirties pulled it open a few inches and glared out at them. “What?”
“Frank Tiller?” Bill asked.
“Yeah.” The man scanned Bill, Anna, and Pratt a look, and his scowl deepened. “Whatever you’re sellin’ I don’t want any.” He started to close the door.
Bill reached out and blocked it from closing, his free hand holding up a badge. “We’d like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Tiller.”
“About what?” Tiller asked, his gaze locked on the badge.
“About Mitchel Mistren.”
Tiller looked at Anna again, speculation running through his gaze. “What about Mitchel?”
“Can we come in?” Bill asked, sliding the badge back into his pocket.
Tiller hesitated just long enough to let them know he didn’t want them inside his home, and then stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind him. “We can talk out here.”
“Is there some reason you don’t want us to go inside?” Pratt asked.
Tiller’s jaw tightened. “Is there a reason you want to go inside?”
Bill laughed softly, but there was
no humor in his eyes. “We can talk out here. Mr. Tiller, where were you tonight around six?”
Tiller frowned. “I was just coming home from work at that time.”
“Where do you work?”
“I own a small construction company. Tiller Construction.” Tiller glared at Bill. “What’s this about? Has something happened to the kid?”
“Just answer the questions, please,” Bill said in a deceptively pleasant tone. “Did you see your cousin today?” Bill asked.
To Anna’s surprise, Tiller nodded. “Mitch came to the job site around noon. He wanted to talk to me about doing some work at his house.”
That was perfectly plausible, Anna thought. And if it was true, that would appear to put Tiller in the clear for both murders. It seemed unlikely Mitchel would ask Tiller for help if his cousin had killed the girl in the Mistren home five years earlier.
“Do you remember a girl named Stephanie Plumber?” Bill asked.
The skin around Tiller’s eyes tightened slightly. Anna wouldn’t have noticed except that the car across the street pulled out of its driveway just then, the headlights briefly illuminating Tillman’s sun-browned face. “My second cousin? Of course I remember her.”
Bill nodded. “What do you know about her death?”
“I know it was an accident.”
“Was it?”
“I only know that’s what the police said.”
“It doesn’t sound like you believe it,” Pratt said.
“Who are you?” Tiller asked Pratt. But his gaze slid to Anna and lingered.
Something a little too intense filled his gaze, and Anna fought the urge to step away.
“I’m Detective Pratt Davies.” He glanced at Anna. “This is our civilian consultant, Ms. Yesterday.”
Tiller’s lips curved in a slightly hostile smile. “What exactly do you consult on, Ms. Yesterday?”
“Please answer my question,” Pratt said, his voice tight.
Tiller shrugged. “I didn’t believe it, no. Stephanie was staying in the guestroom on the first floor. She had no reason to even go upstairs.”
“Who do you think killed her then?” Anna asked.
Tiller’s gaze bore into her. “I couldn’t say. But Old man Mistren was a prickly son of a gun.”
“Prickly?” Pratt asked. “How do you mean?”
Tiller shrugged. “The guy was like a drill sergeant. Ask any of the girls he coached. He could be a real jerk.”
“Any violent tendencies?” Pratt asked.
“Maybe. I’m not that close to the family,” Tiller said.
“How about you, Mr. Tiller? Are you a violent man?” Bill asked.
When Tiller tensed, Bill went on. “You lied about your meeting with Mitchel today, didn’t you? You and Mitchel were overheard arguing about a young woman…” Bill checked his notes. “A Ms. Crawford. She claimed you struck her. Is that true?”
Tiller frowned. “That’s bull. That witch worked in my office. I fired her because she called in sick every Monday. She ran into Mitch and lied about me, probably hoping he’d get in my face about it. They used to be friends or something.”
“Can anybody verify that?” Pratt asked.
“Sure. My foreman was there when I fired her. He’ll tell you the truth.”
They left a few minutes later. Anna was relieved to climb into Pratt’s car and close the door between her and Tiller. “I really want him to be the killer,” she told the men.
Pratt’s gaze slid toward Tiller’s home, his golden-brown gaze was filled with tension. “Yeah. Me too.”
“You believed him?” Bill asked.
“He was convincing.” Anna rubbed her arms. “He didn’t try to pretend he didn’t know about Stephanie.”
“That makes him either a really good actor or innocent,” Pratt agreed as he pulled carefully away from the curb.
Bill sighed. “I’ll talk to the foreman and find out what he has to say.”
Pratt nodded. “We’ll drop you off at the station. We have something we need to do.”
“What do you have in mind?” Bill asked.
Pratt looked at Anna. Their gazes held for a beat, and she nodded. “We’re going to go pick up Joss. We have one more suspect to interview.”
Bill frowned. “Who?”
“The only one who was there for both murders,” Pratt told him. “We need to hear Stephanie Plumber’s version of what happened.”
Anna fingered an ancient leather strap from Joss’ holster belt. He’d been wearing the old leather belt when he’d died, and it served as his anchoring object. She’d figured out during one of their murder-solving adventures that she could bring him anywhere as long as she had some part of the anchoring object along with her.
Joss wasted no time popping away once they’d stepped inside the Mistren home. His job was to find Stephanie and bring her forward. After he’d gone, Anna stood in the entryway, her gaze sliding to the dried bloodstain at the bottom of the steps.
She felt unsettled…not a surprising thing since a man had possibly been murdered by a savage spirit within whose haunting grounds she was currently standing. Even Pratt’s reassuring presence at her back didn’t soothe.
Something was bothering her. Something didn’t feel right. If only she could put her finger on what that something was. Her thoughts returned to the unexplained shadow she’d seen earlier.
“Anna?” Pratt said, the single word taking on the flavor of a warning.
She shivered and rubbed her arms. And then realized ice was forming on the floor all around them. Her gaze shot up, caught on Pratt’s, and she reached out to him.
A blizzard-like breeze slipped over her, chilling her to the bone. Anna fought the urge to step toward the door. In the end, it was probably only Pratt’s unyielding stance that kept her there. He held one of their friend Will Bowler’s specially-made shotguns in his hands.
A ghost gun.
The shells were filled with rock salt and bits of iron to disperse the spirit if it should get too rowdy. It would only slow the spirit down, but it would hopefully give them time to escape if necessary.
She watched the air spin violently in front of them, the blustery cyclone a violent indicator of the ghost’s mood. It probably also reflected the fact that it was All Hallows Eve ─ the time of year when the barrier between the living and the dead was at its thinnest.
Dust rose up off the long-forgotten furnishings in the house and bits of drooping wallpaper tore away and joined the spiral of icy wind, giving it form and substance. Anna flinched as the banister on the staircase wrenched violently, wood creaking against nails as it tried to tear loose under the assault.
Anna’s bones quaked from the cold, her teeth clacked together so hard that she was afraid of breaking a tooth.
Something began to thicken at the core of the whirlwind. A hostile gaze flashed into view, and a shape formed around it. The ghost wasn’t what Anna had expected. Not at all.
He was tall, with dark hair and light eyes. He seemed very familiar somehow, but Anna couldn’t put her finger on why.
Until Pratt murmured, “Mistren.”
Of course! she thought. It was Mitchel’s father.
The specter hovered above the floor, arms slightly lifted and palms facing up, like a religious figure beckoning his subjects. Mistren stared hard at Anna, something hungry in his ghostly gaze.
She finally gave in to the urge to step back. “Mr. Mistren?” she forced herself to ask.
The ghost smiled. It was a disarming smile, despite the horror of its situation. “Hello. Who are you?”
Anna blinked. Beside her, Pratt stiffened. The spirit’s tone was pleasant, even charming. As if it was…flirting with her.
Mistren floated closer and Pratt stepped forward, lifting the shotgun. “Stay where you are, Mistren.”
The specter barked out a laugh. “Son, you don’t really believe you can harm the dead with that thing, do you?”
“You might be dead, but it’s go
ing to take a lot of energy for you to pull yourself back together once I shoot you. I’m guessing you’re here because you have something you want to get off your chest? Why don’t you say your piece and go?”
Mistren shook his head. “Ah, I’m afraid it’s not going to be that easy.” He slid his icy gaze back to Anna. “Is it, dear?”
The way he looked at Anna had her shivering again. She wrapped herself in a hug and forced her half-frozen lips to move. “Why don’t you tell us?”
The whirlwind spun faster for a beat, and Mistren’s form faded. But a moment later, he was back, looking almost completely corporeal.
Anna’s stomach twisted with dread. Mistren was a very powerful ghost. If he decided to go savage on them...
She shuddered.
“You killed your son?” Pratt asked.
The specter shivered as if caught in a strong wind, its cold gaze sliding to Pratt. “Of course.”
“Why?” Anna asked before realizing that she’d spoken.
Mistren shrugged. “The boy threatened me years ago. He accused me of hurting the girl. I beat some sense into him then. But when I saw him in this house again…” He seemed to sigh, though he had no breath and no lungs to do it. “I’m afraid my temper has always gotten the best of me.”
Ice slid across the hardwood floor, painting the dusty rugs in frost.
“Did you kill Stephanie Plumber?” Pratt asked him.
Mistren’s ghostly features folded into a semblance of a thoughtful frown. “Did I kill young Stephanie? No. She killed herself.” His form shifted, wavered on the air, and Anna thought he’d shrugged. “She was just like all the rest. A conniving, lying young flirt. I did the world a favor by taking care of her.”
Anna closed her eyes, pity blossoming into despair for an innocent life lost to a sick man’s unreasoned hate.
“Did you kill the other girls too? Were you their coach?”
Anna’s eyes came open. Of course! Pratt had put the pieces together already. Mistren coached girls’ sports. The girls who were killed had probably either been on his team or had played for their rivals. That was how he’d picked them.
Mistren shrugged. “I only did what was necessary.” He eyed Anna again. “And what about you, young woman? I’ll bet you’ve humiliated your share of men, haven’t you? That’s why fate put you here, isn’t it? To allow me to do what needed to be done?”
Cold Cases and Haunted Places Page 15