The Mermaid Murders

Chapter Twenty

One problem.

Okay, not one problem. Next problem.

Only Jason had seen the mermaid charm that had been left with Candy.

The fact that Honey’s charm was missing sixteen years later, well, a lot of explanations could be offered and arguments made that did not include the Chief of Police murdering a teenage girl and faking the return of a serial killer.

Jason beeped the locks on the Dodge sedan, opened the door, and slipped into the driver’s seat.

Now what?

Another problem: the charm found with Rebecca. Where had that come from? Was that also from an earlier case? He should have checked every single one of the murder books while he had the chance. Too late now.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

Kennedy was not going to be happy about this turn of events. But then Kennedy should have taken the time and trouble to explain to his partner what he was thinking—especially if, as Jason now suspected, Kennedy was on the same track.

But the Kennedys of the world liked to play their own hand. Which left their partners stumbling around in the dark.

So now what?

In order to make his case, Jason needed that mermaid charm back.

And how the hell was he supposed to manage that?

He could have dropped it anywhere in that basement.

Jason listened to the echo of that thought with dismay. No, he wasn’t even considering going back to Rexford. Was he?

There had to be another way.

He could still make his case without the charm, but it was going to be harder to prove. It left a lot more wiggle room for the defense. The mermaid was the linchpin.

There was a reasonable chance he’d dropped the charm on that pile of rotting whatever the hell he’d landed on. Even if he hadn’t… The water was only about a foot deep. Two at the most. He had been able to see down to the bricks when the light was right. And it wasn’t like there was a current running through. If he’d dropped the charm in the basement, it was still there.

He swallowed.

Was he really thinking about doing this? Going back to that deathtrap?

He needed to make his mind up one way or the other because Kennedy and Chief Gervase were liable to drive into this parking lot any minute. Unless they stopped for lunch or an early dinner.

No, they’d had to wait around the hospital, so they’d have eaten. They would drive into this lot a little while from now, and Officer Courtney would tip her boss off, and Kennedy would lose the advantage of surprise. Chief Gervase would begin marshalling his witnesses and strengthening his alibi.

Jason started the engine and slowly pulled out of the parking lot.

Jesus. What if he was wrong about this? An hour ago he would have bet money on Boxner being guilty. And now he was convinced it was Chief Gervase even though until this minute it had never crossed his mind that Gervase was anything but one of the good guys.

Even if Gervase had killed Rebecca, why in God’s name would he bring Kennedy and the Bureau in?

Or was this all about Kennedy? About making him look bad? Ruining his reputation? But why? As obnoxious as Kennedy could be—defy me and I’ll break you!—ten years was a long time to hold a grudge.

No, it couldn’t be that. Or…it couldn’t be only that. For sure it was a factor. Bringing Kennedy in had been a huge risk. Yet Gervase had deliberately done that very thing, so part of this did have to do with Kennedy. But it wasn’t just about Kennedy.

The fact that Gervase hadn’t seriously harmed Candy…what did that mean?

Obviously he wasn’t a serial killer.

No, Jason was sure his original theory about Candy was correct. She had been abducted to make it look like Rebecca’s murder was part of that larger and earlier pattern. She had been snatched to strengthen the idea the Huntsman—or a previously unknown accomplice—had returned.

It seemed Gervase had been forced by circumstances to improvise. What circumstances?

Whatever had happened, Gervase had been scrambling ever since to cover up. And he’d been abandoning plans nearly as fast as he came up with them. First he’d come up with making Rebecca’s death look like part of the earlier pattern; then he’d thought about fobbing the murder off on Tony McEnroe; then he’d directed them to Rexford, again trying to make the Return of the Huntsman scenario work…

Round and round Jason’s thoughts went while the sedan’s tires ate up the miles.

When his cell phone rang, he was as startled as if the call was coming in from outer space. He glanced down and was unsurprised to see Kennedy’s name flash up.

“West.”

Kennedy said in a voice markedly unlike the one he’d last used on Jason, “Where are you?”

“Is Chief Gervase with you?”

“No. Listen, West. Jason. I realize I may have been a little abrupt earlier. I apologize. We need to speak as soon as possible.”

A little abrupt. That was almost funny.

Jason spotted the turnoff up ahead. “I’m en route to Rexford. I’ve just reached the overpass.”

There was a very loud silence on the other end of the line. “Say again.” Kennedy spoke in the tone of one who was determined not to get a little abrupt again.

“I’m going back to look for the mermaid charm I dropped when I fell through the floor.”

There was a strange noise on the other end. “No,” Kennedy said. “No, you’re not doing that because everything I’ve seen so far indicates you’re a smart and careful guy. And going back to Rexford on your own would be fucking insane.”

“If you thought I was so smart and careful, maybe you should have taken the time to tell me what the hell was going on.”

Silence.

“Anyway, I’ve got to find that charm. It’s the only way I can prove my case.”

“Your case? This is our case—”

“Oh, then you did notice.”

“—and I’m telling you, no. Don’t go back there. For God’s sake. We can get divers.”

“Divers? It’s a few inches of water. A foot at most.”

“You know what I mean. We have recovery specialists for this kind of thing. You splashing around in the basement of a condemned building is a bad idea. Stop and think. That place is liable to come down on top of you. And I don’t know where Gervase is.”

“There we go,” said Jason with bitter triumph. “That’s the part of our case you didn’t feel like sharing earlier. Chief Gervase is our guy, and you’ve known it for how long?”

Another of those pauses. Kennedy said, “I had a pretty good idea when we found Davies alive and unhurt. I’ve known for sure since this morning when you said you’d lost the mermaid charm.”

Yes, looking back, Chief Gervase had seemed almost jovial at Jason’s admission. In fact, looking back, a lot of his emotional cues had been just plain wrong.

The car bumped down hard in the grass and dirt. Jason had driven as far as he could go. He parked and turned off the engine. He reached down to unlatch the trunk, got out of the car, and went around to the back, still listening to Kennedy who was saying, “We don’t need the charm to make our case.”

Jason unlocked the lockbox and shrugged into a bullet-proof vest. “That charm is the only piece of evidence that can’t be explained or argued away. Everything else is circumstantial. We both know it.”

Kennedy’s voice dropped.

Jason stopped, listening. Kennedy said with quiet sincerity, “I would rather lose the case than lose you.” He added gruffly, “And I don’t say that to all my temporary partners.”

“I’ll bet you don’t.” Jason sighed. “And thank you. For the record, I’m not doing this because I’m angry or need to prove anything to you. We require that piece of evidence. And we both know this is our sole window of opportunity.”

“Have you not heard a single word I’ve said?”

“Sam, I’ve heard every word you’ve said to me since the day we met.” A bird warbled, filling the stricken pause that followed. Jason said, “I’m going to have to hike in from here.”

Kennedy groaned. “Goddamn it! You stubborn bastard. You’ve got maybe three hours of good daylight left. That village is going to get very dark, very fast.”

“I know.”

“I’m hoping Gervase isn’t as crazy as you, but if he is, you could have company before I get there.”

“Hopefully, he’s not that crazy.” Jason didn’t want to acknowledge how much that before I get there cheered him up.

Kennedy’s voice grew urgent. “Yeah, but Jason, listen. Gervase went this far. He’s not going to go down without a fight. Don’t misread the fact he let the Davies girl live. It’s a totally different dynamic with you. You’re the enemy as far as he’s concerned, and if he is coming after you, it’s to kill you. Whether you find that charm or not, he figures you know too much. He may regret it later, but he’s not going to be rational. Stay out of his way.”

“Okay.”

“And he’s familiar with the territory. The advantage is all his.”

“Got it.”

“Jason.”

“Yep?”

“He’s a good shot. A marksman.”

“Roger that.” Jason clicked off before Kennedy weakened his resolve any further.

The silence that followed was so complete he felt like he was standing on another continent, millions of miles from everything he knew, everyone he cared about.

He shook off the feeling, found the high-powered flashlight in the lockbox and slammed shut the trunk of the sedan. He did one quick final weapon check—better OCD than sorry—and set off at a jog down the trail leading into the trees.

It took him about twenty minutes to reach the old mill. He was making excellent time, and there was still no sign of pursuit from behind. And no sign of life ahead.

Either way he was past the point of return.

He continued down the trail, still moving fast but now extra alert to his surroundings. The sun was starting to slide, but there was still warmth to the afternoon and plenty of daylight. A few blue swallows swooped down to investigate, then swooped away.

He thought of Jeremy Kyser and wondered suddenly, uncomfortably, whether he might be lurking somewhere nearby. The idea was a bizarre one, but the whole interview with Kyser had been so strange…

However, after returning to Kingsfield, Jason had run Kyser through the system, and nothing alarming had flagged. Kyser seemed to be just what he appeared: a weird but talented guy who had managed to build a lucrative career out of studying people even weirder than himself.

By the time he reached Rexford, Jason had worked up a good sweat and was slightly out of breath. The good news was he’d given himself a healthy lead on any possible pursuit. The bad news was if he got into any trouble in the basement of the lyceum, help would be at least an hour in coming—and it was unlikely help would arrive first.

He walked north, scanning the hollow-eyed, peeling faces of the buildings falling down along Main Street, and came at last to the Lyceum of the Aquatic.

He’d have liked to know what the story was behind this now defunct institution, but then every building in Rexford had a story.

Crime scene tape was stretched across the entryway. Jason went around the building to the back entrance.

More crime scene tape; black and yellow warnings bobbing in the breeze.

He ripped the plastic tape down and pried opened the tall blue door. The hinges screeched a protest that was going to carry for miles. Especially on such a quiet, clear day.

It wasn’t like Gervase didn’t know where Jason was headed.

He went down the short stairwell, forced open the door to the basement, and turned on his flashlight.

Beyond his range of sight he heard a low, hoarse croaking sound. Something huge and white flew out of the darkness straight at him. Jason yelled and fell back against the wall, grabbing for his weapon, unable to tear his gaze away from great wings…burning eyes…

“Jesus Christ!”

…long orange bill…

Wait.

Long orange bill?

A bird. A goddamned bird. A great white heron. In the goddamned cellar.

“How the hell did you get in here?” He was talking to himself. The bird was long gone. Jason hadn’t thought egrets or heron could fly, but this one had exited that cellar posthaste—which was faster than Jason, who’d had the same idea but less presence of mind.

Thank God no one had seen that little interaction. He’d never live it down. What had he imagined? A ghost was coming after him?

Jason knelt, searching for his flashlight, which he’d dropped while grabbing for his pistol.

It was there, a few inches from his feet, the triangle of white light still cutting a swath through the darkness.

Picking up the flashlight, Jason aimed it at the floor below. If he’d been hoping for a miraculous receding of floodwaters, no. Not happening this eon.

He continued down the rickety staircase and splashed into the murky pond. No sign of the snake today, but he thought it might be better not to look at the rafters too closely.

Most likely he had lost the charm when he crashed down on the pile of rugs or skins or whatever the hell it had been. He had been partially submerged, and the charm could have floated out of his pocket, which meant there was a good chance it was resting somewhere near his landing area. He just hoped he hadn’t stepped on it and crushed it when he was stumbling around down here. Or the egret hadn’t mistaken it for a fish.

The sunlight pouring through the twin holes in the roof and ceiling lanced through the water, illuminating the floor in golden patches. Jason moved slowly through the water, studying the shifting blurs of darkness. Now and then he spotted something small and white, but each time he reached into the water, all he found was a bone or a piece of cartilage.

It took a while to work his way to the pile of rotting hides, and by the time he got there, the light had faded considerably and his hands were numb from reaching into very cold water and grabbing things he’d rather not think about.

The smell was getting to him. That reeking sulfurous stench.

He was starting to feel desperate. There was so much debris on the floor. And, for that matter, so much floor. And with every minute he was losing both time and light.

If Gervase was not already in Rexford, he must be getting near.

Assuming he had not decided to take a leaf from Kyser and bolt.

Where could Gervase run? Canada? His family was here. His life was here. No, Kennedy was right. Gervase would follow Jason because he would believe Jason was the only real obstacle to his safety. Candy couldn’t identify her attacker. And Kennedy seemed pretty confident that he had managed to hide his own suspicions from the chief…

Leaving only Jason as a threat to be eliminated.

What was the plan? Following his brief reappearance, this copycat or previously unknown accomplice of the Huntsman would disappear again? Senior Special Agent Kennedy would have failed to capture this new threat—and much doubt would be cast on his diffusing of the old threat. After all, plenty of people in Kingsfield still believed there had been two Huntsmen. This would probably confirm it for them for all time.

Jason got down on his knees in the frigid water and used both hands to sift gently through the rotting materials. His stomach churned with nerves and revulsion as he found and released various squishy and non-squishy items.

You’re here. You’ve got to be here. I’m not leaving without you.

He looked at the hole in the ceiling above. He could no longer see dust motes floating in that wedge of anemic light.

How late was it now? What time was it?

He was starting to shiver with the cold. So much so, that when his fingertips brushed something small and hard and round, he accidentally pushed it farther away. Jason groaned and spread his fingers, feeling gently, lightly…and there! There it was. His heart jerked. He closed his hand around the small sphere.

He raised his hand and stared at the pale marble-sized object lying in his palm. The tiny scales, the delicate fins, the arch smile.

Yes. He knew her. He’d have known her anywhere. Honey’s mermaid.