Last to Die

FOURTEEN

THEY FOLLOWED THE BOY DOWN THREE FLIGHTS OF STAIRS IN A NOISY parade of footsteps. Outside the wind whipped Jane’s hair, and she regretted not bringing her jacket. The distant dark clouds that she had seen from the turret were now almost upon them, and she heard the creak and groan of the trees, smelled impending rain in the air. They tramped into the woods, led by the boy who did not seem to be following any obvious trail. With so many feet snapping twigs and crunching over dead leaves, the birds had gone silent. There was only the sound of their passage and the wind in the branches.

“Are we lost?” asked Jane.

“No, it’s just a shortcut,” Dr. Welliver answered. Despite her tent-like dress, she managed to move steadily through the woods, lumbering heavily behind the Puck-like boy who scampered ahead of them.

The trees grew denser, the branches blotting out her view of the sky. Though it was only midmorning, here in the forest the day had darkened to a twilight gloom.

“Does this kid actually know where he’s going?”

“Bruno knows exactly where he’s going.” Dr. Welliver pointed at a broken branch just above their heads.

“He marked a trail?”

The psychologist glanced back at her. “Don’t underestimate our students.”

They’d lost sight of the castle. Now all Jane saw, in every direction, were trees. How far had they walked, half a mile, more? And this was supposed to be a shortcut? Her shoelace came loose and she crouched down to tie it again. When she straightened, she saw that the others were already a dozen paces ahead of her and almost out of sight. Left alone here, she might wander for days trying to find her way out. She scrambled to catch up and pushed through a curtain of brush into a small clearing where the others had come to a halt.

Beneath a magnificent willow tree stood Professor Pasquantonio and Roman, the forester. Nearby stood a group of students, huddled together against the wind.

“… haven’t touched a thing. We left ’em just as we found ’em,” Roman said to Dr. Welliver. “Damned if I know what this means.”

“A sick prank.” Pasquantonio snorted. “That’s what it is. Children do ridiculous things.”

Dr. Welliver moved beneath the willow tree and stared up into the branches. “Do we know who did this?”

“Nobody’s owning up to it,” grunted Roman.

“We all know she did it,” a dark-haired girl said. “Who else would it be?” She pointed at Claire. “She sneaked out again last night. I saw her through the window. Night Crawler.”

“I didn’t do it,” Claire said. She stood off by herself at the edge of the woods, arms crossed over her chest as though to fend off the accusations.

“You were out. Don’t lie about it.”

“Briana,” said Dr. Welliver, “we don’t accuse people without proof.”

Jane eased her way through the gathering to see what had drawn them all to this place. Dangling from a lower branch of the willow tree were three dolls made of twigs and twine, suspended like rustic Christmas ornaments. Stepping closer, Jane saw that one of the dolls had a birch-bark skirt. A female. The twig dolls slowly twisted in the wind like little hangman’s victims, all of them splattered with what looked like blood. High in the willow tree, crows cawed, and Jane looked up. Saw the source of those splatters hanging above her head, and caught a whiff of decay. In disgust she backed away, her gaze fixed on the carcass that hung from that high branch.

“Who found it?” asked Dr. Welliver.

“We all did,” said Roman. “Every few days, I take ’em down this trail, pointing out how the forest changes. Those girls were the first to spot ’em.” He pointed to Briana and the two girls who always seemed to hover around her. “Never heard such hysterical caterwauling.” He pulled out a knife and sliced the rope that suspended the carcass, and the dead rooster plopped to the ground. “You’d think they never ate chicken,” he muttered.

“It’s Herman,” one of the boys murmured. “Someone killed Herman.”

Not just killed him, thought Jane. Slit him open. Pulled out his entrails and exposed them to the crows. This was no mere juvenile prank; this turned her stomach.

Dr. Welliver looked around at the students, who stood shivering as the first raindrops began to fall. “Does anyone know anything about this?”

“I didn’t hear him crowing this morning,” said one of the girls. “Herman always wakes me up. But not this morning.”

“I came down the trail yesterday afternoon,” said Roman. “Wasn’t hanging then. Must’ve been done last night.”

Jane glanced at Claire. The midnight rambler. The girl, suddenly aware of Jane’s gaze, stared back at her in defiance. A look that dared everyone to prove she had done it.

As raindrops splattered her dress, Dr. Welliver looked around at the circle of students, her arms spread as if offering a hug to anyone who needed one. “If anyone wants to talk to me about this later, my door is always open. I promise, whatever you tell me will stay just between you and me. Now.” She sighed, looking up at the rain. “Why don’t you head back?”

As the students left the clearing, the adults remained by the willow tree. Only when the children were out of earshot did Dr. Welliver say softly: “This is very disturbing.”

Maura crouched down over the slaughtered rooster. “His neck is broken. That’s probably what killed him. But then to gut him? Leave him here, where everyone will see him?” She looked at Dr. Welliver. “There’s meaning to this.”

“It means you’ve got one sick puppy here,” said Jane. She looked up at the three twig figures. “And what does that mean? Like creepy little voodoo dolls. Why did she do this?”

“She?” said Welliver.

“Sure, Claire denied it. But kids lie all the time.”

Dr. Welliver shook her head. “That brain injury made her impulsive. But it also made her almost incapable of deception. Claire says exactly what she thinks, even though it gets her into trouble. She denied it, and I believe her.”

“Then which of ’em did it?” said Roman.

Behind them, a voice asked: “Why do you think it was a student?”

They all turned to see Julian standing at the edge of the clearing. He had returned so quietly, they hadn’t heard him.

“You just assume it’s one of us,” said Julian. “That’s not fair.”

Dr. Pasquantonio laughed. “You don’t really think a teacher would do this?”

“Remember what you taught us about the word assume, sir? That it makes an ass of you and me?”

“Julian,” Maura said.

“Well, it is what he says.”

“Where, exactly, is this leading, Mr. Perkins?” asked Pasquantonio.

Julian stood straighter. “I’d like to take Herman’s body.”

“It’s already rotting,” said Roman. He lifted the corpse by its rope and tossed it into the woods. “Crows have already gotten a start on it; let ’em finish.”

“Well then, can I have the twig dolls?”

“I’d as soon burn the damn things. Forget this fool business.”

“Burning them doesn’t make the mystery go away, sir.”

“Why do you want them, Julian?” asked Maura.

“Because right now, we’re all looking at each other, suspecting each other. Wondering who’d be sick enough to do this.” He looked at Dr. Pasquantonio. “This is evidence, and the Jackals can analyze it.”

“What are the Jackals?” said Jane. She looked at Maura, who shook her head, just as bewildered.

“It’s the school forensics club,” said Dr. Welliver. “Founded decades ago by a former student named Jack Jackman.”

“Which is why it’s called the Jackals,” said Julian. “I’m the new president, and this is just the kind of project our club does. We’ve studied blood splatters, tire tracks. We can analyze this evidence.”

“Oh, I get it.” Jane laughed and shot a glance at Maura. “It’s CSI High School!”

“All right, boy,” said Roman. He reached up with his hunting knife and sliced the dolls from the branch. Held them out to Julian. “They’re yours. Go to it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Thunder rumbled, and Roman looked up at the sky. “Now we’d best get inside,” he said. “I smell lightning coming this way. And there’s no telling where it’ll strike.”