The Seekers, page 11
A historic inn, an abandoned church, a paranormal investigation group...
And just what else?
Keri had looked into the church. It had been used by teens trying to get lucky, drink beer and smoke pot. It was also suspected that people had used it in their practices for witchcraft and perhaps Satanism.
John Newby had been a Satanist, evidenced by the insignias he had left in his basement, discovered after the mass murder at the inn.
It was all connected.
But how? Or was it all just being used as a cover-up for a different motive for murder?
He really did need sleep; it was important to keep a clear head. The questions would be there in the morning.
Keri was proving to have a sharp mind. Of course. She wrote books. On old murders, and yes, things had changed through the years. There was so much more technology available now. But human nature remained the same.
As he lay down to sleep, he found that he did clear his head. Of the questions that were arising, at least.
He hadn’t cleared his head of Keri Wolf. He wondered if he should challenge her outright—tell her the truth about himself.
The truth? What if he’d been wrong himself? What if he’d imagined the man in the park, the victim who had stopped by to thank him?
Keri wasn’t terribly fond of him, he knew.
He closed his eyes and realized that he was almost smiling, rather ridiculously glad that he had found her getting ready for bed alone.
Whether she was fond of him or not.
7
Keri woke feeling almost as exhausted as she had been when she went to sleep.
And yet again, her night had been filled with dreams and nightmares, only snatches of which she remembered when she was fully awake. There was no way out of what she had seen—the woman laid out on the stone altar in the basement, torn and ragged and covered in blood.
The woman in white, standing by her side, watching Keri.
It was all so explainable. She’d spent the day in the museum room, and she had seen the picture, and she’d just moved the woman from the picture into the basement, standing there, over the body of Julie Castro. She’d probably already made the connection somewhere in her subconscious that the woman in white was Beatrice Bergen, the local girl who had most likely been kidnapped, tortured and killed by John Newby in his secret chamber below the tavern.
That’s why she had imagined she had seen her.
Her phone rang at 8:00 a.m. It was Joe Dunhill. She was disturbed by her reaction to his voice; she had decided yesterday that she didn’t like the man, but there was something about him that was both compelling and frightening. He reminded her of something out of the movies, hammering away at her, demanding to know what she just wasn’t going to say.
Those silver-gray eyes of his, so intense. So probing. And yet...
She’d been glad to know that he was just right across the hall. Despite the fact that he could be so annoying, she had felt an odd attraction sitting next to him at dinner, and a definite relief in the fact that he was so near. She’d been tempted to scream when she’d awakened with a start from one of her odd snatches of nightmare, intrigued to see if he would come running from across the hall.
She pushed the thought aside. He was annoying, hard, pedantic. She would bet he’d assumed she was sleeping with Carl. Just another woman taken in by the Hollywood glamour. He didn’t seem to have much patience for her.
“The other agents are here,” Joe said over the phone. “There’s a small conference room on the ground floor that the hotel has let us take over. They’d like to meet you.”
“Meet me or grill me?” she asked.
“Both,” he said flatly. There was silence for a few seconds. “Would you like me to come up and escort you down?”
“No, thank you. I have to get ready, and I’ll pick up a cup of coffee before being skewered again,” she said sweetly.
“As you wish.” He hung up. Keri set the phone down hard and cursed at it.
Jerk.
She showered, and it helped her to feel more awake. She dressed quickly and then hesitated, packing all her toiletries back into her bag.
Did she really want to go back and stay overnight at the Miller Inn and Tavern? Carl had just about begged her to do so. And even when Joe was being a jerk, he did seem to think that her expertise with research could help.
She thought of the murdered woman, Special Agent Julie Castro. Keri hadn’t known her, had never met her.
Did that matter? Julie had lived and breathed, and she’d known that she risked her life to be an agent and do fieldwork. She might have fought for her life while trying to save another. She was part of humanity, or had been, with a family somewhere, and people who had loved her. She deserved justice. Keri couldn’t help but remember the picture of Julie in her blue suit, smiling.
Of course, what had happened to Julie could happen again.
Keri could just go home to Virginia, far from here...
Far enough? She was so obviously a part of this now.
At that moment, she could have doused her publicist in a trough full of icy water. Publicity! Just wonderful. Whoever had killed Julie now knew Keri, who she was, and everyone else who had been at the inn at the time. Were they all possibly in danger now, no matter where they went? Julie had been from New York; she’d traveled to Philadelphia, and she’d died here.
Still, a killer would have to follow Keri to Virginia. Maybe it would be crazy to think that anyone here really cared that much about her. She wasn’t an FBI agent, she wasn’t on to anything—she was a writer. The crimes she covered were so old that few people involved with them were still alive.
With her bag ready if they were to leave the hotel, she headed downstairs. The front counter was open in the restaurant, and she went up and ordered a cup of coffee.
The conference room was on the ground floor somewhere. She headed down the hall and discovered Brad coming toward her.
“Your turn for another round?” he asked her. He looked tired but he also looked strangely exhilarated.
“My turn, I guess. The conference room is over there?” she asked, pointing toward the door just down from the way he had come.
He nodded grimly, and then said, “Keri, you have a lot of sway with Carl.”
“I do?” she asked.
“He really respects you. I’d love to get back into that inn. I swear, if we’d had a chance, we might have even gotten some voice recordings. That place is haunted.”
“Brad, a woman was killed,” she said.
“Right, and if we can get back in, maybe we can find out what happened to her.”
“You...think she might have been murdered by a ghost?” Keri asked carefully.
“No, no. I mean, I’ve heard of poltergeist activity or maybe even a push down the stairs. Eileen believes she was pushed. But I’ve never heard of a ghost ripping a person to shreds. But there may be clues all over that, well, cops wouldn’t see. Or even agents. Hey, by the way, Dallas and Joe are nicer than these guys. But if you have any sway with Carl, do you think you could get him to let us back into the inn? I mean, if we have to stay here and the forensic team has cleared the inn—”
“I’ll, um, do what I can,” Keri said. “Excuse me for now, though, I’ve got to get in there.”
She hurried past him, finding it ironic that she was looking forward to an interrogation by the FBI, as long as it got her away from Brad for a few minutes.
* * *
Keri entered the room, smelling subtly of a compelling soap or perfume. She managed to dress in a mode that was both casual and dignified—dark jeans, a tailored shirt, vest and long jacket. She was grave when Joe and Dallas greeted her and introduced her to Dot Harrington and Jared Cabot.
Joe and Dallas had already spent time with the two New York agents; they were both decent, level and apparently competent. They knew how to follow a trail.
Dot was in her midforties, with curly red-blond hair, a thin pale face and a strong handshake. Jared Cabot was younger, maybe late thirties, tall and fit, dark-skinned, with a serious expression. Because the murder might be directly linked with a New York case, the agents—who had been working with Ed Newel and Julie Castro—had received permission to follow the clues where the clues might lead, reporting to the Philadelphia office as well as to Dallas and drawing upon local expertise when needed.
“I also worked in the Philadelphia office until recently,” Jared had told them. “My transfer was less than a year ago when I moved out of organized crime and into Julie’s squad.”
He was, in essence, one of the locals. He had grown up in Hershey, Pennsylvania, and had traveled between his home and Philadelphia more times than he could remember. He knew York County well.
“You know all the stories, right. History of the area?” Dallas had asked.
“Of course,” Jared had said. “What do kids tell at campfires by night? Myth and history always blend, though.”
The hotel had allotted them a small room with a round table, allowing everyone to be easily in on the conversation and creating something more casual than a real interrogation room.
“You’re a historian, Miss Wolf?” Jared asked, indicating that Keri should take a seat.
“No,” she told him, taking her chair. “I can’t really say that. I love history and weird bits of history, and of course, I love studying old crimes.”
“And you were studying the massacre at the tavern?”
She took a deep breath, not because she was nervous, but rather, it seemed, because she had told her story one time too many already.
“Carl Brentwood read some of my books. He contacted my publicist after he’d bought the inn and been in touch with the Truth Seekers. My publicist thought that appearing in a video with Brad Holden and his group would mean more publicity than I or my publishing house could afford. I looked into all the research I could find on the area, and I find it a fascinating mystery.”
“You think?” Jared asked her. “I was always taught that Bergen did it. Though, I believe he would have been found temporarily insane, at the least, in a court today.”
“Good lawyers do wonders,” Dot said.
“He never had his day in court,” Keri said. “He was lynched. I can easily believe he might have killed John Newby, if he knew what Newby had done to his daughter in the basement. But from everything I found out about the man, there was no reason for him to have killed all the people in the tavern.”
“And you were researching. That’s why you weren’t upstairs with the others. That’s how you found the body?” Jared asked.
“I wasn’t the first down in the cellar,” Keri said. “I was about to head upstairs. I heard a cry of distress. I went to the basement door and found Eileen Falcon on the steps. She’d fallen and was hurt, and terrified, of course. She saw the body first.”
“And then you got her out, warned the others and dialed 911,” Dot said.
Keri nodded.
Dot leaned forward. “You were the only one alone at the tavern for a great length of time.”
“I suppose I was,” Keri said, unruffled. “I am also new to this area. Whoever did this had to get the body down to the basement after carrying out the murder in the graveyard and collecting Julie’s blood. That requires understanding of the area. I met Carl Brentwood over the phone and didn’t meet the others until an hour or so before we started filming. I think you know that I didn’t have anything to do with this, so, I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”
Dot continued to stare hard at Keri. “Do you believe in ghosts, Miss Wolf?”
Keri still didn’t miss a beat. “I suppose I do. I grew up in a Catholic and Anglican household. We say the Nicene Creed, which includes the words, I believe in the Holy Ghost. But do I think the spirits of the departed stick around and haunt inns? No. I don’t disbelieve—but I am a skeptic.”
“What about your woman in white?” Dot demanded.
Keri sighed deeply. “I don’t know what I saw. I was terrified. I had just come from the museum, where I was reading and looking at all kinds of pictures from the past. The cellar was not well lit. Most of the light was coming from the entry above. I think that there was a very poor bulb burning from what had once been a candle sconce. I don’t even know. I don’t know what I saw except for Julie’s body. I was scared out of my wits, thinking of nothing else but getting out of there.”
Dot sat back at last, looking frustrated. “But there might have been someone down there.”
“Might there have been someone down there? Please, we need help,” Jared said.
Keri shrugged. “I just don’t know. Yes, there was a moment when I thought I saw a woman. I wanted to get her out, but then, she wasn’t there. Honestly? The corners of the cellars were all dark. I remember stark raving fear. Could there have been someone there? Yes. Would I ever be able to tell you who? No. Maybe the killer was even near, anxious to watch what happened. You didn’t get any video?” she asked. “They had cameras down there.”
“Blank,” Dot said.
“Someone messed with the cameras,” Jared muttered.
“Then you are looking at someone who knew the Truth Seekers and how they operated. However, that wouldn’t be difficult. They have an incredibly popular show, and it’s watched by hundreds of thousands of people. Their audience might be up to a million or more, really. Each show, you can clearly see that they set cameras and recorders in every room. I admit, I don’t know a lot about videography—and that’s not to make myself appear innocent, I just know how to shoot a pic on my cell phone—but I think that a lot of the world is savvy.”
Keri leaned forward again. “So, in my mind, you’re looking for a local connection. Anyone could know about the inn and the legends and take the time to study what the Truth Seekers do. But to know about that cellar door and the graveyard, the actual layout of everything, you have to have a local connection.”
“Perhaps you should stick to your historic crime, Miss Wolf,” Dot said.
“I’m quite happy to do so,” Keri assured her pleasantly.
“Special Agent Harrington,” Joe said, keeping his voice as smooth as possible, “it sounds to me as if Miss Wolf is right on. I would even push that theory. Whoever kidnapped the girl in New York apparently brought her to Philadelphia, which suggests that they might be very familiar with Pennsylvania in general, and Philadelphia specifically. Possibly even this area.”
“We certainly follow all leads,” Jared said. Joe thought that he might have kicked Dot’s leg under the table. He did seem to be the more reasonable of the two, with a kinder, gentler nature.
Then again, who was Joe to judge? Who knew where Dot’s career had taken her?
Keri took a sip of her coffee. She had to be annoyed, but she didn’t betray her emotion. Joe wondered if she even cared that he’d been offended on her behalf, that he’d been compelled to come to her defense.
“Anything else?” Dallas asked.
“I think we’ve covered what we needed to cover,” Jared said.
“For now,” Dot said.
Joe stood. “Keri is going to be staying in the area. She’s a special guest of Mr. Brentwood, who has kindly allowed us to explore all possibilities near the Miller Inn and Tavern. Since Julie was killed in the neighboring church, we’re taking him up on his invitation.”
“We’ll have you reporting to us there,” Dallas said.
Dot looked grim; it was obvious that she wasn’t pleased with the fact that Dallas had been given lead on the case.
Joe didn’t think of himself as a bitter or malicious person; the fact that Dallas was in charge still made him smile.
“Keri,” Dallas said, “we’ll be here a little longer. Checkout isn’t for a while, so if you don’t mind waiting for us, we can all head out to the inn together.”
She lowered her eyes, probably hiding the fact that she had many questions herself.
She rose, pausing in front of Dot. Her words were sincere, heartfelt. “I’m so very sorry about Ms. Castro. I’m sure she was a wonderful agent and a wonderful woman. If there’s anything that I know that can help you in any way, I swear I will tell you. If in some small way I’m able to help, I’ll be grateful to do so.”
Dot stared back at her. She nodded slowly, eyes lowered. Then she said, “Thank you.”
Keri didn’t speak to Joe, but told Dallas, “I’ll be in my room. Just let me know when we’re about to leave. Thank you.”
She left the room, and they all stared after her.
To Joe’s surprise, Dot said softly, “I am a dick.”
“It’s all right,” he was even more surprised to hear himself say. “Julie was someone you knew. Your coworker. Your friend.”
“Our assistant director almost took me off the case,” Dot said. “Told me I shouldn’t be working this. But we were on the kidnapping along with Julie and Ed, and I said that I would be entirely professional.” She gave herself a shake and looked at Joe and Dallas. “All right, we’re heading back into the city.”
Dot began to speak earnestly. “Barbara’s parents have offered a million-dollar reward for the safe return of their daughter. We got lots of calls on the hotline, and most of them were just hopefuls, claiming they’d seen Julie. She was everywhere from a block away to Timbuktu. But the tip that brought Julie and Ed out here, the call from the clothing store, was different. This person could describe a tattoo on Barbara Chrome’s thigh. The call made her mother hysterical—Barbara had promised she wouldn’t get a tattoo until she was eighteen, but then she jumped into the pool during a family vacation and her mom saw it.
“Anyway, we all believed that the caller really had seen Barbara, and that honestly she had to be one of the kidnappers. Ready to sell out on her group to collect the reward. Whoever this person was—they used a voice changer, but our experts say it was a woman—swore that she’d contact Julie once she and Ed were in Philadelphia.
