The Silenced by Heather Graham
“It was a man,” she said finally. “I never saw his face. He was in a black sedan. He had a map in his hands and he called out...asking for help. I bent down to the driver’s door...and then...nothing. I could see around me, but I knew I was dead. And I saw Killer coming to the morgue...and I saw your kindness to my dog.”
“A map? So he asked you for directions? He lured you to the car?” Meg asked.
Genie stared at her, eyes huge and luminous, as if they were about to shed ghostly tears.
“Stop him, please, stop him...”
Then she was gone, and that time, when the image wavered, it didn’t return.
Meg was in a towel, so she couldn’t go rushing into the hallway. Then she remembered that she was on the ground floor and the rooms connected. She hurried to the door and twisted both locks on her side, and flung open the first door to pound on Matt’s.
He opened it, wearing a towel, as well. For once, she hardly noticed.
“She was here again. I think she can break through because of Killer,” Meg said breathlessly. “She doesn’t know who killed her, but it was definitely a man, and he lured her to the car. He had a map, and he was pretending to be lost. A black sedan—he was driving a black sedan. They need to do more than just search Congressman Walker’s cars—they need to tear them apart. They should be looking for hairs and fibers and anything else that could possibly be in there.”
Matt nodded. Then he drew her into his arms. “We’ll get them going on that in the morning,” he promised. “But I believe the killer was very careful. No struggle. He knocked his victims out. He didn’t kill them in the cars—he killed them somewhere he couldn’t be seen, and always by a body of water.” He pulled back and said, “We have to find Lara.”
“Yes.”
He took her in his arms again then and held her. But a minute later, she became aware that all he was wearing was that towel. She eased far enough away to hold his face in her hands and kiss him.
And that let her forget the rigors of the day.
Later, as they lay together, she said, “You really do have a way with words, Agent Bosworth.”
“I like to think I’m good with my hands, too,” he said with a laugh. “Sometimes words aren’t necessary. But... I can come up with a few good ones, if you wish,” he said. And with his lips against her bare skin, he began to whisper a few of them, until she was laughing, too, and in his arms again...
Finally, she started to drift off. He was right; they needed sleep.
She was going to find Lara—and she was going to find the monster who had killed Genie Gonzales and the other women. They deserved justice.
And she was going to see that they received it.
* * *
She had some distance to go as an agent, Meg decided when she opened her eyes the next morning. Matt woke at the slightest sound, but when she fell into a deep sleep, he could shower, dress and be out of the room—without her noticing a thing. Maybe his ability to wake up so quickly had to do with his military experience. Or maybe it was just another talent that some people had and some didn’t—and she was a “didn’t.”
She rose and slipped back through the connecting door to her own room. She expected to find Killer waiting for her, jumping around with joy at her arrival. But he wasn’t there and she knew that Matt must’ve taken him out for a walk.
Dressed and ready in ten minutes, she held still for a moment and closed her eyes, then opened them again. No ghosts appeared before her. Soon after, she went into the breakfast room. Both Peter and Charlene were there; breakfast was ready in chafing dishes, and Matt was carrying on a conversation with their hosts and the other guests, Mr. and Mrs. Avery.
Peter introduced her to the pair—Jordan and Sylvia. They were in costume, Jordan in his butternut-and-gray uniform and Sylvia in a Victorian day dress.
Killer was sitting obediently by Matt’s chair.
“We’re a bit early for the annual reenactment,” Sylvia said, indicating her elaborate garb. “But Jordan’s company has a special luncheon today. The men under General Armistead at Pickett’s Charge have a get-together with the men who reenact General Hancock’s Irish Brigade. Always breaks my heart. Armistead’s mortal wounding was somewhat romanticized in that wonderful book by Michael Shaara, The Killer Angels, but the emotion behind it was so real. Armistead and Hancock both served as quartermasters in California before the war, and when Armistead chose to go with his state and the Confederacy, he said to Hancock, ‘You can never know what this has cost me.’”
“I suppose this is one of the reasons we remember,” Jordan said. “Best friends, sons and fathers, brothers—all torn apart. It should teach us today to listen to one another, to establish real equality for everyone and do whatever we can to keep such a tragedy from happening again.” He sniffed. “Members of Congress should be made to take part in one of these reenactments. Maybe they’d quit name-calling and do what they swear they’re going to do—serve the country!”
“Now, now, dear, these are government agents,” Sylvia said.
Matt laughed. “Hey, we’re American citizens, too. And we’d love to see congress get along.”
“You’re here with Walker’s party?” Jordan asked. When Matt nodded, he said, “Well, he isn’t a bad guy. Not as good as Hubbard—that man was a shoo-in. But Walker’s all right. But what if you were asked to protect a politician you didn’t like?”
“We’d still watch over him. Our personal opinions don’t enter into it,” Matt said. “Our vow is to protect our country and our people, whether we like them or agree with them—or not.”
Sylvia grinned. “Well, I think you should run for congress, Matt!”
“No way!” Matt vowed, and they all laughed.
“Have you been here for a reenactment?” Jordan asked.
“Many times,” Meg said, and Matt nodded.
“Visit us at the camp if you get a chance,” Sylvia said. “My great-great-great-grandfather was a surgeon in the Civil War. Jordan’s ancestor was a Rebel, mine was a Yankee. I switch around at the camps.”
“If the war was happening now, we would’ve been in opposite camps,” Jordan said.
“But I’d have followed you anywhere,” Sylvia said.
“You’re the best, babe,” her husband teased. “You know, Mary Lincoln had to turn her back on her family because of her husband.”
“I’d do that, too, if I had to,” Sylvia insisted.
“Aww.” Charlene rolled her eyes to more laughter. “How sweet.”
Matt looked over at Meg. “We should pack up and get going,” he said. “You ready?”
Meg had managed to down a cup of coffee and an egg-and-cheese croissant as they talked. They couldn’t get into the MacAndrew until later in the afternoon but they told Jordan and Sylvia Avery that they hoped to see them again. Sylvia scratched out some notes for them.
“If you want to check out some Civil War surgery, this is where I’ll be ‘assisting,’” she explained. “Not everything is allowed on park service property, but we rent from a farmer every year and we can do full-scale theatrical work. I’m hoping we’ll be able to continue to do that. We’re next to the ruins of the Brewer mansion, and the property has just been purchased. I don’t know who bought it—hopefully, an historian—and that he or she won’t object to our goings-on every year. Anyway...stop by if you can.”
Meg thanked her. Normally, she loved to go to the reenactment camps, but doubted she’d have the opportunity during this trip. They left soon after, Killer at their heels.
“Where are we off to? Any ideas?” Meg asked Matt.
“You’re supposed to call the shots.”
“But I’m not sure how. So...any ideas?” she repeated.
“How about a drive around the park, which will take us some time,” Matt replied. ?
“Oh? What did you ask her to do? And what about Congressman Hubbard? Do we have any results from his autopsy yet?”
He nodded grimly. “We know there was no sign of digitalis in his system. Of course, embalming has taken its toll. But Kat and Dr. Wong agree that the death is suspicious. Maddie Hubbard found him with his pills strewn around. He probably went for his digitalis. But what he took was probably some kind of placebo. His death wasn’t a guaranteed result, but for a man in his condition, switching out his pills created a good likelihood that he’d die.”
“So, sometime during the day of his death, someone switched his pills,” Meg said thoughtfully. “He was at a picnic after a busy day with other congressmen, aides, et cetera. And the pills are all gone, since Maddie was so diligent about that. But there’s nothing we can prove—and we don’t know who might’ve done it.”
“It lends credence to the possibility that somebody made Lara disappear. She probably suspected the truth. And she probably has a good idea of who’s guilty. But Angela will call with more information soon. The Walker party isn’t due until tonight and it’s still early, so let’s do what we can do. Are you okay with going to the park?”
Matt was at the wheel but they were parked in front of their bed-and-breakfast as he waited for her opinion.
“We used to go everywhere around here,” she said, stroking Killer, who lay quietly on her lap. “Lara loved the Jennie Wade House. Remember poor Jennie? She was the only civilian killed in the battle. She was baking bread for Union troops when shots came through the windows. She supposedly haunts the area, but... I’ve never seen her. And Lara loved the train station where Lincoln arrived. Also the Lincoln museum... Lee’s headquarters and the park itself,” Meg said. “So, yes, I guess going around the park is a good plan.”
They drove for a while, starting at the visitor center, following their private trail, hers and Lara’s, stopping at monuments. Each place they went, Meg tried to feel something. But all she felt was that she was spinning her wheels. If Lara was in hiding, the first place she would’ve gone was to Peter’s. He would’ve kept her secret. But she sensed that he hadn’t even known about her disappearance...
“Think you can find your Private Murphy again?” Matt asked.
“I’m told we only see the ‘residual’ hauntings of the men marching to or from battle when the sun has fallen, when mist lies over the land,” she murmured.
Lara had seen those men when she and Meg had gone to the battlefield together. Lara claimed she only saw them because Meg had described them so well, but Meg knew better. Lara, too, could see the dead. And she had the ability to enter Meg’s mind.
Matt’s phone rang. Angela. He put her on speakerphone.
“You do realize,” Angela said, “that when people refer to the Underground Railroad, they don’t always mean underground. Many people hid escaped slaves in their attics, smokehouses, barns and so on.”
“Yes, of course.” Meg wondered why Angela was pointing this out.
“But there were many places in the Gettysburg area that were part of the Underground Railroad. I’ve done a dozen computer searches with Will’s help, and I have a list of locations you can check out—and a few you’re not supposed to. I’m sending it to your phones in an email attachment. The problem you two have is that you’re government agents, and if you go where you’re not supposed to and someone wants you arrested—well, you’d better be damned good at pretending you were just tourists.”
Matt started to thank Angela but she interrupted him. “Oh, and I’ve cross-referenced what you asked, Matt,” she added. “So far, I haven’t found what you’re looking for, but then property is often purchased under corporate names, so I’m researching the corporations that recently purchased property in remote or heavily farmed areas in Adams County.”
When Angela rang off, Meg asked, “What exactly is she looking for?”
He smiled. “Anyone associated with Congressman Walker’s party who might own property in this area. Someplace that might sit over old foundations, or had tunnels for the Underground Railroad, or covered wells. That kind of thing.”
Her heartbeat quickened. “Someplace you might keep a prisoner?”
“Yes.”
“Or hide a body.”
“I don’t believe Lara’s dead. Private Murphy said he felt her presence. She knew about you, right? Your talent? Maybe she even shared it. She saw Private Murphy, too, right?”
Meg nodded.
“That’s my point. If she was dead, she would’ve reached you. She’s alive, and she managed to enter your mind or appear before you that one time—but it’s hard for her because she is alive. I really believe that.”
“Let’s head over to the Virginia Monument on Seminary Ridge,” Meg suggested. “It was one of Lara’s favorites.”
Matt drove to the monument and they stopped. Dogs weren’t allowed in the cemetery or the visitor center, but they could be taken onto the battlefield if they were leashed. Killer had hopped out every time they’d left the car—well behaved on his little leash. At the Virginia Monument, he barked and seemed anxious.
“Killer,” Meg said, “what is up with you?”
She scooped him into her arms. He was silent but still shaking. He licked her face.
“Ugh,” she muttered.
“Give him to me,” Matt said.
“I’m okay.”
“No. You need to use your gift to contact the living. You need to stand here and concentrate on Lara. Think of her as if you were trying to call her. Clear your mind and think of nothing else, nobody else, but Lara.”
The Virginia Monument stood forty-one feet high; it was a beautiful equestrian statue of Robert E. Lee over a group of seven Confederate soldiers. It was the largest of the Confederate monuments.
Meg handed the dog to Matt and sank down on the monument where she and Lara had sat before, talking about the Civil War. Years later, Lara had said that while Richmond might have been the capital of the Confederacy, it was now more “Washington” than ever, what with the ninety miles between the two cities being nothing in this day and age.
Except for traffic, of course.
Meg closed her eyes. She tried to envision her friend, with her sunshine hair and sparkling green eyes, always striving to see both sides of an issue. She often deplored the fact that although the Civil War was more than a hundred and fifty years behind them, some people still had to fight against inequality, while others hadn’t learned to stamp out their own prejudices.
The sounds around her dimmed as she concentrated. She felt the sun and heard birds and pictured her friend’s face. In her mind, she could see Lara, smiling in the sunlight.
And then the sun dimmed. And she saw her in darkness, barely visible, lying on...dirt. Surrounded by darkness. Walls of dirt...and darkness.
She’s dead, Meg thought, dead and silent. Forgotten...
Then she seemed to hear a pulse, a heartbeat. Lara wasn’t dead; she was weak and starved and dehydrated, barely alive and yet...
“Meg... Meg, where are you? Help me...”
Alive. Yes, Lara was still alive. Still trying to reach out to her.
Alive...but for how long?
* * *
Lara lay on the floor, fevered, half awake and half asleep.
She was dying, and she knew it.
She wanted to fight; the will to fight was strong in her. But her body was giving way. She was nearly out of water and she hadn’t eaten in days. She was so weak...
And yet, lying there, she suddenly had an image of Meg.
She wanted to concentrate. She wanted to tell her friend there wasn’t much time left. She tried...
She could no longer scream. She could hardly move. She knew that Meg wouldn’t stop until she found her.
But now...
Now it seemed that when Meg found her, she’d be dead.
But then she could tell her some things...
Because Meg could speak with the dead.
15
Meg’s eyes opened. “I don’t know... Am I just making up what I want to see? I—I think she keeps trying to reach me. I think she’s somewhere in the dark. Like...thrown into a well, a dirt-floor basement, something like that!”
Holding Killer, Matt sat next to her for a moment and she realized she was shaking. “Meg, I believe you did see her, and I believe she’s alive—she’s not coming to you as a ghost. Her mind is connecting with yours, and she’s communicating with you the way you two did as kids. There’ve been lots of experiments with people who have extrasensory perception, and there’s lots of evidence that it exists—which is far more accepted than that we might see the dead. Take a deep breath. We’ll figure it out. We’ll find her.”
She looked at him and was thankful that he gave her strength. What she’d once seen as arrogance really was his stance on life; he always walked forward in confidence, spoke with honesty, maintained a clear vision.
She smiled. “If we find her—when we find her—and this over, I’m going to need a vacation. With you, of course. I may be the new kid on the block, but...”
“You’ll deserve it.” He smiled back, using his free arm to pull her close. “Now, we’re running out of time. We have to check into the MacAndrew farmhouse, look it over and then head to every location on Angela’s list. With any luck I’m right—and someone in Walker’s party owns land and on that land we’ll find Lara.”
They left the park. They’d spent about three hours there, but it was still early, only about one o’clock. By that evening, they’d be on official duty as part of the Walker family security. Matt was anxious to get there.