He just stared.
Next go-around, Bryan watched Grayson Adair.
The minute the sword struck at Cara, he leaped out of his chair and backed away.
Bryan switched views on the computer, finding the video that showed Malcolm Dangerfield.
Dangerfield had stood, naturally, when he’d seen the commotion going on. His expression seemed to change from curiosity to shock.
Of course, they were all actors...playing roles?
Sophie popped her head in the doorway. “Any luck?”
He looked up at her. “Who is the actual best actor in the group?” he asked her.
“Pardon?”
“Dark Harbor—and let’s throw in Malcolm Dangerfield. And even our boy in lockup, David Neal. Vince Carlton.”
“Carlton is a producer.”
“Hey, we’re all actors at times.”
“Well, in my mind, Marnie is the best. There’s emoting—and there’s emotion. Malcolm is the hottest and in a number of pretty amazing shows...but he’s Malcolm. Beautiful and a personality. Um...Grayson was always fine in his role. I don’t think I’ve seen him do much else. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with someone like Vince Carlton. There’s acting—and there’s lying. Part of all the games, I believe. David Neal is a wild card—and still here. Though, I’m not sure we’re going to get away with keeping him. He’s called for an attorney. He’s working on getting out. Who did I miss? Roberta. Lovely woman. Hard, though. The kind of hard that might succeed, but...but I don’t see her becoming someone we consider the best actress that’s out today or anything like that.”
Bryan nodded, watching the gruesome murder one more time.
“Did I help any?” Sophie asked.
“I don’t like David Neal,” he said. “But...there’s just no way he had access to Jeremy Highsmith’s lunch.”
“Stunt double,” Sophie said. “Oh, wait, I don’t think that stage managers get stunt doubles. Well, Jeremy Highsmith wasn’t exactly poisoned, but the drugs he was given were like poison—to him. So, I’d say someone who knew him, knew his age, general health... Poisoning is a woman’s thing traditionally. Though we can’t go by tradition anymore.”
Bryan rose, still staring at the computer, thoughtful. “Thanks, Sophie.” He put through a call to Marnie.
She described the call she had received from Grayson—the conference call.
“What do you think?” he asked her.
“What do I think?” she repeated. “I think I’m angry, really angry. I don’t know what is going on, who it is who wants what. But two of my friends are dead. A hired killer was vicious—Cara was killed so brutally. Then the hired killer was shot. And now Jeremy... This killer is a chameleon, always changing. Almost as if he—or she—is always taking on new roles. Bryan, we have to catch him, stop this—because if not, nothing will ever be safe. I’m angry. I want to do it. I want to go to Horror-palooza, and I want to believe that somewhere, somehow, the killer is going to show his hand. I want to have a grand show where Cara and Jeremy are honored. They want it...or so their ghosts say. Ghosts. Crazy. It’s all crazy. Crazy to do it. But you’ll be with me, right?”
“I’ll be with you,” he vowed.
He looked at Sophie. “We’re on for tomorrow,” he said.
“I’ll talk to Vining. We’ll have a massive police presence to back up your team.”
Five minutes later, Bryan was out of the police station door, headed to the duplex.
There was a patrol car in front of the house. The officer waved to him.
All the lights were low inside, but when he reached the door, Jackson was there to open it, George at his side.
“Midnight, and all is well,” Jackson said drily.
“Marnie?”
“In bed.”
Bryan gave George a good pat on the head and then headed down the hall. He quietly opened the door.
The room was dim, only the television granting it light.
Marnie was awake, seated on the bed, wrapped in a throw blanket. She was watching footage of Jeremy Highsmith’s life.
“I just had no idea they were having an affair,” she said. “They were both friends of mine, and I didn’t even notice.”
“They didn’t want to be noticed.” He walked over in front of the television, afraid that she would grow morose. He tried to turn the television off smoothly. He had such a great line to give her.
I do want to be noticed!
But it was a new TV, a smart TV, and he couldn’t find a button anywhere.
Marnie laughed; she had the remote control. The television went off. In the pitch dark he heard her rise and come to him.
Under the throw she was naked. She walked into his arms. He inhaled the sweet scents of her soap and shampoo and something that was clean and erotic and all Marnie. She came up onto her toes, kissing his lips with a haunting tease.
He caught her by the shoulder. “Careful... I could be falling in love.”
“What do you call it when you’ve already crashed hard?” she whispered.
He hiked her up, and they fell onto the bed together.
His lips found hers, and then they traveled down her naked length.
He murmured against her flesh.
“Yes... I’ve already crashed,” she whispered. He smiled, rising against her, and they both struggled with his clothing. Then he held her tight against him, feeling her warm skin against his body.
Yes, he’d crashed, too.
There was no going back.
16
There was no way to watch. No way to simply stare at a house and imagine...
The cops were on them all like a swarm of locusts.
But that didn’t matter. He wouldn’t let it matter. Because, all in all—as he had often imagined, as well—the cops were all idiots. Cops! That included the FBI agents—and that PI. They were all the same. They thought they knew people. They thought that they had forensics on their side and that they’d figure it all out.
Sometimes...
You just didn’t get any evidence.
He smiled.
Hell, the Zodiac Killer was still out there.
He wondered to himself if—when it was all over—he’d want to keep going. Strange how this had started with one obsession and escalated into another.
He had discovered that he loved killing. The way it made him feel...better than alcohol, better than any drug. Better than sex. But kind of like sex or the best sex in the world combined with alcohol and the most amazing drugs.
Still, there was an agenda.
And tomorrow...
He sighed softly. He’d originally planned for the set... Yes, what a fitting place for beautiful Marnie to die—right over a tombstone.
But that wasn’t going to work.
There was another place that would be just fine.
Oh! The anticipation was too much!
Tomorrow it would all be over.
* * *
It might have been said that the stage was set.
They were back at Horror-palooza. Malcolm still had his own booth across the room, but when the time was right, he’d be joining the cast at the Dark Harbor table.
Bryan didn’t think that it would be possible to have more protection. Security officers lined the convention hall; police presence was doubled.
The FBI had plainclothes people walking the floor.
Angela and Jackson were positioned on either side of the Dark Harbor table. He was behind Marnie.
Sean and Madison were out on the floor near the Dark Harbor table, watching people, watching for anything strange. Bridget was staying close to them but wandering off now and then.
Madison followed Bridget. She would be safe. Madison hadn’t gone through the academy, but she was with Sean—and she had le
arned to be savvy when she’d nearly died herself, during the murders at the Black Box Theater.
The morning brought more people than anyone might have ever imagined.
They had barely begun the day, however, when Sophie Manning came back to where Bryan was standing, looking grim.
“He’s out,” she said.
“What?”
“David Neal is out. I don’t know what the hell happened exactly, but once he lawyered up, we had no proof. His confession, according to his attorney, was coerced. By a nonpolice officer.”
“Me.”
“I’ve warned the convention staff. His picture has been given to security at every entrance.”
Bryan swore.
Sophie apologized again.
“We will catch him, if he so much as steps a toe in here,” she vowed.
Bryan gritted his teeth and prayed that she was right. But while he’d considered the man a scumbag, he didn’t think that he’d committed the murders.
Nothing to do but get through the day.
The organizers had been true to their word—the purpose was to honor Cara Barton and Jeremy Highsmith, and those in power were doing so. Giant screens throughout the lofty convention center showed scenes from Dark Harbor. Jeremy searching the dark woods and the cemetery for his children. Cara being the mom, demanding that they finish dinner before heading out to slay a vampire clan.
Fans thronged the cast.
Grayson Adair, on Marnie’s left, turned to Bryan, beaming.
Thank you, he mouthed.
Bryan nodded. He’d like the man if he hadn’t been such an ass just the day before.
Right at noon there was an announcement over the PA system. Bryan, up on the dais where the Dark Harbor table had been set, could see over the crowd that Malcolm Dangerfield was speaking. He asked that there be a moment of silence for Cara Barton, whose killer was still at large, and for Jeremy Highsmith, who they had just lost.
Someone came running toward the Dark Harbor table.
Bryan almost tackled the person—he hadn’t expected the running.
It was just one of the show people bringing Marnie a microphone.
She took it and stood, asking the crowd to remember Cara and Jeremy for their contributions to entertainment. She went on to tell everyone that in their later years, the two had discovered that they were in love with one another. They were, at least, together.
The crowd wildly applauded.
Marnie thanked them all.
It was then that Bryan saw Cara Barton’s ghost. She wasn’t alone. She was with Jeremy. It was the first time he’d seen Jeremy, but watching him with Cara, he knew that what Jeremy and Cara had told Marnie had been the truth. In the end, they’d been in love.
The two were delighted with the tribute.
Cara blew kisses to Marnie.
She and Jeremy both turned to the crowd and bowed low, again and again, as if they could be seen by the horde of people at the show.
And then the applause died.
And people moved on.
Right after noon, Roberta yawned and complained that she was hungry.
“But I’m afraid to eat,” she said. Their line hadn’t diminished once throughout the day.
“That’s fine. We’ll get you lunch, stop the line and bring it here!” the young man who was one of their convention reps said.
“I’m not eating anything from here,” Grayson murmured.
“We’re covered,” Bryan told him. “The cops will bring you food.” He raised a hand and caught Jackson’s attention. The FBI field director nodded and found one of the uniforms on the floor.
Lunch had been prearranged.
“Can’t wait!” Roberta said.
She drew a protein bar from her bag and proceeded to munch on it.
Their food came; the line was duly stopped for thirty minutes. Marnie looked back at Bryan.
“Aren’t you tired of standing?” she whispered.
He smiled. “Nope,” he said. It was a lie, of course. He could stand all day—didn’t mean he wasn’t getting one hell of a crick in his neck.
Finally, the closing of the day was announced. People lingered in the Dark Harbor line. They had been waiting patiently, and they weren’t leaving.
They had almost reached the last person when Roberta Alan suddenly stood, letting out a fierce cry of pain. She toppled over onto the table.
Bryan immediately sprang into action, drawing Marnie from her chair and shielding her with his own body. Jackson was at Roberta’s side, shouting for 9-1-1.
“No!” Marnie cried, trying to reach Roberta. Bryan held her tight.
“Jackson has this. The cops have it. Help is coming.”
“How, Bryan? How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Poisoned! She was poisoned. Oh, my God! The cops poisoned her!” Grayson cried.
Those who had been in line were now panicking, running out.
They became a mob—terrified of the police.
Grayson Adair was screaming and gasping that he had to get out.
“I’ll get him!” Angela said.
“Don’t touch me!” Grayson shouted. “The cops are dirty—the cops are dirty! Oh, God, I might be poisoned, too!”
Chaos was reigning.
There was a plan for an escape, if necessary. Bryan already knew where he was going.
“Come on,” he told Marnie.
“Bridget!” she said. “Where’s Bridget?”
The question was quickly answered. “There’s an exit to the far left. We can get out that way!” Bridget cried, rushing over to Marnie.
“We go this way!” he commanded.
He led them both behind their table and to the back of the convention center, racing along the wall to the exit.
The door—and a host of police—was just about a hundred feet away.
What the hell had happened? The police had brought the food. He just couldn’t believe that they were involved in any way—logic didn’t allow for it; the things that had happened didn’t fit.
They were almost to the exit.
And then...he saw him.
Blood-bone.
And then there was another one. And another... Three, four Blood-bones. More...
He caught hold of Marnie and stopped her, thrusting her behind him. “Go! Get the hell out, go!” he said.
Drawing his gun, he headed toward the Blood-bones, shouting, “Drop it! Drop your swords right now!”
To his amazement, the Blood-bones did so.
“Whoa,” one of them called out.
Bryan strode to him, ripping off the mask.
To his surprise, he saw a young man. A kid. No more than eighteen. He knew damned well that he’d never seen him before.
He went from Blood-bone to Blood-bone, ripping off masks.
“I’m not here to hurt anyone!” the first kid said. “I swear.”
“None of us are!” another shouted.
“It’s a show—it’s just a show!” the third Blood-bone said.
“This costume was banned.” Bryan’s voice sounded like a roar in his own ears.
“Yeah, yeah, I know, but I have college next fall,” the first kid said. “Some dude—a talent scout—called and offered us five hundred bucks apiece to wear Blood-bone outfits for an hour and just stand here. I swear, I—”
Bryan turned away from the kid.
Marnie was gone.
* * *
Marnie was chasing Bridget.
The moment the Blood-bone troop had appeared, Bridget had cried, “Oh, my God,” her voice filled with absolute panic. “We have to get out of here,” she’d said urgently to Marnie. “We can hide in the cave!”
“No!” Marnie had shouted.
Too
late. Her cousin had already disappeared behind the doors—guarded by a pair of skeletons and adorned with a plaque reading Surrender All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here!
She might be giving up all hope, but Marnie had no choice but to follow Bridget.
“Bridget, you idiot, please,” she cried. “This isn’t a good place to be!”
And it sure as hell wasn’t.
The convention staff seemed to have gone. The fabrications and mannequins and tableaux remained.
Which path had Bridget taken?
Marnie started down one walkway.
She found herself in Victorian London. Gas lamps had been fashioned—they were just battery-operated candles in period reproduction pieces, she knew. Still, they had their effect.
She went under a sign that read Mitre Square.
She tried to remember. Yes, one of Jack the Ripper’s victims had been found there.
Catherine someone. Like most other people, she had read about Jack the Ripper, but right now facts were eluding her.
She turned a corner and jumped. Two people—No, two mannequins in clothing from the period were leaned against a brick wall, huddled together.
They were absolutely excellent.
Madison Darvil might have created something like them, something like this scene...
“Bridget?” she called softly.
Something moved near her.
Marnie wanted to shout her cousin’s name.
She didn’t dare. She kept inching forward. She came around another corner. Carefully.
She drew back, her scream catching in her throat.
Jack the Ripper stood before her, a knife raised high in his hand. He was in a Victorian frock coat, a medical bag in his other hand, a top hat on his head.
He whirled around to greet her.
* * *
Bryan swore, looking down the path they’d taken. They were gone, just gone.
Bridget and Marnie. The two of them. Suddenly he had a flash of insight.
Two of them. There had been two killers. One, of course, was alpha, planning it all out. But that would allow for details like David Neal spiking Marnie’s tea while his coconspirator had been the one to see to it that Jeremy Highsmith had been “poisoned” with an erectile dysfunction drug.
His phone rang, and he answered it urgently.
Fade to Black Page 27
