Dreaming Death

by Heather Graham

  “I’m still sorry. I don’t get enough sleep—and I make you not get enough sleep.”

  As if it had been paying attention, the alarm clock blared suddenly.

  “See? We got plenty of sleep!” he told her. “Up and at ’em, as they say. We have a date with—”

  He paused, wincing.

  “With?”

  “Some incredible people and...a medical examiner and a few corpses.”

  Thirteen

  Stacey thought that she would have recognized Axel Tiger as a law-enforcement officer of one kind or another whether he had been introduced to her as one or not.

  Though not as tall as Keenan, he had a similar build. Stacey had noted that many Krewe agents were not giants at all—it was in the way they moved. Their jobs required they kept fit. But Axel had crystal eyes against bronze skin, dead-straight hair and an incredibly intriguing profile.

  Beyond a doubt, he was an interesting man.

  His new wife, Raina, was taller than Stacey, with rich, dark auburn hair and eyes a lighter shade than her hair, an amber color. She had a great smile as she took Stacey’s hand, greeting her warmly.

  “And you’re not an agent, right?” Stacey asked her.

  “Nope. I’m an animal trainer—domestics, whatever they may be. My forte is dogs, but I’ve worked with just about everything else you might consider a pet. Or,” she added, her smile deepening, “anything anyone else thinks of as a pet.”

  “She’s working with a lot of police and agency bomb-and-cadaver dogs,” Axel told Stacey.

  It was a strangely cheerful conversation to be having in the reception area of the morgue while they awaited Dr. Beau Simpson.

  “But I’m here because Keenan thinks I might be able to help. And if I can help you catch a murderer, I’m so happy to do so!”

  Dr. Simpson came out for them, bringing them first to mask and gown up, then heading into a room that was quite cold and seemed to be filled with giant, silver-colored filing drawers.

  Of course, Stacey knew, what was filed was bodies. Some awaited loving family members or friends to claim them and set them to rest with flowers and prayers.

  Others would meet with a pauper’s farewell, no fanfare whatsoever. Decent, but cold, lacking the greatest of human gifts—love.

  She’d seen death before, but today seemed especially sad as she looked at the rows and rows of “filing” cabinets.

  “Okay,” Beau said. “You just want me to open the drawers on Jess Marlborough, Billie Bingham and Lindsey Green. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

  “A last look,” Keenan said.

  “Right.”

  If Beau was surprised, confused or even perturbed by the request, he didn’t show it. He didn’t even ask why a dog trainer had come with them. He apparently knew Raina already; he had greeted her as a friend.

  He opened the drawer that contained the mutilated remains of Jess Marlborough first. Keenan and Stacey stood on one side; Axel and Raina on the other.

  Beau looked away.

  One by one, they laid a hand on the cold body.

  Jackson had told Stacey that every once in a rare while, those who did see the dead found something as they touched the deceased.

  She felt nothing, just the chill of the preserved body. Life was gone.

  She waited for the others. Raina let her touch linger, but then she glanced at her husband and shook her head slightly.

  They went on to the body of Billie Bingham and repeated their motions.

  Cold, so cold. All life gone, not even the memory to the soul once inside.

  It was the same for the others, Stacey thought. Raina gave that almost imperceptible shake of her head.

  At last they came to the body of Lindsey Green.

  The insides were not ripped up, but she wore a red gash around her neck like a sick Halloween necklace.

  This time, Raina held on a few moments longer; she didn’t shake her head.

  Beau turned to look at them all, one by one.

  “Thank you,” Keenan told him. “I know we’re taking up your time.”

  “Don’t forget, there’s a victim in Virginia, too, if you need.”

  “We won’t. Thank you.” As the drawer closed, Keenan managed a smile. “I don’t know that ME as well as I know you.”

  “You need anything with him, you let me know,” Beau said.

  “Will do,” Keenan said gratefully.

  They left the morgue, agreeing to meet up at the office directly.

  On arriving, they took seats in the conference room. Jackson joined them, ready to listen to whatever Raina had to say.

  “I don’t really have anything,” she began.

  “But you did have a vision from the last victim,” Axel reminded her.

  “Right. I felt something from her, yes. She was asked to the house. I’m not sure who asked her. She was looking for...work. She had met Billie at a club. She was anxious and eager to find out if she was...worthy, I guess, of being one of Billie’s escorts.”

  “What was she doing in the basement?” Keenan asked.

  “She thought that Billie was down there. I don’t know why. I had an impression of her going down...and then she was completely surprised. She was killed in a whirlwind attack.” Raina was silent a minute. “Her killer came at her from behind. She never saw what happened.” She paused again, hanging her head sadly. “She knew she was going to die. I felt her thoughts in those last minutes. Heartbreaking. But...it was like a replay in my mind. I don’t think that she’s lingered here, that she’s still with us in spirit. It was a residual thing that I felt. I wish there was more. I know what she knew at that time, but... Doesn’t really help, does it?”

  “Now we know she was lured, then attacked,” Keenan told her.

  “Oh! One thing. I picked up...a scent. A scent of perfume.”

  “Perfume, or aftershave?” Stacey asked.

  Raina was thoughtful and then said, “I really think perfume. I think that she was killed...by a woman.”

  And yet, in her dreams, Stacey was fairly certain it seemed that the killer was a man.

  “Well, the thought does seem to be that there’s more than one killer involved in this,” Jackson said.

  “Billie?” Stacey said. She looked around at the others. “Lindsey was attacked before Billie. Did Billie kill her—before she was killed herself?”

  No one answered as they considered the possibility.

  “And does that mean that there’s just one killer left, or that more than two people were involved?” Keenan wondered aloud.

  “We’re trying to keep our eyes on all the key players,” Jackson said. “Jess Marlborough’s roommates. Tania Holt. Peggy Bronsen. Colin and Sandra Smith. Cindy Hardy. Protecting anyone who might have been a witness—and who might be seen as a last victim in the Ripper round of this. But we have checked into missing persons and found those who vanished, along with the skull of one man. This might just be one stage of a truly wide-range operation.”

  Jackson studied Stacey for a long moment. “Anything more?” he asked.

  “The person physically committing the murders is male,” she said. “That’s the clearest part of my dreams.”

  “All right, then, keep up whatever pressure you can on Colin Smith,” Jackson said. “He’s still a primary suspect.”

  “We’re going to show up there as soon as we’re finished with the task-force meeting,” Keenan told him. Then he asked, “The info that a piece of kidney was sent to Stacey hasn’t gotten out, has it?”

  “No, but the kidney was sent to her, so we can’t let up on watching Stacey’s back, either,” Jackson said.

  “We’ve got to get to the airport,” Axel said. “I have a few things to get from my office, then we’ll head out.” He nodded to them all and stepped out of th
e room.

  “I’m going to drive him,” Raina said.

  “Good, then,” Jackson said. “I’ll check in with Angela, see what our searches have turned up.”

  He left the room.

  “I’ll be right back,” Keenan said, following him out.

  Stacey was left alone with Raina. She smiled weakly.

  “Do you have the dreams often?” Raina asked her.

  “In general, no. When they do come, it’s like watching a scene unraveling, bit by bit. I saw the body in Lafayette Square, and that was it for that part of the dream. But now I’m seeing a room where the killer is with the victim. He’s functional, but seriously deranged. He can’t wait to rip up his last victim.”

  “But you can’t see his victim. Or exactly where it is?”

  “No.”

  “Well, from what Jackson has told me, you will,” Raina assured her. “I heard this isn’t the first case you’ve helped with. And,” she added brightly, her tone filled with admiration, “you’re an agent.”

  “I always wanted to be.”

  “I’ve always loved animals,” Raina said. “And I think my more natural talents lie in helping with both police and agency dogs—and pets! I’m happy to come in, though, anytime you think I might help. Or even if you just want to talk.” She hesitated a minute. “Have you met Jon Dickson and Kylie Connolly, yet?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, no, you wouldn’t have—they’re in Scotland, vacationing and investigating for a friend who apparently has a haunted castle,” she said. “Aren’t all castles supposed to be haunted?” she said with a smile. “But Kylie has had...strange events in her life to go along with this. She had a past-life regression and wound up finding herself as a murder victim. I’m just telling you all this because...well, the Krewe exists because Adam knew there needed to be an honest place for those of us with these strange talents. I just didn’t want you to feel like...the Lone Ranger.”

  “Thank you. That is reassuring!” she told Raina.

  Raina was quiet for a minute and then asked her, “You’ve experienced dreams that tell you things a long time, right?”

  Stacey nodded. “When I was young, my father was involved in a major case. The man going to trial was responsible for all kinds of criminal activity, including murder. Some people he killed himself. He also hired killers to do his killing. He wanted my father dead, and he hired a man to kill him. That was when I first starting dreaming. And thankfully, my mom hired a psychiatrist, and the psychiatrist called in Adam. Adam and some agents were there—the assassin was caught, and he talked. He went down for conspiracy to commit murder, but he did it with a plea deal because he told the prosecution everything he knew about McCarron. And it was a lot.” She shrugged. “Then, later, I dreamed about a friend who was getting into trouble with drugs. Again, Adam helped out, and Keenan was even in on that, but when we started working together, it took me a bit to realize just where and when I’d seen him before. I barely saw the agents—everyone wanted to keep me out of it. I hadn’t yet graduated high school at the time.” She shrugged. “I’ve had other dreams—prophetic dreams, I guess. But they’re often just about...walking into a store. Losing something and finding it. Things that are mundane, and yet... Well, they made me a loner.”

  Raina was listening to her intently. “So, you came into this knowing about your talent—that you could see the dead?”

  “A Revolutionary War heroine helped me in the last case, so, yes,” Stacey told her.

  “Believe it or not, you’re lucky. I didn’t know a thing until I tried on a dress and looked in a mirror and saw a murder. I was freaked out, to say the least! But after that, well, I had to get involved. I know how much this case means to you. I don’t think any of us really knows our capabilities, until something happens. Once you accept there might be more, intuition kicks in to a greater degree. This may sound strange, but it might help if you let yourself go. Don’t doubt yourself. If there’s an instinct that takes hold or even teases at your mind, let it go. Follow anything. I think most Krewe members get to that point. And if something bothers me now, I tell Axel right away. I’m not even sure what I’m saying. Trust yourself, I guess. Explore any thoughts, feelings or sensations you may have. I know that in a court of law, we need proof. And that’s the way it should be. But even cops who don’t see the dead have intuition. Lots of them hone it. With you... I’m imagining that your intuition is right on. Don’t hesitate; go with it.”

  Stacey smiled. “Thank you. Thanks so very much.”

  “Kylie and I had decided that we would silently call ourselves the Twisted Two,” Raina told her, a very wry smile on her lips. “Now, I guess, we’re an ever-so-slightly twisted threesome. I guess the name still works!”

  “I’m now part of the Twisted Trio!” Stacey said. “I love it.”

  Raina gave her a grim smile. “I just wish that it worked better, that I could give you more.”

  “You’ve given us something,” Stacey assured her. “Thank you!”

  “Keep dreaming,” Raina said softly.

  Stacey laughed. “No choice!” she said.

  “At least you won’t be alone—and please, don’t be alone,” Raina warned.

  “Trust me, I won’t!”

  The conference-room door opened, and Angela came in, greeting them both and getting right to it. “Stacey, I’ve got a number and address for you. Dr. Henry Lawrence, working at a hospital just outside Richmond. It took so long because he’s no longer doing transplants. He’s working in general surgery. I verified that he’s there—day shift, doesn’t work weekends—but he is there, and I have a home address as well, not far from the hospital. I didn’t speak with him; I wasn’t sure what you were hoping to get from him, so I’m leaving it to you and Keenan.”

  “Thank you!” Stacey said. “I’m not sure what I’m hoping to get from him, either. Maybe, just maybe, he knows something about someone who was on the outs with the transplant world.” She was thoughtful. “He was the one who found Dr. Vargas. He worshipped the man—Vargas was his mentor. Maybe that’s why he left transplant surgery. He just couldn’t cope.”

  “Maybe,” Angela said. “Events like that... Well, we all know. Some deal with them. Some don’t. But apparently, he’s still a good surgeon. He just turned his talents in a different direction. Well, see what you can find out.”

  She gave them a wave and left the room. Axel poked his head in, saying goodbye to Stacey and telling Raina that he needed to get to the airport.

  Alone, Stacey looked at the landline in the conference room. It wasn’t going to be easy, trying to reach a surgeon on his own line. She might as well get started.

  Angela had given her several numbers: Henry Lawrence’s work extension at the hospital, at his office, at his home and a number for his cell phone.

  She hurried to the phone, not expecting to reach him, but at least hoping to leave a message.

  To her surprise, he answered his phone.

  “Dr. Lawrence, I’m sure you won’t remember me—”

  “Are you an old patient? I have a great memory. How can I help you? Have you called the office for an appointment?”

  “No, Dr. Lawrence. I’m not a patient. My name is Stacey Hanson.”

  “Hanson!”

  “Yes, sir. Special Agent Stacey Hanson, now. We never met in person, but—”

  “Your father was the one who helped put McCarron away.”

  “Yes, that was my dad.”

  “Amazing man.”

  “Yes, thank you. I think so. I’m sure you must—”

  “I’m sorry. I’d be delighted to help you in any way. I have a very complicated hernia to take off in just minutes. Can we talk later?”

  “Yes, of course. I’d like to get out to see you—”

  “About the old McCarron case?”

  “I’m
afraid so. I know it’s painful for you, but you must have heard about the scourge of murders taking place in the DC area—”

  “Of course, but I do have to prep for this surgery—”

  “Doctor, my partner and I will come to you. We’ll find you at the hospital. Thank you, sir. Goodbye!” she said.

  She hung up before he could protest. She didn’t blame him; he wouldn’t want an old wound reopened. But if he could say anything at all that might jar her memory or lead them somewhere—anywhere—closer...

  Keenan came in.

  Jackson was about to start his task-force meeting, a brief one, but they’d all go over—and over again—every little scrap of information that they did have.

  “We’ll go see the battle-ax secretary when we’re done here,” Keenan told her.

  “Then we need to go to Richmond,” she said.

  “Richmond?”

  Stacey nodded firmly. “Angela has found Dr. Henry Lawrence. Maybe he’ll know if there was another bitter man out there like McCarron. One who would kill to readjust a donor list.”

  * * *

  “Do you think the killer possibly can strike again?” Stacey asked Keenan as they drove to Congressman Smith’s DC office. She was thinking about the task-force meeting. Fred Crandall’s team of police was there, as was Jean Channing’s team, and of course, all Krewe members who could make it. Dr. Beau Simpson also attended, along with Dr. Victor Bowen of the Alexandria morgue.

  He had brought them a piece of new information, one that they had expected. Beau Simpson had sent him the piece of kidney Stacey had received when it hadn’t matched his victims, but it had, indeed, matched up with Andrea Simon, the mutilated victim found in the Alexandria alley.

  “Diseased—the poor girl suffered as an alcoholic; her liver was damaged to an extent that her other organs might have been damaged as well,” Bowen had said. He was an older man, slightly hunched, precise and clear in his speech. At the end of the meeting, he’d assured Stacey and Keenan that they were welcome to inspect the remains of Andrea Simon at any time. “I’ve been at this for almost forty years,” he told them. “I’ve seen a lot of horrors. The only saving grace is that I do believe the girl was killed swiftly and then, that the organs were taken immediately. After she was strangled, well, she didn’t feel anything. But if I’m right, the killer didn’t get what he wanted. Not from her.”