The Seekers, page 5
Let’s hope, she thought. But it might take way more than a night to make things better.
Far more than a night to forget the body of Julie Castro.
3
Spencer Atkins opened his door after Dallas’s first knock. He was a tall man, frowning when he saw them but ready to welcome them in when Dallas showed his credentials. He quickly offered them coffee, and in the line of being casual and opening a dialogue, they accepted.
Sitting in the living room of the old wooden house, Dallas started up the conversation. “You know what happened last night?”
“Of course—and I feel responsible,” Atkins said.
“You do? How’s that?” Joe asked.
“I wasn’t making a go of the place—it just needed too much put into it. And that Carl Brentwood, he’s a good kid. A hell of a success. He could have thrown his money into drugs or wild parties, as some who get rich too quick are prone to do. No, he wanted to preserve history. And he has the money.
“But he’s also a celebrity. I don’t know if that young woman would have been murdered whether Carl owned the property or not, but bringing the body to the inn... I’m afraid that it’s because the inn wasn’t on the verge of being lost to history itself. Kill an FBI agent and leave her in the old torture chamber of a sadistic killer, when the inn has internet celebrities and a bona fide movie star running around it? That’s something that’s not going to be left out of the news. It’s my understanding that certain killers love publicity.”
“Every killer, every case, is different,” Joe said.
“Did anyone ever come to the inn, following you around, asking for floor plans, anything like that?” Dallas asked.
“We think the killer was familiar with the inn,” Joe told Atkins, staring steadily at the man.
Atkins shook his head sadly. “There was certainly never anything that I noticed,” he said. “And I believe I was a good innkeeper, but we’re not talking about many guests per night.”
“Did anyone creep around the basement?” Joe asked.
Atkins was a dignified man—his posture, even sitting, was straight, giving him the appearance of a man very much in charge of himself. But at that question, he slumped a little, acutely uncomfortable.
“Once I had outfitted it again as a torture chamber for tours and Halloween, I had tons of people creeping around down there.”
“Guests?” Dallas asked.
“And others. I charged for the tour. Most of the time, it wasn’t much of a tour, just a dramatic explanation of what we know about John Newby down in the cellar. And then, I had the bar stocked, so I’d give a talk in the tavern, too, about the days before the Revolution and on up through Newby. In October, we went the whole haunted-creepy-scary-actors thing. Schlocky, of course, but the tours helped keep me afloat.”
“You just don’t seem like the ‘schlocky’ type,” Joe said.
Atkins rubbed his fingers together. “I’m not. My efforts were probably humiliating. Like I said, I was trying to stay afloat. Did I like it? No. And I wasn’t all that happy when Carl told me about the paranormal investigation. He’d bought the property, and I had promised I’d help him get up and running and that he could call me anytime. I was over there yesterday, and then I had to head into Philly. I guess those paranormal types were looking for the dead—they found the dead. It was never a good idea, in my mind, to play with the past of the tavern.” He was quiet a minute and gave a hard look at Joe and Dallas. “You need to investigate that crowd. They’re very strange, indeed.”
“But they don’t come from the area,” Dallas said. “What about the cellar and its entrance that apparently was never locked? Did you ever have a padlock on that door?”
“There wasn’t one when I bought the place, twenty-odd years ago. No, I never put one on. And I never saw anyone going near the cellar door.”
“Someone knew it was there,” Dallas said.
“Mark my words, investigate that group. Carl, I believe he’s just a good kid. Then again, he is an actor. Lying for a living. But still. The Truth Seekers. They were the ones in the inn. They should have seen or heard something. And what about all those cameras?”
“The camera down in the cellar had conveniently been turned off,” Joe said.
Atkins lifted his hands and let them fall, shaking his head.
“You know of any practicing witches?” Joe asked him.
Atkins laughed. “Witches?”
“People believing in witchcraft. Good and bad. We are in old Pennsylvania Dutch country here. Hex country. Anyone still adhere to old beliefs?”
Atkins shook his head. “That was long ago. Sure, we’re still in Amish country.”
“Hardworking people with certain traditions,” Joe said. “The Amish had nothing to do with this murder. This smacks of something far darker.”
“Yes, darker. Now,” Atkins continued, “all the old stories are just for fun, or at least contain a good moral. You must know that in the Middle Ages, every poor woman who hit on the right herb to cure a disease was persecuted as a witch. It was different here. There were no executions—just murder.”
Joe glanced at Dallas. He could tell that they tacitly agreed they weren’t getting anywhere. Not now. Maybe later. They’d have to wrangle trust from Atkins, if he was going to give them any deeper insights.
“Thanks,” Joe told him.
“My card,” Dallas said, handing one to Atkins.
“Oh, yesterday,” Joe said, as if in afterthought. “You were in Philadelphia—all day?”
Atkins surveyed him and then Dallas shrewdly. “I see. I’m on the suspect list. You can exclude me quickly. I had a meeting with my financial adviser. He can vouch for me. As can the waitress at the steak house. I was at the tavern in the afternoon—wishing Carl the best of luck. When I left, they were starting to set up, and they put a camera in the basement, so I know that the body wasn’t there when I was there.”
Dallas thanked him, and they started to leave.
“Autopsy today?” Atkins asked. “When a body goes in, I believe the autopsy is supposed to be done the next day. I heard the victim had coworkers in Pennsylvania. Must be hell to have to attend the autopsy of a friend.”
“Yes,” Dallas said simply.
“Sometimes, I wonder why it’s necessary,” Atkins said.
Joe was starting to think that the man was truly an ass.
Atkins added very softly, “They say she was cut to ribbons. Death by a knife, so it would seem. I’m sorry... I was just thinking for her family and friends, the nicest thing to do would be to just get her in a closed coffin.”
“Well, there is the law,” Joe countered.
“And we don’t make the law,” Dallas said. “We just try to enforce it. Thank you again. We’re glad to know that you’re willing to help us at any time.”
“What do you think?” Dallas asked Joe when they were back in the car.
“I don’t know. I wonder about his train of thought, though. He’s up on the fact that in most circumstances, autopsy is the next day. And yes, we can presume she was killed with a knife. He knew she was chopped to shreds, but hell, news like that always travels quickly. Thing is, though, you’d think he’d realize that there was so much more that an autopsy may give. Last meal, left-handed or right-handed killer—or, possibly killers. He came off like a jerk, then seemed to have some compassion later.”
“He owned the place but didn’t have the kind of money Carl has to keep it going. Maybe he’s resentful, despite his show of courtesy.”
“Right. Maybe he’s just a jerk. Maybe he’s so much more.”
They arrived at the morgue to find that Catrina Billings was already in attendance and that the medical examiner was already at work. Dr. Gorman nodded to them politely, but continued with his measurement of the heart.
Joe had seen a lot that was horrendous and cruel. He’d still seldom seen anything quite as brutal as what had been done to Agent Julie Castro.
She didn’t have much of a face left. The silver lining was that she was so cut as to make it appear that she was not real—more like a prop out of a bad slasher movie.
The bad, of course, was that she had been real, a young woman, passionate in her work, and had paid the ultimate price.
Dr. Gorman droned on with facts and figures, brain size, kidney size, and then he paused, looking at them.
“Her last meal appears to have been sushi. And here’s another important factor—most of the cuts and the ripping you see were, thank the Lord above, done after her death. See the way the cuts were done to her body, and the way the skin has torn and the blood congealed? It was as if she was bathed in blood from all those cuts, but death was fast. The slice right there at her throat cut through a jugular vein, and she bled out almost instantly. The immediate hemorrhage would have been massive. But whoever killed her was prepared to catch all that blood, and then dump it over her when she had been moved to the cellar at the Miller Inn and Tavern.”
“Interesting,” Dallas murmured. “The mutilation wasn’t done to cause pain. Rather to create a display.”
“A small favor,” Catrina Billings said softly.
“Detective,” Joe asked, “are there any sushi restaurants near here?”
Billings shook her head. “The closest sushi restaurant is...” She paused, shaking her head, almost smiling. “Nowhere near here. Toward one of the bigger cities, either direction.”
“Here’s your basic—the report will be much more detailed,” Dr. Gorman said. “Special Agent Castro had a meal of sushi. Tuna, salmon and sushi rice, I believe. The stomach contents will go to the lab. She was killed within an hour after that meal. She bled out tremendously and that blood was collected to be poured over her at the inn. She was not tortured, as her appearance on the altar would cause one to believe. What we’ve tested is her blood. Naturally, we have many more tests that will take time. My full report, as I said, will be more detailed. But that is what I can tell you at this time.”
“What about defensive wounds?” Joe asked.
“None. I can only surmise that she was not expecting what happened to her. But if one of you will allow me...” He gestured for someone to come closer.
“Sure,” Joe said, stepping forward.
“Actually, I need Detective Billings. You’re too tall. I can show you how I believe she was killed. The assailant who delivered the fatal blow was right-handed. Detective?”
Detective Billings moved over to him unhappily.
Dr. Gorman demonstrated how the killer had come up behind Castro, caught her body to him, and made a fast, hard, fatal slash across her throat.
Billings moved away quickly.
“You know you’re welcome to call at any time, if you have questions.”
They all thanked the doctor, and on their way out removed the paper suits they’d been given to wear in the autopsy room.
Outside, Billings looked at them oddly. “Two of her coworkers are in the area. I’d have thought they’d be the ones attending the autopsy.”
“They’re in Philadelphia, following angles there. This is complicated, of course, with many leads that must be investigated,” Dallas said.
“Right. Julie Castro was last seen in Philadelphia.” Billings said.
“And we’re here,” Joe added. “Dallas is lead on the case. The other agents can read an autopsy report. I don’t think it was necessary for people she knew to be here.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Billings said. “It will be good to tell them, though, that she didn’t suffer. That it was quick.”
“Yes, that will be a small blessing,” Dallas agreed.
“All right then,” Billings said. “I’m going to get some of my people driving out to every sushi restaurant in the surrounding area with pictures of Julie Castro. We’ll keep in close contact.” She hesitated, looking at them. “Between us, we’ll make this right.”
“Between us,” Dallas agreed.
Waving, she headed to her car.
“That was...almost nice,” Joe said.
Dallas laughed. “Almost.”
“What now?” Joe asked.
Darkness had already fallen. Dallas looked around. “Night again. I guess we’ll head back.” He smiled. “You’re a good cop. You’re going to make a great agent. You don’t seem to care much about hours. There’s nothing more that we can do today, and it has been a long day. Tomorrow, we’ll start out right after breakfast. I’ll talk to Carl. I want to get him and Keri to come out to the inn with us—just the two of them. It’s not that I don’t trust the Truth Seekers, but—”
“They just might close ranks.”
Dallas started for the car; Joe hesitated, thoughtful.
“What?” Dallas asked.
“Julie Castro went out for sushi. Maybe she met up with someone. Then, she drove or was driven here and killed soon after, on the same day that Carl had his paranormal group in, along with Keri. Whoever killed her walked right up behind her and sliced her throat, causing death almost instantly and managing to catch a bucket of her blood. And she was killed while those people were running around the inn, trying to communicate with the dead.”
“A complicated event, yes,” Dallas said. “And well planned out. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that several people might have been involved. Not just two, but maybe three, four or more.”
“A very good reason to start off tomorrow with just Keri and Carl,” Dallas said. “But you think that the ghost-hunter group might be involved? None of them has ties to this area of Pennsylvania. Nor are they New Yorkers. Julie Castro’s case started in New York City. What could they have had to do with an Upper East Side kidnapping?”
“Or how did a kidnapped New York City girl wind up in Pennsylvania? Not that we’re talking huge distances, but still.”
“We’ll be back on it tomorrow,” Dallas said. “For now, think it out, do all the armchair figuring that you want. For the moment, we need food. I do, anyway. We headed out here at the crack of dawn. Trust me, this isn’t going to be any easy solve. Food, now. And rest.”
Joe nodded. His stomach wasn’t grumbling anymore; it was on fire. They had just left an autopsy, which seldom allowed him to think about eating. But they had been going all day.
“I wonder how the girl is involved,” Joe said, thinking aloud.
“The girl?”
“The kidnapping case that Agent Castro was pursuing. Barbara Chrome.”
“That’s something we should investigate,” Dallas said, and he started moving down the sidewalk for the car. “Let’s share our info with the agents in Philadelphia. Tomorrow. For now, let’s get something to eat.”
* * *
Keri tried to nap, but to no avail. No matter how hard she tried, she was awake, yawning and staring at the ceiling. At some point she realized that she should just stay awake. Otherwise, she’d never sleep at night. It was already evening, but not late enough for anyone over the age of nine to go to bed without waking up in the wee hours of the morning.
For a while, she read, downloading books on Pennsylvania. She found a story about witchcraft and William Penn that made her especially happy. Penn had received the charter for the colony from Charles II in 1681. At that time, many residents of the area belonged to a Swedish colony that had settled the lower Delaware River Valley in 1654. Among them had been Margaret and Nils Mattson. By 1683, many British colonists had settled there as well, and since the colony was under a British charter, it was under British law. Margaret was accused of witchcraft for hexing a neighbor’s cattle, and when she was brought to court, Penn himself was the judge.
As might have been the case in Salem, Massachusetts, whether people believed what they told themselves or not, the accusation might have had a lot to do with disputes over land and property.
Penn was not about to have a woman executed for witchcraft in his colony. While she was convicted of having the reputation of a witch, she was not convicted of doing any harm to animals. She went on to live out her years in the lower valley.
Nice! Keri approved of the judge’s progressive thinking.
The area had, however, maintained a reputation for witchcraft for a long time, but a more benign concept of witchcraft was honored by most. Respecting the land and the harvest and using local herbs to heal illnesses. Not so irrational, by any means.
Hex signs had, according to her reading, only become generally popular when people started painting their barns and enjoying their artistry. Signs indicating the seasons, celestial objects, peace and more had deep roots in almost any European society. They became part of the Scandinavian/Germanic culture of the region and flourished in the twentieth century.
Nowhere could she find a history of Satanism; John Newby had stumbled upon his particular brand of worship or spiritualism on his own.
As darkness descended, she found that she was hungry again.
Keri desperately wished that there was room service at the hotel, but there was not. She could, however, phone the restaurant and place an order and then just run down and pick it up. She did so, feeling guilty. She liked Carl and the entire group from the Truth Seekers. She just felt that she needed a bit more time away from them. Especially Brad.
She had almost convinced herself that she had imagined the woman in white.
Totally imagined.
She went down to get her food.
There was a counter at the edge of the restaurant. It skirted the entrance to the dining area with the kitchen just behind it. She hurried up to the counter, afraid she had picked the exact time when everyone else was having their dinner.
To her relief, she saw none of them in the dining area.
But as she collected her to-go bag, and paid the cashier, she heard her name called softly from behind her.
