Heather Graham - The Betrayed

“Yes. Of course, I’m not a detective, but...no robbery. He had about a hundred in cash on him, several credit cards and his New York State driver’s license.”

“No cell phone?” Aidan asked. “It didn’t show up in a secret pocket or anything?”

Mortenson shook his head. “No cell phone.”

“Purbeck was going to get a fix on its last location,” Van Camp murmured.

“It’ll be the convention center,” Aidan said. “If this killer is a psychopath, he’s a smart one.”

“Call us,” Voorhaven said, “if you get anything, anything at all.”

“We need an ID on Jane Doe as soon as possible,” Van Camp pointed out.

“I’m on it. Like I said, I’ve done dental impressions and taken her fingerprints. Swabbed her for DNA, but of course, we have to have something for comparison,” Mortenson said.

“Has the image of the young woman you showed us been made public?” Aidan asked.

“Definitely,” Mortenson said. “It’s been shown on the media. Uniforms are putting pictures up all over the city now.”

Aidan left, followed by Voorhaven and Van Camp. “On to the strip club?” Voorhaven guessed.

“I want to head over to the convention center to meet the assistant first,” Aidan said.

“You never met him?”

“No, I never had reason to, and it’s been a while since I’ve seen Richard.”

Van Camp shrugged. “We questioned everyone. We had police in there from the county helping out. We searched. We asked the assistant and Highsmith’s people if they’d stay around another few days, and they were agreeable.”

“The Fed doesn’t seem to think we did it right,” Voorhaven said in a low, sarcastic voice.

Aidan didn’t have to answer; Van Camp did it for him. “Don’t start with that crap, Jimmy. We have dead people here. We’ll give Mahoney our total cooperation. Maybe he’ll learn something more. He’s a pair of fresh eyes and we have new info, as in bodies,” he said, turning to Aidan. “Forgive the kid. He’s a good cop, but like I said, new to having a detective’s badge.”

“Sure.” Aidan shrugged “We don’t know what we have yet. I’d still like to talk to Highsmith’s assistant.”

“Sorry, yeah,” Voorhaven muttered. “We have dead people. I guess I think we’re supposed to resent federal intervention. And Lee is right. We need to stop this, whatever it takes.”

“We could split up, but I wouldn’t mind an introduction to Mr. Branch, the assistant,” Aidan said.

“Of course,” Voorhaven agreed.

“I’ll follow you,” Aidan told them.

Van Camp nodded and led the way to the cars.

Aidan paused, looking back at the morgue.

Most of his life, he’d hated it when he saw—or imagined he saw—what others didn’t. He hated whatever it was that made him see the dead walking.

He often denied it, even to himself.

But right now...

His thoughts were different.

Talk to me again, my friend. Talk to me, please. Talk to me again.

3

Somehow, Mo managed to get work done during the day, although she did keep the television on and listened as the news repeated the morning’s findings over and over again.

A police spokeswoman was shown frequently, assuring the public that all local resources, the state police and the FBI had been called in, and a task force was investigating. The killer would be pursued until caught. The public was warned, of course, to be careful when out; people should travel in groups and make sure they were carefully locked in at their homes or hotels.

Naturally, the press questioned the young woman about the possibility of a serial killer on the loose.

News media and the police constantly reinforced the fact that all investigative paths were being followed.

Mo jumped when Rollo began to bark excitedly. There was a knock at her door and she froze. But Rollo was wagging his tail, so he knew her visitor.

“Who is it, boy?” she asked.

At the same time, her cell phone rang.

She picked it up. “Hello?”

“Mo, where are you? Let me in!”

It was Grace Van Mullen, a close friend. Grace had grown up here, and throughout the years, the two of them had stayed friends, meeting whenever Mo and her family came in from the city. As an only child, Mo had always valued her friends, none more than Grace.

These days Grace was often her sounding board. She worked for a tourist company and during the Halloween season that included taking on the role of a character at the Haunted Mausoleum. There was actually more than one mausoleum at this particular tourist attraction, as well as a scattering of graves. They were situated on a property that had long been forgotten and lay in the middle of what was once a farm. The farm and the old graveyard both belonged to Grace’s employer now.

When the season wasn’t going on, there were still tours of the place, but they were more historical and factual in nature. From the end of September through the first days of November, however, it was a popular attraction. Like everything else in town, the burial ground on the property was decorated with the usual—spiderwebs, fake rats, skeletons and, of course, a headless horseman. At Grace’s main place of employment, though, live actors took on the roles of historic personages, legendary beings and all kinds of ghastly and ghoulish creatures.

“I’m on my way to the door.”

When Mo opened it, Grace burst in. She was full of fiery energy, a young woman with a generous mouth and a nose that was almost as generous. None of her features were exactly pretty, yet Grace was one of the most attractive people Mo knew. It was that energy of hers, Mo thought, or her simple love of life and her willingness to look for the best in everyone.

“Oh, my God, thank you! Even at your place, I don’t like waiting outside!” Grace gave an exaggerated shudder. “Not while all these terrible things are going on.”

Grace locked the door behind her. Rollo woofed and she greeted him appropriately.

“This is so awful. Can you believe it? You were probably there. You and Rollo... And such a good man dead. Oh,” she added. “I’m out of work. For tonight, at least.”

“What? Really?” Mo checked her watch. It was now going on five, and she was happy, relieved, to have Grace’s companionship for the evening.

“We just got word. They’ll announce all the closings on the media soon,” Grace told her. “I just wonder what they’re going to do. The cops, I mean. How soon do they think they’ll catch this guy? Maybe... Well, you’d have to be crazy or a monster to commit these crimes. So a crazy monster is running around here. And you’d notice a crazy monster, wouldn’t you?”

“Monsters can live right next door,” Mo said, and immediately regretted her words. Grace’s look of horror was absolute. Her mouth formed a silent oh.

“Of course, whoever this is...it could be political,” Mo said.

“If it was just Highsmith. But two people were killed.”

“She might have been in the way,” Mo said quickly.

“A government conspiracy!”

“Oh, Grace, I really don’t think so. I don’t believe that’s the case at all. But...I guess we should be vigilant for a while.”

“We’ll all go broke if we have to be vigilant for too long,” Grace said. “I don’t want to die! But I need to be able to pay my mortgage. I should have gone your route, Mo. As in having a real career. You have your art and you volunteer, especially with Rollo! But you have a gift for working with animals. I wish I had a gift.”

“You do have a gift! You know this area backward and forward. People love you. You’ve been given nothing but high ratings on the internet travel sites. And don’t worry, the police will handle this situation,” Mo said. “We’ll be okay.”