by Jana DeLeon
“The doctor thinks so. She has a concussion, though. I hope it doesn’t affect her memory. The last thing she said before she passed out was my name. I have to get to the hospital. I need to be there when she wakes up.”
“You don’t have your car.”
“I’ll Uber there and back to my apartment when I’m done.”
“That’s not necessary.” Jackson jumped out of bed. “I’m going with you.”
“I appreciate it, but you have a job to do.”
“Yeah, and my job is finding the psycho who bought that girl. Clara was one of the names on our list. If Harold’s theory is correct—and I think it is—that man attacked Clara.”
“What about Grayson?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll figure out something.”
She nodded. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
He grabbed his jeans and headed for the bathroom. Shaye had gotten ready before she woke him so she shoved her laptop into her bag and zipped it up, anxious to get to the hospital. Jackson was ready a couple minutes later and they headed out.
They were both quiet on the ride to the hospital. Shaye was consumed with her thoughts about Clara and hoping she would be all right, and then with anger over the attack, launched against a woman for no good reason. If Clara had known anything that would have helped the police find her captor, she would have told them years ago. Why go after her now when she was no threat at all? First Harold, now Clara. None of it made sense.
When they arrived, Shaye rushed into the emergency room and the nurse at the desk jumped up from her chair the moment she saw her. “Ms. Archer! I was just about to call you. Clara woke up a short while ago and she’s been giving the doctor heck. He wants to run tests, but she’s refusing, insisting that she speak to you first. Come with me.”
They followed the nurse down the hall and she spoke as they went. “The police were here as well, trying to get a statement, and she refused to talk to them too.” The nurse gave them a worried look. “I’ve never seen Clara like this. She’s in a real twist.”
“But she’s okay?” Shaye asked.
“Seems to be, but until they can run tests, we won’t know for certain.”
“Don’t worry,” Shaye assured the nurse, “I’ll keep it as brief as possible and get her off for testing.”
The nurse looked relieved. “Thank you. We’re all really worried about her. Clara’s like a mother to everyone who works the ER.”
“I’m worried about her too,” Shaye said, “and I’m going to make sure she’s all right from now on.”
The nurse nodded and pointed to a door. “That’s her room.”
“Thank you,” Shaye said before pushing the door open and rushing inside.
Clara sat propped up in the bed with bandages on her hands and right knee. She looked tired, but the fire in her eyes burned strong. Clara might be hurt, but she was more angry than anything else. As Shaye stepped up to the bed, she saw the bruises on Clara’s neck and face and knew immediately how they’d gotten there. Anger coursed through her and she clenched her hands, wishing she could lock them around the bastard’s throat as he’d done to Clara.
“Are you all right?” Shaye asked.
“I’m a little banged up and a whole lot pissed off,” Clara said. “But I’m even more worried. I wasn’t a chance victim. That man was waiting for me.”
Shaye glanced at Jackson, then looked back at Clara. “What makes you think that?”
“It started with Dr. Thompson,” Clara said.
Shaye stared. “What about Dr. Thompson? Did something happen to him?”
Clara nodded. “They brought him in last Friday night. Heart attack. He’d called 911 and said someone was in his house. The police found signs of a break-in, but his wallet and his Rolex were on the kitchen counter. Dr. Thompson was on the floor on the side of his bed.”
Shaye drew in a breath, trying to process this unexpected piece of bad news. “Is he going to be all right?”
“Hard to say,” Clara said. “He’s stable but still unconscious. We won’t know how much damage there is, if any, until he wakes up.”
“But he’s going to wake up?” Shaye asked.
“I’m praying hard for it,” Clara said, “but I can’t make any promises. I’ve seen patients in his condition go both ways.”
Shaye nodded and glanced over at Jackson. She could tell by his worried expression that he understood the significance of what Clara was saying. Dr. Thompson was one of the names on the list they’d created with Harold. So was Clara. They now had two more reasons to believe Harold’s theory was right.
“Can you tell us what happened last night?” Jackson asked.
Clara nodded. “I was on my way to my car when I just felt wrong. You know? So I opened my purse and pretended I had forgotten something, but really, I took out my Mace. Then I turned around and headed back for the hospital. I figured if he thought I was going to get something I forgot and come right back, then I had a chance of getting back into the hospital.”
“Smart,” Jackson said.
“Would have been smarter if it had worked,” Clara said. “I hoped he was hiding near my car, which was parked on the back row, and that I had a half a garage advantage on him. But he fooled me.”
“How is that?”
“He must have been hiding behind one of the columns in the parking lot, circling around it to stay out of sight as I walked. He was closer to the entrance than my car.” Clara’s voice hitched up a notch. “I saw something move behind an SUV. I thought it was him, but he was already behind me. He hit me from behind and knocked me down. I swung my elbow and got a solid hit on him, then I managed to flip over and tried to get him with my knee.”
Clara swallowed and shook her head. “I admit, the mask made me hesitate. It was only for a second, but it was probably enough to keep me from kneeing him in his privates.”
Shaye’s pulse quickened. “You got a good look at the mask?”
“Was only a foot in front of me, and it’s something I won’t ever forget. It was a goat’s head. One of those like you see in those horror movies.” She shivered slightly. “That was the first time in my life I ever thought I was going to die, and if you knew where I grew up, you’d know what a big statement that is.”
Shaye reached over and placed her hand on Clara’s arm. “I am so sorry. If you hadn’t gotten away—”
“Don’t you even start,” Clara interrupted. “This isn’t your fault. Neither is what happened to Dr. Thompson. But there’s something else I need to tell you. Do you remember Nadine, your physical therapist?”
“Of course,” Shaye said, then her breath caught in her throat. “Did something happen to her?”
Clara nodded. “One of the other nurses told me yesterday that she was killed in the parking lot after teaching class at the community center.”
“Carjacking?” Jackson asked.
“Not unless the thieves have started slitting throats and leaving the car behind,” Clara said.
“Jesus,” Jackson said.
Shaye covered her mouth with her hand, horrified by Clara’s words.
“That’s me, Dr. Thompson, and Nadine, in a matter of days. I suppose it could be coincidence, but I’ve never been a big fan of the concept.”
“Me either,” Shaye said.
“I already didn’t feel right about Dr. Thompson,” Clara said, “and then when I heard about Nadine, it only strengthened my conviction that something was wrong. I was planning on calling you today and letting you know, just in case something was going on more than what the police could see and I could understand. Then that man attacked me, and I knew I was right about the others. That’s why I asked for you as soon as I woke up.”
Shaye looked down at the floor, still trying to process that Nadine was dead, Dr. Thompson was clinging to life, and Clara was battered and bruised all because of her.
“You didn’t cause this, child,” Clara said, clearly cluing in to her guil
t. “Don’t ever allow him that kind of power of you. Only one man is responsible for this.”
“She’s right,” Jackson said. “I’m really sorry that this happened to you, Ms. Mandeville, and I can’t tell you how glad I am that you got away. You, Dr. Thompson, and Nadine are on a list of people Shaye and I intended to contact today and warn that you might be at risk.”
“So you think I’m right?” Clara said.
Jackson nodded. “Too many things have happened for me to think otherwise. There was an attempt made on someone else related to Shaye’s case, but he got a bad feeling and went into hiding before the man broke into his house. The security cameras got him, though. He was wearing a goat mask.”
Clara looked at Shaye. “It’s the man who took you, isn’t it?”
“I think so,” Shaye said.
Clara studied her for several seconds, her indecision clear. Finally she asked, “Are you remembering?”
Shaye glanced at Jackson, then looked back at Clara. “Yes,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Clara nodded. “Then I’m going to tell you something I never told the police. What I knew wasn’t going to help the police any with their investigation. But I knew that one day you’d want to read those reports, and those words would have only done more harm. But if you’re starting to remember, then it’s time I break my silence.”
“What is it?” Shaye asked.
“You woke up during the X-rays and starting screaming,” Clara said. “You said ‘Mama, don’t make me go. You know he scares me.’ Then you passed out again.”
Shaye knew something like this was coming, but to hear Clara confirm what she already knew made her angry and sad all over again.
Clara stared at Shaye, studying her as she would a patient, then her eyes widened. “You already knew.”
Shaye nodded. “My biological mother sold me to John Clancy.”
“Oh my God!” Clara moved her bandaged hand on top of Shaye’s and squeezed. “When will it all end for you? It’s so unfair.”
“Now that I’m remembering,” Shaye said, “it could end soon. The question is what the end will be and how many people will be hurt before it’s over.”
“Might be sooner and better than you expect,” Clara said. She sat up straighter and leaned toward them. “I got a piece of him when I bit him. Gave it to Jeremy before I passed out.”
“A piece of him?” Shaye knew she had heard Clara correctly, but she had to make sure.
Clara nodded. “From when I bit him. A good-sized piece of skin it was. If he’s in the police database, this could all be over soon.”
Jackson pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call the station,” he said, and left the room.
Clara waited until the door closed. “He cares about you,” she said. “I can see it in the way he looks at you. Even in the way he stands. He’s protective. That’s a good thing to have in a man.”
Clara squeezed her hand again. “And you deserve something good.”
Jackson stepped into the hall, calling Grayson as he walked. Despite the early hour, the detective answered on the first ring.
“I was just about to call you,” Grayson said. “I guess you heard about Clara Mandeville.”
“I’m at the hospital with Shaye right now.”
“Good. Reynolds wanted me to get in touch with you so you’d get in touch with Shaye and let her know that Ms. Mandeville was asking for her.”
“What can you tell me?”
“Reynolds got the call but Ms. Mandeville was unconscious when they arrived. A nurse said she called out Shaye’s name before she passed out and when she woke up, she refused to speak to Reynolds, insisting she talk to Shaye first. What the hell is going on, Lamotte?”
Jackson hesitated for a second, but then figured there was no point in trying to keep information from Grayson. Clara would give her statement to Reynolds, so the goat mask would be on record. And sharing Clara’s information about Dr. Thompson and Nadine would only get Grayson involved in helping notify the other potential victims. Jackson could leave Harold Beaumont and Shaye’s returning memory out of his explanation entirely and their side investigation wouldn’t be at risk.
“I think we have a huge problem,” Jackson said and filled Grayson in on Dr. Thompson and Nadine. “That makes three people connected directly to Shaye who have met with foul play in less than a week.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I.”
“Did Ms. Mandeville talk to Shaye?”
“Yeah, she talked all right.” Jackson told Grayson about Clara’s attack.
“A goat mask?” Grayson asked when he finished. “Like with horns? Jesus Christ. What kind of psycho is this guy?”
“I know. Just when I think we’ve seen it all, something else comes along that blows that thought right out of the water. Clara said the hospital security guard took the piece of skin she bit off her attacker. Do you know anything about that?”
“The lab is processing the sample now. I asked Reynolds to keep me in the loop on the test. We should know soon if there’s a match.”
“I’d love to think this is it, but I have trouble believing it’s going to be this easy.”
“As little as we’ve had to go on for all these years, so do I, but they all screw up eventually. That’s why we catch them.”
“This would be the screwup of the century.”
“Yeah. The whole thing is weird. I can’t figure out why this guy didn’t shoot her. Why risk a hands-on attack?”
“I have no idea. I mean I get wearing a mask. Not that mask necessarily, but I understand wanting to hide your face. But a knife over a gun? I don’t know.”
Jackson hoped the lie sounded legitimate, because the truth was he had an idea about the knife. The marks on Shaye’s body were indicative of torture but could have also been used for bloodletting. The pentagram on her back and the horned goat mask all pointed to the same sort of ritualistic behavior. Clara said the knife was ornate with a red jewel in the hilt. The description was that of a ceremonial knife, not something used for hunting or in the kitchen.
The killer had a knife when he broke into Harold’s house as well, and that was an even riskier move. Entering the house of a retired cop armed with a knife rather than an arsenal? And Nadine’s throat had been slit. Everything came back around to the knife except Dr. Thompson, but the killer might have assumed he died when he had the heart attack.
“Well, I bet he’s changing his tune on weaponry after losing a piece of his arm,” Grayson said. There was a pause, then Grayson said, “It’s Reynolds. Hold on a sec.”
Jackson heard muffled talking but couldn’t make out what was being said. A minute later, he heard Grayson curse and he came back on the line.
“No match.”
19
Shaye parked in front of the tiny shop and assessed the neighborhood. It was run-down and not as populated as she would have liked, but it wasn’t a ghost town, either. She grabbed her phone and texted Jackson the cross streets and name of the store. She scanned the street one last time, then climbed out of her SUV and headed into the shop.
The storefront that had looked tiny from the outside felt practically claustrophobic inside. Shelves ran the length of both walls and down the center of the room, floor to ceiling, and stuffed with merchandise. Dolls, stones, sticks, and bottles of herbs that she didn’t recognize the names of lined the shelves. The overhead lighting wasn’t great, and the bookshelves prevented some of it from filtering between the rows. Added to that, the shop faced west so the morning sun couldn’t reach inside and help illuminate the space.
Shaye glanced down one of the rows and saw the end of a counter at the back of the store. She glanced once out the front window, then walked down one of the rows to the counter in the back. An old black woman, probably in her eighties, sat in a chair behind the counter. She rose as Shaye approached and placed the doll she’d been stitching on the table next to her.
“Ain’t
got no potions for boyfriends and the like,” she said. “We’re serious about our beliefs. Don’t play into that Hollywood crap.”
“No, ma’am,” Shaye said. “I’m not here for anything like that.” She pulled out her wallet and showed the woman her identification. “I’m a private investigator. I have a client who was attacked by a man with very particular taste.”
“What kind of taste? We don’t go in for that weird sex stuff, either.”
Shaye pulled out her phone and accessed the image she had of the goat mask that she’d gotten from Harold. “This is a security photo of the man. Do you know where I can find a mask like this?”
She turned the phone around and showed it to the woman. Her eyes widened slightly, but her expression didn’t change. If Shaye hadn’t been watching closely, she wouldn’t have seen the reaction at all.
“Ain’t never seen it before,” the woman said.
Shaye knew she was lying and any more conversation was probably pointless, but she scrolled to the picture of the pentagram and showed it to the woman. “What about this?”
“It’s a pentagram,” the woman said.
“Yes, but I haven’t seen one exactly like this. These letters at the bottom—JD—do they mean anything?”
The woman didn’t even look at the image again before shaking her head. “Don’t know anything about no letters.”
A curtain behind the counter swung back and a younger black woman, probably in her fifties, stepped out. The old woman turned around and glanced at her. “Don’t need any help,” she said.
Shaye recognized a dismissal when she saw it, and based on the younger woman’s expression of surprise, it wasn’t a typical occurrence. The younger woman looked at Shaye, then glanced down at the cell phone. She looked back at the older woman and nodded. “Okay. I’m going out to pick up some supplies. I should be back in an hour.”
The younger woman exited through the curtain and the old woman lifted the doll from the counter and sat back in her chair. Shaye assumed that meant the conversation was over. Not seeing any other alternative, she headed out of the store. As she stepped onto the sidewalk and pulled out her car keys, she heard someone calling.
