Dark Rites by Heather Graham
“And you come back here frequently?” Griffin asked him.
“I’m not returning to the site of the crime, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Sherman said. “We’re almost at the anniversary of her death, so I felt I needed to be here.”
“Where is Brenda buried now?” Devin asked.
Sherman looked over at her. “She’s in the Quabbin Park Cemetery. Her family hailed from Enfield, and her great-great-grandparents were moved there when the Quabbin was constructed and the local remains were moved. You need to be a descendant to buy a plot. I saw that Brenda was able to join her parents there. Why?”
Griffin didn’t hesitate. “We may have to disinter her, Mr. Sherman.”
He nodded.
“Does she have other family?”
“Dozens of second or third cousins, but...no one who will protest,” he said, wincing. “There’s no one out there who wouldn’t want the truth.” He kicked the ground in a sudden bitter movement. “I’m just glad they never found the damned bear they were blaming—I just don’t believe it. No bear killed Brenda. You believe me? You know that I’m right?”
“Mr. Sherman,” Griffin told him. “We don’t know anything—as yet. But we will look into it.”
Sherman nodded. “I know who you are—I knew who you were before Mrs. McFall introduced us. And I know that you’re looking for people who have disappeared. I hope you don’t find more of them like you did today, in the Quabbin. Or like Brenda.”
“We hope not, too,” Vickie said. “Mr. Sherman—”
“Hey,” he said, interrupting her. “We’re all at the B and B. I’m Mr. Sherman on Wall Street. I sure wish you’d just call me Isaac.”
“Isaac,” Vickie said. “Have you heard about any occult activity? If you’ve heard about the fact that the FBI is looking for missing people in conjunction with the attacks in Boston, you know what was written on the people who were attacked.”
“That crap about Satan?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Brenda was from out here,” he said.
“Yes?” Vickie murmured.
“I’m from New York. A Satan cult in the Big Apple would most probably be an entrepreneur trying to come up with a new motif for a nightclub. I haven’t heard anything. I mean...”
His voice trailed suddenly.
“What?” Griffin asked.
“Carly. Carly Sanderson. Her dad, Frank, filled out a missing-person report on her. I know, because it was when I first came back after they found Brenda’s body. I spoke to him.”
“I’ve seen the report,” Griffin said. “Carly Sanderson, twenty-three, a college student. She was going to school in Worcester, right? She was at Clark?”
“Her mother lives in Oregon. She remarried and has a whole host of kids. But Carly was her father’s only child. And he’s here. Thing is, the cops aren’t considering it as a missing person anymore. Frank Sanderson got a call from her. She told him that she was happy, she didn’t want to go back to school and she just wanted to be left alone.”
“Is Frank still here, in Barre?” Griffin asked.
“I believe so. He’s a retired guy. He was in construction but now he hangs around and helps out Mrs. McFall sometimes,” Isaac said.
“All right. Let’s get back, get some sleep,” Griffin said. “A few of us will be attending the autopsy tomorrow. We’ll see what they come up with on that. She was weighted down with an anvil, so I don’t think that anyone is going to suspect a bear. We will look into this, Isaac. I promise.”
“Thank you!” the man said. He looked at them all. “They—as in the police—may tell you that I’m a kook who may have been guilty myself, and if not, I’m paranoid, I won’t move on...whatever. But she was murdered. And other people have been murdered because her killer wasn’t caught.”
“We’ll do everything humanly possible,” Griffin promised him.
Isaac seemed to believe them.
“Thank you,” he said again.
He turned and walked ahead of them.
They looked at one another and headed back to the bed-and-breakfast.
It was quiet. The others had gone to bed; Isaac, just ahead of them, had left the front door open. They locked it when they were in, and then headed up to their rooms on the second floor of the old Victorian.
“Eight,” Griffin said to Rocky.
“Eight,” he agreed.
They parted ways, Griffin and Vickie stepping into their own room. “Eight o’clock—the autopsy?” she asked.
He nodded. “I mean, you can come, but...”
“That’s all right. I’m assuming that our ghosts will be around in the morning, and I’m assuming, as well, that they will have heard a lot of gossip. Devin and I can hang around town, see what else is going on.”
Griffin took off his jacket and reached behind his back for his Glock and its little holster. As always, he set the gun on the bedside table.
“There is definitely something going on. If not here, per se, then nearby. And it’s worse than we knew. The problem is connecting all the dots. A woman was found dead in the woods. We didn’t have that information, because it was chalked up to a bear or other accident. Another woman is missing—but she was leaving town, so she wasn’t noted as missing. And now...”
“The body,” Vickie said softly.
“The body,” he agreed.
He slipped his arms around her. “I still believe Alex is alive.”
“I do, too,” she said. “I just wonder how long he can stay alive. Griffin, I so hope we’re getting somewhere with this! It seems it has been going on a long time...and no one knew! Well, of course, someone knew. The people involved with it had to know. What about Gloria? Is there anything they can do to force her to remember?”
Griffin had his phone out; he was tapping at it with an aggravated expression. “I’m going to step outside. I don’t know what this old house has for insulation or what might be in its construction, but I can’t get any service. I’ll be right back—I’ll see if Barnes has discovered anything new.”
“Excellent,” Vickie murmured.
She crawled into bed to wait for him. She was afraid to sleep. If she fell asleep here...after being in the Quabbin, after seeing all the forest that surrounded it, she was bound to have nightmares.
But just maybe, eventually, they would be helpful instead of terrifying.
Griffin closed the door to their room quietly as he left. Vickie closed her eyes.
She could see the water again, in her mind’s eye.
The water of the Quabbin. And then she could see, caught in a rare glint of light, a bit of a shimmer. The sun making it through the water—just barely!—to land on the anvil.
She saw the anvil...
And then, what remained of the woman’s face.
Then suddenly, she was out of the water. Her hair was wet and dripping; she was still wearing the dive suit. She walked a forest path. She’d shed the flippers she’d been wearing, and her feet were bare.
For a moment, it felt like she’d entered a cartoon. Little forest creatures were all around her. She could hear State Police Officer Harper as he spoke to them. The area around the reservoir was filled with animals—moose, foxes, deer, raccoons, panthers, bears...
A mountain lion walked next to her. He was a sandy color, large and sleek, and he looked up at her as he padded along by her side.
“It wasn’t the bear,” the panther said.
She spoke aloud in her dream.
“I am going crazy,” she told herself.
Syd Smith from Fall River was in her dream. He was seated on a log in front of her. Retired detective Charlie Oakley was on his one side while Detective Cole Magruder and Detective Robert Merton were on his other side.
“People take the easy way out,” Oakley agreed.
“If you’ve got a Satanist, what the hell, use him!” Syd said.
They didn’t see Vickie. She kept walking. She could hear her name being called; it had been called so many times before.
Then she saw the inverted cross in front of her.
A woman had been hung, upside down, upon the cross.
Vickie couldn’t see her face, or the color of her hair. Because of the blood.
“Vickie, please, I’m calling you! Look at me, look at me, please. You can’t change the past. You have to focus.”
She couldn’t see him! But she knew the voice! It was Alex...
Alex was alive.
The blonde woman was standing before her again. She was tiny, Vickie realized. Tiny and very pretty, and there was something about her...
“Vickie, help me.”
She could hear Alex’s voice.
“Vickie, Vickie, Vickie...”
The blonde stood before her; but there was still a body on the cross.
Blood was rising, as if the rivers and lakes everywhere were rising...
“No! Vickie, run. Stay away, run!”
12
“Nothing!” Barnes said, sounding disgusted. “I got nothing!”
Griffin had filled him in about their time at the Quabbin, Vickie’s discovery of the body and their conversation with Isaac Sherman. Barnes had promised to keep up with all the help he could give from Boston, but that what they needed to do was keep it open with Harper—who was state police.
“Sounds like you’re moving toward something out there at least. We’re sitting on a plateau here, so it seems. ‘Gloria’ is doing well enough as far as her health goes, though the doc says she might have done some damage to her organs that will kick back on her when she’s older. But as far as her memory...still nothing. I’ve asked him about bringing in a hypnotist, and he’s agreed, so probably tomorrow, we’ll do something in that direction. Oh, and as you asked, we’ve sent Officer Jim Tracy to Fall River.” He hesitated. “He asked Vickie’s friend, Roxanne, to accompany him. He believes she does an amazing job with portraits. She agreed to accompany him as a police consultant.”
“Okay,” Griffin said. “Well, let’s hope that they can put something together!”
“Let’s hope,” Barnes said. “If we get anything at all, we’ll let you know.”
“Thanks. We’ll attend the autopsy tomorrow. I believe we’ll discover that our victim’s throat was slit. I’m going to speak with your friend, Harper, about getting Brenda Noonan’s remains disinterred. They thought they were looking at a bear attack. Maybe a fresh look will help. Also, I’ll find Frank Sanderson. His daughter disappeared—and then called him and told him to leave her alone.”
“She over twenty-one?” Barnes asked.
“Twenty-three. She was a student at Clark when she came out here to see her dad—and then just didn’t make it back to school,” Griffin said.
“You think she’s dead, too?” Barnes asked.
“No.”
“No?”
“I think she’s in on it. I think that her calling her father helps prove that some people are missing because they choose to be missing. I don’t know what our mastermind behind the whole Satanist thing is doing, but he has a group somewhere out in the woods. And we’re going to find them.”
“Careful—you could have a whole suicide-pact thing going on out there,” Barnes said glumly.
“I know,” Griffin said.
But he was determined to save who he could.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said, and Barnes bid him good-night.
Griffin went back in the house, carefully locking the main door as he did so. He started for the stairs, and then he was aware that someone was standing in the shadows near the passageway between the dining room and the kitchen.
It was their hostess, Mrs. McFall.
“Are you all right, Mrs. McFall?” he asked her, heading her way.
The kitchen light was on behind her; he could see that she was holding a cup of tea, leaning against the doorframe—watching him.
“I’m fine. I was wondering if Isaac had gotten it together to speak with you,” she said.
“Yes, he spoke with us,” Griffin told her.
“I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve had the oddest feeling for the longest time now...”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for one, I see strangers on the street sometimes. They’re here for a day, and then they’re gone. And I don’t know why they’re here, except that I think they’re looking for something.”
“And do you know what they’re looking for?” Griffin asked her.
“Call me crazy, Special Agent Pryce,” she said softly, “but I am eighty, and I have lived here a long time, and seen a great deal. I think that they’re looking for people.”
“People?”
“People like Brenda Noonan, Nell Patton or Carly Sanderson.”
“They believe that Carly Sanderson is alive.”
“And she may well be. She may be one of them now.”
“One of them—who?”
“The murderers, Special Agent Pryce, the murderers. You really do need to believe me. I’m not a crazy old lady. I’ve heard about what’s going on in Boston—and I’ve seen what’s going on out here. I’m very grateful that you’re here. You stop these monsters, sir! Somebody is pulling puppet strings. I just don’t believe that they’re bringing fire and brimstone and Satan in the flesh to the forest—but I do believe that there is a flesh-and-blood monster out there, and he’s going to kill until he is stopped.” She paused, setting her cup on the table. “Well, thank you for listening. Good night, Special Agent Pryce!”
She started to walk by him.
“Mrs. McFall?”
“Yes?”
“Please, call me Griffin. It’s a lot shorter.”
She laughed softly. “Okay.” Then she hesitated. “Mona. You may call me Mona. No, never mind. I like being Mrs. McFall!”
He laughed. “Good night, Mrs. McFall!”
She went on up. Griffin followed.
He opened the door to his room, wondering if Vickie had waited up for him, but expecting that she crashed out, was sound asleep and lying curled up on her side of the bed.
To his surprise, she was not.
She was standing beside the bed, facing the windows. Her eyes were open, but she didn’t see him; she didn’t turn as he came in.
“Vickie?” he said softly.
She didn’t respond.
“Vickie!”
He walked over to her. He gently turned her to look at him, and then took her into his arms.
“Vickie!”
She started suddenly, and blinked. For a long moment, she was completely disoriented, staring at him, and then she murmured, “Griffin!”
“Yes, it’s me, Vickie. It’s okay, you were...”
“Dreaming. Griffin, it was so weird! Tonight, the animals in the woods talked. They wanted me to know that the bear didn’t do it.”
“The bear told you that, right?”
“No, a mountain lion. I guess he was speaking for the bear. But there is a connection, I know it—but we can’t become too fixated on the connection. Griffin, they were all in my dream—the beautiful blonde, who I don’t think is the same woman we found in the Quabbin today. She was very tiny. Although, I don’t know. I didn’t actually see that much... Anyway, the men from Fall River were all in the dream. Charlie Oakley, Syd Smith, Robert Merton and Cole Magruder. They were on a log when I walked through, and Syd was talking about misdirection again. We can’t lose focus—we have to
He held her tightly and gently, looking into her eyes.
He understood.
None of them could help the emotion that came with the job—and it was actually important that they never did. There was something horrible that tore at the heart to see what man was capable of doing to man.
And yet, for both justice and a chance to help the living, they had to see the dead.
For them, in more ways than one.
“We’re going to find Alex,” he assured her, gently smoothing back her hair.
She still seemed worried as he held her. He eased back, studying her again. “Are you okay?” he asked her. “I’ve been thinking that you are just too close to this. First, there is the point that Alex is your friend. And then, whoever is doing this wanted you warned away, or something. That’s why Gloria knew your name—why blood was thrown at you. I should call your dad—”
She started to laugh suddenly. “Oh, Griffin, really—you’re going to call my dad on me?”
He laughed, too. “I meant that it might be a lot safer for you right now, joining your parents.”
She shook her head. “You need me, and I’m staying. You’re right. I have a feeling I know what it’s all about, too.”
“You do?”
“At first, I think whoever it is wanted me to stop. To be terrified—and just stop. What was happening in Boston, I think, was to keep people from noticing what was going on elsewhere. If this guy really thinks that he can kill and kill and be ignored, he’s crazy. I don’t think that I need to be frightened, Griffin. I wasn’t physically attacked, not really, not in the sense to hurt me. The blood washed off. If I’m in any danger, it’s because this person may think that if Alex fails, I might find something that he didn’t. We’re back to Jehovah, Griffin. I’ve got to figure out where it was—not vaguely that it was out here somewhere. We have to find out where it really was, and then ruin any possibility of this creature using it for whatever his plan may be!”
She was fierce when she spoke to him, and he nodded slowly. “Okay, but you have to stay close. One of us will always be with you.”
They went to bed. For a long time, he just held her. They both started to drift off to sleep, but then a brush became a touch, and they made love.