Ghost Maker

by Robin D. Owens

  Clare stared at him. “Well. You made calling law enforcement sound like a really bad idea. And what’s with this ‘lead me’ there? You’re not going alone.”

  He grimaced at the small quaver in her voice, but met her eyes. “I’ll have to confirm that there are bodies, they are bodies of . . . youngsters . . . and maybe that they are the remains of Denver street kids, runaways. It’s not going to be nice.”

  She jutted her chin. “I understand. But I’m going with you.” She reached out and took his hand. “We’re a team.”

  That’s right, Enzo said, but with much less than his usual cheer.

  “How did you find them?” Clare asked.

  I went back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and remembered the hint of smell I got yesterday with the bad spirit and it was all lost in town, but I found a little bitty trace of it on a dirt road and I sniffed and sniffed and sniffed and . . . I found it at that place I told you and it was RECENT. He paused. It was last night.

  Clare stood and got their coats from the wall rack and handed Zach’s to him. “We will be calling law enforcement, right?”

  “Of course,” Zach said.

  “How are we going to explain finding the . . . if we find a body, how are we going explain that to the police?”

  He felt a side of his mouth go up. “The standard and time-honored ‘anonymous tip.’”

  “Oh. Okay. Won’t they want to check our phones to trace the call?”

  Zach looked up at her. So beautiful in the soft light of the living room. Solid. Living. Healthy. Well, mostly healthy.

  “Zach?” she prompted.

  “You have a good point.” Pulling out his phone, he called Rickman.

  “It’s Tony, Zach.” Rickman’s deep voice sounded. “What do you need?”

  “I need a phone call from a public phone to this cell ASAP, lasting not more than two minutes. From a supposed informant. He’s heard where a runaway kid’s grave is and wants fifty for the info.” He trusted his boss to know the few remaining public telephones in Denver, which ones worked, and what would be the best to call from.

  “Got it, expect a call in under twenty minutes. You can tell me about this later. Like tomorrow morning.”

  “Will do.” Zach sat back down on the couch.

  “Wouldn’t a throwaway phone be better?”

  “What do you know of throwaway phones?”

  “Not much, but they should be untraceable?”

  “Maybe, but a wary homeless person would know the public phones in Denver.”

  “Ah, okay. Shouldn’t we be on our way up to the . . . place?” Clare asked.

  “If they examine where my phone was when it got the call, I want the location to read here.”

  “You make good points, too.”

  The call came through seventeen minutes later. Zach recognized the voice of one of his coworkers, they exchanged a few words, and the guy disconnected.

  “There. He’s given me the GPS coordinates of the burial ground. I’ll find them when we get there and write them down.” He tucked a resort pad and pen into his coat pocket, stood and took her hand, and they left together. Two people and one spectral dog.

  The lights of the villa looked cheerful as they drove into the black night on a grisly quest.

  Chapter 26

  Zach swore under his breath as the truck bounced over another rock in the track. Better to have had Clare’s Jeep for this, even with his four-wheel drive, but who knew? Hard as hell to see the faint trace of ephemeral dog ahead of him, unless the beast looked back at him—with glowing blue eyes.

  They’d revved up a hill past trespassing signs, something Clare had squeaked at while hanging onto the chicken bar, on a path that didn’t even have a good two ruts in it. If Zach narrowed his eyes, he could observe signs of recent use, some fresh oil, too damn fresh for his peace of mind.

  But then, they were trolling for a murderer’s burial ground.

  They stopped going up and reached level ground. Zach parked but left the lights on, and turned on his flashers. Clare got out of her door before he managed to. He hated this whole damn situation, enough to scrape anyone’s nerves raw.

  He blinked and found the more-solid light gray Enzo looking at him. Then the minor spirit nodded and trotted away.

  Right here, Enzo said mournfully, pawing at the ground, his foot going straight through the plane of soil. This is the most recent, the poor spirit that Sister Julianna Emmanuel helped free from his earthly body last night and transition on to a better place.

  Zach fervently hoped the kid had gone to a better place. And the hope they’d be able to stop the killer beat within his heart, exquisitely painful.

  He reached back for the shovel stowed behind the seats. After Clare’s experiences, he carried a good-sized one, just as she did.

  Clare stifled a sob, straightened her shoulders, reached for an emergency kit that also contained a small shovel. “I can help, too.”

  He didn’t want her to see this. She’d been getting used to bones. A new corpse would be very bad for her.

  “No.”

  No, Enzo agreed.

  “You must stand guard here, near the top of the track with the emergency lights, make sure the cops don’t run into my truck after we call them.” He left his cane leaning up against his truck. If necessary, he could use the shovel, and his braces held his ankle flexed and stiff.

  Drawing a card out of his pocket, he handed it to her. “Call this number of the El Paso County Sheriff when I signal you. We’re outside the town limits of Manitou. And, yeah, I want you to stay right here. See if you can keep them from blocking me in, too.”

  She read the card by the headlights. “What do I say to them?”

  Not looking at her, stomach coated with dread, he walked over to where Enzo sat, head down. “That you’re my partner, and I was in the office earlier today. We got an anonymous tip about my case about at-risk Denver street kids and were told the location of a boy’s body buried in the mountains. We found it.”

  Yeah, the ground looked recently turned over, all churned up. Zach wished he had a flask of liquor, any kind. He’d only done this once before in his entire career and sure wasn’t looking forward to it. He swallowed bile. “Tell ’em the tip was good, we gotta very recent grave.”

  You think we will need more than one person to dig and find other graves? the ghost dog asked.

  “Probably,” Zach replied.

  No noise broke the stillness of the night, no wind in the trees, no roll of rocks as big critters stole by, no sound of wings or slight scampers of little critters. Just Zach and the shovel. He kept his mind blank as he worked, and Clare didn’t speak, no unnecessary chatter. He sorta would like some music, but anything she played would be ruined forever. His shovel hit on something that wasn’t dirt. He went more carefully, and saw a thin chest. He moved his shovel up. Easy, easy, and in a few too-short minutes he saw the emaciated face of Jeremy Bendyk. Who he’d only heard had gone missing the day before. He knelt and pulled out latex gloves from his jeans pocket, brushed off more dirt, and just . . . he didn’t pray, didn’t know how anymore. But he let grief and guilt roll through him and released it into the night.

  He heard Clare’s shaky voice reporting a body. He walked back over to her and took the phone, related the name of the boy and that the grave was recent, as was the kill. He’d seen the tear in the shirt and the blood from the knife in the heart. Zach explained himself, talked about the people he’d met in their office that day, and confirmed that they’d send a unit up to verify the body. He thanked them and they both hung up.

  Now one deputy on duty would be speaking to those who’d met him, someone else would be running him, and a third might even be calling Rickman. He’d stirred up that station for sure.

  Enzo yipped. Over here, easiest to find.


  Zach began digging again and just as the police SUV came he’d found a girl in her late teens. Two deputy sheriffs slammed their doors shut and went up to Clare. Zach let Enzo guard the second grave—neither of the cops appeared to see him.

  The rest was interminable procedure. They treated him well, eyed Clare askance since they would have heard of her new career, but she acted like Clare-accountant normal. Everyone but her looked at the open graves; the guy in charge ordered a full crime scene investigation.

  They did let Clare move his truck lower on the track so he and she could leave when the officers were finished with them.

  Everyone figured that there were more than two graves, and that Jeremy was buried within the last day or night. Which added up to a serial killer on the loose.

  A burly man dressed in an El Paso deputy sheriff’s uniform stared at the two open graves. “He isn’t killing them here, just burying them here.” His intense gaze fastened on Zach. “You said you think they’re Denver runaways?”

  Zach shrugged. “Jeremy was in Denver, don’t know whether he drifted to Colorado Springs or Manitou or not, or when he went missing. Denver’s the biggest city around, the easiest to . . . cull from.”

  “Yeah.” The deputy’s gaze flicked to Zach’s cane, then he pulled out Zach’s card from his pocket, glanced at it. “You’re working private.”

  “That’s right. Means I can spend a lot more time on a case, dig deeper.” He winced at his own words.

  “I have contacts in Denver,” the man said gruffly.

  Zach nodded. “I can give you the number of the policewoman I’m working with on this.” He handed over another of his cards, this one with Ginni’s name and work number written on the back.

  “Thanks.” The guy gave a last, hard stare at the small valley. “We need to find his killing place.”

  “Yeah.” And that was right on Zach’s and Clare’s priority list. As soon as they talked to the ghost of a certain nun.

  * * *

  Neither Zach nor Clare slept well, though they’d made love fabulously. He thought her etheric wound bothered her but she wouldn’t say. And, dammit, he’d forgotten about that when the needs of the dead for justice, and the needs of the living children for protection, pulled at him. Yeah, they needed the nun to find the boys, and to seek justice for the lost ones, but they also needed the Sister of Mercy to cure Clare. That’s why they were here, moved like chess pieces by the Powers That Be. Her the queen, him, the . . . what? Knight. Knight to his lady.

  And he’d make damn well sure she got healed.

  She fell asleep before him, but woke up before him, too. He finally stirred when the main lodge delivered a good American breakfast to their door. He fell on it like he hadn’t eaten in centuries, and having a full belly made Clare more cheerful again. Or maybe it was that he gave her his croissant. And his chocolate donut.

  They wove through Monday morning traffic and reached Navajo Spring before the shops had opened.

  The Sister of Mercy, Julianna Emmanuel, awaited them, drifting back and forth before the basin that held the ever-flowing water.

  Zach had to keep in contact with Enzo, with the dog sitting on his feet or halfway through Zach’s legs or something. Or he could link fingers with Clare. Flesh to flesh always gave him a better sense of the phantoms she saw and heard easily. Since the young woman watched him warily, Zach faded back to sit at a picnic table down the line, but requested the dog stay near him.

  Hello, Clare and Enzo and Jackson Zachary Slade.

  Good morning, Julianna Emmanuel! caroled Enzo mentally.

  “Hello, Julianna Emmanuel,” Clare said.

  Zach bowed his head, even managed a slight incline of the torso. She’d be used to bows, wouldn’t she? “Hello, Sister.” He used her title so she knew he acknowledged that she’d dedicated her life to religion.

  Since I have met you, Clare and Enzo, I have been able to separate myself from the gray dimension and nothingness. And THINK. The dog helped. She sidled over and petted Enzo, and he gave her a happy grin. Before . . . before, I only knew the pull of NEED, and went where I could heal or help. Now that I can think and remember, I believe I can help you find this evil spirit.

  “Evil spirit,” Zach said tonelessly. “Someone is killing these people, not just an evil spirit.”

  It is an old, horrible, powerful ghost who has possessed a human being.

  Major strange problem. Just. Great.

  Words had confused the issue before. Better to nail down the details. “How old?” asked Zach, keeping to questions even when his brain felt on the fritz.

  “Is this specter from the time period I can see?” demanded Clare at the same time. She’d be blaming herself that she hadn’t noticed this awful ghost earlier.

  The spirit is a middle-aged man.

  “Standard age range of a serial killer . . . or a serial abuser who kills his victims.”

  An older evil male embodied in a different, living body.

  “What!” demanded Zach. Yeah, he had to have it spelled out for him again.

  When one spirit dies, if there is another desperate or evil enough, it can filter into the body.

  Clare gasped, opened her mouth, then shut it. She looked at Zach. Her expression showed the same confusion as his.

  Okay, roll with the punches, get up to speed, accept what the Sister of Mercy said as true. Keep her talking! All his senses sizzled in a hunting alert to get good info out of the ghost, enough to stop the killing, find the kidnapper and murderer, save the boys. He nearly vibrated with high tension he hadn’t felt since he came off the meth task force over a year before.

  But the killer had taken children. Zach had to get them back.

  We will find them and save them, Enzo and Clare murmured in unison to Zach’s mind.

  Not soon enough to save the kid last Saturday. That hurt, and he put it away with other such inner hurts of his career, ones that festered.

  The nun paced and wrung her pale, elongated hands, warm air wafting to them from blurred fingers.

  He has done this before, she wept. I could not stop him then, long ago, not when he was human. Now, when he is a ghost possessing a human, I try to speak with him, implore him to change his ways—

  Like that would work with a psychopathic serial killer. Zach felt a nudge in his ribs from Clare’s elbow and dropped into an impassive cop expression.

  You can’t, ah, affect him? Clare asked. Spirit to spirit?

  No! He is repulsive. I cannot get near him! The young woman’s mental tones rose so far the end of her sentence cut off abruptly but still left his mind hissing with static and his ears ringing.

  All right, Zach said. It was time to calm the hysterical witness down. Let’s figure this out together. Do you know what body he inhabits?

  Noooo! He hides that aspect of himself from me. I can see HIM, the revenant, and he is massive, and solid and intense to my sight and hides the body whom he inhabits.

  All right, then. Can you show us a picture of him as you see him?

  He blinked at the image projected into his brain. Enzo whimpered. Yep, monster bad: long, thick hairy arms, equally long fangs, hair all over. No way to pinpoint the identity of the guy, past or present.

  Maybe the old name could lead to the new body the man inhabited. Names had power; they’d discovered that. How long ago was it that the possessive spirit lived as a human?

  A long pause fell as the nun continued pacing back and forth.

  Finally, she answered in a lower and calmer tone, Decades. Yes, I think decades have passed. Four? Five?

  How really great.

  Not someone from your time? Zach pressed.

  Someone I might be able to find? Clare asked, though she muttered aloud to Zach. “I think I’d have felt him if he was from that era and if he was nearby.”

  Enzo
crossed over to sit on Zach’s feet and looked up at them. I would have smelled him if he were from our time period, Clare.

  The nun moved restlessly. No, neither his demeanor nor his clothes indicated he lived in my era. She paused. I do not recall as much about his outer appearance as his inner nature . . . and the circumstances surrounding his death. Julianna Emmanuel’s skirts swirled around her, as agitated as if a strong wind whisked through the space. Her mental voice took on a higher note. The gendarmerie found him but he had committed suicide. She crossed herself. He had such a plan! Instead of going . . .

  “Going to hell?” Zach put in.

  It is not my place to judge, the Sister of Mercy said, then continued, but instead of going . . . on, like a . . . decent soul would do . . . he lurked, awaiting another body to claim. Her whole aspect flapped as if in a gale. Incroyable!

  Chapter 27

  Yeah, a psychopath who became a ghost and hung around to possess a newly dead body. One scary dude. But that didn’t concern Zach as much as the data the phantom nun had just let drop. “The cops, uh, those who enforce the laws, found out about this guy?”

  But, yes. The man wasn’t as careful back then, and I helped a girl escape when he thought she was dead and left her in the vehicle as he went to prepare the ground to bury her. We attracted attention. She led the authorities to his . . . his old shack where he held the young ones.

  “Not the same place where he keeps the youngsters now,” Zach grated. Too much to hope for, he supposed, but he’d like a little luck. He glanced around, looking for crows to manifest. For two of them, two for luck. Nope, nothing around. He cursed internally.

  No, not the same as now. Now the boys are kept in a cave. I cannot sense surroundings, either, as well as then. He became aware of me in the long interim between when he died and when he found a new body.

  “When was that, again?”

  Several months ago. Vehicles crashed up in the canyon, and one of the bodies was revived, but the soul had already moved on. Thankfully, it took him a long while to acclimate—