Grave Echoes: A Kate Waters Mystery (2 page)

David turned to Kate. “Maybe it’s time she took care of herself.”

“That’d be a rainy day in heaven.” Kate took a drink of David’s beer and set it back down on the table next to a bowl of pretzels.

“Tell me about your hallucination,” David said.

Kate didn’t really want to recap the nightmare, or embarrassing incident, one of many she’d had before. In college, she’d entered into a sleep study at Oregon Health and Sciences University where they had attached monitors to record her REM sleep patterns. She received a diagnosis for narcolepsy and was given treatment options. Usually, her disorder comprised of insomnia and the occasional paralysis, nothing to take medication for, rather than the bizarre hallucinations she’d been having lately.

“Why do you think your hallucinations are so severe this time?”

“I’m not sure. Stress usually induces more insomnia and sleep attacks, but I’ve never had hallucinations quite like this before.”

“I think you should get a refill on your medication.” He turned to look at Kate.

She nodded, agreeing, but couldn’t stop thinking about Jev’s well-being. “Maybe Jev’s been staying with Sean,” she said, switching the topic. “He hasn’t really said anything to me though.”

“Maybe because he’s more like you, not wanting to mix his work with his personal life. I’m sure she’ll get in touch with you soon.”

“You’re probably right,” she said, though still unconvinced.

She took another drink from David’s beer. Outside the window, the porch light illuminated tall grasses in the corner of the yard. They waved animatedly in the wind. It was there that Kate had had her first hallucination this week, after she’d fallen asleep in the lawn chair. It was the first time she had seen the gold key and heard Jev’s muffled cry, though Jev hadn’t been bleeding in that one. When Kate had finally woke from her paralysis and could move again, the grasses were swaying in front of her then too, dancing wildly, as if expressing her own fear, that something terrible was going to happen or had already happened. Kate realized it had been two days when she had last spoken with Jev. It wasn’t completely uncharacteristic of Jev to go into hiding, but past experience had taught Kate it was more than enough time for her to find trouble.

***

Missing the fir tree by inches, his car skidded to a stop. Steam choked and sputtered from under the hood of the other car, a crumbled mess of metal stuck against the base of an old cedar. He stepped out of the pickup in his brown boots and flicked the cigarette behind him, exhaling the sweet smoke from his puckered lips. He reached behind the driver’s seat, pulled out a large flashlight with a long black handle, and clicked it on.

He hadn’t expected to chase her down, or anybody for that matter. Nobody was supposed to find out. He was forced to do this. What the fuck was she doing there anyway, spying on him? She brought it on herself, he cursed, walking over to the wreckage. Bits of glass, scattered across the pavement, sparkled underneath the lights that still shone from the crumpled car, like wet diamonds. He walked around it, careful not to disturb the scene. He could see her hunched over in the car. She wasn’t moving but that didn’t mean she was necessarily dead. No airbag was deployed; an older model like that probably didn’t have them.

He looked away from the car’s headlights, toward the debris strewn across the road, looking for something small, gold-plated, and tarnished with age. But in this dark weather, the sheen of glossy, wet pavement could hide just about anything.

He scanned the perimeter of the car and found nothing. It must still be in the car somewhere, he concluded, peering into the passenger window. Trash littered the seats and floor. Why did she have to be a goddamn pack rat? he thought. How was he ever going to find what he was looking for in this shithole?

He walked around to the driver’s side of the car. She lay hunched over, her head in the passenger seat. She hadn’t buckled her seat belt—all the better for him. He stopped when he noticed something in her hand. Leaning through the window, he uncurled her fingers and withdrew a black bracelet with a pentacle on it. Disappointed it wasn’t something more important, he threw it behind him, and then lifted her wet hair aside. Blood trickled down her milky-white throat. He placed two fingers against her carotid artery. No pulse. She was dead. A surge of relief warmed him—he didn’t want to have to kill her, not by choking her or hitting her over the head with the flashlight. No, this had to look like an accident. And it was, he convinced himself, an accident he couldn’t avoid and one that she deserved. She shouldn’t have been meddling in his business.

He put his glove back on and lit another cigarette, taking a quick drag. It was time to get down to business, no time to waste. Another car could drive by at any minute. He had to cover his tracks and find that fucking key.

Locating her robe, Kate wandered from the bedroom where David slept soundlessly to go through boxes from the move. She’d been unusually tired at the end of yesterday and had fallen asleep by nine o’clock. Now, at four in the morning, she felt alert as a squirrel—a precursor to future hallucinations and sleep attacks.

The house was freezing, she noticed, heading to the kitchen for tea. The thermostat read 70, but it felt more like 65. She clicked the switch up to 71, finished making her tea, and headed for the stairs. At the bottom of the staircase, a basket laid next to the bureau in the hallway for shoes that never made it back to the closet. Kate saw David’s brown boots inside, wet and muddy. She thought it was strange since he’d been running errands in town all day and as far as she knew, he had come home right afterwards. Then she remembered it was Monday—garbage day, two days ahead of the schedule at her old place. He must have been gathering trash in the backyard.

Retrieving an old towel from the closet, she took the boots to the laundry room and wiped off the mud before it crusted over the leather. She rinsed out the washcloth and threw it on top of the washer to clean later. A large mirror hung above the utility sink on the wall. Kate paused in front of it, pulling back her hair from her face. Her brown eyes looked darker this morning, surrounded by tiny red capillaries. She combed her hair up into a ponytail and pulled her bangs to the side when someone was suddenly behind her. On top of the washer was a little girl in a white formal gown and long brown hair. Her ashen face contrasted with bright pink lips and big blue eyes.

Kate jerked around. The girl was gone. The room was empty. She glanced around, feeling as if she wasn’t alone. The lights flickered in the utility room, and Kate felt her chest tighten. She turned back to the mirror, half expecting to see the little girl crouched on the washer. Or in the corner of the ceiling, with a wicked, bloody grin spread across her porcelain face, waiting to pounce on her. But there was nobody there.

“Great, now I’m having illusions.” She rubbed her face with cool water, reminding herself how stress could dupe the mind into seeing and hearing things, though she could have sworn the little girl was there, just sitting. Maybe the side effects of narcolepsy medication were better after all.

Resuming her initial goal of locating climbing gear, Kate headed upstairs. The smell of fresh paint still lingered in the hallway and was sticky to the touch. Kate admired David’s recent drive to fix up the house, and knew that her moving in was part of it. But she never expected him to complete lists of obligations. She understood too well how quickly expectations could devour a relationship, having been a victim to that once already. This relationship had to be different from the rest, she told herself. She wanted something new, something real—a love constructed of patience, cooperation, friendship, and enduring trust. She hoped David felt the same.

As she crested the top stair, Kate’s romantic aspirations vanished at the draft of cool air over her bare feet. She opened the door to one of the spare rooms and flipped on the light. The window was wide open, again. Rain splattered along the windowsill, dripping glossy trails down the wall where it made a puddle on the oak floor. She went over to the window and thrust her weight into the frame. It didn’t budge. She nudged it harder until her elbow slammed into the metal latch. Sharp, painful pulses shot down her arm and into her hand. She rubbed at the bone and muscle to reduce the hot, tingling sensations. Looking around the room for something to put in the window, Kate wondered why David kept opening it. Especially with all the recent rainstorms. She had shut the window almost every day this week.

In the corner of the room, she found an empty cardboard box, broke it flat, and pushed it into the opening to keep as much of the rain out as possible. Through the top half of the window, she saw headlights cut through the dark down the road. Kate leaned behind the wall, watching Mr. Burton’s old, tan Buick sputter into the driveway. He always seemed to be out at the oddest times of night, a nocturnal critter at heart, she thought. His stance hunched forward as he walked up the drive, favoring his right leg quite a bit. He coughed like a smoker. White, scraggily hair grew wild from his head and face and an overly large, bumpy nose extended below eyes glazed with a milky fluid. He looked ancient and was probably close to it. Even though he had a hard time hearing and didn’t speak very clearly, David had warned her of underestimating him. “For his age, he is as sharp as a hacksaw,” he’d said. Apparently, political gossip, troubles with previous relationships, and broken-down vehicles were not beyond his comprehension or interest.

Just as Kate was about to move away from the window, footsteps thumped up the stairs.

“What are you doing?” David had his arms crossed tightly around his middle and shivered in a pair of blue boxers and a white T-shirt.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Maybe you should see your doctor again. Seems like it’s only getting worse, Kate.”

“I’ll call today.”

David looked at the window with the cardboard smashed into the opening. “What happened to the window? It’s freezing in here.” He walked over to inspect it.

Kate took a moment to respond, having been certain he had been the one opening it. “You’re not opening the window?”

He frowned. “No. I thought you were.”

Kate shook her head, reflecting on the puzzle of new facts. If David wasn’t opening the window, who was?

“Maybe we have a ghost,” he said.

“What?”

“A ghost…in the house.”

She heard him the first time. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah.” David looked at her as if he’d thought it was what she’d said that was completely irrational.

She waited for his face to furrow with laughter, but there wasn’t even a hint of amusement pulling at the corners of his mouth—he was serious. “You believe in ghosts?”

Before he could answer, the phone rang downstairs. They both looked at each other questioningly. “Who would be calling this early?” David asked.

“I’ll get it.” Kate rushed down the stairs, trying to reach the phone before it clicked over to the answering machine. She reached the phone at the end of the last ring.

“We just had a big one on Hood.” She recognized the low voice on the other end of the line. It was her boss Stewart. And by big one, he was undoubtedly referring to an earthquake.

“How big?”

“5.4. You’ll come in?”

Kate knew this was more of an order than a request. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“What’s up?” David asked, returning downstairs.

“I’ve got to go into work.”

“Now? At four in the morning?”

“Mt. Hood had an earthquake.” She kissed him on the mouth and then collected her shoes and coat. His breath smelled musky, inviting, and a part of her wanted to stay home and crawl back in bed with him, though not to sleep.

“Really?” He perked up. “What does this mean?”

“Besides seeing you less than I already do?”

David propped himself against the stair railing. “We knew our schedules were going to conflict, that’s why we moved in together, so we could see as much of each other as possible.”

“I know.” Kate sat on the couch to tie her shoes. David joined her. His night shifts kept him away in the evenings four nights of the week until 4 o’clock in the morning. The only time they saw each other was Sunday and one or two nights during the week.

“Did you find out if you’ll still be working in Northeast Portland?” It was one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Portland and she was eager for him to transfer to a safer part of town.

“No. The board is still contemplating permanent positions.”

“Hopefully you’ll get moved to the west side.” She grabbed a sweater draped over the arm of the couch and pulled it over her head.

“I like working in the east. That’s where all the action is.”

Kate made an exaggerated tilt of her head. “Exactly.”

“You climb volcanoes,” he reminded her.

“Volcanoes don’t shoot people.”

“No, they just erupt searing clouds of toxic gas and rock at 400 miles per hour.”

“It’s not the same,” Kate said.

“Exactly,” David replied.

Kate stood and headed for the front door, realizing there was no point in arguing. He followed her.

“Give me a call later?” David asked, leaning on the pedestal of the staircase.

“Yes.” She gave him a kiss and left.

As she walked to her Jeep, the brisk wind wailed around her, whipping her hair across her face. A strange feeling came over her, like something more than just a storm approached. She sensed it like an inaudible voice from somewhere deep in her mind, brewing with a heedful message. She wanted to believe it was just her sleeping spells or Jev’s isolation, maybe even her horrid hallucinations. Whatever the cause, something nagged at her. Sort of like being watched. Subtle. But detectible nonetheless.

***

Bright orange cones blocked off one side of the road when Detective Orwin Wells pulled in behind two squad cars. Guilt washed over him as he recalled his boredom earlier this evening. The last thing he wanted was an accident to make his shift more exciting, especially when it involved a young woman not much older than his own daughter.

Three high-powered fluorescent spotlights lit up the wreckage. The rain came down like a translucent veil. Wells noticed two police officers, clad in slickers and rubber boots, directing traffic through the narrow corridor of deciduous and evergreen trees, where green tentacles of ivy engulfed the hillside, clutching the trunks of firs, maples, and everything else within its grasp.

His partner Ted Johnson, a specialist in the homicide unit, analyzed tire treads on the opposite side of the road from the crumbled car with another officer wearing a jacket from the Forensic Investigation Motor and Vehicle Incidents (MVI) team. Wells had worked with several officers from MVI, but didn’t recognize him.

Wells grabbed his coat and flashlight and stepped out of his car, hunching against a curtain of rain. He stuck a piece of gum in his mouth; it always seemed to help him think better and wasn’t bad for his lungs either. He walked over to Ted and the new officer. Both of them held their hoods straight to protect their faces from the rain. Ted seemed to be in a pleasant mood, Wells noticed. He could tell by the way he crouched toward the younger officer. Whenever a case involved foul play, Ted usually guarded himself with a stiff posture—not wanting to show emotion.

“It’s about time you came,” Ted said, gripping Wells by the shoulder when he approached. “This is Jake Foster, from motor investigations.”

Wells extended his hand. “Good to meet you.”

“It is a pleasure, Detective Orwin Wells,” he replied.

“Foster here is fresh out of the academy, top of his class,” Ted commented.

Wells had already guessed that from the brightness in the young man’s eyes—most experienced investigators had seen enough accidents to drown the initial excitement of a new investigation, where novice officers hadn’t the chance yet to shoot at another person, hadn’t had to watch countless gruesome autopsies, and hadn’t had the joys of processing paperwork, testimonies, and procedural reports for criminal investigations.

“Ahh, we got a hotshot,” Wells joked. The young officer smirked with dropped eyes. “But I would be the first to tell you, we could definitely use a “top gun” around here.”

The young officer looked back at Wells. “That’s right; I’m not working with the drug force,” he said.

Wells and Ted laughed, knowing it was the drug division who kept the ‘hotshot’ reputation well alive.

Wells noticed Jake shivering, believing he wasn’t acclimated to the wet cold this side of the Cascades yet. “Are you new to the area?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “Just came from Nevada.”

Wells smiled. There was something crippling about Oregon’s cold rain that even those who’d lived in the snowy regions still had difficulty adjusting to the climate. “Welcome to sun-shiny Oregon,” he said.

Jake laughed and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “Right—they never mentioned that in the brochure.”

Ted returned to business, motioning to the totaled car. “Her name is Jevanna Waters,” he started. Wells hadn’t seen the girl yet but stayed attentive to officials snapping photographs in squatted positions over shards of glass and smashed metal to capture every needed angle of gory detail.

Jake detailed the information they had so far, pointing up the hill where the sharp curve in the road started. “Looks like she took the curve too fast, at least 20 mph over the speed limit.” Jake moved his hand down the street towards where they were standing. “We believe she hydroplaned there, and when tires made contact again, we see a yaw mark in the road where the driver began to lose control; there was too much momentum; she fishtailed to the right; and the vehicle rolled at the collision mark there,” he pointed in front of them, “and then she collided into the tree.”

“Were there any witnesses?” Ted asked.

“Nobody reported the accident. Officer Brad Stowes was investigating calls about a disturbance in the cemetery and happened upon the scene at 2:12 am.”