“Get out of my way.” Shoving his brother aside, John started toward the back door that opened to the garage.
Mitch stayed on his heels. “What are you going to do now? Break in?”
“If that’s what it takes.” John reached the door and tried the knob.
“For fuck sake, John, don’t make me arrest you.”
At the door John halted and spun to face his brother. “Look, if I’m wrong about this I’ll cover the damage.”
Mitch didn’t look appeased. “If you’re wrong about this I’m going to make damn sure you get some help.”
“Fine. Deal.” John looked toward the garage door. “I’m not wrong. Something isn’t right here. Where the hell is the private dick the old man hired?”
Mitch glanced toward the street. “I didn’t see a car.”
“Check the car in the driveway.”
Turning on his heel, Mitch started for the Ford sedan. When his brother was out of earshot, John removed his shoe and broke a windowpane on the door. He reached in, disengaged the bolt lock and stepped inside.
In the dim light slanting through the window, he could see the silhouette of Julia’s Volkswagen. He found the light switch, flipped it on. At first everything seemed to be in order. Car parked neatly in its bay. Tools hung on a rack against the wall. Dual garbage cans next to the door. But as he drew closer to the car, two small dark droplets on the concrete outside the driver’s side door caught his eye. Kneeling, he looked more closely at them. The hair at his nape prickled when he realized it was blood.
He’d started toward the door to get Mitch when his brother burst into the garage. “The PI is dead,” he said.
The words struck John like a punch. “What?”
“His throat was cut. I called it in.” Mitch was breathing hard. “Goddamn it.”
Vaguely he was aware of Mitch speaking on his radio. John stood there dumbly, his heart pounding, his mind scrambling wildly for explanations. But there was no explanation that would keep his worst nightmare from coming true.
The stalker had Julia. The blood on the floor told him she’d already been hurt, maybe even murdered. And nobody had the slightest idea where he might have taken her.
Consciousness returned one sense at a time. The first thing Julia was aware of was the cold. She was shivering with it. Her clothing was wet. She was lying on her side. Whatever was beneath her was hard and cold and damp. The second thing she became aware of was the pain in her head. The back of her head throbbed with every beat of her heart.
In the next instant everything that had happened at her father’s mansion rushed back. Finding the mask in the crate. Parker accosting her in the garage. The dead private detective. The ensuing struggle . . .
Terror and adrenaline sent her bolt upright. Panic went through her like electricity when she found her hands bound in front of her. She looked around wildly and realized she was on the floor of some dilapidated church. To her right, rows of old-fashioned wood pews stretched toward a boarded-up doorway. To her left stood a high altar surrounded by several rickety wood pallets and an old tire. Beyond, the cross of Christ sat against a broken stained glass mural.
“Welcome to Our Lady of St. Agnes.”
Julia gasped at the sound of Parker Bradley’s voice. Hindered by her bound hands, she scrambled awkwardly to her feet and faced him. A shock went through her at the sight of him. He’d changed into a white robe that was belted at the waist with a gold sash. Except for the pistol in his hand, he looked peaceful and eerily priestlike as he approached her.
“What do you think of my church?” he asked.
“Parker, you don’t want to do this.” Her throat was so tight she barely recognized her voice.
“You have no idea what I want.”
“Let me go.”
He raised the pistol, his eyes going hard. “I asked you a question, Julia. Show some respect and answer it.”
Blinking back tears, she looked around. “I don’t know where I am.”
“This is St. Agnes. You know the place. Just off of Rampart. You’ve probably driven by here a hundred times and never so much as spared it a glance.”
“The abandoned church and cemetery,” she said.
“Ah, see?” Turning in a circle, he raised his arms to the altar. “I’ve always thought this place was special. A little work and it would make a fine house of worship, don’t you think? I’ve thought about turning the rectory into a shelter. Your father had his eye on this place before he became so involved with the directorship position. Once I saw it I knew I had to have it.”
“Parker, I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” she tried. “Untie me. Please. Let’s talk about this.”
Intensity glittered in his eyes when he approached her. He stopped a few feet away. Close enough for her to see the light of insanity in his eyes, the sweat beading on his forehead. “Don’t treat me like some stupid peasant, you wicked little whore.”
Julia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Parker, what is it you think I’ve done? Why are you doing this?”
He studied her with an intensity that unnerved, then he made a sweeping motion toward the pews. “Do you know the story behind St. Agnes, Julia? Like so many stories that have taken place in New Orleans, it’s tragic.”
She stepped back when he moved closer. She glanced toward the front door, wondering if she could reach it before he caught her. But she could see the gleam of a padlock from where she stood.
“A hundred and fifty years ago Our Lady of St. Agnes Church was used as a mortuary during yellow fever outbreaks. There’s a cemetery out back. The crypts are dilapidated for the most part. But they house hundreds of souls lost to the disease.”
“I d-didn’t know.”
“A lot of people of the era believed only the sinners were afflicted with yellow fever. Can you believe that? But then New Orleans has always been full of sinners. Some believed death was the only way God could save their souls.”
She jolted when her backside made contact with the chancel rail.
“That’s one of the reasons this place is so special. So perfect,” he said. “The House of Lost Souls.”
“Parker, you need to let me go.”
Every muscle in her body went rigid when he reached out and brushed the side of her face with his hand. “You used to be so full of goodness and innocence, Julia. You could walk into a dark room and light it up with nothing more than your smile. It was the innate goodness of your heart, the innocence of your soul that drew me to you. Those things set you apart from other women and I’ve always loved you for it.”
Her heart was beating so hard she could barely hear him speak. “I c-care for you, too, Parker. You know that.”
“A year ago I entertained the idea of pursuing a relationship with you. My God, you were so perfect. I could barely get through the day without at least one glimpse of you. But now . . .” Shrugging, he let the words trail. “Now it’s too late.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The book, Julia. That ungodly novel you published. It crushed me. I will never understand how you could write something so depraved. No wonder you wrote it under a pseudonym.”
“It’s only a book.”
“No, Julia. It’s a lot more than a book. You see, I read it. It’s filled with sin and depravity. It made me weak. Made me question my morals . . .” His voice broke and he looked away. “It reminded me that I am a mere mortal. A sinner. It made me lust. For you.”
“Parker, the book is a work of fiction. It’s harmless. A fantasy—”
“It’s not harmless!” he screamed abruptly. “It’s more than that! It changed everything. It changed the way I felt about you. You see, Julia, I’ve seen your real face. I know what you are. After you came to me that night . . . God told me what I had to do.”
Julia slid along the rail, but he followed. “Don’t do this.”
“I tried to make you stop. I sent you the notes, hoping they would frighten yo
u. Make you realize that your words were perpetuating immorality. Because of you, how many men committed rape? How many women committed adultery?”
She looked around for a route of escape. There were two doors behind her and to her left. The doors were closed. She didn’t know if they were locked. The stained glass windows in the nave were too high for her to get through.
“And so,” he said, “I have agreed to do God’s work and save both our souls.”
“Parker, I won’t write any more books. I promise. In fact, I’ll talk to my father. I’ll have him counsel me. Help me work through this.”
“Don’t patronize me, Julia.”
Her gaze flicked down the flowing robe. He had a cell phone clipped to the sash. She looked quickly away, terrified he would know what she was thinking. But when she made eye contact with him, he was still staring at her, only it was as if he no longer saw her as a person. She was an object. An object he wanted to remove from this earth.
“God knows I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said. “I never wanted it to come to this. I love you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life praying for both our souls.”
“God forgives all of his children.” It was a weak attempt to play along with his sick dialogue, but Julia couldn’t think of any other way to buy time. First chance she got she was going to grab that phone . . .
“I’ve prepared everything you will need for your journey.” Crossing to a table he’d set up near the altar, he yanked off a sheet.
A shudder of horror swept through her at the sight of the table and instruments. From ten feet away, Julia could see rope restraints attached to the table legs, as if he planned to tie her down.
“I will purify you before I send you to God.” He gestured toward several glass vials. “I will bathe your body in holy water.”
Gooseflesh raced along her skin as she identified several items in the table. The sight of them sickened her. Drove home the fact that there would be no reasoning with this man.
“Get down on your knees.” He held out his hand as if expecting her to comply. “Let us pray before we begin.”
Heart pounding, Julia moved slowly toward him. In the back of her mind, she wondered if anyone had discovered Ellis’s body back at her father’s mansion. She thought about John and wondered if he’d tried to contact her. If anyone had even realized she was missing . . .
A few feet away from Parker, she lowered her head as if to pray, but her eyes were on the cell phone clipped to his sash.
Three feet separated them. “Which prayer?” She knelt. Her hands shook as she folded them.
He looked at her as if her sudden cooperation had surprised him. Blinking, he knelt beside her and bowed his head. “Our Father, Who art in heaven . . .”
Without raising her head, she sidled closer. “Hallow’d be Thy name.”
Her heart thundered in her chest as she recited the words from memory. But her every sense was homed on the man kneeling beside her. On the phone clipped to his sash. She visualized herself lunging, snatching the phone, bolting for the door. She would only have a few seconds to make the call. Her best bet was to call John; he lived only two blocks to the north. She knew he would respond faster than any 911 call.
“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil—”
She lunged at him. Using both hands she snatched the phone from his belt. Parker lurched to his feet and swung at her. But she’d gone in low and the blow glanced off her shoulder. Before he could hit her again, she spun and threw herself into a dead run toward the double doors behind the altar.
She punched John’s number as she sprinted. The phone rang once. Twice. Her heart surged when she heard his voice. “John!” she screamed. “It’s Parker Bradley! He’s taken me to Saint—”
The violence of the blow sent her reeling sideways. She reached out to break her fall, felt the cell phone slip from her grasp. Around her the lights dimmed. The next thing she knew she was on her knees. The cell phone lay on the floor three feet away. Vaguely, she was aware of John’s voice coming through the phone. He was shouting her name. Then Parker’s boot came down and crushed it.
“That was a stupid thing to do,” he snarled.
Julia didn’t see the next blow coming. One moment she was on her knees, trying to get her bearings. The next she was reeling backward. Her cheekbone felt as if it had been ripped from her face. The floor rushed up and slammed into the back of her head. Red light flashed before her eyes.
For an instant she struggled for consciousness.
But the darkness won and she tumbled headlong into the abyss.
TWENTY-NINE
“Julia! Julia!”
John heard panic in his voice. He felt it running the length of his body like a thousand volts of electricity.
“Julia!” he shouted.
But the line was dead.
“Fuck! Fuck!”
“What is it?”
He spun at the sound of Mitch’s voice. He was still clutching the phone. He felt wild and out of control inside. His brother was staring at him as if he were exactly that.
“Parker Bradley has Julia.” He looked down at his cell phone. “Jesus Christ, that was her on the phone. He fucking has her.”
“Easy, bro.”
“Goddamn it, Mitch. She was . . . screaming my name. Got cut off.”
“Easy.” Never taking his eyes from his brother’s, Mitch approached John and reached for the phone. “Give me the phone. Let me see what CIS can do with it.”
Before handing it over, John pressed Received Calls and checked the number, but it was Unknown. “Damn it.”
Mitch pulled a plastic Baggie from his pocket and dropped the phone into it. “What did she say?” he asked.
John could feel his emotions beginning to spiral. He couldn’t think. His mind kept replaying her scream over and over. “She screamed my name.”
“Okay.” Mitch scraped a hand over his jaw. “Anything else? Did she say where she was?”
His brain pinged. “She said the word ‘Saint.’”
“Saint what?”
“Just Saint. We got cut off.”
“Okay.” Mitch hit a number on his cell phone. “I want patrol units dispatched immediately to all three of the St. Louis cemeteries. Bolo for Julia Wainwright. Twenty-nine-year-old white female. Brown hair. Blue eyes.” He cut John a look. “What kind of car does Bradley drive?”
“A 2006 Lexus.”
Mitch repeated the year and model to Dispatch. “Possible kidnapping.” Clipping the phone to his belt, he turned to John. “We’ve got patrol cars en route to the three St. Louis cemeteries. If Parker is there with Julia, they’ll bring them in.”
John couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something vital. Something locked inside his head that would make everything click. Some piece of information he’d run across in the course of the case but couldn’t put his finger on.
“You going to be okay?”
Deep in thought, John caught the last word and nodded at his brother. “I’m fine.”
He was a long way from fine. He was panic stricken and terrified. He couldn’t stop thinking about Julia. What she might be going through at that very moment. He had to find her. If only he knew where to look.
“Do you think she could have said St. Louis Cathedral?” Mitch asked.
“Worth checking.” John pulled his car keys from his pocket.
Mitch glanced down at the keys and frowned. “I’ll get a unit out there. Why don’t you find Wainwright and tell him what’s happened?”
John didn’t appreciate being relegated to dealing with family members. Telling Wainwright his daughter had been kidnapped by a killer wasn’t going to be easy. He wanted to look for Julia. But John figured the police were better equipped to cover more ground more quickly. Once he took care of Wainwright, he’d join forces with the cops. Or else launch his own search.
“I’ll call him,” he said.
Mitch patted the bagged cell phone.
“I’m going to run this to the lab myself. See if they can give us a proximity on that last call.”
John nodded, feeling frustrated and ineffective and unable to do anything about either.
Frowning, Mitch started toward his car, then stopped and turned. “If anything pops, you call me, bro. You got that?”
“I got it.”
“And stay out of the crime scene. Let the cops do their jobs.”
As he watched his brother walk away, John realized staying away from the scene was the one thing he could not do.
Julia fought to reach the light, but the dizziness kept pushing her back to the dark tunnel of unconsciousness. Vaguely, she was aware of Parker touching her hands, cutting the restraints on her wrists. She opened her eyes to see him kneeling over her, his face sweaty and red and less than a foot above her.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
She was lying on the floor with her left leg twisted to one side. The back of her head hurt. A gasp escaped her when he grasped her arm and roughly rolled her onto her stomach. She fought him, but the blow to her head had weakened her. She lay there, breathing hard, like a beaten animal waiting for slaughter, as he tied her hands behind her back.
“Don’t do . . . this.” A new fear crept through her when her words slurred.
“I tried to be kind to you.” Jerking her arm, he flipped her onto her back. “I tried to get you to stop writing that filth! But you refused to see the signs I sent to you, Julia. You refused to listen to me! Now, because of you, both of us are going to have to pay a terrible price! Do you think I want to do this?”
Spittle flew from his lips as he spoke. He was grinding his teeth so hard she could hear the molars grating together. Julia stared up at him, wondering why she couldn’t focus. Wondering why her head wouldn’t stop spinning. She wanted to fight him, but her arms and legs felt leaden.
“What have you done to me?” she whispered.
He reached for something on the table. His mouth twisted when he held up the disposable syringe. “I gave you something to make you a little more manageable.”
A Whisper in the Dark Page 28
