Whisper of Evil

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The house that had belonged to Pearl Gallagher was never much to shout about, just a little four-room, tin-roofed shack the old lady had insisted on not updating because she liked things simple. The only modern amenity it had ever boasted was indoor plumbing, and that was only because Adam Gallagher had insisted anything less just wasn't sanitary.

Still, it had served Pearl well as a sanctuary, and it perhaps wasn't surprising that the house had not long survived her.

There wasn't much left. The cinder-block foundation was really the only thing left standing, surrounding the charred remains of wooden studs and beams that had collapsed inward, and twisted tin, and the bits and pieces that had survived oddly intact — like a kitchen sink that sat perfectly level and surprisingly clean within a mostly burned-out butcher-block counter. And the old brass headboard that reared up in what had been the bedroom, surrounded now by the incinerated remains of the roof that had fallen in.

"Why am I here?" Ethan demanded, hands on his hips as he surveyed the ruins. Neither he nor Max appeared to notice that the place had been somewhat disturbed recently, and if either had, they doubtless would have assumed vandalism.

"So I only have to tell this once." Nell forced a smile, small though it was. She gently pulled her arm free of Max's grasp and moved to face both men. "The night of the prom, I came out here to Gran's house to show her my dress. She didn't answer when I knocked, so I let myself in. I could hear the shower, and I decided to wait a few minutes, until she came out. I really wanted her to see my dress."

Nell fell silent, and even though she thought she was expressionless, there must have been something in her face, because Max stepped toward her.

"Nell?" His voice was low, worried.

She forced herself to go on, to speak as calmly as she knew how. "I'd had visions before, but they'd been quick, fleeting things mostly. Scenes I could easily recognize and had learned to accept as part of my life. Part of the Gallagher curse. Nothing especially dramatic or tragic, just unsettling. But that night… I saw something unlike anything I'd ever seen before."

"What?" Ethan demanded, fascinated despite himself.

"I saw the scene of a murder." In a voice steady with hard-won detachment, she described what she'd seen, the blood and signs of a violent struggle, the body lying so twisted she wasn't able to see the face.

"So you don't know who it was?" Ethan said.

"Yes. Yes, I know. I knew then."

"How, if you couldn't see the face?" Max asked.

"There was a locket. A silver locket I recognized." Nell turned and led the way around to the rear of the ruins, where many years before, an old-fashioned root cellar had been dug out of the ground just a few yards from the back door. "I knew the body must have been buried or hidden nearby. I wasn't sure where to start looking, especially after all these years — and after that vision I had out in the woods." She glanced at Max, and he nodded.

"You saw someone carrying the body of a woman. So that's why you weren't concerned that it might be a future death; you knew it had already happened."

"I was pretty sure it had. But in that vision, the body was being carried toward this house on a stormy night, and I knew she — she had been killed here, inside. I thought he might have been planning to bury the body somewhere else but couldn't because of the storm. So he brought her back here."

Ethan stared down at the warped and splintered old doors of the root cellar. "You're telling us there's a body down there?"

"I came out here this morning to look around. I'd forgotten the root cellar; it was virtually hidden by an old toolshed most of my childhood and never used. But after I'd poked around inside the house for a while, I remembered. The doors were padlocked, but I got rid of the lock."

Max and Ethan exchanged glances, then both bent to open the slanted doors to reveal the stone steps leading downward into darkness. A dank and musty smell immediately wafted out.

"I left a couple of battery lanterns inside," Nell said, starting down the steps. The men followed. At the bottom, she got the small lanterns from a rickety old shelf placed to one side and turned them on. Then she walked forward just a few steps, the lanterns illuminating a dirt-walled space barely ten by eight feet and less than six feet high.

Ducking slightly, as Max was, Ethan said, "So where —" He didn't have to finish the question.

At Nell's feet lay an open grave. Freshly dug earth was piled on either side of the shallow pit. And inside lay a skeleton that had been only partially uncovered.

Nell set one of the lanterns at the foot of the grave, then walked around the mounded dirt to the other side and placed the second lantern just above the dully gleaming skull.

"Jesus," Ethan murmured. "Who is it?"

"My mother." Nell knelt where she was and leaned forward to point out a tarnished silver locket on a chain now resting among bones and dirt. "The locket has pictures of Hailey and me. She always wore it."

Max drew a breath and let it out slowly. "She never left."

"She never left. Lying here all these years, much closer than I ever —" Nell shook her head. The lantern shining upward lent her face a haunted expression. Or maybe it wasn't just the light. "She didn't leave her husband. Didn't abandon her children. She was here. All the time, she was here."

"What killed her?" Ethan asked.

"Love killed her," Nell murmured. "My father killed her."

By the end of their lunch, Justin and Shelby had not come up with any fresh ideas as to how to find out what made George Caldwell so interested in old parish birth records. Which wasn't to say they had not enjoyed trying. Or maybe they had just enjoyed each other's company.

Justin was wary of asking himself which it was.

The lunch crowd in the cafe had almost entirely cleared out by the time they finished their meal and prepared to leave, but Justin was uneasily aware that several off-duty cops as well as more than one curious citizen had noted and expressed a covert interest in him and his companion.

What he didn't know was whether that would prove dangerous to Shelby.

"I think you worry too much," she said as they got into his car. "And, anyway, you need my help."

He put the keys in the ignition and paused, eyeing her. "I do, huh?"

"You do. Two heads are better than one."

"Well, if that's your only reason —"

"Come on, who else can you trust? Is there anybody in the sheriff's department you're absolutely sure of?"

"No, but — Shelby, if we're right about this, George Caldwell was probably murdered because he found out something that threatened the killer. No other reason. No high-minded motive like a search for truth, justice, or the American way. He died because he knew something he shouldn't have. Because he had the potential to get in the killer's way. Right?"

"Right."

"So don't you think he wouldn't hesitate to get rid of anyone else who offered even a potential threat? Even a curious redhead who just might have pointed her cameras in the wrong direction once or twice?"

"If I were a threat, he'd have gotten rid of me long ago."

"It might not have occurred to him that you were a threat. Until he saw you with me. Until he saw you showing me a bunch of photographs."

"Which I do all the time. Even if he was suspicious, he has to know I'm acting exactly the way I always act, so why would that raise alarms?"

"As far as we can tell, George Caldwell didn't do much either — just go through parish birth records."

Shelby frowned suddenly. "You know, that's a good point. How would the killer know George was a threat to him? Even if he was camped out at the courthouse and saw George going through the records, there was nothing unusual about that. I mean, it was something George did fairly often. So where was the threat?"

Distracted, Justin frowned. "I thought about that. Whatever it was he found… he must have told someone about it. Maybe even the killer."

"Because he didn't realize it was a threat?"

"Probably. To George, it might well have been just some interesting tidbit of knowledge. But to the killer…"

"A threat." Shelby shook her head. "Birth records. You don't think he found out some fine, upstanding citizen was a bastard or something like that, do you? Because I wouldn't have thought that would matter in this day and age. Certainly not to the point of murder."

Justin brooded for a moment, absently starting the car at last. "Unless there was a legal issue. Maybe some kind of inheritance that hinged on legitimacy."

"And again I say — in this day and age?"

"There are some really old laws still on the books, Shelby, some of them arcane. And it might not be as much a matter of illegitimacy as it is of something else — say a family business or the disposition of property with a legal tie to a particular family line. It's possible, at least. Or the threat could be even simpler — a family secret the killer really didn't want exposed, for whatever reason."

"Yet another puzzle." Shelby sighed. "I guess we don't have a hope of figuring out who it was he might have told about whatever it was he found in the birth records."

"The guy was a banker. He talked to people all day long. And as far as I can determine, he was pretty friendly outside the bank as well."

"So we start with the whole town and try to narrow it down?"

It was Justin's turn to sigh. "Now you begin to see why we haven't had any luck in solving his murder."

A sudden rap on Justin's window made them both jump, and they looked out to see several grinning deputies standing beside the car. Justin rolled down the window.

"No parking on Main Street," Deputy Steve Critcher chided in a severe tone.

"Actually, there is," Shelby pointed out cheerfully, leaning forward to look past Justin.

"I meant parking of a certain kind," the deputy said, "as you well know. And in broad daylight too."

Ignoring the reference, Justin said, "Don't you guys have anything better to do than harass fellow cops who're off the clock?"

"Not really," Lauren Champagne replied, smiling.

"Not at the moment, anyway," her partner, Kyle Venable, chimed in. "Quiet Saturday, mostly. And we're just coming off our lunch hour."

"So we were just strolling — I mean patrolling — the mean streets of Silence, doing our best to keep evil at bay." Steve sobered suddenly. "Or discussing it_; anyway. Scuttlebutt says the sheriff is about to call in the feds. Doesn't really have a choice, we hear."

Justin said, "I imagine Sheriff Cole always has a choice."

"Maybe up to now he did, but the town council is making a lot of noise. They held an emergency meeting last night, you know."

"No," Justin said, "I didn't know. So they're pushing Cole to bring in outsiders?"

"Sounds like." Steve smiled. "Though I personally think he's looking for help a little closer to home. Psychic help." He sounded the do-do-do-do first notes of the theme from The Twilight Zone.

"You can't know that, Steve," Lauren objected mildly.

"No, I can't know that. But I'd like to know another reason why the sheriff would take Nell Gallagher out to visit the Lynch house. When Terrie Lynch wasn't there, by the way."

"Surely you don't think Sheriff Cole believes in that stuff?" Lauren asked.

"I would have said not. Then again, maybe he really is getting desperate."

"Or," Justin suggested, "maybe he's just exploring every possible avenue. She is supposed to be gifted, isn't she?"

"So they say," Kyle responded laconically.

"It's all bullshit," Steve insisted. "If trained cops can't find out who's doing these killings, then no pretend psychic is going to. If you ask me, the sheriff is going to have to call in the feds, and sooner rather than later."

Kyle said, "We've got a betting pool going. So far, the odds are just about even that we'll be up to our hats in condescending feds by the middle of next week."

"Oh, joy," Justin murmured.

Steve offered an exaggerated shrug. "Hell, maybe we should just admit we're out of our depth and roll out the welcome mat. At least then they could take some of the flak."

Shelby asked, "Are you getting flak?"

He grimaced. "Let's just say I've been asked more than once how it is that we have allowed fine upstanding citizens to be murdered."

Dryly, Shelby said, "Fine upstanding citizens with S and M playrooms in their basements?"

"That point is conveniently forgotten, just like gambling, embezzlement, and collections of porn."

Kyle said, "Why don't you say it a little louder, Steve, so all of Main Street can hear? There might be one or two who don't yet know all the facts."

Unrepentant, Steve retorted, "If you think there's a soul over the age of fourteen in all of Lacombe Parish who doesn't know exactly what's going on, you're nuts."

"What I think is that the sheriff is going to can all of us if he finds out we're talking about this like it's no more important than what we had for lunch. Use your head, Steve."

Whatever response Steve might have made was lost when the radios on the belts of all the deputies as well as the one Justin had in his car suddenly and loudly squawked for attention.

Max looked at Nell sharply but said nothing. Ethan hunkered down and stared grimly at the skeleton. "Adam killed her? Are you sure about that?"

"Who else could it have been? He's the one who claimed she left, that she ran away. He had access to her things and could have packed up and disposed of some of them so it looked like she had taken clothing and personal effects with her. Nobody else could have done that. And he was so openly angry and bitter about her having run away that nobody stopped to wonder if she really had."

Ethan sighed, still gazing down at what was left of Grace Gallagher. "Probably won't be able to tell how she was killed after all this time."

"In the vision, I saw — I remember — there were stab wounds. Lots of them. But I don't think any of them were fatal. Maybe he dropped the knife during the struggle, I don't know. I do know there was a struggle, a violent one; the whole room was trashed." Nell's voice was steady. "In any case, I'm pretty sure her neck's broken. A forensic pathologist should be able to determine that."

Ethan looked at her, brows lifting. "And what else are you pretty sure of?"

"That the body was uncovered for a long period, then finally buried in this very shallow grave. You can see there are only shreds of clothing left, but as much torn as rotted, and there are some fine marks on some of the bones. Teeth marks, I think. Probably rats." Her voice remained composed, matter-of-fact. "I'm thinking he didn't have time to bury her right away, so he just left her down here, covered with an old tarp or something. The rats got to her, maybe even other animals. By the time he could bury her, there wasn't much left."

"That's what you think?"

"That's what I think."

Frowning, Ethan said, "Why do I get the feeling you sort of know what you're talking about?"

Nell didn't hesitate. She reached into the pocket of her jacket and produced a small leather I.D. folder, tossing it across to him. "Because I sort of do."

Ethan opened the folder, and then sat back on his heels, staring down at the FBI badge and identification. "Christ almighty."

Nell had to smile, albeit faintly, at his incredulity. "Never know how people are going to turn out, do we?"

"You're telling me you're a cop? A federal cop?"

"That's what I'm telling you."

Ethan looked up at Max. "You know about this?"

"I found out a couple of days ago."

Rising slowly to his feet, still holding Nell's I.D. open in his hands, Ethan frowned down at it, then closed it and tossed it back to her. "Tell me it's a coincidence that you came to settle your family's estate just when we're in the middle of a murder investigation."

"Afraid not."

His jaw tightened. "You're here officially. And I wasn't consulted or even informed. Want to tell me why?"

Nell chose her words carefully. "There was a request made through official channels for an FBI profile of the killer operating here in Silence. The initial profile indicated there was a high probability the killer was a cop."

Ethan turned around and left the cellar.

"Think he's upset?" Nell murmured.

"Did you doubt he would be?"

Nell sighed and got to her feet. "No. I just hope he won't blow a fuse."

"We've both learned to handle our tempers a bit better than we used to."

"I noticed that."

Max half smiled, but said, "Nell… your mother. I'm sorry. But at least you can be sure she didn't willingly abandon you."

"Yes. I just wish I'd known it a long time ago." Clearly unwilling to further discuss those issues, she added, "We'll leave the lanterns down here for now. I'm hoping Ethan will okay sending the remains to the FBI lab for analysis."

"And if he doesn't?"

"I think he will. No matter how he feels about the possibility that one of his people is a killer, keeping the discovery of these remains quiet is in his best interests, at least for now. This town doesn't need to deal with another murder, even one more than twenty years old. Especially one more than twenty years old."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Don't you need to deal with it?"

"I've dealt with it." Nell walked around the grave without sparing it another glance, then went up the steps and out of the root cellar.

More than a little grim, Max followed.

They found Ethan once more surveying the burned-out hulk of a house but obviously thinking of something else. His face was decidedly dark. As soon as they joined him, he said flatly, "Just how sure is this profiler of yours that it's a cop?"

"Pretty sure. At least, he was when I came down here."

Ethan turned his head to eye her sharply. "And now?"

"I think he's still sure. But I've had a few doubts." Nell shrugged. "I'm not a profiler, even though I have spent some time in Behavioral Science. I could easily be wrong."

"But?"

"But… there's Hailey."

"You don't seriously believe Hailey could have killed four men in cold blood?"

"What I believe is that, so far, we haven't found a better connection between the men. They all had secrets, fairly nasty ones, and one of those secrets was that they all had a sexual relationship with Hailey at some point."

"I told you I don't believe George Caldwell had any kind of relationship with Hailey."

"Then maybe," Max offered, "he was killed for a different reason. Because he knew something, found out something. Because he was a threat. Maybe the reason why your people haven't found any secrets in his life is because he didn't have any."

"Believe it or not, that had occurred to me," Ethan snapped. "I know my job, Max."

"I never said you didn't."

"Funny, that's what I heard you say."

"You're imagining things."

Nell wasn't so tired that she didn't recognize signs of rising tension between the two men. Max was upset with her because he thought she was refusing to "deal" with discovering the truth about her mother, and Ethan was mad because the FBI had been right here under his nose without his knowledge or consent. Both of them wanted to let off steam.

The way her head was hurting, Neil was afraid that if they did that, she'd shoot both of them.

"The point," she said before an argument could really get started, "is that for three out of four of the murders, we can tie the victims to Hailey. Each of them had a secret sexual relationship with her. And each of them, according to the profile, was killed as punishment for his sins. Was killed because the murderer was unable to get justice for what were in all likelihood personal injuries."

"You're saying Hailey could have killed them because they all hurt her?" Ethan demanded.

"I'm saying it's possible."

"Yeah? Then explain to me why Patterson was killed more than twenty years after he played his sadistic little games with Hailey in his basement. If, that is, you're right about how old she was when it first happened."

"We don't know their relationship ended when Hailey was a child," Nell pointed out.

Ethan wasn't as shaken by that possibility as he might have been the day before. "Okay. But the question stands."

Remembering the morning's vision of Hailey as a child witnessing a brutal marital rape, Nell said, "It was probably a cumulative thing. Not being hurt just once, but again and again. The years passed, the hurts piled up, and finally Hailey couldn't take it anymore."

"She left," Ethan said. "Maybe she did get fed up, but her response was to leave Silence. What, you think she's been hiding out somewhere nearby for the past eight months, slowly killing off the men who treated her like shit? And nobody's seen her, not even a glimpse of her?"

Without answering his questions, Nell said, "There's one more factor that makes me feel sure Hailey is involved."

"And that is?"

"The first man to die last year was our father."

"Wait a minute. You think Adam was murdered too?"

"Yes. I think —"

Nell.

After a startled instant, Nell reached up to rub her temples soothingly. It was just the headache, that was all. Just this strange, pounding headache. There was nobody whispering in her ear.

Nobody.

"Are you all right?" Max asked.

"I'm fine. Ethan, I know he was supposed to have died of a heart attack, but I think it's at least possible that —"

You're wrong. You're wrong about all of it.

"Nell?"

She stared at Ethan for a moment, then shook her head. "Sony. I'm… sorry. I'm having a little trouble concentrating."

"You need to rest," Max said in a voice that could best be described as determined. "If a blackout is coming —"

"It isn't. At least, I don't think so. I just have a headache, that's all." Nell sighed. "But I think I probably do need to rest. Ethan, I can arrange to have the remains taken to the FBI lab for analysis, if that's okay with you. It'll be quickest, and quietest, so nobody in town has to know until you're ready to tell them."

Ethan swore under his breath, but said, "If Hailey's behind this rather than a cop, keeping quiet won't matter. But just in case your profiler is right, I think it would be best not to have any of my people deal with this."

"Then I'll arrange it."

He nodded. "Far as I know, FBI agents seldom work alone. You have a partner here, don't you?"

Nell didn't hesitate. "As you say, we seldom work alone. But sometimes we do have to work very quietly, behind the scenes. Even undercover."

"And I'm not supposed to ask, I guess."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't." Nell smiled. "Please don't think of us as spies, Ethan. We're doing our jobs, just like you. Trying to do the right thing, just like you. Trying to catch a killer — just like you."

"Okay, point taken." Ethan settled his shoulders with the air of a man accepting, however reluctantly, something he didn't like but really couldn't fight. "Do you still want to see George Caldwell's place today?"

Nell didn't wait for Max to object. "Maybe later this afternoon, if I'm up to it."

"I still want to hear all this about Adam's death," Ethan said. "And sooner rather than later."

"I know."

"But for now, I need to get back to town, and you apparently need to rest." Ethan eyed Max. "I gather you're staying?"

"You gather correctly."

All Nell said was, "We should close the cellar doors just in case some kid wanders past, but there'll be someone here to collect the remains within an hour. With any luck at all, we should have at least preliminary results by sometime tomorrow."

"Fast work," Ethan grunted. He went over to close the cellar doors, then rejoined the other two, and they walked back through the woods to the Gallagher house. Ethan had dropped his deputy off in town before joining Nell and Max here earlier, so his cruiser was waiting for him.

"Let me know later if you feel up to seeing the Caldwell apartment," Ethan told Nell. He added flatly, "And I expect to be kept informed from here on out about the activities and conclusions of the FBI."

"You will be."

Ethan's radio muttered quietly but imperatively, and he reached for it to turn up the volume and respond to the summons. They all heard his dispatcher's urgent announcement.

"Sheriff, we've got another one. Another murder."