A lethal legacy, p.25
A Lethal Legacy, page 25
Evie didn’t have any social media pages.
She tried for Victor Eider. Again, there was nothing.
She decided to try Jay Harding.
Jay Harding’s name came up for dozens of pages. She began reading them. Most had to do with the history she already knew. A few had to do with the Believers.
On a registration page, she found a paragraph about joining.
“All are welcome! We are serious students of history, architecture and societies. We don’t even ask that you accept our beliefs immediately, though we are called the Believers! We are a peaceful group, and our only limitations have to do with your respect for others in our group, and that, at all times, you keep an open mind.”
A peaceful group?
She hesitated, but then pulled out her phone and called Jay Harding.
He answered immediately. “I heard the news! How horrible. I spoke to the cops. They wanted to know when I’d last seen Annie Green. She was with us, Kieran. She was with Ben and John Smith and me. And we all got off that boat Finn got for us at the docks in Brooklyn.”
“After that?” Kieran asked.
“I already told the cops. We all went to hail taxis. I saw her get into a taxi.”
“She didn’t go with John Smith?”
“No. I thought they were a duo, too. But she didn’t get in a taxi with John. Strange, huh, actually? I mean, I’d suggested that we all taxi together as far as Manhattan, but John said that he was tired, he’d prefer just getting his own to go straight home. Ben and I came in together, picked a block in between our apartments, and said good-night.”
“Did you see her get into a taxi?”
“I saw her walk up to one.”
“Thanks.”
“Of course.”
“I guess I’ll never really see that island now,” he said. “Oh, I’m sorry. That sounds horrible. And Annie seemed like such a lovely young woman. But...”
“I was also calling about your website.”
“You still might really join?” he asked her.
“No, but I’m curious. Have you ever denied anyone membership?”
“Sure. I know you think I’m crazy, but I watch out for the crazies.”
“What kind of crazy?”
“The kind who thinks that aliens are gods. Real gods—the kind who control the weather and life and death and all that kind of thing. I believe that there is other sentient life—in galaxies far, far away. Intelligent beings who know everything there is to know about string theory, black holes and time bending. I believe that they have been here. But they aren’t gods. They are beings, similar to us. And my group is dedicated to historical research and scientific exploration. So we don’t welcome anyone who is weirdly fanatical.”
“Has anyone ever sounded...violent?”
“A few have been the postulating kind. Those who honor the gods will be rewarded, that kind of thing.”
“Do you have a list of those people?”
“Um, I could put one together for you. Of course, I didn’t meet them. I don’t know these people. Some may have been kids, playing pranks.”
“I’d really appreciate a list.”
“Sure. And I’m so, so sorry to hear about Annie. Hey, by the way—am I a suspect?”
“I may even be a suspect,” she told him. “Why? Can you help with anything else?”
“Nope. But there is a cop outside on the street. He’s been there for hours now.”
“He’s watching over you, probably.”
“Well, that’s fine. I’ll get you that list.”
Another call was coming in before she could even hang up. It was Danny. “I may have something. Found something really cool. Where are you?”
“Next door.”
“I should be FBI,” he told her. “Where did I put my blue jacket...? Ah, there! Listen. Maybe nothing. Maybe something.”
“What?”
“Give me ten minutes—then come over here, okay?”
“Danny!”
“Just ten minutes!”
“Okay.” She hesitated. “You talked to Declan?”
“Yep.”
“Good, thanks.”
Danny laughed. “He was glad. And just so you know, he said that it was a sad day when I was becoming more responsible than you!”
“Sad, indeed,” Kieran said. She hung up, smiling.
She turned back to her computer.
* * *
Craig was writing up an incident report, while Egan and Brice had been making calls when one of the uniformed officers came into the room.
“Excuse me, sirs, but I thought you’d want to know this right away. Our officer out the back said that he thinks he’s seen someone up on the cliff. He was going to go up, but didn’t want to leave his post and thought that you might want to get up there yourselves.”
“You bet,” Craig said, already up.
He started to head out when one of the bookcases caught his eye, and with a start, he realized there was another door in Finn’s office. He hadn’t seen it before, and he now knew why.
First, he hadn’t been looking for a door, and it was covered by a bookshelf—except he saw now that the bookshelf was a door, just the kind of thing seen in an old horror movie. It was currently slightly ajar—no longer flush with the wall, and therefore, evident. He paused, annoyed that he hadn’t noticed it and wondering at the same time if it would prove to mean anything.
He pushed it open.
It led to the enclosed back porch, and then out to the pool and patio and the path they would take to the top of the cliff.
“Go figure,” Egan murmured.
“We didn’t spend much time in the office before,” Craig told Brice.
“Don’t think it matters any,” Brice said.
The pool and patio area were empty except for a uniformed officer. He was young, early twenties, and earnest. He seemed surprised to see the group pop out onto the porch from the previously hidden door.
“Sorry, I didn’t know if I should run up, or...”
“You did the right thing. Do you still see him?”
Darkness had come in earnest. They still had something of a moon, but there was cloud cover. Craig strained to see, but the shadow of the cliff seemed to be all that was there. “I swear, I don’t think he’s one of ours,” the officer said.
“Thanks, we’re on our way,” Craig said.
He walked quickly; neither Teddy Brice nor Richard Egan quite kept up with his pace. He hesitated, looking back, after he’d jogged around the pool to the rear of the patio, the trees and brush there—and the path.
“Go!” Egan told him.
Craig kicked up his pace; uphill wasn’t easy, but adrenaline was with him. His muscles strained and he was panting, but he didn’t really notice. Someone was on the cliff.
Bracken wouldn’t have left the crime scene to wander the trails—not until the last tech had sailed away.
Unless someone had been beamed out of their rooms Star Trek–style, everyone was supposed to be in the house, was in the house.
He came closer and closer to the top of the ridge; shrubs and pines thinned out.
Then he paused, because he did see someone. A tall man, standing there, staring out.
“Hey!” Craig called.
The man turned.
It was John Smith.
He didn’t run; he didn’t move. He waited until Craig made his way to the crest of the cliff.
“What the hell are you doing?” Craig demanded.
“I had to come,” Smith said simply.
“You had to come? How the hell did you get here?”
Smith just pointed down the cliff. There was a small motorboat offshore—a speedboat, a Donzi, Craig noted.
“You have your own boat?” Craig asked. “And you brought it in there—right in the middle of the rocks?”
Such an act was almost suicidal.
“I had to come,” he said. “You wouldn’t have let me. The cops wouldn’t have let me. I saw the man downstairs, pacing in front of my building.”
“And you walked right past him?”
“I went out the back.”
Craig came closer. There were tears dampening the man’s face.
“I loved her. I was an ass, so full of myself. But I loved her. I don’t know... I don’t know how she came to be here. I can’t bear that...that she’s dead.” A loud sob escaped him. “I can’t bear thinking about the way that she died.”
By then, Egan and Brice had made their way up the trail. They stood single file on the narrow path, since there wasn’t enough room for all the men at the space on the top.
“What the hell are you doing, man?” Brice demanded. “If you were about to jump—”
Smith swung on him with incredulity. “Jump? God, no! I just needed to be here, to look out on the water, to...try somehow to touch her, to understand, to believe...”
“If you want to believe, come to the morgue tomorrow. You can make the official identification—and speak to the medical examiner about when her body will be released,” Brice said.
Smith stood there a minute. Then he said, “I had to come.” He looked at them all as if they should understand perfectly. “I had to come. She died here. And I... I never let her know just how much she meant to me. I’m so afraid she came back here because of me, to find proof, to shine in my eyes.”
Egan said calmly, “Or she might have come for herself, or another reason. We need to get off the cliff.”
“I would never kill myself,” John Smith said. “I just needed a moment...”
No, Craig thought. The man would never kill himself. He was too much of a narcissist.
“Well, you’ve had your moment,” Egan said. “Let’s get back down the cliff. We’ll have someone see to your boat. And we’ll get you back to your home via an escort.”
When Smith hesitated, Brice said, “Let’s go.”
“Go—where?” Smith asked.
“Back to the house.”
Smith lowered his head and nodded slowly.
Brice turned and started down the trail. Egan indicated that Smith should follow him. Once Smith was walking steadily downward, Craig looked to Egan. “You’ve got him?” Craig asked.
“Yes—what are you thinking?”
“Something I can’t quite touch. I’ll be a minute.”
“Take care up here,” Egan warned him.
Craig nodded, and peered out at the water, and then down at the rocks that looked like they’d been scattered below the cliffs, on the sand and out in the water by a giant hand.
The answer was so close he could touch it, he thought.
Annie Green. All the rocks by her.
She hadn’t been killed by one person.
And neither had Frank Landon.
It looked as if it had been a true Biblical stoning...those who had condemned a man or woman to death carrying out the execution.
They weren’t looking for one person, or even two people.
There had to be several involved.
And one had to have been part of the household.
* * *
Ten minutes were up.
Kieran walked over to Danny’s room and tapped on the door.
He didn’t answer.
“Danny!” she said, tapping again.
There was no reply. She opened his door and looked in.
Danny wasn’t the neatest individual she had ever met, and his things were strewn around the room. She might have expected that. But she felt uneasy.
As she had felt sometimes in her room, as if someone had been in there when she had been gone, someone who left things carefully as they were, just ever so slightly askew.
“Where the hell did he go?” she muttered to herself.
She wasn’t sure whether to wait or not, and decided to give him another five minutes before searching for him.
As she waited, she wandered the small hallway in the attic. She was impatient, and her strides became longer and longer.
As she paced, she noticed that a door leading to one of the little rooms at the end of the hall was partially open. She knew that Evie had a room up in the attic, as did Victor.
She wandered to the room and looked in.
It wasn’t a bedroom. It was more of a supply closet—but as large as the small bedrooms. There were shelves with linens, shelves with cleaning supplies and a stand filled with brooms and mops.
She started to leave when she noticed that there was another door at the side of the room. She frowned, curious. She should have been at the end of the attic, the end of the rooms, and the wall should have been the wall to the house.
She walked over to the door; it was ajar.
It led to a narrow winding staircase.
“Danny,” she muttered.
She thought she saw light at the bottom. Danny must be down there; he had explored without her, and without anyone else.
She stared downward and realized what they had found. When the “employees” had been called “servants,” the stairs had been the help’s way of getting to and from their rooms. The winding staircase probably led to the second floor of the house, and then down to the first floor.
She looked around the room, searching the shelves for a flashlight. She found several in a box, with batteries nearby. Picking one up, she headed down the stairs.
“Danny?” she called softly.
He didn’t reply.
She reached the landing on the second floor and tried the door to exit.
It was locked.
She kept stepping downward, certain that on the first floor the stairs would empty into the kitchen. She found a door, right on the bottom, one that should have led to the family room or the kitchen—maybe it had once opened onto the porch that had become the family room.
That door, too, was locked. She raised a hand to knock at it, but then didn’t; maybe they weren’t supposed to know about the stairs.
And the staircase kept descending.
She hadn’t even thought about the house having a basement, which, of course, it naturally would—a foundation cut into the earth and the rock by the shore, something to keep the huge old mansion standing.
She kept going downward until she came to the last step; the place had the same smell as the caves. It wasn’t a bad smell, it was a smell of earth and dampness and enclosure.
There was another door.
She tried the knob, and it opened.
She had, indeed, come to a basement. It was filled, as might be expected, with supplies. Woodworking tools, rakes, lawnmowers—pool supplies.
“Well,” she murmured to herself, “I did say from the beginning that I needed a map not just for the caves, but for the house.”
She saw another door to her side. And that door was cracked open just a bit.
Kieran hesitated, but then she saw something caught in the door’s latch.
She moved forward and touched it, pulled it from the latch.
It was a piece of cloth—blue.
Like the jacket Danny had been wearing.
Kieran opened the door and shone her light into the darkness.
It was a tunnel.
Kieran was certain it had to be the way someone in that household had been slipping out, night after night, despite the fact that law enforcement officers had been living in the house.
Someone had slipped out and stoned Annie Green to death.
She needed to turn back, find Craig and Egan and Bracken and Mike and whatever cops she could, but as she turned to do so, she heard her name called.
“Kieran!”
It was Danny, and there was something about his voice.
He needed help.
“Please, Kieran!”
She paused again, wincing.
He wasn’t far; he was just ahead. And he might be hurt. All she had to do was get to Danny, and get back to the stairwell...
Her brother was there, ahead in the darkness.
She had no choice.
Yes, she did. What if it wasn’t even Danny’s voice? What if he was being forced to cry out to her? Could he be forced to cry out to her?
If she rushed in, they could both be killed.
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket, but, as she had half-expected, a large No Signal message immediately appeared.
Instead of heading into the tunnel, she raced her way back up the winding stairs, across the attic hallway and then down the main staircase. There was no one on the second landing; an officer was still standing guard, she could see him at the front door. She didn’t go to him, but rushed into the office, thinking she’d find Craig.
Craig wasn’t there, but Bracken was. He was studying maps laid out on the table.
“There’s more to this. Obviously, the satellite image can’t see beneath the beneath, if that makes any sense—” he began.
“Bracken, where’s Craig?”
“He, Brice and Egan are out on the docks. Found John Smith on the island—brought himself in on a motorboat—fool is lucky he isn’t dead.”
“Smith,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Bracken, you have to come with me. I’m afraid that my brother is in danger. We have to move very fast—please!”
“All right,” he said.
“Just follow me.”
He did; they ran back up the stairs and he followed her into the supply room and then to the door, and then down, down.
“Kieran, this is amazing. We should have torn the house apart first. Who would have figured though? This is fascinating, wonderful...”
“Danny disappeared into the tunnels,” Kieran said. “I’m terrified for him.”
“There’s a tunnel...?”
“Here!” She opened the door to the tunnel from the house, splaying her light over it.
Without hesitating, Bracken said, “All right, let’s go.”
