Because I like looking at you, she wanted to tell him, but instead she shrugged. “I was just thinking about the case. Do you think it’s possible Bethany’s murder could be tied to those old killings?”
His expression turned grim. “All I know for certain at this point is that we’re dealing with a real sicko.”
Elizabeth stared out the window, trying to imagine what the killer was thinking. Was he cowering in terror since he’d killed Bethany? Was he wondering in horror how he could have done such a thing? Why he’d done such a thing? Was he panicking, feeling the authorities closing in on him?
Or was he holed up somewhere, savoring his conquest? Reliving past glories? Was he thrilled at the prospect of the next one? Planning even now who his next victim would be?
Elizabeth shivered as she watched the fog melt past her window, and she suddenly thought about Claire, about that night in the cemetery that had changed all of them forever. Claire had been taken by a monster, and in the days and nights that followed her abduction, she’d been subjected to a horror that only she could know. That she, herself, hadn’t been able to live with.
She still breathed, still ate and slept, still dreamed perhaps, but her life had been stolen from her just as surely as Bethany Peters’s life had been taken from her. Just as surely as Leslie Ridgemont’s life and all the other victims’ lives had been cut short twenty years ago.
Elizabeth tried to peer through the fog outside her window, and for a moment, she could have sworn invisible eyes were staring back at her.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” she asked softly. Her gaze was still on the window.
“No,” Cullen said flatly. “Do you?”
She thought for a moment. “Yes, I think I do.”
“You surprise me, Elizabeth.”
She turned to face him. “Why?”
“Someone with your intelligence, and yet you’ve bought into all those old tales. They’re just stories. They’re not real.”
“Myths are often based on facts,” she reminded him.
He shot her an exasperated glance. “Do you honestly believe McFarland Leary rises from his grave every five years to terrorize Moriah’s Landing?”
“He was supposed to have risen the night we went to the cemetery,” she said, wrapping her arms around her middle. “And Claire was abducted.”
“No ghost tortured that poor girl,” Cullen said harshly. “No ghost killed Bethany Peters. There’s a monster out there somewhere. I’ll grant you that. But he’s real. He’s a flesh-and-blood man who can be taken down when we catch him. And we will catch him.”
He glanced at her then, his expression stern in the dash lights. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth, to say what, she wasn’t quite sure, but as she turned to stare out the windshield, the fog parted and she saw something in the road. Something wispy and fragile. Something that stared into the headlights, undaunted.
“Cullen, watch out!” she screamed.
Chapter Eleven
“What the hell—” Cullen saw him at the same time she did, and he braked so suddenly, Elizabeth would have shot through the windshield if not for her safety belt.
As the car rocked to a stop, she squeezed her eyes closed, bracing herself for the awful thud of flesh against metal. When no sound was forthcoming, she thought the specter must have passed cleanly through the car. She slit her eyes, hardly daring to find out.
But then she saw him standing in the hazy glare of the headlights, his features indistinct but very real.
Cullen reached for the door handle. “Wait here.”
But Elizabeth had already opened her door, too, and she scrambled out. They hurried around to the front of the car where the man remained transfixed in the glow of the car’s fog lights. He was dressed for the cold, in a heavy gray overcoat, hat, gloves and muffler. He appeared large, but Elizabeth thought the bulk of his clothing might be contributing to his size.
“Hey,” Cullen said. “Are you okay? Did I hit you?”
“No, no. The car didn’t touch me.” His voice was cultured, but there was something oddly disturbing about it, a quality that sounded almost…otherworldly, for lack of a better term. Elizabeth found herself shivering in the misty cold.
“I was just out for a stroll,” he said in a conversational tone. “I must have gotten caught up in my thoughts, and I didn’t see the headlights. Sorry to frighten you.”
“Out for a stroll?” Cullen said. “Hardly a great night for walking, is it?”
“Oh, I don’t mind the cold. Or the fog. Gives one a marvelous sense of isolation. Besides, the fresh air helps me to think.”
“Maybe you should think about staying out of the middle of the road in fog this thick,” Cullen said dryly. “I’m Detective Ryan with the Moriah’s Landing Police Department. Mind showing me some identification?”
“Identification?” He patted his coat pocket. “I left my wallet at home, I’m afraid. I don’t live far from here. My name is Leland Manning.”
“Dr. Manning?” Elizabeth asked in surprise.
“Why, yes.” He turned to her then, and although she couldn’t see his expression clearly in the darkness, she had a feeling his eyes were deep and probing. That he was searching her own features and missing nothing. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Elizabeth Douglas. I believe you know my parents, Marion and Edward Douglas.”
He peered at her through the mist. “Ah. I see the resemblance now. An extraordinary woman, your mother. As brilliant as she is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth murmured, discomfited by the man’s piercing gaze.
“You say you live around here?” Cullen asked him.
Manning turned. “Yes. Not far from the college.”
“Maybe we should give you a lift. Probably not a good idea to be out here walking around by yourself.”
“Oh, I’ll be careful,” Manning assured him. “The night air helps to clear my head after I’ve been in the laboratory all day.”
“That may be,” Cullen said. “But if I were you, I’d take my walks before dark. At least for a while.”
Manning nodded. “I understand what you’re saying, Detective. You’re referring to that student who was recently murdered. You haven’t found her killer yet, have you?”
“We’re working on it,” Cullen assured him. “It’s only a matter of time.”
Manning shook his head. “She was a lovely girl. Such a pity.” He turned, his gaze meeting Elizabeth’s in the darkness. “All that potential, wasted.”
“THAT IS one seriously weird dude,” Cullen muttered as they drove away.
Elizabeth craned her neck to watch behind them until the fog had swallowed up Leland Manning. Then she turned back around, shivering. “He has a rather Hannibal Lector-ish quality about him, doesn’t he?”
“He does kind of look like that guy who plays Lector in the movies.” Cullen glanced at Elizabeth. “I take it you know him?”
“Only by reputation. His name is legendary in the scientific community. He was one of the pioneers of gene therapy research.”
Cullen watched the road, but Elizabeth saw him glance periodically in the rearview mirror, as if he expected Manning to materialize suddenly in the back seat. “Gene therapy?”
“Yes. It’s a way to correct certain diseases at their root. Essentially, there are two forms. One is called somatic gene therapy which involves the manipulation of gene expression in cells that will be corrective to the patient but not inherited by the next generation. The other form is called germline gene therapy, which involves the genetic modification of germ cells that will pass the change on to the next generation. You’re getting into some tricky territory there, ethically speaking.”
“Sounds like something from the sci-fi station if you ask me,” Cullen said. “So Manning is involved in all this monkeying around with genes?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, but there’s more. He has a rather bizarre theory a
bout witches.”
“Witches? Why do I suddenly feel as if I’m in the Twilight Zone?” Cullen grumbled.
“Manning has a pet theory that witches did, and do, have special powers, but it has nothing to do with black magic. He thinks some people are born with a special gene which, in some cases, gives them supernatural abilities.”
Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “He actually believes in this hocus pocus?”
“So he says.” Absently Elizabeth tapped her chin with her fingertip. “It seems like there’s something about him I should remember.”
Cullen shot her a glance. “He’s not secretly a werewolf or something, is he?”
Elizabeth grinned. “Nothing quite that interesting. Some kind of scandal associated with him,” she mused. “It happened a few years ago. I’m not certain of the timeline, but it involved another scientist. Manning’s protégé, I believe. He had an odd name.” She thought for a moment. “Rathfastar. Dr. René Rathfastar.”
Cullen shot her a glance. “What the hell kind of name is that?”
“Shush. I’m trying to remember exactly what happened. As I recall, they were both working at the time on the Human Genome Project, but there were rumors they were both affiliated with some sort of secret society whose methodology wasn’t endorsed by the mainstream scientific community. To put it bluntly, members of the society didn’t necessarily concern themselves with the ethical and moral dilemmas that bedevil most legitimate research into human DNA.”
“What kind of secret society are we talking about here?” Cullen’s gaze looked skeptical. “You mean skull and crossbones type stuff?”
“More like a scientific Trilateral Commission,” Elizabeth told him. “I’ve heard rumors that the membership contains some pretty powerful scientists. But, of course, it is just a rumor. I’m not at all certain such an organization really exists. It could be just another legend. Supposedly, however, the society dates back to the 1600s, when a group of scientists banded together to perform secret experiments on witches.”
“And Manning is a member of this group?”
Elizabeth nodded. “According to local gossip. As was Dr. Rathfastar. And, come to think of it, so was Geoffrey Pierce.”
Cullen turned. “What’s Pierce got to do with all this?”
“I don’t know that he does these days, but he used to be a wannabe scientist who used his family money and influence to buy his way into some important research projects. However, he never published any important findings.”
“What about David Bryson? He’s some kind of scientist, too, isn’t he?”
“I never heard his name linked to the society, so I don’t know.” Elizabeth wondered if Cullen was thinking what she was thinking. All the men they’d just mentioned would have the know-how, as well as the equipment, to have performed such a grisly procedure on Bethany Peters. But where was the motive?
“I’ve gone up to Bryson’s place to try and talk to him a couple of times, but that butler of his is pretty protective,” Cullen said. “He wouldn’t let me in.”
“You think Bryson had something to do with Bethany’s murder?”
“He was a suspect twenty years ago. A lot of people in town still have strong feelings about him.” Cullen reached over and adjusted the controls on the heater. “But forget Bryson for the time being. Tell me what else you remember about Manning.”
Elizabeth frowned in concentration. “There was some controversy regarding his research. Dr. Rathfastar accused Manning of publishing stolen findings, and Manning, in turn, claimed Rathfastar was a dangerous fanatic who used human test subjects in his research.”
“Wow. A regular Dr. Frankenstein,” Cullen commented dryly.
But Elizabeth barely heard him. She was remembering something else about Manning. An image came to her suddenly—her mother and father late one night sitting at the kitchen table. Elizabeth had come down for a drink of water and was surprised to find them there, in such a cozy, domestic setting. She’d wanted very much to join them, to tell them about her day or to simply sit quietly and listen while they talked.
But their low, angry tones kept her at bay, and she’d listened unabashedly at the door.
I’ve never made any secret of my feelings, Edward. You know I’ve always believed Leland Manning to be a fraud. A dangerous one at that.
For God’s sake, Marion, you can’t really mean that. The man is a genius. His research into the human genome is nothing short of phenomenal.
Research that he stole from his own colleagues. Her mother’s tone grew acid.
Her father was silent for a moment, then he said angrily, “So that’s it. You’re taking his side.”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side, but I’m entitled to my own opinion. I happen to believe René.”
“So it’s René now, is it?” There was something in her father’s voice that frightened Elizabeth.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Edward, don’t be ridiculous. The man is a colleague. What would you have me call him?”
“I don’t give a damn what you call him. Just never mention his name in my presence again.”
The memory spun away, and Elizabeth felt gooseflesh prickle on the back of her neck, as if she’d inadvertently remembered something forbidden.
“Elizabeth?”
Cullen’s voice roused her from the past. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking. What did you say?”
“What happened to this Rathfastar character?”
She shrugged. “He just disappeared. For a while, I think there were whispers among their colleagues that Manning might have done him in, but then someone saw Rathfastar in Europe. In Brussels, I believe. Then later it was learned that he’d been in a terrible car accident and wasn’t expected to live.”
“Did he?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know. After the rumors died down, I never heard his name mentioned again.” Certainly not at home.
“I still say all this sounds like something from a bad sci-fi movie.”
“Well, it’s not,” she assured him. “Gene therapy and genetic engineering are here. So is cloning. The human race is going to have to find a way to deal with the moral and ethical dilemmas that will inevitably follow.”
Cullen shot her a glance. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon stick with the murder.”
THE GUARD at the gate hurried over to the car and peered in the window. Cullen rolled down the glass, and the man shone his light inside the car.
“Dr. Douglas? That you?”
“Good evening, George.”
The guard flicked off the flashlight and glanced from Elizabeth to Cullen, frowning. “Out kind of late in this weather, aren’t you?”
“I’m in good company, George. You remember Detective Ryan.”
“Sure do.” George’s gaze was disapproving. “Are you here on official business?”
“Just dropping Dr. Douglas off at her place.” An edge of impatience crept into Cullen’s voice. “How about opening those gates for us?”
George wasn’t one for being told how to do his job. He hesitated, and for a moment, Elizabeth thought he might actually refuse. He was only thirty-five or so, but a rounding middle and a balding pate gave him an older appearance. He’d been around for as long as Elizabeth could remember, and he took his job very seriously.
“You take care, Dr. Douglas,” he finally said. He went back to the guardhouse and pressed the control so that the heavy, iron gates slid open.
Cullen stepped on the gas and the car shot through the opening before the gates had fully extended. “That guy’s kind of protective of you, isn’t he?”
“George? He’s always been that way.”
“How long has he worked here?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Forever, it seems.”
“Know anything about his background?”
“Not really, but I’m sure he has an employee file in the administration office. But for heaven’s sakes, Cullen, you can’t really suspect Ge
orge. He’s harmless.”
“Is he?”
Was he? How much did Elizabeth really know about George Wiley? How much did she know about anyone at Heathrow? Or anyone in town for that matter?
But George? He’d always been so nice to her. Always looked out for her.
Elizabeth remembered once when he’d caught her and Kat climbing the tree branches on the southwest side of the campus to scale the wall after curfew. He’d read them the riot act, but he hadn’t written them up, for which Elizabeth had been grateful. But Kat had scoffed at the gesture. “He’s just trying to impress you. I think he has a little crush on you,” she’d teased. After that night, Kat had dubbed him the Gate Nazi. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s planted a few hidden cameras in the dorms.”
“Kat! George wouldn’t do that. He’s a nice man.”
“Oh, grow up, Elizabeth. You’re so naive. Everybody knows the man’s a perv.”
Elizabeth hated to think that her perception of someone could be that far off base.
Cullen pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. When he came around to open her door, he even went so far as to put out a hand to her. Elizabeth took it, feeling the warmth of his flesh against hers. Feeling all tingly with anticipation.
She’d hadn’t left a light on in the house, but there was a security light at the edge of her tiny yard and another one in the tiny green directly across from her house. She could see Cullen’s features only faintly as he walked her to her door.
Elizabeth leaned against the frame, suddenly shy. “It’s a cold night. Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?”
He hesitated. “I’d better be going.”
He leaned down suddenly, and for one breathless moment, Elizabeth thought he was going to kiss her. Everything stilled inside her as she waited. As she wanted.
But instead, he lifted a hand to gently brush against her cheek. “You’ve still got a bruise. I noticed it the other day.”
“I got it at the funeral home.” Elizabeth unconsciously lifted her hand to the spot, and their fingers brushed, entangled. She closed her eyes briefly at the contact.
He leaned in, planting his other hand on the doorframe above her head. “I shouldn’t do this.”
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