Читать книгу The Unholy - Heather Graham, Heather Graham - Страница 11

4

Madison stared at Sean Cameron, feeling frozen at first, and completely lost. There was nothing she could do here. She’d hoped there would be, but she felt nothing except cold and fear and dread. She could picture what had happened but she couldn’t see a face. She imagined the mannequin of the priest moving, saw him walking swiftly….

Saw him kill.

“Poor girl, poor Jenny Henderson—and poor Alistair,” he murmured.

“Alistair didn’t do it,” Madison said. Her voice was low, but her words were passionate. “It happened just the way you reenacted it. He was ahead of her and then he got to the door. Someone was already in here, waiting. Someone who knew that Alistair came to see the noir movies on Sundays, and someone who also knew about Jenny. Yes, it was taking a chance that Jenny would show up and that Alistair would fall in with her plans, but it wasn’t really that big a chance.”

“Someone—or the kid. The kid does tell it your way. But there’s nothing to exonerate him.”

Madison was startled by the voice of Benny Knox. He’d come in behind them. She’d been concentrating so hard, she’d forgotten he was with them.

“Yep, according to the kid, he walked to the door—and the thing came out of the tableau. I don’t know what the kid was on, but temporary insanity or whatever is probably going to be his best defense,” Knox went on.

“If he says that’s what happened, it’s what happened. Alistair isn’t on drugs, and he doesn’t drink. He’s a good kid—which is pretty amazing when you realize the money he has access to and how everyone tries to suck up to him because of what his father might be able to do for them!” Madison said angrily.

“Whoa.” Knox lifted a hand and took a step back in mock-horror. “Well, when they need character witnesses, they can call you to the stand.”

Madison tried to check her temper, but he continued quickly, “Look, I’m sorry. We are going to investigate. If the L.A. police weren’t determined on that, you can guarantee the FBI would be. But you’ve got to understand—you’re looking at a locked-room mystery here, and the thing is, if a room is really locked, the people in that room are the suspects. Nine times out of ten what you see is what you get.”

“What you see is a kid in shock and a brutally murdered young woman,” Sean Cameron said. “And I wouldn’t go counting on there being no other answer. For one thing, a costume is missing from the studio.”

“Missing?” Knox asked sharply.

“It’s not on the mannequin,” Madison said, “where it should be—where it was before I left the studio on Friday.”

“So it may just be somewhere else?”

“It’s the robe the priest wears,” Sean said. “That’s definitely worth investigating.”

Knox didn’t dismiss his words, but he didn’t seem too impressed, either. “That studio is filled with shelves and desks and nooks and crannies and…stuff. The robe may turn up easily. Yes, we’ll investigate—I’m sure you will, too, Agent Cameron,” he said to Sean. “I intend to go through all the steps on my end. I’m just telling you it isn’t looking good for young Archer. When you show me another way in and out of this locked room, I’ll be happy to reexamine the evidence.” He pointed to the tableau. “As you can see, those mannequins just stand there—they don’t move around. They don’t speak, argue or step down to commit murder. But you’re right. We have all kinds of hairs and fibers and plenty of blood. In fact, we’ve got forensics up the wazoo. We’ve checked the locks, we’ve gone over the security footage…and nada. So when you find something, let me know.”

As he finished speaking, they were all shocked by a noise from the tableau. Some piece of the little scenario had shifted. The three of them immediately looked over at the characters. There was Sam Stone, ready to race across the room to save his femme fatale. And there was the man in the robe, his fingers twined around the terrified woman’s neck. There was the sarcophagus and the snakes—cobras posed moving across the floor and in strike mode.

The scene had shifted, of course, because the crime scene techs had been up there, photographing, fingerprinting, moving things around. That obviously explained the odd, off-kilter look of the tableau. And yet…

Madison swallowed uncomfortably. Dianna Breen seemed to be gazing not at the mysterious man in the robes about to strangle her—but at Madison. Huge blue glass eyes seemed to stare across time and space.

For a moment—just for a moment!—she thought there’d been another presence in the tunnel.

Sean Cameron walked back toward and through the tableau. “Gravity, I guess. Something shifted from being handled by the crime scene techs.”

“Of course,” Knox said. His voice was harsh, and Madison looked over at him. Maybe the hard-boiled just-the-facts detective was a little on edge himself.

Madison tried to define exactly how the tableau had changed. The police and technicians apparently hadn’t uncovered anything they considered evidence; they’d left the scene almost as they’d found it. But it had changed. And Dianna Breen still seemed to be staring at her with horrified eyes.

Last night, those realistic glass eyes had witnessed a murder.

“No sign of the weapon yet, right?” Sean asked.

“No. Before you arrived today, two dozen of our guys—the best at their jobs—went through the studio. We needed that many, which won’t surprise you. The place is a hotbed of fake weapons and fake blood and fake—well, you name it.” He shook his head. “But no, we don’t have the weapon yet.”

“So, how are you figuring that Alistair murdered the girl, fell in the blood, passed out, came to and got emergency help and somehow hid the weapon?” Sean asked him.

“Here’s the thing, Agent Cameron. The kid was here alone. We have experts still going through all the surveillance. He claims he raced toward Ms. Henderson and the ‘thing’ killing her and that he fell in the blood, went down and passed out. According to him, he regained consciousness, called the security guard and came back with him when the guard rushed in, followed by the cops. He claims he passed out. God knows what he was really doing or what really happened. And if someone else was here, why kill the girl and not him?”

“How can you have a scapegoat if you kill everyone?” Sean asked reasonably.

“That’s right,” Madison said. “If Alistair had been killed as well, he couldn’t have been blamed for the murders.”

Knox was quiet a moment. “I’m not discounting any possibilities. I’m just not emotionally involved. Are you done here for the day? We’re closing up until tomorrow and—”

“What about Colin Bailey?” Sean broke in. “Did you confirm that he was in the studio, in the security station, watching the cameras the whole time?”

“Bailey was the only other person on the property at all,” Knox said. “Everything pans out—and, of course, we verified his background. His record is clean as a whistle, he’s worked here twenty years and his story checks out. We’re not stupid local dicks, Agent Cameron. So, are you done here?”

“Yes, thanks, Detective Knox. Can one of your guys give us a ride to Archer’s place?”

“Sure. Go on out. There’s a fellow named Duffy in his car.”

“Madison?”

She nodded, said thank you to Knox, then followed Sean out. She noticed that Knox was behind them and had to wonder if he—hard-boiled L.A. detective—didn’t want to be in the tunnel alone.

“You’re going to Archer’s house?” Madison asked Sean. Her part was finished for today, wasn’t it? She felt as if she were in limbo. She had no idea what was happening with the studio the next day. Were they all on hold?

“I’ll go with you,” she said.

He looked down at her. “Why?”

She found herself bristling again. “Because Eddie asked me to be in on this. Because the studio is my life. Because I may be able to help.”

He stared back at her. She had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being assessed—and found wanting. He was going to tell her no, that she’d done her duty. To her surprise, he didn’t.

“Fine. We’ll both go,” he said.

She looked away, wondering how she could feel so attracted to a man and so hostile to him at the same time. He was physically impressive, she decided. That must be it. He was also a stranger, even though he’d become a legend at the studio, and it was too easy to admire what she’d heard about him. She had to remember: he was law enforcement here, and she was not.

Maybe she was crazy. Maybe she should go home and get out of this now, while she had the chance.

But she knew she couldn’t. She did have…an extra sense. And it was possible that she could help Eddie. She just hoped it wouldn’t mean sucking up too much to Agent Cameron!

“Is Eddie there?” she asked. “I thought he was going to go and stay with Alistair.”

“He’ll come home,” Sean assured her. “I need to get more of a feel for the lay of the land,” he added.

“You suspect someone close,” she said. “First, Bailey, who’s been the most loyal watchdog in the world. Bailey! And now, someone in Eddie’s household?”

“I suspect everyone,” he said simply. “And this isn’t your fight, not really.”

“Oh? Think again. I live here and I work here, Agent Cameron. The studio—and Eddie—are everything to me.”

He smiled suddenly and she had no idea what he was thinking. “Do you have plans for the day?”

“Yes, I’d planned to work. Now, I’m not working, so I plan to do everything I can for Eddie and Alistair. No, I’m not FBI or a cop, but Eddie asked me to help you.”

She didn’t want to tell him she wouldn’t have had any plans. Not social plans, anyway. Life had made her too much of a loner.

Except, of course, for her unearthly friends.

She straightened, trying to appear calm, confident—and determined.

“Officer Duffy is waiting,” Cameron said. “He’ll take us to Eddie’s. If you’re sure you want to plunge in.”

“I’m sure.” She glared at him icily. He seemed amused. That was even more irritating.

* * *

Officer Duffy was quiet as he drove. Sean didn’t try to engage him in conversation.

Instead, he glanced over at his escort, Madison Darvil.

She’s either certifiable, crazy as a loon or just like you. She talks to the dead, Eddie had told him.

She wasn’t crazy; she was talented. But if she talked to the dead, she might wonder if there was something inside her that wasn’t exactly normal. Most people learned early on not to admit that they could communicate with the souls of the departed. Madison was probably unaware that there were actually many people with her talent scattered around the world.

She was silent during the drive. Sean thought that Eddie had picked the perfect person to help him—even if he hadn’t meant to draw her in this far. She did know the studio and everyone working there now; she was in on meetings and certainly trusted if she dealt with major names in the business. And aside from all that, she was slim and well-proportioned, with large, dark-lashed eyes that were exceptionally expressive and beautiful.

He suddenly wished he’d met her at a party or a bar or anywhere that would allow him to ask her out. He liked her passion when she defended Eddie and even her hostility when he suggested she was no longer necessary. Something within her—integrity, honesty—ran very deep, and it was compelling and seductive.

He turned away, surprised. He hadn’t felt like this about anyone in a very long time. Work had been his escape for years now. It wasn’t that he’d eschewed people, women in particular, but he’d never had this sense of knowing them as he already felt he knew her. He’d functioned well enough when he and Melissa had split, even though he’d really loved her, and she’d loved him, too. He hadn’t hesitated to go back when she needed him, and it hadn’t seemed like any kind of chore or sacrifice to be with her.

Her death had changed him.

He shook off the unhappy memory. Another friend needed him.

Eddie’s place wasn’t far from the studio. He lived in an elegant home in a cul-de-sac where the houses started at the seven-figure mark. There was a high wall around the property and gates protected it, but when they were dropped off and Sean pushed the call button, they were answered immediately.

Sean thought that Pierce Enderly, Eddie’s “house manager,” would be the one to greet them. He was wrong.

Mrs. Eddie Archer, Helena LaRoux, came clip-clopping to the door on high-heeled sandals as they arrived. She swiftly ushered them in, looking past them to the gates. “Were you followed?” she asked.

Sean shook his head.

“The paparazzi were out there for hours!” she said. The little lapdog she carried—some kind of designer Peke-teacup-poodle combo—let out a yap.

“Shh, little darling,” Helena said. “It’s Sean—and…Madison, right?”

Madison nodded. Helena gave her a puzzled look.

“Madison is taking me through the studio, Helena. It’s been a while since I worked there,” Sean told her.

“Of course.” Helena smiled at Madison as if she was trying to be warm and genuine, except something in her tone made it clear that she was still confused as to why the “help” would now be at her door. “I knew Eddie had called you in, just didn’t know there’d be anyone with you.”

“Eddie asked her to hang around with me,” Sean continued.

He realized that although Madison was quiet, she meant to hold her own. “I would do anything for Eddie and Alistair, Helena. That’s why I’m here.”

Sean lowered his head to hide the smile that teased his lips. Oh, yes, Madison could hold her own.

“Eddie’s still with Alistair,” Helena said. “I’ve spent time with the boy, but…well, I’m not his mother. He really does need his father now. I’m so distraught! Forgive me if I’ve forgotten my manners. Come in, come in!”

She started clip-clopping across the marble floor again. Helena might claim she hated the paparazzi, but her platinum-blond swath of hair was sleekly brushed, her makeup was perfect and she wore skintight pedal pushers with her high-heeled sandals and a low-cut T-shirt that nicely displayed her expensive cleavage.

She led them through the grand entry to a family room connected to a huge kitchen. He didn’t know if Helena liked to cook, but Eddie was a fan of culinary shows; he loved to watch and cook along with them. He must have put his foot down at some point because the family room was just that, despite Helena’s high-end presence. There was a large-screen TV on the far wall and a pricey stereo system with speakers all around the room. The sofa was old leather, worn and comfortable, and there were a number of magazines spread out on the coffee table. Helena gestured at the sofa and sat in the massive armchair next to it.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Sean. I mean, thank you for coming. You’re so important to Eddie. I was heartbroken when you couldn’t make our wedding,” she said.

“I was on a project, Helena. I’m sorry.”

Helena patted the little dog. “It was a beautiful affair! Oh, you were there, Madison!”

“Yes, it was quite an affair,” Madison said dryly.

Helena frowned. “This is awful, so awful,” she moaned. “I’m afraid it’s just broken Eddie. Everyone in the media…they already have Alistair convicted, and Eddie loves that boy so much!”

“It’s natural for a father to love his son,” Madison said.

“Helena, the media craves sensationalism, and this is definitely a sensational case. But don’t worry, the media might try someone, but there’s still an investigation ahead, and I’m confident we’ll prove Alistair innocent,” Sean told her.

Helena’s perfectly plucked brows shot up. “You think Alistair may be innocent?”

Sean felt Madison shift beside him and he almost grinned again. Apparently, she liked the newest Mrs. Archer about as much as he did.

“Of course I believe he’s innocent. Now I have to prove it.”

“Oh, yes! I’ve tried to be there for him…. Eddie asked me to visit Alistair. They both say he didn’t do it. How wonderful that you think you can prove it,” Helena said. Her voice seemed thick with an air of insincerity.

“Helena, you know Alistair. You can’t possibly believe he could have done such a thing, can you?” Madison asked.

Sean couldn’t help giving her a little nudge with his elbow. He heard the grunt she tried to swallow. Luckily, Helena didn’t.

“I don’t want to believe it. But…I’ve worried so often about poor Alistair. I mean, Eddie is a genius, and most people in the business can tell the difference between reality and imagination—but I’ve warned Eddie! Sometimes, being around all that gore and all that make-believe blood…it has to have an influence.”

“You were with him earlier today, Helena. How is he doing?” Sean asked.

“Well, he’s in bad shape.”

“You didn’t let him know you don’t have complete faith in him, did you?” Sean half smiled to take the sting from his question.

“Oh, no! I do have faith in him,” Helena said.

“Mrs. Archer?”

Sean turned to see that Pierce had arrived at last. He was glad; Pierce was one person who truly loved Eddie. He made a good wage for what he did, and he was another factor in Eddie’s life on which he couldn’t be dissuaded. Pierce had handled the household since the very first Mrs. Archer, Alistair’s mother, had found him poring over classified ads at a coffee shop. She’d brought him home and they’d discovered that he could shop, clean and manage a school list without blinking an eye. He was indispensable. Pierce was gay and had been in a relationship with his high school love all of his adult life; his partner had died of bone cancer soon after Eddie’s first wife, and since that time, Pierce had given his total love and loyalty to Eddie and Alistair. In other words, Pierce was family.

But not, apparently, to Helena.

“What is it, Pierce?” she asked irritably.

“I was wondering if you would like to offer Mr. Archer’s guests some refreshment.”

Sean rose, walking over to Pierce and giving him a hug. “Pierce! Great to see you. How are you holding up?”

“Getting through, Mr. Cameron, getting through,” Pierce said. “Staying strong, because that’s what Eddie and Alistair need now.”

“It’s Agent Cameron, Pierce,” Helena drawled.

“Agent Cameron,” Pierce repeated.

“It’s Sean. You’ve known me forever, Pierce. I’m still Sean.”

Pierce wasn’t exactly the epitome of an old-fashioned butler. Or maybe he was the California equivalent. He was dressed in khakis and a short-sleeved cotton tailored shirt, and he wore sandals. He looked like an aging pool boy, still handsome with his blond hair turning silver and his year-round tan.

Sean imagined that it must be interesting to watch the dynamics between him and the newest Mrs. Archer—especially when no one else was around.

“Sean, what will you have?” Helena asked abruptly. “Madigan?”

“It’s Madison, Mrs. Archer,” Madison said politely. She had risen, too. Ignoring Helena, she walked over to Pierce and took his hand. “Eddie is in a bad way, and Alistair’s worse. I’m glad you’re here for them.”

“We all are!” Helena rose, as well, and walked over, handing Pierce the dog. “Will you take Perla for a walk?” she asked.

Sean wondered if she wanted him out of the way while they spoke or if she was just trying to prove that he was only the hired help.