Franklin nodded. “Unless somehow you can prove that these were trained birds.”
“Still,” Lou said. “I’ve never known a flock of ravens to attack anyone like that.”
“It is unusual, I’ll admit.” Franklin smiled. “But not unprecedented.”
Vic was squinting at one of the X-rays and scratching the corner of his moustache. He glanced at Lou and turned to the coroner.
“Frank, are you saying this has happened before?”
Franklin grinned. “As a matter of fact.”
“What?” Lou said.
“Something about the raven attack kept nagging at me. I had my assistant do a search in our database, and we got a hit.”
He crossed to the last X-ray and pointed. Both cops squinted at the spot.
“This isn’t Gail Cohen. It’s a man who was found murdered in your neck of the woods, Lou.”
“When was this?”
“1970.”
“Have you got the autopsy report?” Vic said.
“Right here. Made you each a copy.”
Lou pored over the photos. A man estimated to be in his mid-fifties had been found nude in the forest, partially eaten by wild animals. His face and neck showed signed of a vicious bird attack. And like Gail Cohen, his eyes had been pecked out. According to the report, he’d been dead for days. No one knew who he was, and no one had filed a missing person report. An unlucky local family had discovered the body while on a nature hike with their dog.
“Whaddya think, Lou?” Vic said.
“Looks like another cold case. I’d ask Sarah to look into it, but I don’t need her distracted right now.” Then, to Franklin, “Who else have you shared this information with?”
“Well, it’s in the official report, so everyone.”
“Okay. Vic, I’ll see what I can find out, but it looks like you’ve got a helluva mystery on your hands.”
“Sarah Greene may come in handy after all,” the coroner said to Vic.
“Whaddya mean, Doc?”
“Old Testament. Jeremiah 7:33. ‘And the carcasses of this people shall be food for the fowls of the heaven, and for the beasts of the earth; and none shall frighten them away.’”
Lou looked at Franklin Chestnut with a serious expression. “I know that verse. It’s about dealing with the wicked in Gehenna.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Eight years of Catholic school. Frank, are you saying the attack on Gail Cohen might have been punishment?”
“I’m saying, as a pathologist, I don’t have a good explanation.”
Womble rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not making this into something. I guess we leave it as undetermined.” Then, to Franklin, “You’ll support me on this?”
Franklin sighed. He’d been excited to make the connection and wanted to pursue an investigation. On the other hand, he was well aware there would be no way of ever proving that something supernatural was responsible.
“I won’t change my report. Undetermined it is.”
“Thanks, Frank.”
Lou was disappointed. He knew in his gut other forces were at work. And he also knew Vic felt it, too. Vic was a good cop—very thorough. Maybe he was tired and wanted nothing more than to put a bow on this one and move on to the next thing.
“Thanks for everything, Frank,” Lou said.
Vic shook the coroner’s hand. “Yeah, thanks.”
Outside next to Lou’s vehicle, Vic spoke to Lou in low tones. Lou knew the man well enough to read the signs. He was unsure.
“Things like this just don’t happen,” Womble said. “People die. But it’s usually by accident or foul play.”
“That’s been my experience. I have to say, though, Vic. After working with Sarah, I’m starting to see things differently. We can’t explain everything using science. And I think we’re going to have to leave ourselves open to…other possibilities. But hey, this is your case. You do what you feel is best.”
The men shook hands and said goodbye. On the way back to his office, Lou decided he wasn’t going to let this lie. Something was going on—something unexplained. He decided he would call Kyle Jeffers to see if he might remember anything about that dead man in the woods. But first, he needed coffee. Bad.
It was almost nine when Sarah opened her eyes. She was beyond exhausted. She thought again about calling Joe, knowing he’d be there in a heartbeat. But she felt conflicted, wanting to be with him yet not wanting to watch as her best friend made his way through a new series of romantic entanglements. They’d done that already, but back then, they were just good friends. And now?
She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him with other women. But what had she thought? That they would keep going the way they were forever? Till death do us part? As her sister had rightly pointed out, might as well be married.
Thankfully, there hadn’t been any more nightmares—only dreamless sleep. She could hear Gary padding into the room. A moment later, a thump as the cat landed on the bed and began purring loudly.
“You know where your food is.”
He rubbed his head on her hand, encouraging her to get out of bed.
She closed her eyes. “I’m sleeping.”
He began maowing urgently and kneading his paws on her stomach.
“Fine. Come here, you.”
She picked him up and scratched behind his ear. Yawning, she set him gently on the floor and got out of bed. When she checked her phone, she was surprised at how late it was. She needed coffee and remembered Carter was working today. She would head over to The Cracked Pot, then to the office to speak to Rachel about her bizarre encounter with Michael Peterson. Later, she would try seeing Joe, maybe for lunch.
Her phone went off, startling her as it vibrated in her hand. Lou. Shit, she’d forgotten all about him.
“Hi, Lou.” She faked a yawn. “Yeah, pretty late. I know. Give me an hour and we can meet at The Cracked Pot, okay?”
Still dragging, she took out underwear from a dresser drawer and picked out a “day off” outfit from her closet, which involved jeans, boots, and her beloved leather jacket. She contemplated a biscuit-colored, long-sleeved silk shirt that looked great on her. But then, she remembered how it could’ve used another button at the top. That together with Lou’s occasional wandering eye made her rethink the outfit. She went for a high-neck wool sweater that screamed church lady.
“So much for my life being my own,” she said to the cat, and went to take a shower.
Joe peered at the spreadsheet on his laptop. Day by day, their profit margin on the property was shrinking, mostly due to the mishaps and destructive occurrences that had plagued the project since they began. He adjusted himself in his chair and scooted closer to the small wood table he’d brought into the kitchen at Casa Abrigo that served as his remote office.
Over the years, Joe had heard his share of strange stories. Mostly from other realtors. Dos Santos had a history—a bad one. And there were bound to be bodies in the closet, although thankfully, he had never discovered one in any house he’d purchased at auction. Well, until now.
He recalled when he first moved here and began researching the town’s history in the local library. The town’s founder, John Dos Santos, had been a war hero. Yet, inexplicably, he and the men he served with were buried not at the Santa Barbara mission with the other important families but at what was at that time a paupers’ grave without dignity or fanfare.
Old newspaper articles had hinted at “shady doings” by Dos Santos. Questionable real estate deals and dark scandals involving young, unmarried women and, in several cases, teenage boys. And there were rumors of Satanism. Add to that everything that was happening at Casa Abrigo. Was the town, in fact, cursed? Joe didn’t believe in curses. He was having a string of bad luck, he told himself.
Manny came up the stairs from the cellar and got himself a cold Jarritos from the ice chest.
“Any luck getting that stain out?” Joe said.
“Not much. Come
have a look.”
Joe followed him down. The cellar looked immaculate. The boys had finished staining all the wine racks. The room had been freshly painted, and the windows sparkled. Manny waved and led Joe into the small storage room. They had replaced the bare bulb with a beautiful mahogany bronze four-light pendant. His heart sinking, Joe stared at the smoky black stain on the floor. It was in the shape of a narrow rectangle and located at the very spot where the mirror had stood. The stone was still wet and Manny’s cleaning implements lay nearby.
“It’s in the stone, boss.”
“What do you mean, in the stone?”
“I mean, I’ve been scrubbing that mancha for, like, an hour, and nada. I think maybe we need to replace it.”
“Did you try the acid?”
“Yes. It lightened it a little. There, you can see where I put it.”
Joe got down on one knee to get a better look. He momentarily lost his balance and pressed a hand to the floor to steady himself. What he felt surprised him. He looked up at Manny.
“It’s warm.”
“Madre de Dios,” Manny said, and made the Sign of the Cross.
As Carter refilled Sarah’s cup, Lou drained the last of his double espresso and pushed the demitasse and saucer aside.
“Want another one?” Carter said.
“No. Maybe some water.”
“Sure thing.”
Sarah squeezed Carter’s hand before she went off. They hadn’t caught up since arriving back in Santa Barbara. She felt it should have been the three of them meeting to talk about their trip. But her friend was working today, and it wouldn’t look good her taking a seat to join them. She hoped Carter wouldn’t be too butt-hurt about it.
She stared at the double order of crispy bacon sitting untouched on her plate. She hadn’t had her run yet today and had decided to stick to protein and caffeine. She grabbed a slice, broke it in two, and chomped on it. When she looked up, Lou was smiling at her.
“What? Do you want some?”
“No. I guess I’m amazed that with all this going on, you can still eat.”
“What can I say? I’m a nervous eater.” Thank God she’d decided to wear the sweater. So far, the police chief was playing it cool.
Lou had been discreet about bringing autopsy photos into the restaurant and had only brought along two. One was a close-up of Gail Cohen’s face, and the other was a similar shot of the unidentified man in the forest. Sarah compared them.
“The marks do look similar,” she said.
“I spoke to Kyle Jeffers, and he told me that in the case of the John Doe he personally never ruled out homicide. But they were never able to collect enough evidence. And back then, there were no DNA tests, so they couldn’t identify him.”
“So, they file it under animal attack and call it a day?”
“Pretty much.”
She smiled. “Well, you could try sweet-talking your buddy the judge over in Santa Barbara and get another exhumation order.”
“Forget it. Besides, this man’s body was cremated.” He handed her a slip of paper.
“What’s this?”
“It’s from the Old Testament. Frank seems to think there may be a supernatural element to these killings.”
“I thought it was birds.”
“That’s how the final report will read. Vic doesn’t want to prolong the investigation.”
She smiled. “But you think otherwise?”
He looked away, a little embarrassed. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”
No longer hungry, Sarah pushed aside her bacon, picked up the coffee cup, and held it in both hands.
“Hey, Lou. I’m sorry we couldn’t get more information for you. But at least we know Hannah was probably with her brother before he killed himself.”
“Which means it’s likely she’s alive. May I?” He reached over and helped himself to Sarah’s plate.
“Be my guest.”
He crammed the rest of the thick-cut bacon into his mouth. Sarah noticed Lou’s lips shiny with grease. It occurred to her that men eating was not attractive. In fact, eating in general wasn’t, and she wondered how distasteful she looked when putting food in her gob. No wonder some women ate very little on dates. Why was she thinking about dates? Sarah…
“Lou, I’ve been thinking. If Hannah is alive, then who’s the ghost that’s been plaguing me?”
“I dunno. What about the cousin?”
“Nicole? Unfortunately, no. She made a call to her mother a week after disappearing.”
“Maybe Peter Moody picked someone up. You know, a runaway. It would’ve been easy for him to lure someone to the house with the promise of food and a place to stay. Maybe even drugs.”
“But why does the ghost look so much like Hannah?”
“Okay, how about this? We know he was having sex with his sister. Maybe he was looking to change it up a little.”
“Not sure what you mean.”
“I’m talking about a twin fantasy. He could’ve found a runaway that looked like Hannah.”
“What is it with men and twins?”
Lou coughed uncomfortably. “I’m sure I don’t know.”
“And anyway, why would he kill her?”
“She didn’t want to play along?”
“Maybe.”
“What about that other lead?” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Didn’t you say Peter Moody made a friend in that mental hospital?”
“Yes, supposedly. Dr. Martin is checking on it. But I don’t expect anything to come of it.”
“Oh, almost forgot,” he said. “We have an appointment tomorrow morning in Burbank with your friends from Dubious. To be honest, I’m a little surprised. I mean, aren’t they—?”
“Arrogant asshats? Yeah, I was pretty surprised, too. Maybe I should hide a little hex bag in their offices and see what happens.”
“Don’t even joke about a thing like that.”
“Not to worry, Lou. I’m Catholic, remember? Too much guilt to pull a stunt like that.”
When they were finished, Sarah waited for Lou to leave and went to find Carter. She walked back toward the restrooms and, as expected, found the girl having a smoke outside.
“Sorry about not including you,” Sarah said.
“It’s okay.”
“You’re not mad?”
“No, why should I be? What did Lou think of our little expedition?”
“Too many unanswered questions. Oh, and now he’s developed this theory that Peter Moody was living out a twin fantasy by bringing home a stray.”
“Ew.”
“Take a look at this.” Sarah handed her the autopsy photos.
“God, their eyes.”
“The other victim was a man who died years before. Ever seen anything like it?”
Carter dropped her cigarette butt and crushed it. She took a closer look. Sarah noticed the delicate line of Carter’s jaw and the high cheekbones. With better hair, she’d be a knockout. Why would a girl hide her beauty? She handed Carter the slip of paper.
“Jeremiah,” Sarah said. “Guess in those days they were big into death by bird.”
“I think I remember this verse. I took a world religion class at Berkeley, and we studied the Old Testament. Well, parts of it. And you think the—”
“Ravens.”
“These ravens are acting as punishment? What in the world was Gail Cohen into to deserve that kind of death?”
“No idea,” Sarah said. “But I do know someone who might be able to shed some light on it.”
“Who?”
“Fr. Brian Donnelly.” Then to herself, “Guess I’m seeing my old pal sooner than I thought.”
“A priest? Good idea.”
“Want to come?”
“You bet. I get off at three.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
Sarah’s phone vibrated. Though she didn’t recognize the number, the area code looked familiar, and she decided to answer.
“Hello?
Sarah Greene.”
There was a pause. Then, a voice she immediately recognized as Owen Daniels’s came on.
“Sarah?”
“Yes, Owen. How are you? Is everything okay with—?”
“Colleen passed away last night.”
“What? Hang on, I’m putting you on speaker. Carter’s here with me.”
She pressed a button and held the phone horizontally in front of her, as if offering it to some invisible guest.
“Go ahead, Owen.”
“It was her heart. I think… She, she seems to have had a bad fright.”
“Did she say what…”
“Said it was her nephew. They insisted it must’ve been a dream. But she was adamant.”
The old man described how the aide had found her alive and notified the on-staff doctor. They had given Colleen a sedative. When someone came to check on her in the morning, they found she was not breathing. She had been dead for hours. The women could hear the old man choking back a sob.
“She was so scared. I’m making funeral arrangements and wanted to let you know.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“I found an old photo album in Colleen’s room. I’m sending it to you. Thought it might help you with your research.”
“Thank you.”
“Owen, we’re so sorry,” Carter said, and looked at Sarah. “We’re sending flowers, okay? Can you give us the address of the mortuary?”
“I’ll text it to you later. Thank you, ladies.”
The man was so formal, it broke Sarah’s heart. Before she could say goodbye, he disconnected. As she stood staring at the phone, she thought over what Colleen had said about seeing Peter. Then, she recalled what the girl in the mirror had told her.
Not dead.
Twenty-Four
“I was so scared, Sarah.”
Rachel was sitting at her desk, an untouched chai latte sitting in front of her. Sarah sat across from her sister, watching her intently. She remembered when they were teenagers. She was fifteen; Rachel was thirteen. It was right after Alyssa’s funeral. Something had changed after the girl’s death. Sarah no longer saw Rachel as the annoying little sister, and from then on, she became Rachel’s protector. She’d already lost her mother and her best friend. Could it be she was afraid of losing her sister, too?
The Girl in the Mirror Page 22
