The Evil Inside (Krewe of Hunters)

by Heather Graham

  “Lexington House?” Jenna asked. She felt as if her skin crawled with the thought of it. She wasn’t afraid of the house, she told herself. The house was a shell.

  A shell that had witnessed terrible cruelty and violence.

  “If you can,” he said. He set his hand on hers. “Jenna, I don’t want you to do anything that hurts you in any way. I still don’t know what I believe, but you were practically bleach-white the last time we were in there, and…”

  “It’s what I do,” she told him. “And I’ll be all right.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Of course. You’ll be there, too.”

  He stood up, finishing the last swig of his wine. “We do need to get some sleep,” he said, setting down his glass and reaching for her hand.

  “Are we going to sleep?” she asked him.

  He grinned. “Eventually.”

  Jenna was startled awake by the very loud ringing of her phone.

  She groped blindly for it, remembered her handbag was in the foyer where she had dropped it, and bolted from the bed.

  Sam was already up. He had showered and was dressed, and she could smell the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

  He handed it to her as she came dashing out.

  “Wow, I do like the way you look in the morning!” he teased.

  She gave him a warning glance, dived into the bag and found her phone.

  She answered with a quick, “Duffy!”

  “Jenna.”

  It was Angela Hawkins, Jenna’s team member, and one of her favorite people in the world. Angela had been a cop before joining the unit, and though she was a slim, blue-eyed blonde, she really was tough as nails. She was also wonderful at making contact with whatever spirits might remain behind.

  “Angela! Hey, how are you? Is everything all right? Oh, please, I hope we don’t have to be somewhere right now—”

  “No, no. Jackson thought we should come up. Unofficially, of course. So, we’re just here for Haunted Happenings.”

  “Here?” Jenna said.

  “We’re at your uncle’s house—Jackson, Will and I.”

  “Oh! You’re in Salem already.”

  “Yes. Actually, Will has a permit—we’re sending him out to perform magic in the street and he can see what passes by—we’re going to put him just outside one of the museums on the pedestrian walkway. Anyway, should we come to you?”

  “No! Ah, no,” Jenna said, glancing at Sam, who had poured her coffee and brought it to where she stood. “No, fifteen minutes, we’ll be there. Sam and I.”

  “Take your time. Jamie is filling us in.”

  She hung up, feeling panicked, and then laughed.

  “Is that hysteria? What’s going on?” Sam asked.

  “Jackson, Angela and Will are here. Part of my team.”

  “Jackson Crow—the behavior guy. The profiler.”

  “Angela and Will, too. She was a cop in Virginia…and Will was an entertainer, from Trinidad, originally—fascinating guy. He works with film and sound and all that. He’s going to do surveillance down by the shops and museums on the pedestrian walk, pretend to be a street performer doing magic.”

  She was afraid for a minute that he was going to be angry—afraid that his rapport with John Alden would be destroyed if the FBI showed up.

  “Brilliant,” he said. “A worker who can see a zillion tourists, of course, but also get to know all the people in the area—shopkeepers, guides, Puritan and Witch Trial actors and actresses.”

  “Brilliant? You’re sure?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I liked your speech to John Alden the other day. We will happily use what we can get.”

  “But what about John? Will he become defensive?” Jenna asked.

  “I don’t know. We’ll see. Hey—they’re here, right? And it’s a free country. They don’t have to have police cooperation to be here and look around a tourist city as private citizens.”

  She let out a sigh of relief and took a long swallow of coffee. “A shower. I’ve got to get into the shower…my clothes! I need both boots, oh, hell….”

  “There’s a shower in the back of the bedroom, in the bath, extra toothbrushes and stuff like that in the cabinet above the sink, and…” he said, caught her arm before she could tear off and kissed her lips quickly. “Don’t panic. Sex is older than the hills, you know.”

  “No, I’m not panicked. I’ve just got to move!”

  He laughed as she hurried away.

  Twenty minutes later, Sam and Jenna had walked the short distance to Jamie’s house.

  Since he’d met Jenna, Sam had found himself intrigued to meet Jackson Crow. The man was about his own height and build with exceptional features that told of a Native American background. Angela was a slim, stunning blonde with grave eyes, and Will Chan was tall with a fascinating mix of cultures, predominately Asian, visible in his features, as well. They seemed relaxed and easy, but ready to hear everything they could about the case.

  “We’ll be discreet,” Jackson assured Sam. “No problems with the locals. We can just be your legs or eyes as needed—you can’t be everywhere at once. And we can send any questions straight to Jake Mallory. He can find out about any human being in the world, and he can do it legally. Most of the time. I believe.”

  Will had given Jenna an affectionate kiss on the cheek, as had the others, when they had met. Sam was surprised to realize that he felt a twinge of jealousy—this was a team that was tight and supportive. He was accustomed these days to doing most of his own work in his head, arguing out plans and actions by himself, despite the fact that Evan Richardson was such a great assistant. He’d come up in the world; sometimes he missed the early days when he’d been in the D.A.’s office himself and he’d sat in a pool with others, all searching out legal histories and planning stratagem. Not to mention the larger group—being friends with the cops instead of being considered a thorn in their sides, as a defense attorney often was.

  “Excuse me, I start right away,” Will said, rising and shaking Sam’s hand. “I have my cell, and it’s on buzz.” He hesitated. “I’m trying to get in for a guest performance at the school. We’ll see how that goes.”

  “Maybe I can help with that,” Sam said. He hadn’t told Jenna, of course, but he believed her angry speech about law enforcement being open to whatever help there was might have given John Alden a twinge. Maybe John even believed—just a little—that he wasn’t in the right. Or, at least, that Sam’s involvement—and Jenna’s—could only help to prove Malachi’s guilt. And if he couldn’t pull this one off, he knew who could. “Jamie!” he said. “Don’t you still take cases from the school?”

  “I do. But I’m assuming that I’m not particularly loved there at the moment,” he said. “They all know how I feel about Malachi—that he’s being railroaded.”

  “Yes, but most people are basically decent, even when they’re swayed by a common concept,” Sam said. “I think you should go in first.” Jamie nodded.

  “All right. I’m heading out,” Will said and left them.

  Jackson asked Sam, “What about getting back into Lexington House?”

  “I’ll talk to John Alden. He’s the lead detective on the case.”

  “All right, what can we do?” Jackson asked.

  Sam went over everything that he and Jenna had discussed the night before. Jackson listened attentively. “I have to ask this—do you honestly believe that the young man is innocent?”

  “Absolutely,” Sam said.

  “I believe in him and, Jackson, when you meet him, you’ll believe in him, too,” Jenna said. “There’s something…I don’t know. He’s special. And I don’t mean that in any kind of a negative way. His belief is so strong. And antiviolent.”

  “I think,” Sam said, “that Andy Yates would definitely be someone to get to know better. He was interested in purchasing the house, and it’s his son who was involved in the altercation or whatever with Malachi. I still want to talk to his so
n, David Yates—and the friend, Joshua Abbott—who agreed that they’d seen Malachi rush out of Earnest Covington’s house. Their statements directly contradict those of the grocer.”

  “I spoke with the grocer,” Jenna said. “And he’s adamant about what he saw.”

  “So the boys are lying,” Jackson said.

  “At the moment I’ve got them on hold, but this has to change now. However, Andy Yates’s wife threatened me not to get near the boy,” Sam said. “As the defense attorney I do have the right to speak with the witnesses. I’ve been trying to think of a way around that. I’d rather not walk in pulling out the official card, just yet.”

  “Yeah, and we can’t compromise the case in any way,” Jackson said thoughtfully. “But it’s not compromising the case if it’s the law.”

  “It is the law, and I can argue the issue—but only if the prosecution is calling him in. If David Yates is going to be a witness, I can get a court order for the kid to talk to me,” Sam said. “I was hoping not to force the issue, since people talk more easily when they’re not forced to do so. And then there’s this—so far, Malachi has only been accused of the murders of his family. If the prosecutor doesn’t press further charges and doesn’t intend on bringing further charges against Malachi and bring David Yates into court, I won’t have any standing. But, still, I’m hoping I could sway them to drop the prosecution if they can see the other two murders were done by someone other than Malachi. I think that should work.”

  “The kids are always hanging out at the cliff park-that’s-not-really-a-park,” Jenna said. “Maybe I can show Angela the view, and we can hope the boys wind up there.”

  “All right,” Sam said. “You two try the cliff after school. I’ll take Jackson with me. I’ll introduce him to Councilman Yates, then we’ll take a ride over to Beverly. I still think someone at the church Abraham Smith was attending might know something.”

  “You’re forgetting something,” Jenna told him.

  “What’s that?” Sam asked.

  “Samantha Yeager.”

  “Ah, yes, well, we definitely need to have our cards read!” Jackson said.

  After they discussed arrangements to get Sam’s car and get everyone where they needed to be, Sam noticed Jenna seemed to be getting a touch antsy. “What are you going to do before you go to the cliffs?” he asked her suspiciously.

  She arched a brow to him. “Ghost hunt!” she said.

  “Ghost hunt,” he said. “Just like that—ghost hunt. I thought you told me that it wasn’t anything like dial-a-ghost?”

  “It’s not. That’s why it’s hunting,” Jenna said. “Sam, we’re looking at similar crimes in the same place, different times. It might be good to see what we can find that attunes us to a similar energy. Trust me, please, on this.”

  Jamie had already headed for the door. Jackson followed him and Sam started to do the same. Instead, he headed back. “Be careful,” he told Jenna. “Please, be careful.”

  “Hey. FBI agents here, albeit on the weird side!” Angela said cheerfully. “But, just so you know, I was a cop in some tough areas of Virginia.” He nodded.

  “And, honest, I’m capable,” Jenna said, smiling at him.

  He hesitated, longing to walk over and kiss her goodbye. He didn’t quite know how she was feeling about them, at least in front of her team, so he refrained.

  He took a step closer to the two women instead and asked softly, “Jackson?”

  “We refer to him as Mr. Logic,” Angela said. “He has some intuition, but remember, at one time, he was one of the best profilers in the country.”

  “Since it seems you’re looking more the he-man, man’s man variety!” Jenna teased.

  Sam went ahead and walked on out of the house.

  Ghost hunting….

  What the hell had happened since that night he’d found the blood-drenched kid in the road?

  He thought of the night gone by. Of Jenna.

  Whatever it was, he wanted it to keep happening.

  10

  “So, tell me, did you know him before?” Angela demanded, grinning as she turned to look at Jenna, who was doing the driving.

  “Yes. No. Not really. I vaguely remember meeting him when I was young. His mom was a doll. She had Sam, no other children, but I imagine she would have liked to have had a daughter, too. She’d kind of babysit area girls, let us have slumber parties and all at her house, so I saw him there. I think, once before, he yelled at me and I called him a jerk.” She grinned. “He’s still a jerk.”

  “But your jerk now, I take it?” Angela asked.

  “No.”

  “Hmm, I could have sworn… I mean, you were at his house when we got here? Still fairly early in the day… And he’s certainly impressive. Size alone. I mean height and shoulder breadth, of course…”

  “Well, yeah, definitely he’s attractive. I was attracted, and I fought it for a while because of the circumstances, but then I started thinking about moments, and that we really only get moments out of life…but anyway, he’s a high-powered attorney in Boston—who really laughs at the idea that we actually communicate with ghosts—and I love what we do. I think it’s important. I think we’ve saved lives. And I don’t particularly care what kind of car I drive, and I grew up in a household that believed in magic, and…he’s a hard-core New Englander. Practical all the way.”

  “Jackson is practical all the way,” Angela pointed out.

  “True—but Jackson has also had his own experiences, so if he’s not as intuitive, he still knows for a fact that there is more out there. And I’m not trying to date Jackson.”

  “So, in your mind, you’re looking at a dead end,” Angela said.

  “Seriously, where could it go?”

  Angela laughed. “You’ll never know if you don’t look through the forest paths at the end of the road. Whatever. I’ll try to stay out of it. So!” she said, her voice denoting that she was changing the subject. “I’ve been here before, and I’ve done all the touristy things in the center of town. What could we do that lies beyond?”

  “What is now Danvers was once Salem Village,” Jenna said. “Rebecca Nurse lived out there—and her homestead is out there and, actually, it all started out there.”

  “Let’s take a ride,” Angela suggested. “I’d like to reacquaint myself with all this, get a feel for it. Wasn’t Rebecca Nurse supposed to have been a really good person? But was caught up in it really quickly?”

  “She was associated with the wrong family, or that’s the way historians see it. Just because the founders were Puritans didn’t mean they were saintly or that they lacked human emotions—like envy, greed and so on. It wasn’t just that. Remember, these people believed that the devil was very real, and they allowed their fears to take them on a roller-coaster ride.”

  “And that’s what you feel is happening again?”

  “In a way—think about it! Your neighbors have been brutally murdered. That’s damned scary.”

  “Driving through Salem, even in the early hours, it didn’t appear that people were terribly concerned—they were out in droves already, and half of them dressed up for Halloween!”

  “Because they feel safe—Malachi is being held without bond. The devil is locked away.”

  “But we’re looking at modern America. It’s not like people stay indoors at every fright, even without all that,” Angela pointed out.

  “Yes, and it’s a city and area like any other—except that it has a tremendous history that we do take with us into modern America. We learned from the Salem Witch Trials. What I’m saying is that there’s no way yet to prove that Malachi isn’t guilty—the evidence, the solid evidence, points to him,” Jenna said. “I’m just saying that because his family was so different, it was very easy for people to accept the fact that he could be an ax murderer. And I also think that we’re looking at what is human and what has been human since the people first began walking around. Why do the sane commit murder? Passion, greed, anger, love�
�avarice and envy.”

  “And you’re sure you don’t believe this just because you can’t accept that Malachi Smith might be guilty?” Angela asked.

  “You need to meet him. Once you meet him, you’ll understand. I know that you will.”

  She hesitated. “Being emotionally sensitive is a gift we share all share, isn’t it?”

  “Let’s hope,” Angela said.

  They reached the homestead and it was barren and empty, field stretching out in either direction, the house sitting forlorn in the colors of autumn.

  “Damn! I forgot, it’s only open by appointment except for Saturday and Sunday once it reaches this time of year,” Jenna said.

  “Let’s call for an appointment,” Angela suggested.

  “They’ll probably say no.”

  “We won’t know until we try.”

  Jenna pulled out her phone and dialed the number on the sign. To her surprise, the friendly woman at the other end of the line agreed to meet them. While they waited, they stood outside the car and looked on at the structure.

  “She must have been a truly sympathetic character,” Angela commented.

  “They deemed her innocent at first, but the girls put on another show, and she was questioned again. She was mostly deaf, and didn’t answer the questions quickly enough, or misinterpreted or something, and she was then condemned. I’m still in awe that their faith was so strong that they wouldn’t tell a lie to save their lives—those who confessed were saved through prayer, I guess. They paid the bill for being held—for their room and board, and for their shackles—and those who didn’t die in prison were eventually freed. I’d always imagined jail cells or a prison such as we see today, when I was a kid. But they were kept together, and their beds were mats on the floor. A number of the victims died while they were being held.”

  Looking across the expanse of property that surrounded the homestead, Jenna suddenly frowned. She pointed. “There’s someone there.”

  “Where?”