Читать книгу Dark Rites - Heather Graham, Heather Graham - Страница 11

3

“Oh, no, no—I think that the mood has been quite killed for the night,” Vickie told Griffin.

“All right, I imagine that was a bit uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable? Understatement!”

“But so cool!” Griffin told her. “And it wasn’t like the postman walked in or anything—”

“It was worse! Those are your friends.”

“Who thought you were incredibly cool, beautiful, sexy, sensual...”

Vickie couldn’t help but burst into laughter; Griffin was trying so hard.

Rocky and Devin were gone; they had headed to Griffin’s apartment, where they’d stay for what was left of the night. But they’d all determined their course of action.

Rocky and Devin were on a week’s leave from work, heading up for a visit to the Salem area, which they did at least once every year. But it wasn’t necessary that they hurry. Jackson Crow, Krewe field director, had told Griffin to take whatever time he needed weeks ago, when Alex Maple had first been attacked.

They had time to devote to this. So they’d start looking for Alex as a team. They’d find as many people involved in Alex’s life as they could. And they’d keep looking into the saying that had been written on Alex’s chest.

And then finally, after making all their plans, for what remained of that night, Vickie and Griffin were alone together at last.

“Glorious, gorgeous, naked flesh and spiked heels,” Griffin said huskily, sliding his hands beneath the oversize T-shirt she’d chosen for bed. “Beyond sexy, beyond sensual.”

There was nothing like the feel of his hands on that naked flesh for her, Vickie knew.

“Forgive me!” he murmured.

His kiss, hot and deliciously wet, all along her naked flesh. T-shirt gone, panties shed, his mouth, his touch on the length of her...

“You’re forgiven,” she told him.

He rolled with her, straddling over her, looking down deeply into her eyes.

“Prove it!” he challenged.

And so, her lips on his then-naked flesh, she did.

It was very late when they finally slept.

Vickie assumed that she’d sleep well.

She didn’t.

She dreamed that she heard her name being called. There was a plea to the sound; it was desperate cry for help.

She got up in the middle of the night. It was very dark at first—there was just the bed with Griffin lying on the light patch of the white sheets, the darkness stretching before her.

She found her robe and slipped into it, seeing a vague form of light in front of her.

She was walking through a forest trail. The trees were rich and deep and beautiful. She could smell the lushness of the earth.

“Vickie...please...”

The sound was closer. She kept moving.

She could hear a rush of water. She was coming to something...a stream or a river.

She hurried through the trees, and she came to a clearing.

The water was to her left; it was a big river, or a lake. Little mountain-peak-like islands seemed to rise from it.

“Vickie...”

She looked straight ahead.

There was a terrible scream; the misty light increased.

In front of her there was an inverted cross and, from it, a woman had been hanged upside down.

For a horrible moment, it seemed as if she looked at Vickie. As if she was pleading for help.

But that was impossible. The world around her was red. The ground pooled with red. Her hair fell in crimson streams.

Her throat had been slit.

And the red everywhere was the blood that ran from her throat. Ran...

And then gushed. And it filled the path and the river and began to climb, obscuring even the mountains, and Vickie turned and ran back, tried to run away from the blood.

“Vickie!”

It was Alex’s voice. Alex was behind her, calling for help.

“Vickie!”

She woke up in Griffin’s arms. He was holding her, cradling her, soothing her.

“It’s all right...it’s all right.”

“Griffin...”

“You were dreaming. A nightmare.”

“It was Alex, Griffin. I mean...is it possible? He was calling to me. I could hear him, I could hear him in my mind just as clearly as if...as if he was here.”

Griffin pulled her closer, smoothing back her hair.

“We’re going to find him, Vickie. We’re going to find him.”

“Do you think that he could be calling to me?” she asked.

He eased her back down with him. “From what I’ve seen in life—and death—just about anything is possible,” he told her softly.

She would never sleep again, she thought.

But, in his arms, she did.

When she awoke in the morning, she found a note on her pillow; he had showered and headed out to get started on the task of researching Alex’s last known whereabouts. She smiled, got up and stepped into the shower.

She was startled to see dirt in the water around her feet.

She lifted a foot...

There was dirt on it! Rich, dark dirt!

As if she had walked down a forest path.

Suddenly, it seemed as if the water off her body ran red...

Bloodred.

She gasped.

But the dirt faded into the bloodred color of the water...

And the blood faded away, as well, and she was just standing in the shower.

Seeing things and losing her mind.

* * *

By nine the next morning, Griffin was waiting at the office of Professor Milton Hanson.

Hanson was a trim man who appeared to be in his midfifties or early sixties. He had iron-gray hair and kept fit; he was about five foot ten and leanly muscled—a handsome academic with nicely angled features and clear gray eyes. He must have readily claimed the attention of his classroom, Griffin thought. His voice was rich and powerful and his manner commanding.

“I’ve actually been trying to reach Alex myself,” Hanson said after Griffin had shared why he was there. “Yesterday was Sunday, so I didn’t expect him in school, but I was calling him about work we were doing.” Hanson frowned thoughtfully. “Alex is an exceptional researcher. Never stops—he can always find another reference or another book. He’s great with the Internet and has no problems finding out what obscure library might hold a source he wants to investigate. I wasn’t worried, but... I’ll call his assistant now.”

He did so. Griffin waited.

Hanson sighed and hung up the phone. “Alex hasn’t shown up to work. He had an early class this morning, but he didn’t make it.”

“Do you know where he might have gone?” Alex asked.

“No. Or yes—as in anywhere they might have made some kind of fantastic new historical find. Except—no. Alex is extremely responsible. He doesn’t just take off and go places.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Griffin said. He lifted his hands in question. “Friends? Enemies? Is there anything you can tell me?”

“He’s friends with everyone,” Hanson told him. “He has no enemies—not that I know about. I’m sure some professors or academics out there are jealous. He’s just naturally brilliant, his theories always test out when the research is all done... Oh, no. You think that something has happened to him?” Hanson frowned, then his brows shot up. “But you’re him! You’re that federal agent who brought down the attacker last night. Some kind of crazy man who killed himself rather than be caught. But when Alex was attacked, it was random, right?”

“Yes, we caught a man last night who had attacked a woman. He died,” Griffin said. It was all over the news. He decided not to explain. “A friend of mine is a close friend of Alex’s. He was supposed to meet her last night. Now he hasn’t shown up for class.”

“My God! He could be lying dead in his apartment!” Hanson said.

“He isn’t lying dead in his apartment. It’s been checked.”

“Already? But—”

“He has friends who care,” Griffin said, not telling the man that the “friends” he was referring to were himself, Vickie and Detective Barnes.

“Oh, well, that’s a relief!” Hanson said. “Good. I mean, good that he’s not dead. I’m so sorry that none of us seems to know where he is!”

Griffin rose, presenting one of his cards to Hanson. “If you see him or hear from him or think of anything that might help us, please call.”

“Of course.”

“What about other friends here, in the department?” Griffin asked.

“Well, he came here as a guest professor, you know. I believe that he’s about to become full-time, but that’s up to many people, really—after all, this is truly one of the finest teaching institutions in the world.”

“Yes,” Griffin agreed, lowering his head to hide a slight smile. It wasn’t that he disagreed; it was Hanson’s absolute assurance in his words.

“You might speak with Lacy Callahan. She is a professor of history, as well, specializing in ancient myths and all form of religions, especially as pertaining to the human psyche. They are friends, and they love to argue. In our world, that makes for good friends,” Hanson said.

“Great. Thank you. Where do I find her?”

“It’s summer session, so I’d say that she’ll be in the courtyard in about fifteen minutes. She always takes a tea break after first class in the summer—she loves the sun. Students know they can find her there,” Hanson said.

Griffin left Hanson’s office and headed out to the street.

The sun was out; the day was perfect. It was Monday morning, and Boston was alive with activity.

There was a crime rate in Boston—no way out of it. But he loved his city.

Yes, it had once been a bastion of ungodly religious intolerance, but from that harsh and cruel base, some of the greatest minds in the history of the country had risen to the Age of Enlightenment and then the birth of a new kind of freedom and a brave, new country.

He’d also been with the FBI long enough to know that while men and women could rise to the greatest of accomplishments, compassion, intelligence and more, there were those who could twist anything into something dark.

And he could feel it.

It seemed all the more reinforced by Vickie’s nightmare last night. It wasn’t just a dream.

He didn’t know how it worked. He didn’t know if it was the gut thing that men and women in law enforcement all seemed to develop, or maybe it was something more.

And perhaps that something more defined the members of the Krewe—whatever gift or sense it was that allowed them to speak with the dead.

However it worked, he knew: the attacks weren’t over.

They were just a tease of something more sinister.

And somehow, Alex’s disappearance was part of it.

* * *

Devin arrived at Vickie’s apartment as she was still dressing and gulping down a cup of coffee.

Griffin had headed off to speak with Professor Hanson; Rocky was going to speak with the police who had been on guard duty over Alex following his attack.

She and Devin were off to follow in Alex’s last footsteps.

Since they were headed to the café by Faneuil Hall, she wasn’t sure why she was drinking coffee, except that, of course, it was part of her general morning ritual.

“Coffee?” she asked Devin.

“I can wait,” Devin told her. “I already made some at Griffin’s place. But we’re going to go talk to the waitress who knew Alex and mentioned him last night, right? That means I can get a coffee there. Except we don’t know the waitress’s name, and it’s really unlikely that she works nights and mornings.”

“I’m hoping that the manager who is on duty now will at least know who she is—and possibly call her for us. If not... Devin, Griffin told me that you still write your series of children’s books featuring Auntie Mina, but that you went through the academy, joined the FBI and became Krewe of Hunters, too. You can throw some weight around, right?” Vickie asked.

Devin laughed. “I can show my badge. And yes, most of the time, people become cooperative. We’re only trying to reach one of their employees for help. I doubt we’ll need to throw any weight around.”

“Let’s hope not!”

They opted to walk to the café; it was far easier to go the distance than it was to try to find parking any closer to their destination.

“So, I haven’t met your haunting residents yet,” Devin said lightly.

Vickie glanced at her uneasily. Knowing—and conversing with!—others who saw and spoke to the dead was still a new situation for her.

“Dylan—and now Darlene,” Vickie murmured.

Devin flashed her a warm smile. “For me, it’s my auntie Mina. I love her dearly—I loved her when she was alive, and...now, too! She’s great. I use her as my main character in my children’s books. Sometimes we find her hitching a ride to head down to Virginia with us, and sometimes she chooses to stay in the cottage on the outskirts of Salem.”

“Devin, I understand about the Krewe—and the rest of the world, really. There are actually many people out there with a sixth sense, the ability to talk to the dead, find spirits, see ghosts. But last night I had a nightmare. It was horrible. I was looking for Alex because he was calling me. I wasn’t in the city—I was out in the woods somewhere. And there was water. A river or a lake. I could hear Alex crying out to me, but when I came to a clearing, I saw an inverted cross with a woman hanging from it. Her throat had been slit—and the river and the lake were blood. It was terrible. But the freakiest part is that this morning, when I got into the shower, I thought that the water started to run red—like blood. And there was dirt on my feet. Real dirt, as if I had walked through a forest. Then...it was all gone, just like that.”

“What did Griffin say?” Devin asked her.

“That I’d had a nightmare. But—”

“You think Alex is really calling out to you.”

“Yes. Griffin didn’t deny that there are all kinds of possibilities out there. I mean, if we can see the dead, maybe we can hear the living? I’ve heard of twins who each react when something has happened to only one, or cases of a mother knowing when a son or daughter in the military has been injured on foreign soil.”

“So, if the dream means anything, we’re not going to find Alex anywhere in the city. But in the dream, the person dead on the cross was a woman, right? Definitely not Alex?”

“Definitely not Alex.”

“Let’s see what we find out today.”

“I keep thinking about the words written on the victims’ chests,” Vickie said. “And that they date back to one of the first men we might consider a fanatic—twisting religion to what he wanted it to be. Ezekiel Martin. And Jehovah.”

“Maybe Jehovah is where we need to be, then,” Devin said.

They’d reached the coffee shop. Devin opened the door and Vickie entered first. Naturally, there was a line at the register and she headed for it.

“Busy time of morning,” Devin said.

“Yep. I’m usually here later in the afternoon,” Vickie told her.

They reached the register and the young woman taking orders. Vickie opened her mouth and the young woman said, “Medium latte, extra shot of espresso?”

Vickie laughed. “Yes, thank you. That would be terrific.”

“And you, miss?” the cashier asked Devin. “Are you together? Same check?”

“Coffee with a little cream,” Devin said. “And yes, we’re together. We’re actually looking for someone.” She nodded at Vickie to go ahead.

“A waitress who works here later—night shift, I believe. She’s very pretty and has dark hair. She’s about five feet six inches. Nice, polite, very efficient,” Vickie said.

“Audrey Benson,” the girl behind the cash register said. “I’m afraid she doesn’t come on until about two in the afternoon. She works the late shift.”

“It’s really important that we speak with her. We don’t want you doing anything that wouldn’t be right, but if you could call her...?” Vickie suggested.

“It’s a little busy!” the girl whispered to her.

“Is there a manager on?” Devin asked.

“You’re looking at her. And I am really sorry, but—”

Devin reached into her shoulder bag and produced her badge.

“It’s really important,” she said.

“Can you give me ten minutes and let us catch up with the rush? Then I’ll be right with you.”

“Of course,” Vickie and Devin said in unison.

They headed to the end of the bar and waited for their drinks.

A young man brought their coffees to the end of the counter. “Hey,” he said to Vickie. “I know you ordered at the counter, but you look as if you’d like to sit. Please, right over there. My table, and I don’t mind. We see you here all the time.”

“Thanks,” Vickie said. “Sure. And...really? I’m here that often?”

He laughed. “Yep—you and your friend. Alex. Well, Professor Maple to me!”

“You know Alex?”

“I have a class with him.”

Vickie studied the man speaking to her. He was, she thought, in his midtwenties, maybe even as young as twenty-one or twenty-two. He was lean and about six feet even with close-cropped black hair and warm brown eyes.

“Political science major—working my way through school,” he told them. He offered them his hand. “My name is Manny,” he told them.

Vickie introduced herself and then Devin, adding, “Devin is actually Special Agent Lyle. She’s with the FBI. We’re looking for Alex.”

“Oh?” Manny asked. “Well. He missed a class this morning. I know because a friend of mind dropped by about an hour ago to say that he was cutting class because there wasn’t a class. But I didn’t know that Professor Maple was missing. He was in here Saturday night.”

“You were working Saturday night?” Vickie asked him. “You work days and nights?”

Manny nodded. “I work whatever shift I can each week. I have some scholarship money, but college—especially this college!—isn’t cheap.”

“Good for you. And us,” Devin murmured, glancing at Vickie. “So, did you see Alex do anything out of the ordinary on Saturday night? I realize that’s probably not an easy question—hard to tell what is usual or ordinary for someone else!—but it does sound as if you somewhat know Alex.”

“Saturday was a big night. We had the music duo, the Dearborn sister and brother, Cathy and Ron.”

“A lot of people came to see the show? To stay?” Devin asked.

“Yes.”

“Did Alex speak with anyone? Did he come in with anyone? Did anyone seem to be bothering him? Did he...did he look okay?” Vickie pursued anxiously.

“Come to think of it, he was a little off. Friendly as ever—the professor is a great guy!—but he started to seem a little out of it. As if we were serving booze instead of coffee,” Manny told them.

Vickie glanced at Devin anxiously.

Could that mean something? she asked with her look.

Devin gave her a barely perceptible shrug. Maybe.

“Did you see him when he left?” Devin asked.

“No,” Manny said. “I was running around like crazy, and I wasn’t Alex’s server on Saturday night. Audrey had his table—Audrey Benson.”

“So we heard. We’re just waiting on the manager to help us get in contact with her,” Vickie said. “You don’t happen to have her number or a way to reach her, do you?”

To her surprise, he smiled. “Sure. And she’s a good kid. She’ll be happy to help you.”

He pulled out his phone and dialed, smiling at them, happy to be of assistance.

But after a moment, he began to frown as he listened to a recorded voice on the phone.

“Um, well, I thought I could help you,” he said. “Her number is no longer in service at the moment. I think it was some kind of a prepaid cell phone. Odd. Though, not so odd. Lots of college kids can’t afford the plans where you pay the big guys on a plan every month.”

“Do you know where she lives?” Devin asked.

“I’m afraid not. She said that she was somewhere near the aquarium, though. She hasn’t worked here that long. We just exchanged phone numbers in case we had to cover for one another somewhere along the line. I like her—she’s always very cheerful,” he told them earnestly.

The cashier/manager walked over to them, sighing as she smoothed her hands down over her apron. “What is going on? How can I help you? I’m Susan. Acting manager now, but I suppose I should call our overall manager. I mean, we really want to help, but I don’t know anything about privacy laws and all that.”

“Manny here just tried Audrey on the number that he has for her. Perhaps you could just call her and ask her if she minds talking to us. This is an official missing-person case,” Devin said pleasantly, but with an impressive authority Vickie definitely admired.

“Oh, yes! Of course!” Susan said.

She waved a hand in the air. “Thank you, Manny,” she said, as if she’d realized that, at the moment, she was the queen of the situation and he’d been a retainer to handle things in her wake. Manny grinned good-naturedly and turned to start wiping down a table.

Susan continued to a little office in the back. She indicated that Vickie and Devin should follow her. She walked around behind a desk and opened a computer, punched in a few keys and found a phone number. The office had a landline and she used it to call Audrey Benson.

But her expression was much as Manny’s had been; she had evidently called the same number that Manny had in his phone, and received the same response.

“Well, the phone is disconnected,” she murmured.

“Do you have an address for her?” Vickie asked.

“I don’t know if I should—” Susan began.

“We’re not after Audrey! We’re trying to find a missing person who may be in danger. We’re just looking for some help,” Devin said. “Please.”

“I’m desperately trying to help a friend!” Vickie said.

“All right, all right,” Susan murmured, looking at the computer. She rattled off an address.

Vickie and Devin looked at each other, frowning.

“Say again, please?” Devin said.

Susan rattled off the address again, then paused, frowning. “Hmm. That can’t be right.”

“Nope. Not unless she’s living in the Atlantic Ocean,” Vickie murmured.

“Someone just transposed a figure wrong, or something,” Susan said.

“Right. Good job checking out your employees,” Devin said.

“Hey! We check, we do everything right.”

“You have a social security number for her?” Devin asked.

“Hey! Now, I think you have to give me a warrant or something like that for a social security number,” Susan said. “If you want more than that, you’ll have to wait until eleven o’clock. Our general manager comes in then. And he’s the one who hired Audrey!”

“But you do have a social security number for her, right?” Vickie asked. “I mean, seriously? Anyone who has visited Boston would probably know that was a sham address. Anyone who knows that we’re on the east coast would know—”

Devin jabbed her in the ribs. Vickie fell silent. She knew that she was getting more and more worried by the minute.

The waitress seemed suspicious now. Could she have drugged Alex, giving him something that made him either pass out or become out of it and pliable?

“You do have a social security number for her, right?”

“Of course!” Susan snapped. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work! We are a busy place, if you haven’t noticed.”

“We will get a warrant,” Devin said.

“Just come back when she’s due into work,” Susan said.

“I think you probably need to get someone to cover her shift,” Vickie said. “I think last night might have been her last night on the job.”

Devin grabbed Vickie’s hand, pulling her out of the office and out onto the sidewalk by Faneuil Hall.

“You can’t beat her up—not legal and won’t get us anywhere!” Devin said.

“I wasn’t going to beat her up. I just... I just had to let her know that...she’s...she’s dangerously careless and stupid!”

“We’ll get a warrant,” Devin said. “Not to worry, we’ll get a warrant.”

“Well, you can, but you don’t need to,” the two of them suddenly heard.

Vickie whirled around.

Dylan Ballantine was there, hand in hand with Darlene.

They were as real as the sidewalk to Vickie, and Devin, too, she imagined.

Others walked by them as if they were air.

“Hi,” Devin said. “You must be Dylan—and Darlene.”

“She’s one of them. She sees us clearly,” Darlene said, delighted.

“Yes, and...hi! Dylan Ballantine, and my friend Darlene Dutton,” he said, glad to meet Devin.

“Lovely. I’m Devin Lyle. I thought I’d meet you two soon enough, but a true pleasure,” Devin said. “So, why don’t we need a warrant?”

“Because I slipped into the office. And I memorized the number for you,” Dylan said.

“He’s so good!” Darlene said adoringly.

Devin glanced at Vickie and grinned. Then she drew out a notepad. “Okay, Mr. Dylan Ballantine. Let’s have it!”

* * *

It took Griffin a few minutes to realize that Professor Lacy Callahan was sitting in a wheelchair.

When he came upon her, she was under a massive oak, a shawl draped over her shoulders and her head bent over a sketchpad as she thoughtfully drew. She was an extremely attractive older woman—perhaps fifty or so—with delicate features and almost platinum-blond hair that shimmered around her, casting her in a gentle glow of beauty as if she were a mythical goddess.

“Professor Callahan?” he asked softly.

She looked up, just a bit startled, and then she studied him, head to toe.

Then she nodded gravely. “And you’re Special Agent Griffin Pryce,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I watch the news.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. There was a stone garden box near her and he took a seat on the edge.

She smiled suddenly. “You are quite a topic of conversation. Some people believe that you scared a man into suicide. Some just think you’re incredibly macho.”

“Professor, I didn’t scare a man I’d never seen before into carrying cyanide capsules, that’s for sure.”

“Well, good point. Still, you’ve given us a great deal to speculate over.”

“I actually try to stay out of the public eye—without being secretive. It’s a tough wire to walk.”

“I imagine it is. Which fascinates me. And, of course, makes me wonder why you’re here, speaking with me. Nope. Don’t tell me. There’s only one mystery in my life right now. My friend Alex Maple didn’t arrive for class this morning. He never misses. He wants a permanent position more than you can begin to imagine. Not only that, he loves teaching. I called him—I can’t reach him. And let’s see—Alex was the first person attacked by the man who died last night.”

“Maybe,” Griffin said.

“Maybe? You mean, an innocent man committed suicide rather than be questioned?”

“I didn’t say he was innocent. I just don’t know if he was guilty of all the attacks.”