Devil's Own (11 page)

Shattered pieces of a lamp lay scattered across a deep maroon oriental rug at the foot of the bed in each room—but only one of the carpets had a dark pool of blood seeped into it. A sense of foreboding crept up Niall’s spine as he stared at the stain. He’d seen his share of blood and death in the army, but when he’d come home, free and clear, he hadn’t wanted to go into law enforcement only to see the same horrible things on home turf.

“This wing of the house was built in the 1880s,” Millicent explained casually, staying slightly aloof and to the rear so her vision didn’t reach into either room. “At the time the owner was a land baron, Claude Talbot. He was a monster—well, to everyone but his lovely bride, Blanche. They were a chaste couple, and they slept in different rooms, as was customary at the time. To feel connected to one another, they had these mirror rooms built.”

Intrigued by the backstory, Niall glanced at Millicent and saw her lips purse with disapproval, but only for an instant. Then the blank mask returned, fixed firmly in place.

Another puzzling detail that might or might not have any significance. This was the reason, Niall reflected with an inward sigh, why he was glad most of his PI cases consisted of joyride vehicle locates and stakeouts of cheating spouses. Real murder cases were messy. Often the motives behind the acts were undecipherable to anyone but those involved. Murders within families just doubled the trouble.

“Valentine, you check the left room, I’ll check the right,” Hughes suggested.

Niall nodded and entered Angelina and Florian’s bedroom, carefully avoiding stepping on the pieces of the porcelain lamp. Still, he must have hit at least a few since a scrunching sound was audible. He hunkered down to inspect the rug and saw a few measly drops of blood. If the man who had come into the room and threatened Angelina with a bloody knife had indeed been Florian, then he had been hurt, even if the injury was miniscule.

Vaguely, he heard Millicent speaking with Hughes in hushed tones in the other room, but he chose to ignore it in favor of the search. While his father had been a detective, Niall himself wasn’t an expert in police procedures. But he did know better than to touch anything and to be careful where he went, cataloguing everything with his mind’s eye.

When he reached the nightstand from which Angelina had grabbed and hurled the lamp, Niall suddenly heard a sound, softer than a whisper, faint and strained.

“What the…?” he mumbled quietly.

The wall wasn’t the typical masonry work covered with wallpaper, but instead was wood paneled in thick square sections, each decorated in the center with a circle defined by carved vines. As he pressed his ear against the wall, he heard it more clearly.

Crying.

On the other side of the wall, someone was crying.

Funny, but Niall had thought this was the back end of the wing, with only the outer wall behind it.

He hurried to the hall and called out to Hughes, “Hey, I hear something.”

Hughes was busy checking the rug at the foot of the bed, his frown evident. He looked up right away, though. “Hear what?”

Niall directed his next words to Millicent. “I thought these bedrooms were at the end of the wing. That there’s only the outer wall behind them.”

For a moment Millicent seemed at a loss. “Y-yes, they are. The wall at the end of the hallway
is
the outer wall. The garden is behind it.” But then something flashed in the old woman’s eyes, a mere moment before she hid it behind the cool veneer once more.

Niall didn’t have time to figure out that puzzle at the moment, though. He rushed back to the bedroom and crouched by the outside wall, pressing his ear against the wood. “Still there.”

“What is?” Hughes spoke in a low voice, but concern tinted his tone.

“Crying. It’s louder down here.” Niall stood up and let Hughes take his place.

After scant seconds, Hughes nodded, his face growing awfully serious. “You’re right. There’s someone back there.”

Niall turned to Millicent, who stood just inside the bedroom, hovering by the threshold. “What’s behind there? Tell me.” He didn’t have the patience to coax the information out of her with hearts and flowers, and his voice suggested that.

Millicent swallowed hard, her jaw working convulsively. Her face had paled, and she was obviously afraid now. “T-the p-panel closest to the right wall. Press the carving with your palm. A hatch should open into a crawl space. It connects the two rooms.”

Now Niall understood the disapproval in Millicent’s recounting of the historical tale. Apparently, Claude and Blanche Talbot had been chaste only on the surface, with a secret passage connecting the twin bedrooms so they could indeed meet under the cover of darkness.

This also explained the locked room mystery. The murder room had been locked from the inside because the murderer had left via the secret passage and the other bedroom.

“Here.” Hughes had already pushed on the wooden panel farthest to the right. It gave way, moving inward for about an inch. A low click sounded.

Then a whole section of the wall moved back to reveal an opening into a narrow, dark, cobweb-filled passageway between the twin bedrooms and the outer wall. A couple of pipes ran the length of it too, making the space even tighter.

But what was most alarming was the young woman lying on the floor in a torn dress, covered in blood, crying—and with heavy chains binding her ankles to the back wall.

“H
OLY
. S
HIT
.”

Niall wasn’t sure if he or Hughes said it first, since they both said it at nearly the same time.

Hughes snapped out of it first. “Check on her, Valentine. I’ll get some pliers.” As he rose, he spoke to Millicent, “Lady, you knew this secret passage was here, and you didn’t—fuck, where the hell did she go?”

Niall was about to enter the tight space tucked into the wall but turned around at the statement. Millicent was indeed gone from the doorway. “We’ll get Marsden, Hughes. Later. Go get the pliers. We need to get this woman out of here. And call an ambulance.”

Hughes cursed like a sailor as he stormed off, practically running out of the room, which was quite a feat considering his size around the midsection. Niall actually heard him huffing breathlessly, too, but mostly Hughes was cussing up a blue streak.

Niall addressed the young woman, who raised her head wearily, terror plastered on her face, which was half-covered by her long hair. “Hey, are you all right? My name’s Valentine. I’m with the police. You’re safe. My partner’s gone to get something to break you free, okay? Nod once if you understand.”

Coughing, she nodded weakly. “I—I’m… hurt…. I c-can’t break the chains…. Couldn’t slip my ankle out…. Tried but failed.”

Niall had noticed a carafe of water and a small glass on the nightstand, and he hurried to get some for the girl. With a glass of water in hand, Niall fitted poorly into the narrow passage, but he knelt down next to the girl, touching her shoulder to offer comfort. “How badly are you hurt? Where?”

“Ankle,” she murmured. In the shadows it was hard to tell what she looked like.

“Can you tell me your name?”

She cleared her dry throat, coughing again. “Farrah Talbot.”

Niall suppressed a shudder. They hadn’t even known she was missing. He held the glass of water for her and encouraged her to drink it in small sips. “Can you tell me how you came to be here, or how long you’ve been here? Easy now.” He helped her lift up a bit so she could lean against the wall. She grimaced when the chain dug into her ankle, already raw and red from the chafing and escape attempts.

Farrah’s voice was raspy even after the drink. “I don’t know how long. It’s been dark here. He knocked me out. I only awoke a while ago. I tried calling out, but… my voice….”

“Who hit you?” Niall saw dried blood on her scalp and cautiously checked her head with his fingertips. A bump at the back of her head was sizeable, and the mere brush of his hand made her cry out in pain. “Sorry. Is your vision blurry? Is your memory…?”

“I can see fine, if a bit wobbly,” she said, clinging to his arm, the look in her blue eyes glazed and worn. “Nothing wrong with my memory, though.” A miserable look replaced the tiredness on her face, an embarrassed torment Niall needed to learn more about. “It was Florian. He chained me here when I refused to go with him after that cruel practical joke on Angelina. Then he hit me over the head with his wooden staff, probably so I couldn’t call out for help.” She sobbed quietly, covering her face with her hair, and then she spoke, perplexed. “I don’t understand why no one heard me until now. I’ve been shouting….”

Niall had to tell her something. “One of the bedrooms has been cordoned off by the police. No one’s been in here today.”

Farrah looked up, confusion marring a face that was already dirty and dusty, with tear streaks all over. “I… I don’t understand….”

Busy opening and closing his mouth, Niall was immensely relieved when at that point Hughes returned to them, with a confused Nola in tow. “I radioed for an ambulance and backup, and Nola here helped me get some pliers.”

“Farrah….” Nola’s wide brown eyes stared at the captured young woman with so much shock Niall was surprised she could even form a word.

“Nola,” Farrah whispered, desperation in her tone and in her gaze. “Find Goddard. He must be frantic. Where is he?”

Hughes stuck the heavy-duty pliers in Niall’s hands. “Use ’em. I’m gonna look for her husband.” Then he was off again, with a scrambling and heavily panting Nola behind him, worried and afraid.

With expert hands, Niall applied the pliers to the weakest part of the shackles, between the cuff around the ankle and the actual chain. Though these weren’t exactly fetters, they were close enough for their meaning to be clear. Grinding his teeth so he wouldn’t spew out curses, Niall cut through the metal. A shearing sound accompanied the breaking of the foot cuffs.

They both sighed in audible relief.

Niall picked Farrah up by holding her waist and under her arm. “Here we go. Don’t put too much weight on your injured leg, okay? I’m just gonna take you into the bedroom and put you on the bed until the paramedics get here, okay?”

“Yes. Yes.” Her brow wrinkled in concentration as she grabbed Niall’s arm and then wrapped her own around his shoulders. Nodding, she said courageously, “I can manage. Thank you for all your help.”

Pushing themselves out of the narrow wall space was tricky at best. To avoid Farrah scraping against the boards and nails in the passage, Niall pressed against them—and then distinctly heard his own jacket ripping. But he didn’t care. Cautiously, he maneuvered back into the bedroom and laid Farrah down on the thick comforter, her ashen blonde hair cascading down on her shoulders.

“Just take it easy, okay? Everything’s going to be all right.”

He wasn’t sure if he believed his own words, not with everything that had happened, but he wanted to. Farrah nodded, a flicker of a weary smile appearing on her lips before she closed her eyes and let out a long breath.

“Farrah? Can you tell me when Florian took you into the passageway?” Niall asked.

Farrah nodded slowly, and an ashamed look pinked her cheeks as she ducked her head and glanced away. “Ever since I married Goddard, Florian’s been trying to….” She snapped her mouth shut, her jaw quivering, and when she opened her eyes, they were wet with unshed tears. “At first it was just lurid comments and hungry glances and the occasional brush on my skin. But after my love was… was hurt, Florian found ways to get close to me. Goddard couldn’t help me. There were days when there was no light of recognition in his eyes. And he’s stuck in that wheelchair…. The physical therapy helped, and he’s a bit better now. But Florian….” She closed her eyes tightly. The fury within her was so strong it was easy to sense.

“You don’t have to—” Niall cut in, worried for her wellbeing.

“No. No. I want to get this over with, so you can go find him.” Farrah blinked back the tears and gained control of herself. The delicate beauty of her inner strength had the effect of a light turned on in a dark room, and Niall appreciated the sight. “I don’t know how he did it. But one night he was just there, in my bedroom. He placed a hand over my mouth so I couldn’t scream. It was one of those nights when Goddard was away at the rehabilitation center. Florian….” Her chin lifted in fierce anger and retribution, but soon it fell away, and sorrow, guilt, anguish, and shame rose to replace them. “He told me that if I told anyone, he would make sure Goddard had… an accident. In his weakened condition, Goddard would be helpless. So… I let Florian do what he wanted.”

Balling his hands into fists, Niall fought for control. Angelina had been right. Florian Talbot was the devil incarnate,
the bastard
. “He won’t ever get the chance to do that again.”

“’Cause the dickhead is dead,” Nola said, stepping into the room with Hughes and a man in a wheelchair she was pushing. Her fear, too, had dispersed, with rage overriding other emotions. The fact that she spoke of Florian as the deceased with such honest vehemence and divine retribution suggested she didn’t know the dead body wasn’t Florian. Surely the murderer had to have known who he was killing? A thought occurred to Niall….

“Fawwah….”

The man in the wheelchair spoke with a lisp, the left half of his face tilting downward a bit, paralyzed. But, God, was he massive. There were trees smaller than him. His broad shoulders, barrel chest, and stout legs made the wheelchair seem miniscule, made for Lilliputians. His dark hair was messy, long, and poorly cut; he had at least two days’ worth of stubble, and his clothes were wrinkled and dirty. Had he been alone all this time?

But the fierce light in his dark blue eyes told everyone he was 100 percent present.

“Goddard!” Farrah cried out, jumped to her feet, and limping, ran to her husband, throwing herself into his arms and hugging him for dear life. “Oh, my love, oh God, I’m so sorry. I should never have left you for so long. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you. Only you.” On and on the rambling went, and Goddard wrapped his muscular arms around her, almost making her disappear from sight.