Heather Graham Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 4

by Heather Graham

  Inside, he was directed to an office, where Bari Macaby was waiting for him.

  “Agent Mahoney, I wish I could help!” she said, standing to shake his hand and indicating a chair in front of her desk. “That this happened here—Well, we’re just horrified. I’ve spent hours with the police. I don’t know if there’s anything else I can possibly say.

  “I did get Mr. Highsmith a snack. I manage the place, and I’m not usually involved with service situations related to our clients, but...I was a fan,” she told him, blushing slightly. “I don’t even live in New York City, but I was convinced that Richard Highsmith would’ve been elected—and his next step would’ve been the governor’s mansion or the senate, and then, who knows? He might have gone all the way to the top.” She sighed. “As you can tell, I was a huge fan.”

  “I’m sure Richard appreciated your feelings, Ms. Macaby,” Aidan said. She sounded very sincere. Dressed for efficiency in a pantsuit, she was a slender woman and appeared to be in her mid-fifties. Her hair was iron-gray and neatly tied back. She looked very natural, proud of her age and wearing it beautifully.

  He had a feeling she spent much of her free time hiking or perhaps at a gym.

  “Richard,” she repeated. “The way you say that, you knew him, Agent Mahoney?”

  “Richard and I grew up in the area. Yes, I knew him.”

  “Oh, you grew up here! Lucky man. I escaped the city to come here about ten years ago, once my children had moved on and my husband...well, he moved on, too. The city’s exciting but it’s filled with crime—nightly muggings, murder, rape. Here, bad things just don’t happen at an hourly rate. In fact, they seldom happen at all.” Tears welled up in her eye. “And now...this.”

  He nodded sympathetically. “Ms. Macaby, the last time you saw Richard, he was in the greenroom, right?”

  “Oh, yes, he was a man who asked for so little! He wanted tea, and cheese and crackers. I was happy to get them for him.”

  “When you went to the greenroom to inquire about what he wanted, he was with Taylor Branch?”

  “Yes. Mr. Branch and Ms. Durfey. They were going over some last-minute notes on the speech. Jillian had her clipboard and she was about to do the initial sound check.” She sat back, sighing. “That little girl! They say she was charged with the murders!”

  “Evidence was found that indicated she might have been at least involved,” Aidan said carefully.

  “According to the press, chloroform was found in the bodies. And there was chloroform in her room.”

  “That’s right.”

  “If you have her, I’m a bit confused. What else can I give you?”

  “She swears she was framed. And, admittedly, the chloroform is circumstantial evidence,” Aidan said. He steered the conversation back to the greenroom. “So, Taylor Branch and Jillian Durfey were in the room when you went in there. You found out what Richard wanted—and you brought it to him?”

  “Yes. Well, I brought it to the greenroom. There was no one present when I came in with the tray. I called out to him, assuming he was in the restroom. Then I was sure of it because I heard him answer me. I left the food and went back to my office.”

  “You heard him answer you. Are you certain it was Richard?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Absolutely certain?”

  She stared at him, unblinking.

  “It had to be him. Mr. Branch and Ms. Durfey had gone. They were checking the sound system.”

  “You knew that because?”

  “That’s where they said they were going. And I’m sure—Yes, I saw them there when I went out to the stage.”

  “Yes, but was that right afterward?”

  She hesitated.

  “You told the police it was right after you’d dropped off the tray in the greenroom, Ms. Macaby. Is that accurate? Or could there have been a few minutes in there?” Aidan asked.

  “Agent Mahoney, I’m not a liar!” she said.

  “I didn’t suggest that. But, trust me, it’s easy to forget that we might have been distracted—checked on something else, slipped outside for a cigarette.”

  She turned a million shades of purple. “I...I don’t smoke!” It had just been a suggestion. He could as easily have said that she’d gone for a soda or a cup of coffee for herself.

  But he hadn’t—and she’d given herself away.

  “That’s it, isn’t it? You stepped out for a cigarette?”

  She seemed to explode. “Oh, but I don’t smoke! I really don’t. I’d quit. But there was so much pressure, what with the size of the audience and the fact that he might’ve been a future president and I...I was gone less than five minutes. I really did quit. I just needed a few puffs to calm my nerves, you know?”

  “Can you show me where you went?” he asked her.

  “What?”

  “Where’s the hideaway? You didn’t go out where others go out, did you? You wouldn’t have wanted them to see you.”

  She stood up, looking a little ill. “Did I mess up the investigation? Could you have saved them?”

  “No, Ms. Macaby. The fact that you slipped out that night wouldn’t have changed the course of events. It was all set in motion so that everyone would be looking for Richard while he was being killed. What you did or didn’t do wouldn’t have changed anything. But you can help now.”

  She nodded. “This way. And God forgive me!” she muttered.

  She escorted him around the convention center main stage and past the side entrances. The greenroom was at the far end. Aidan asked Bari Macaby to wait for a moment as he searched it.

  The room was set up with three mirrored stations, a counter, refrigerator and microwave. A sofa grouping was arranged around a coffee table that held all kinds of magazines. There was a workstation with computer access. Toward the rear was a small hallway. One side offered a men’s room and the other side a ladies’.

  He went into the men’s room. There was one stall as well as two urinals and a counter with sinks and a mirror. He wasn’t sure why he paused there, but he decided that he’d come back with a Krewe member and try to figure out what it was about the greenroom that disturbed him.

  There was only one entrance, which led out to the hall.

  He rejoined Bari and she took him to the stage door. There was easy access to the stage just outside it. She pointed out that when an event was going on, velvet ropes prevented visitors or attendees from reaching this area; the doors to the actual auditorium, the seating for the performances or events, were closer to the main entrance.

  “And here...well, just out here...is my little escape hatch,” Bari said.

  It was another ten feet down from the entrance to the greenroom. A short hallway brought them to a door marked Emergency Exit Only.

  “I key in the code so the alarm doesn’t go off,” Bari explained.

  She did that and opened the door. They stepped outside.

  Her smoking niche was dark, despite the brightness of the autumn sun. It was well hidden from the rear—where the deliveries were made—and the parking lot, which extended to the far left of the property. It was almost like a private foyer.

  A person standing here could see what was going on at the back—and in the parking area.

  Had Richard left this way? With or without someone else? Or had he been drugged inside the building—and then pulled or carried out? Possibly—and was this woman suspect? She definitely knew about this more-or-less hidden exit.

  “Thank you, Ms. Macaby. Is there an event scheduled for tonight?”

  “We’d had a rock star who was supposed to do a show tonight, but the police asked that we hold off for at least another three days. Of course, our employees and the venue are being hit hard, but, under the circumstances...”

  “Thank you. I need to
make arrangements to get in here later. I do that with you?”

  “I’ll see that you have every access you need,” she promised him.

  She took him back through the convention center and to her office, where she gave him keys and codes so that he and the Krewe could come in at night.

  “Oh, Agent Mahoney?”

  “Yes?”

  “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

  “Tell them what?” he asked.

  She flushed again. “That I was smoking. I mean, it’s on my insurance forms that I don’t now, and...”

  “I won’t say a word.” When he left, he observed the parking lot again. Suddenly anxious, he put through a call to Will, who told him the Krewe were assembled at the hotel. Taylor Branch and Jillian Durfey, now released on bail, had returned to their rooms. Taylor had assured the police—voluntarily—that they didn’t plan on leaving the city until the real murderer of Richard Highsmith was discovered. Richard’s death, he’d stated in a press interview, was more than just a murder, it was a crime against the people of the United States.

  “It’s a regular love-fest here,” Will said dryly. “Logan’s gone up to speak with Branch. Logan is good at getting people to talk because he makes them feel he’s on their side. So, it looks like we’re hunkered down here for a while.”

  “We’ll need some extra help tonight,” Aidan told him. “Keeping track of everything. I’d really like to get our Krewe to the convention center.”

  “Van Camp and Voorhaven are at the vault, trying to put together what went on there. I’m sure they’ll arrange all the police help we need.”

  “I’m on my way to see them,” Aidan said.

  He ended the call and keyed the ignition of his car. He hesitated before driving off; instead, he dialed Mo Deauville’s number.

  Her phone just rang. He felt a surge of unease.

  But then, on the seventh ring, she picked up.

  “Just checking in,” he said.

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Did you get some sleep?” he asked.

  “Several hours, actually. You?”

  “Ah, yeah, thanks.” He cleared his throat. “I’m heading out to join Detectives Voorhaven and Van Camp at the vault,” he said. “And, at some point, I’m going to go see J.J. at the hospital.”

  “I was planning on going to see him, too,” she said. “I told him I’d bring Rollo.”

  “Yeah, I remember. Wait for me. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go together.”

  “I have to be back here for about five. I’m working the Haunted Mausoleum again,” she said. “Wow. Does it ever seem strange to say that today?”

  “Give me a couple of hours.” He glanced at his watch. It was 1:00 p.m. “I’ll come by around three.”

  “Okay.”

  It was important that he keep her in on this. As he’d seen, and as he’d told her, she had something. She might well have the ability to get to Richard—even if he didn’t.

  His Krewe was here. While he hadn’t wanted to be part of it, he knew that the group he was working with was reputed to be special. They might be referred to as ghostbusters, but they solved cases where others failed.

  Maybe they were a lot like Mo.

  And him.

  He needed to stop lying to himself.

  He should just sit down with the group and tell them he knew what they had, what made them different—and that he understood why they’d thought he’d be a good fit for them. And yet he believed he just didn’t have it anymore himself. He needed one of them to try and discover the truth of the situation—through the dead.

  Then he could leave Mo Deauville alone.

  The problem was, he realized, he didn’t want to leave her alone.

  * * *

  Mo had barely hung up the phone when Candy came running to her. “Mo, come quick!”

  Candy was on her way to the front door, and Mo ran after her. Candy went right through the door.

  Mo shook her head and opened it to follow her out, the dog at her heels. He woofed and pushed through ahead of her.

  Just outside, Mo paused.

  Her Confederate colonel, Daniel Parker, was on the lawn. He seemed pale and ethereal in the bright light of day, but she could still see him clearly.

  And she could see the man he was standing with!

  Richard Highsmith.

  Daniel pointed at the house—and at Mo. The other man nodded. Daniel made a motion that Richard should join him.

  He did.

  He walked toward Mo, and he seemed to marvel as he realized she could see him. He came forward offering his hand, then let it fall.

  “Ms. Deauville.” His voice was raspy and yet faint. Like a ripple on the wind. He was still learning how to make himself heard—to those who could hear him.

  “Mo,” she said, “Mr. Highsmith, I do see you. Please don’t be afraid to come to me. I’m trying to help. Your friend Aidan is up here, hunting for your killer. If I can be a go-between, that’s wonderful. If I can tell him anything—”

  “I don’t know what happened,” he broke in. “One minute I was standing, the next I was not. And then it seemed that I was removed from my body and I was in darkness. And I...”

  He was fading. “I can’t!” he whispered. “I need to...I’ll come back,” he told her in dismay.

  He was gone.

  “He’s having a very difficult time adjusting, learning,” Candy said, compassion in her voice.

  Daniel was back by her side. “You forget, my love, we’ve had many years to gather strength and to learn.”

  “He sucks as a ghost,” Candy muttered.

  “Candy, my dear—such a manner of speech!” Daniel shook his head disapprovingly.

  “My love, we must keep up with the decades!” she said.

  Daniel let out a sigh. “My belief is that we should retain what is best in each decade and allow what is not fine or eloquent to slip away. I’m sorry, Mo. I thought I had breached the gap, that I had gotten him to come forward for you.”

  “You did, Daniel,” she assured him. “He’ll come back. And I won’t waste any time when he does. I’ll be ready with the right questions.”

  She called Rollo, who had decided to roll in the leaves for a while. He was coated in autumn’s colors when he ran up to her.

  “Rollo!” she chastised softly, dusting the leaves from his coat. “I’m going to give you a good brushing and dress you up in your best service-dog coat. You have a little boy who’s lost his mother to visit today.”

  Rollo wagged his tail happily.

  She looked around, feeling oddly uncomfortable. The wind had picked up, creating an eerie whistle in the trees. Mo and Rollo went inside and closed the door, then carefully locked it.

  There was no danger out there; Rollo would have let her know. But she was anxious for Agent Mahoney to come and get her.

  Strange, she reflected. She wasn’t afraid of being painted up as a ghost to walk around an old mausoleum all night—and yet she was unnerved in her own cottage, a place she loved.

  Yes, that was it. She was nervous about everything that was going on, all the unexplained events, so she wanted to see him.

  No, that wasn’t it at all.

  She just wanted to see him.

  * * *

  The vines had been pulled away from the old vault entrance and the heavy brass and lichen-covered door had been fully opened. Rigging had been set up for lights to flood the interior of the vault.

  When Aidan arrived, crime scene workers were still taking out whatever small specks or fibers could prove to be evidence.

  Van Camp and Voorhaven stood in front of the tomb, watching the proceedings.

  Voorhaven greeted Aidan with a friendly handshak
e. “Hey, glad you’re here. I sketched a diagram of what the vault looked like before they took out the hatchet and the knife, scraped off the blood and collected any hair and fiber they could find. Naturally, Van Camp and I went through first in booties to try to reconstruct what happened. I’ve also included the outside environs. Can I show you what I’ve done?”

  “Of course.” As he spoke, the head of the forensics unit, introduced to Aidan as Gina Mason, stopped by to tell him and the detectives that her people had finished.

  “They’ll send someone to clean up the blood. Not that anyone should be in this old place, anyway, but we don’t want to create a possible health hazard,” she told them. “But, Detectives, Agent, you’re free to try out more theories.”

  “Did you get anything promising? A cigarette butt, a thread, a hair?” Aidan asked her.

  “Hair. Plenty of it on the altar. Where the heads were hacked off. I believe, however, that we’ll discover that the murderer was aware of what we’d be looking for, since he wore gloves. Maybe even a snood to protect his own hair—or, hell, maybe he shaved himself bald. Not a button, a cigarette butt or even old beer cans. College kids didn’t get in here for frat night or anything—so there’s no unrelated evidence. That should make it a little easier for us. The killer left the hatchet and the knife. That’s it. I’ll report on them as soon as I can.”

  Aidan nodded. “Thank you.”

  “I hope we can help!” she said. “I really hope we can help.”

  She waved goodbye and walked to her truck.

  Van Camp turned to Aidan. “I think the kid here has done a good job with that sketch,” he said.

  Voorhaven looked at Van Camp and then at Aidan. “The kid? Lee just has to refer to me as ‘the kid’? Old man, I’m thirty-three,” he said. The “old man” was said teasingly. Aidan could see that the two partners cared about each other and despite Jimmy Voorhaven’s initial hostility to the FBI’s moving in, he wanted to be a good cop.

  “Hey.” Aidan grinned at Van Camp. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t mind being a kid again. And when a job’s done right, doesn’t matter how old someone is.”