The three girls clung to the shadows draping the walls, then crept through the cobwebs and pumpkins and papier-mâché ghosts.
“Do you think he’s been here?” Judy whispered.
“You know he has,” JJ replied. “I mean, how could he not? That’s where they found the first one. It’s probably why they’ve shut it down.”
“Shhhh,” Tiffany said. “We can’t stay long. Mrs. Cross will miss us. I just wanted a little souvenir. Maybe get my picture taken in the graveyard.”
They were wearing matching uniforms, V-neck sweaters and short pleated skirts, both in orange and black. They were all three teenagers, all three blond, all decked out in makeup and sports bras.
“All right,” Tiffany said, passing a palm-size metallic object to JJ. “Here’s my Advantix. Take me on the porch with the graveyard in the background. I’m going to try to look scared. Does this look scared?”
“More like you’re having an orgasm.”
Tiffany knocked her on the shoulder. “You whoredog.”
“I’m not a whoredog.”
“Are.”
Not much of the haunted house façade was left. The hotel appeared to be in the process of creating a new decorating scheme.
“Stop!” she hissed. “Did you hear something?”
They sneaked back into the shadows, stopped, listened intently. JJ wished she had thought to bring a flashlight as well as a camera. The atmospheric darkness, while useful for avoiding detection, became oppressive when she suspected someone else was in the room.
Suddenly, just at the edge of her peripheral vision, Tiffany saw a flicker of movement.
“Over there!” she hissed.
The others turned just in time to see the approach of a slight dark figure, hair wild, arms waving, running toward them. “Nevermore!” he bellowed.
The girls screamed. “It’s him! It’s him!”
One after the other they ran toward the front door-only to find it securely locked. They pounded with their fists, but it would not budge, and no one came to their aid.
They could see him more clearly now. He was wearing a black waistcoat with a ribbon tie. He had a small mustache and a furrowed brow and eyes that peered at them like daggers. He spoke again, an evil smile playing on his lips. “ ‘Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary…’ ”
“Help! Please! Someone!”
The dark figure held his arms over his head like a monster and shouted: “Boo!”
And then he began to laugh.
A moment or two later, the girls stopped pounding. They stared at the formerly menacing figure, now prostrate on the floor, giggling at them.
“S-S-So-you-thought-” It was difficult for him to speak, he was laughing so hard. “You thought I was the guy?”
JJ felt foolish and annoyed. “Well, you look like him.”
“And how would you know what he looks like?”
“You’ve got that whole Poe thing going on.”
“Ah. That would be a clever disguise.” He pushed himself up off the floor, brushing the seat of his pants. “My name is Elliot Barnes. I’m an actor. I used to work here till they shut down the Poe display. And you are…?”
With some reluctance, JJ introduced herself and her two friends. “We’re here for a cheerleading competition. We had some spare time, and we’re not old enough to gamble, so we thought…”
“That you’d come see where the first body was found? The parking lot where Dr. Spencer was kidnapped?” He shook his head. “Rather morbid bit of spectating.”
“But this story is huge! And it started right here,” Tiffany said. “It’s all they talk about on the news!”
“And isn’t that a sorry statement. On a slow news week a celebrity hangnail could command national attention.”
JJ cleared her throat. “Can you tell us why they’re shutting down this room? I think it’s kinda cool.”
“Well, after the body was found here, it seemed in bad taste, even by Vegas standards. There was some thought of simply eliminating the graveyard, but now, with all the attention this case has been getting, Poe has lost his fun factor. We’re going to remodel the room. This haunted house will become the cathedral Notre Dame de Paris. Should be ready by Halloween.”
“Bitchin’.”
The man stopped, tilted his head, looked at her strangely. “Would you mind saying that again?”
JJ gave him a look. “Why?”
“Humor me.”
“Oooo-kayyy.” She glanced at her friends and shrugged. “Bitchin’.”
“Perfect delivery.” He snapped his fingers. “Has anyone ever told you that you resemble Britney Spears?”
“Me?” She pressed her hand against her chest. “No.”
“I’m surprised. Are you familiar with our Legends show? It’s an impersonator gig. They’re all the rage right now-hotter than the buffets. Everybody’s got one, but ours is the best. We’ve been looking for a Britney Spears.”
“Serious?”
“Dead. If you’re interested, I could set up an audition.”
She hesitated. “I can’t sing all that well.”
“You don’t have to. We play records-all you do is move your lips. Well, for a Britney Spears show, I suppose you move everything. But you don’t sing.”
“I can dance,” JJ said, bubbling. “I’m a cheerleader. I know how to move.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
“What do you think, girlfriends?” She turned to her cohorts, then back to him. “You got any parts for my friends?”
“I can’t guarantee anything. But Britney usually performs with backup dancers, doesn’t she?”
“Cool! What would I have to do?”
“Just audition.” He handed her a card. “Here’s my address. If you could come by tonight around midnight-”
JJ’s brow furrowed. “Is this your place?”
“Yes. I just moved in. Why?”
JJ stared at the card pensively. “I don’t know… I’m not sure I’d feel right going to a stranger’s house alone. I mean, I’m sure you’re a nice guy and all, but what with… you know. All that’s been going on.”
“I can assure you I’m perfectly safe.”
“Oh, yeah, sure, but-”
“I’m not really Edgar Allan Poe, you know. I just play one on TV.”
She giggled. “Well… could we all come? Together?”
He clasped his hands together. “I think that would be lovely. Strength in numbers, right?” He beamed. “I have a very good feeling about this audition. I have something marvelous to show you.”
“Freeze!”
The girls jumped. From behind the crumbling haunted house façade, a man in a uniform came running toward them.
“Elliot, you’re under arrest.”
The man in the Poe getup threw up his arms. “Damn! What are you doing here?”
“Protecting these foolish young ladies from you.” He grabbed the man’s wrists and handcuffed him. “Hotel security, ladies.”
Judy took two steps backward. “But-doesn’t he work here?”
“No, he doesn’t, and if you don’t mind my saying so, miss, you were foolish to think he did just because he’s in a Poe getup. I’ve been listening, waiting until he solicited an illicit rendezvous with minors. This man is a known exhibitionist.”
“A-what?”
“He had something marvelous to show you, all right. But it wouldn’t have gotten you a part in a show.”
JJ gulped air. “Oh, geez, yuck. I feel so stupid.”
“You should. Do you girls understand that there is a sadistic killer on the loose in this town? This isn’t the time to go sneaking away from your teachers to see if you can get a souvenir from a crime scene. Young women are being tortured and killed. And the way you were acting, you could well have been next on the list.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Tiffany jumped in. “We weren’t thinking.”
“Yeah,” Judy said. “We’ll go back wher
e we’re supposed to be. We promise.”
“As if that was worth anything.” He pushed his arrestee toward the door. “You just stick with me, young ladies. I’ll drop him off at our holding facility. And then I will personally escort you back to your sponsor.”
“You don’t have to do that. We can just-”
“With all due respect, miss, I’m not offering you a choice. I’m in charge of security here, and the hotel doesn’t need any more young corpses turning up. You’re sticking with me.”
Tiffany gazed at him with admiration. “He’s right. He’s got a job to do. Let’s go with him, girls.”
They followed the guard out of the ballroom.
The irony, he realized, a few minutes later as he led them out to his truck, was that all the publicity about the mad Poe killer had made it not tougher but easier to obtain offerings. When people are afraid, they put their trust in authority figures. A little too much so, as it turned out.
He could hardly contain his delight. This was so perfect, and so much simpler. Why not do all three at once? Now that he knew the truth, knew all the secrets, everything was so clearer. But those cheerleader outfits would have to go. Garish colors, preposterously provocative short skirts, even matching colored underwear. They looked more like streetwalkers than schoolchildren. Shocking. And the makeup would have to come off, all of it. The jewelry. And God knows, the studs. He just hoped none of them had tattoos. That could be time-consuming. And painful.
He smiled with the sweet contentment of a man who enjoys his work, who knows that his endeavors are worthwhile. There was so much to be done. So much wonderful work to be done.
The Raven never rests.
“We’re not going to find him, are we?”
It was two in the morning, and I suppose Patrick was tired of humoring me. “Did you think we would?”
No. Of course not. Catch a killer before he strikes when you haven’t got the who or what or where, only a deadly certainty that it will happen? Not likely. But I needed to try. If there was any chance of preventing a girl from experiencing what that man did to me, I had to try.
“We can pack it in,” I said, trying to be charitable. “If you want.”
“I can take it as long as you can,” he replied. “I’m a fed, you know. We’re invincible.”
“I’ve heard that. But I’ve never had a chance to prove it.”
“You came damn close the other night.”
Ouch. Me and my smart mouth.
I looked out the window again, searching for some basis-any basis-to change the subject. Barry Friedman, my favorite comic, was playing at the Excalibur. What a treat that would be. Put all this misery aside and just laugh for a while. But I knew that wasn’t an option. Didn’t matter where I sat-I wouldn’t be thinking about the jokes.
Patrick’s face was a study in chiaroscuro as the car oozed down the street, segueing from one bright light to the next. A handsome, strong face. One I’d never taken the time to sort out my feelings for. Oh, sure, I’d had sex with him. I think. I’d yelled at him, bossed him around, been rude as hell to him. But how did I actually feel about him? How did I feel about anything? Why didn’t I know? Had the booze deadened me? Or was I just dead and using the booze to hide the ugly truth from myself?
Hadn’t had a drink all day. Hadn’t had a drink since Edgar grabbed me. Another good thing about wasting the night trolling the streets of Vegas with Patrick. No opportunity. Of course, I felt hellish, but there were extenuating circumstances. Patrick had wanted me to check myself back into the hospital, and I have to admit that I was tempted. But I couldn’t let this manhunt go on without me. I was needed here.
On the left, just past Circus Circus, I saw the Transylvania, where the killer had dumped his first victim. Where he’d taken Fara Spencer. I was tempted to pull over and check the joint out. But why? Edgar was much too smart to go there again.
“Maybe it is time to call it quits,” I said.
“Want me to come back to your place?”
“Nah. I’m pooped.”
“I can sleep on the couch.”
“Not necessary. But thanks.” A nice guy. Which no doubt explained why I still felt ambiguous toward him. God forbid I should get hooked up with someone nice.
Except that David had been nice, hadn’t he? Once upon a time. Before the troubles started.
My God, David. Was that the real reason I was ditching Patrick tonight? Because I was still hung up on my dead husband? Or more accurately, because I still hadn’t forgiven my dead husband?
Funny how much clearer you can see things when you’re sober.
“Just drop me out front,” I told him. “They’ve got so many people watching my place now, Houdini couldn’t get in.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Night, Patrick.”
“Night.”
And I headed back to my boozeless, snoozeless, antiseptic hotel room, a yearning in my chest, my body complaining because I wouldn’t give it what it wanted, my heart aching because even if I didn’t know her name, I knew there was a girl out there dying tonight. One more person I had failed to save.
I pressed up against the door, eyes clenched shut. So this is what life is like sober? Wonnnnnnnnderful.
27
You’d think nothing on earth could be more innocent and stress-free than a stroll through the forensic lab. You don’t expect screaming and shouting-that happens upstairs, where we high-IQ detectives hang out. And you certainly don’t expect to see your toxicology expert getting into it with the boss’s son.
“Please please please please please please please please please please please,” Darcy said, over and over. He wasn’t exactly shouting. His voice was always loud. Near as I could tell, his theory was that if he didn’t give his opponent a chance to argue with him, then he won the argument. An approach I have to admit I’ve used once or twice myself.
“Listen to me!” Jennifer Fuentes (yes, now I knew her last name) was trying her best not to lose it. “There’s no poison!”
“Please please please please please please please please please please please.”
Jennifer was totally losing that cool detached scientist thing.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“This guy is making me crazy!” Jennifer said. “The chief asked me to humor him. He didn’t say I had to take orders from him. Especially not stupid ones.”
Darcy looked at me, his face brightening. “Did you sleep well?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. Why do you ask?”
“Your breath.” And then he started right back up again. “Please please please please please please please please please please please.”
“Would you make him stop that?” Jennifer begged.
“Sorry. I work with him, but I don’t control him.”
“Try!”
I shrugged. “Darcy, lay off already. Before you get carpal tongue syndrome.”
He did. Instantly.
Wow. Feeling more powerful than a locomotive, I asked Jennifer, “What does he want?”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s got this crazy theory that Fara Spencer was poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” I winced. “Darcy, I think we all know how she died. You may have noticed that big hole in her chest?”
Darcy flapped his hands. “Did you know that one in five domestic murders are committed with poisons you can obtain without a prescription?”
No, and I was happier not knowing. “Any chance he’s right?” I asked Jennifer. “I mean about the poison.”
“None.”
“You did a tox screen?”
“Of course. Came up dry.”
“But as I recall, your previous tox screens didn’t detect the drug Edgar was using to paralyze his victims.”
“That was a totally different situation. We couldn’t miss the cause of death.”
You wouldn’t think. Still, Darcy had been right before…
“You know, Jen,” I said, slow and cautious, careful not to
bruise any egos, “Fara Spencer was killed a good ten days before we found her. Any chance the poison might’ve broken down in the body? So it wouldn’t show through normal toxicology tests?”
“Yes, it’s possible, but we have no reason to believe that happened. Anyone can see how the woman died.”
“Would you mind testing a tissue sample?”
“For what reason?”
“To make me happy.” Seemed like a better answer than Because I said so.
“This is very irregular.”
“Story of my life.”
She fidgeted with her rubber gloves. “I suppose I could cut away a little something near the exposed chest…”
“Mouth,” Darcy said.
“Huh?” we replied in unison.
“Do you think that maybe you could take the tissue from her mouth? Because I think you should take tissue from her mouth.”
“Why?”
“Did you notice that there were no blowflies in her mouth? I bet blowflies don’t like poison. I don’t think I would like poison. Do you?”
The toxicologist and I exchanged a look.
“Jen, do the test. I want the report on my desk ASAP.”
He held the tip of the pendulum delicately between two fingers. He had honed the blade until it was razor-sharp, and he did not want to cut himself. He pulled it back to the height of its arc, then released it.
JJ screamed.
“I suppose you know how this works,” he said, reclining in a chair near her table. “Everyone does. Even those who have never read the story. Have you read the story, JJ?”
“N-N-No.”
“Seen the film, perhaps?”
Her voice was choked and broken. Her eyes were fixed on the steel blade swinging back and forth only a few inches above her chest.
“Maybe. I-I’m not sure.”
“No matter. I just didn’t want you to have any erroneous misconceptions. You see, in the original text, the narrator escapes. Oh sure, he’s sliced once or twice across the breast-”
JJ’s face turned ashen.
“But he survives. My dear JJ-” He took her hand and squeezed it. “You will not.”
“W-W-Where are my clothes?”
Dark Eye Page 34
