Whisper of Evil (29 page)

"So I only have to tell this once." Nell forced a smile, small though it was. She gently pulled her arm free of Max's grasp and moved to face both men. "The night of the prom, I came out here to Gran's house to show her my dress. She didn't answer when I knocked, so I let myself in. I could hear the shower, and I decided to wait a few minutes, until she came out. I really wanted her to see my dress."

Nell fell silent, and even though she thought she was expressionless, there must have been something in her face, because Max stepped toward her.

"Nell?" His voice was low, worried.

She forced herself to go on, to speak as calmly as she knew how. "I'd had visions before, but they'd been quick, fleeting things mostly. Scenes I could easily recognize and had learned to accept as part of my life. Part of the Gallagher curse. Nothing especially dramatic or tragic, just unsettling. But that night… I saw something unlike anything I'd ever seen before."

"What?" Ethan demanded, fascinated despite himself.

"I saw the scene of a murder." In a voice steady with hard-won detachment, she described what she'd seen, the blood and signs of a violent struggle, the body lying so twisted she wasn't able to see the face.

"So you don't know who it was?" Ethan said.

"Yes. Yes, I know. I knew then."

"How, if you couldn't see the face?" Max asked.

"There was a locket. A silver locket I recognized." Nell turned and led the way around to the rear of the ruins, where many years before, an old-fashioned root cellar had been dug out of the ground just a few yards from the back door. "I knew the body must have been buried or hidden nearby. I wasn't sure where to start looking, especially after all these years—and after that vision I had out in the woods." She glanced at Max, and he nodded.

"You saw someone carrying the body of a woman. So that's why you weren't concerned that it might be a future death; you knew it had already happened."

"I was pretty sure it had. But in that vision, the body was being carried toward this house on a stormy night, and I knew she—she had been killed here, inside. I thought he might have been planning to bury the body somewhere else but couldn't because of the storm. So he brought her back here."

Ethan stared down at the warped and splintered old doors of the root cellar. "You're telling us there's a body down there?"

"I came out here this morning to look around. I'd forgotten the root cellar; it was virtually hidden by an old toolshed most of my childhood and never used. But after I'd poked around inside the house for a while, I remembered. The doors were padlocked, but I got rid of the lock."

Max and Ethan exchanged glances, then both bent to open the slanted doors to reveal the stone steps leading downward into darkness. A dank and musty smell immediately wafted out.

"I left a couple of battery lanterns inside," Nell said, starting down the steps. The men followed. At the bottom, she got the small lanterns from a rickety old shelf placed to one side and turned them on. Then she walked forward just a few steps, the lanterns illuminating a dirt-walled space barely ten by eight feet and less than six feet high.

Ducking slightly, as Max was, Ethan said, "So where—" He didn't have to finish the question.

At Nell's feet lay an open grave. Freshly dug earth was piled on either side of the shallow pit. And inside lay a skeleton that had been only partially uncovered.

Nell set one of the lanterns at the foot of the grave, then walked around the mounded dirt to the other side and placed the second lantern just above the dully gleaming skull.

"Jesus," Ethan murmured. "Who is it?"

"My mother." Nell knelt where she was and leaned forward to point out a tarnished silver locket on a chain now resting among bones and dirt. "The locket has pictures of Hailey and me. She always wore it."

Max drew a breath and let it out slowly. "She never left."

"She never left. Lying here all these years, much closer than I ever—" Nell shook her head. The lantern shining upward lent her face a haunted expression. Or maybe it wasn't just the light. "She didn't leave her husband. Didn't abandon her children. She was here. All the time, she was here."

"What killed her?" Ethan asked.

"Love killed her," Nell murmured. "My father killed her."

By the end of their lunch, Justin and Shelby had not come up with any fresh ideas as to how to find out what made George Caldwell so interested in old parish birth records. Which wasn't to say they had not enjoyed trying. Or maybe they had just enjoyed each other's company.

Justin was wary of asking himself which it was.

The lunch crowd in the cafe had almost entirely cleared out by the time they finished their meal and prepared to leave, but Justin was uneasily aware that several off-duty cops as well as more than one curious citizen had noted and expressed a covert interest in him and his companion.

What he didn't know was whether that would prove dangerous to Shelby.

"I think you worry too much," she said as they got into his car. "And, anyway, you need my help."

He put the keys in the ignition and paused, eyeing her. "I do, huh?"

"You do. Two heads are better than one."

"Well, if that's your only reason—"

"Come on, who else can you trust? Is there anybody in the sheriff's department you're absolutely sure of?"

"No, but—Shelby, if we're right about this, George Caldwell was probably murdered because he found out something that threatened the killer. No other reason. No high-minded motive like a search for truth, justice, or the American way. He died because he knew something he shouldn't have. Because he had the potential to get in the killer's way. Right?"

"Right."

"So don't you think he wouldn't hesitate to get rid of anyone else who offered even a potential threat? Even a curious redhead who just might have pointed her cameras in the wrong direction once or twice?"

"If I were a threat, he'd have gotten rid of me long ago."

"It might not have occurred to him that you were a threat. Until he saw you with me. Until he saw you showing me a bunch of photographs."

"Which I do all the time. Even if he was suspicious, he has to know I'm acting exactly the way I always act, so why would that raise alarms?"

"As far as we can tell, George Caldwell didn't do much either—just go through parish birth records."

Shelby frowned suddenly. "You know, that's a good point. How would the killer know George was a threat to him? Even if he was camped out at the courthouse and saw George going through the records, there was nothing unusual about that. I mean, it was something George did fairly often. So where was the threat?"

Distracted, Justin frowned. "I thought about that. Whatever it was he found… he must have told someone about it. Maybe even the killer."

"Because he didn't realize it was a threat?"

"Probably. To George, it might well have been just some interesting tidbit of knowledge. But to the killer…"

"A threat." Shelby shook her head. "Birth records. You don't think he found out some fine, upstanding citizen was a bastard or something like that, do you? Because I wouldn't have thought that would matter in this day and age. Certainly not to the point of murder."

Justin brooded for a moment, absently starting the car at last. "Unless there was a legal issue. Maybe some kind of inheritance that hinged on legitimacy."

"And again I say—in this day and age?"

"There are some really old laws still on the books, Shelby, some of them arcane. And it might not be as much a matter of illegitimacy as it is of something else—say a family business or the disposition of prop-erty with a legal tie to a particular family line. It's possible, at least. Or the threat could be even simpler—a family secret the killer really didn't want exposed, for whatever reason."

"Yet another puzzle." Shelby sighed. "I guess we don't have a hope of figuring out who it was he might have told about whatever it was he found in the birth records."

"The guy was a banker. He talked to people all day long. And as far as I can determine, he was pretty friendly outside the bank as well."

"So we start with the whole town and try to narrow it down?"

It was Justin's turn to sigh. "Now you begin to see why we haven't had any luck in solving his murder."

A sudden rap on Justin's window made them both jump, and they looked out to see several grinning deputies standing beside the car. Justin rolled down the window.

"No parking on Main Street," Deputy Steve Critcher chided in a severe tone.

"Actually, there is," Shelby pointed out cheerfully, leaning forward to look past Justin.

"I meant parking of a certain kind," the deputy said, "as you well know. And in broad daylight too."

Ignoring the reference, Justin said, "Don't you guys have anything better to do than harass fellow cops who're off the clock?"

"Not really," Lauren Champagne replied, smiling.

"Not at the moment, anyway," her partner, Kyle Venable, chimed in. "Quiet Saturday, mostly. And we're just coming off our lunch hour."

"So we were just strolling—I mean patrolling—the mean streets of Silence, doing our best to keep evil at bay." Steve sobered suddenly. "Or discussing it; anyway. Scuttlebutt says the sheriff is about to call in the feds. Doesn't really have a choice, we hear."

Justin said, "I imagine Sheriff Cole always has a choice."

"Maybe up to now he did, but the town council is making a lot of noise. They held an emergency meeting last night, you know."

"No," Justin said, "I didn't know. So they're pushing Cole to bring in outsiders?"

"Sounds like." Steve smiled. "Though I personally think he's looking for help a little closer to home. Psychic help." He sounded the do-do-do-do first notes of the theme from The Twilight Zone.

"You can't know that, Steve," Lauren objected mildly.

"No, I can't know that. But I'd like to know another reason why the sheriff would take Nell Gallagher out to visit the Lynch house. When Terrie Lynch wasn't there, by the way."

"Surely you don't think Sheriff Cole believes in that stuff?" Lauren asked.

"I would have said not. Then again, maybe he really is getting desperate."

"Or," Justin suggested, "maybe he's just exploring every possible avenue. She is supposed to be gifted, isn't she?"

"So they say," Kyle responded laconically.

"It's all bullshit," Steve insisted. "If trained cops can't find out who's doing these killings, then no pretend psychic is going to. If you ask me, the sheriff is going to have to call in the feds, and sooner rather than later."

Kyle said, "We've got a betting pool going. So far, the odds are just about even that we'll be up to our hats in condescending feds by the middle of next week."

"Oh, joy," Justin murmured.

Steve offered an exaggerated shrug. "Hell, maybe we should just admit we're out of our depth and roll out the welcome mat. At least then they could take some of the flak."

Shelby asked, "Are you getting flak?"

He grimaced. "Let's just say I've been asked more than once how it is that we have allowed fine upstanding citizens to be murdered."

Dryly, Shelby said, "Fine upstanding citizens with S and M playrooms in their basements?"

"That point is conveniently forgotten, just like gambling, embezzlement, and collections of porn."

Kyle said, "Why don't you say it a little louder, Steve, so all of Main Street can hear? There might be one or two who don't yet know all the facts."

Unrepentant, Steve retorted, "If you think there's a soul over the age of fourteen in all of Lacombe Parish who doesn't know exactly what's going on, you're nuts."

"What I think is that the sheriff is going to can all of us if he finds out we're talking about this like it's no more important than what we had for lunch. Use your head, Steve."

Whatever response Steve might have made was lost when the radios on the belts of all the deputies as well as the one Justin had in his car suddenly and loudly squawked for attention.

Max looked at Nell sharply but said nothing. Ethan hunkered down and stared grimly at the skeleton. "Adam killed her? Are you sure about that?"

"Who else could it have been? He's the one who claimed she left, that she ran away. He had access to her things and could have packed up and disposed of some of them so it looked like she had taken clothing and personal effects with her. Nobody else could have done that. And he was so openly angry and bitter about her having run away that nobody stopped to wonder if she really had."

Ethan sighed, still gazing down at what was left of Grace Gallagher. "Probably won't be able to tell how she was killed after all this time."

"In the vision, I saw—I remember—there were stab wounds. Lots of them. But I don't think any of them were fatal. Maybe he dropped the knife during the struggle, I don't know. I do know there was a struggle, a violent one; the whole room was trashed." Nell's voice was steady. "In any case, I'm pretty sure her neck's broken. A forensic pathologist should be able to determine that."

Ethan looked at her, brows lifting. "And what else are you pretty sure of?"

"That the body was uncovered for a long period, then finally buried in this very shallow grave. You can see there are only shreds of clothing left, but as much torn as rotted, and there are some fine marks on some of the bones. Teeth marks, I think. Probably rats." Her voice remained composed, matter-of-fact. "I'm thinking he didn't have time to bury her right away, so he just left her down here, covered with an old tarp or something. The rats got to her, maybe even other animals. By the time he could bury her, there wasn't much left."

"That's what you think?"

"That's what I think."

Frowning, Ethan said, "Why do I get the feeling you sort of know what you're talking about?"