Читать книгу Out Of The Darkness - Heather Graham, Heather Graham - Страница 11

Chapter Two

“Survivor’s guilt,” Kieran Finnegan said softly.

Kieran was a good friend. While the hectic pace of her life—she worked as a psychologist for a pair of psychiatrists who worked frequently with the police, FBI and other law enforcement agencies, and helped out at the family pub—often kept her in a whirlwind where she didn’t see much of her friends, she was the kind of person who was always there when she was needed.

Sarah had called her that morning.

It was Sunday noon. Hannah’s body had been discovered the morning before; last night, Tyler had come to Aunt Renee’s house.

And while Finnegan’s on Broadway was doing a sound weekend business—they had a traditional roast entrée every Sunday that was very popular—Kieran was sitting down with Sarah. Of course, Finnegan’s was in good shape that day as far as staff went, and since Sarah had once worked there, she could probably hop back in to help at any time herself, just as Kieran would do if the need arose.

Kieran had assured Sarah she would be there to spend some time with her, talk to her. As a very good friend would do.

That made Sarah feel all the worse about the lousy friend she had been herself.

“Survivor’s guilt?” she repeated, shaking her head. “Honestly, I don’t think so. I mean, what happened years ago...all of us survived. We survived because of Davey, though, honestly...some of the guff he had to take afterward! People wanted to know what kind of a medium or seer he was. ‘Down Syndrome Boy Sees Evil.’” She was quiet for a minute. “Well, I have to admit, I was young and easily irritated, and Hannah...” She bit her lip and shrugged. “I was annoyed. She liked to have Davey around for the publicity, but then wanted me to leave him home if we were going out for the night or clubbing. She would use him when it seemed he was drawing a lot of attention, and then be irritated if we were spending any real time with him. But now...”

“From what I’ve gleaned through the media, her murder was brutal,” Kieran murmured. “And far too similar to the method of the massacre at the theme park. Here’s the thing. You’re experiencing terrible guilt because Hannah is dead, and she was your friend—even it was a while ago. You both survived something horribly traumatic. But now she is dead. And you are alive. And all that happened before is rushing back. But, Sarah, you’re not guilty of anything. Hannah survived that night—along with your other friends—because of Davey. You felt protective of Davey. That was only right. So quit feeling guilty. Hannah did choose to live a dangerous lifestyle. That doesn’t mean what was done to her isn’t every bit as horrid and criminal. But she may have put herself in danger. You have done nothing wrong. Of course, you could learn to be a bit more open to the possibility there are good people out there, and good things just might happen—and most of your friends truly love Davey.”

Sarah leaned back and picked up her coffee cup, grinning. “Do I have a really big chip on my shoulder? I’m not sure whether I should enter therapy or say ten Hail Marys!”

“Do both!” Kieran suggested with a shrug. She let out a sigh. “Sarah, if you weren’t really upset, you wouldn’t be human, and I’d have to worry about you. Or rather, you would be a sociopath and I would have to worry about you.” She shook her head. “Craig was saying that it was uncanny—the remarkable resemblance to what happened before.” She hesitated. “In the actual killing, that is. Archibald Lemming found himself an amazing venue in which to carry out his bloodlust—what better than a haunted house? But it isn’t him.”

“It could be someone who studied him or knew him.”

“Possibly.”

“And someone like that doesn’t stop, right?” Sarah asked.

“No,” Kieran admitted unhappily. “When such a killer isn’t caught and the killing stops, it’s usually because he’s moved on, been incarcerated for another crime or he died. This kind of thing...”

“It’s not just someone who wanted Hannah dead?”

“I doubt it. What was done was overkill. Now, overkill can mean just the opposite. You see it with victims who are stabbed or bludgeoned over and over again—their killer was furious with them. Or sometimes, with someone else—and the victim they choose is the substitute for the one they want to kill. But again, remember I’m going from what was in the news. The way that this was done...”

“You think there will be more victims.”

Kieran was thoughtful. “Yes—if we’re talking a copycat killer who had a fan obsession with Archibald Lemming. I am afraid there will be more victims. Then again, people are clever. Maybe someone had it out for Hannah and wanted her dead specifically. Make it appear there is a psychopath or sociopath on the loose. There have been cases where several people were murdered in order to throw off suspicion when just one was the real target.”

“Archibald Lemming was a psychopath, right?”

“Yes, the term applies to someone who is incapable of feeling empathy for another human being. They can be exceptionally charming and fool everyone around them—Ted Bundy, for instance. There are, however, psychopaths who turn their inclinations in a different direction—they become highly successful CEOs or hard-core business executives. They will never feel guilt. A sociopath, on the other hand, reaches his or her state of being through social factors—neglectful parents, bullying, abuse. Some function. They can be very violent, can show extreme bitterness or hatred along with that violence, but they’re also capable of feeling guilt and even forming deep attachments to others.”

Sarah nodded, listening to Kieran. It was good, she figured, to have a concept of what they might be dealing with.

But dead was dead. Hannah was gone. And it didn’t matter if she’d been viciously murdered by one kind of killer or another. It had been brutal.

Kieran smiled at her grimly. “I know what you’re thinking. But when hunting a killer, it’s helpful to have a concept of what you’re looking for in his or her behavior.”

“Of course! And thank you!” Sarah said quickly.

“So...Tyler Grant has come back to help?” Kieran asked. “And you were listed as Hannah’s next of kin. That’s good. It will allow him a lot of leeway.”

“The FBI hasn’t been asked in yet, right?”

“No, but Craig has a lot of friends with the police.”

Kieran was referring to Special Agent Craig Frasier, FBI. They were living together—sometimes at Craig’s and sometimes at Kieran’s. He had the better space in NYC, so Kieran would eventually give up her apartment, most probably, and move in with him. They were a definite duo; Sarah was sure marriage was somewhere in the future for them, especially since Kieran’s brothers—Declan, Kevin and Danny—seemed to accept him already as part of the family.

“Do you think...” Sarah began.

“Yes, I think!” Kieran said, smiling. She inclined her head toward the door. Tyler must have arrived. Sarah found herself inhaling sharply, her muscles tightening and her heart beating erratically.

Why? She wanted him here; she wanted...a solution. Hannah’s killer caught and put away for life. She wanted...forgiveness.

Maybe it just seemed that their lives—so easy a decade ago—had come to an abrupt break. It had become a breach, and she wasn’t sure things could ever be really right for her if she didn’t come to terms with that.

Once upon a time, she had been so in love with him. High school! They’d been so wide-eyed and innocent, and the world had stretched before them, a field of gold.

Kieran stood, waving to him.

“You’ve met Tyler?” Sarah was surprised. She hadn’t known Kieran in high school.

“No,” her friend said, shaking her head. “He called about meeting up with Craig. I looked him up after—found some pictures online. Rock solid, so it seems.”

Rock solid.

Yes, that had always been Tyler.

“But how...?”

Kieran laughed. “How do you think?”

“Davey!” Sarah said. She wasn’t sure whether to be exasperated or proud of her cousin. Devious! No, being devious wasn’t really in his nature. Pretty darned clever, though!

Tyler reached the table. Sarah stood, as Kieran had. It was still awkward to see him. He’d grown into a truly striking man with his quarterback’s shoulders and lean, hard-muscled physique. There were fleeting seconds when they were near one another that she felt they were complete strangers. Then there were moments when she remembered laughing with him, lying with him, dreaming with him, and she longed to just reach out and touch him, as if she could touch all that had been lost.

He was obviously feeling awkward, too. “Sarah,” he said huskily, taking a second to lightly grip her elbow and bend to kiss her cheek—as any friend might do.

That touch...so faraway and yet so familiar!

“Hey, I hear Davey has been at it again,” Sarah said. “This is Kieran, of course.”

“Of course,” Tyler said, shaking her hand.

“Craig should be here any minute. He had to drop by the office,” Kieran told him.

“Thanks,” Tyler said.

“Coffee? Tea? Something to eat?” Kieran asked. “We are a pub. Our roast is under way.”

“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” Tyler told her, smiling. “I’ve heard great things about this place—you’re listed in all kinds of guidebooks.”

“Nice to know.”

“I would love coffee.”

“I’ll see to it. Black?”

“Yep. It’s the easiest,” he told her.

Kieran smiled pleasantly and went to get a cup of coffee for him.

Tyler looked at Sarah.

“Craig is great. You’re going to like him a lot,” Sarah said. “I can’t believe Davey is making all these connections.”

“The kind we should have made ourselves.”

Kieran was already heading back with coffee. And she was indicating the old glass-inset, wood-paneled doors to the pub.

Craig had arrived.

He hurried to the high-top table where they’d been sitting. “Hey, kid,” he said to Sarah, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. He looked at Tyler. “Tyler, right? Grant?”

“Tyler Grant. And thank you, Special Agent Frasier.”

“Just Craig, please. And sorry,” he added, watching Kieran arrive with coffee, “you’re going to have to slurp that down. We need to get going. The man on this particular case is a Detective Bob Green. He’s a twelve-year homicide vet—he worked the Archibald Lemming case years ago. You might know him when you see him, though he wasn’t the one doing the interviews back then, his partner was. He’s senior man on his team now. Good guy. We can join him for the autopsy.”

“That’s great! Thank you,” Tyler told him. “I know you have other cases.”

“This caught up with me in the midst of a pile of paperwork,” Craig told him. “My partner is handling it for me, and my director knows where I am, so it’s all good.”

“What about the site where Hannah was left?”

“I can take you there.” Craig turned to Kieran, slipping an arm around her. “Save us supper, huh?”

“You bet.”

The affection between them wasn’t anything overt or in-your-face. It was just that even the way they looked at one another seemed to be intimate.

“Okay, we’re on it,” Craig said. He turned and headed toward the door. Tyler looked back and nodded a thanks to Kieran. He glanced at Sarah and gave her something of an encouraging smile.

She remembered his words from last night. He would stay on this.

He loved her still.

Friends...

Yes, sometimes friends loved each other forever. Even if they couldn’t be together.

* * *

AUTOPSY ROOMS COULD be strange places. It was where doctors and scientists studied the dead and did their best to learn from them. The NYC morgue downtown was huge; the body count was almost always high. It wasn’t that so many people were murdered; New York had had less than a hundred homicides in the past year—a large number, yes, but considering that it was home to eight million-plus people, and double that number came through almost on a daily basis, it wasn’t such a massive amount.

But the homeless who died so sadly in the street came to the morgue, as did anyone who died at home or in hotel rooms, or anywhere else about the city other than with a doctor or in a hospital or directly under a doctor’s care and with a known mortal disease.