Mary Robb - Down the Rabbit Hole

“His name wasn’t Carroll.” Peabody swiveled on her stool. “Niles George Carroll with that ID number didn’t exist before 2038. It’s pretty good fake data, but there are holes, and when you go into them, it falls apart.”

“Got more names here.” Feeney leaned back in his chair. “Dupres encoded them, sandwiched between other data.”

“Looks like she did the input about three this morning,” Callendar added. “The way it reads, Dallas, these are all pre–your bogus Carroll dude. Six in total.”

“Let’s throw them in. Which is the first?”

“First, if we figure this is chrono order, is Ravenwood.”

Eve pulled up a stool next to Roarke’s.

“I can run it,” he began.

“Yeah, do that. I’m taking Bright. If this is chrono, and Bright wasn’t just a rhyme, this could be who he is now.”

“Hit on Simon.” McNab did his little boogie. “Got your pattern, clear as they come. François Simon, psychic advisor and spiritualist, New Orleans, 2053 to 2057, went missing on a sabbatical to South America. Presumed dead.”

“Three to four years, each spot habitually,” Eve said as she worked. “He’s still here, but probably not for long. Callendar, I want you to—”

“Run a search for murder/suicides each location just prior to the fuckhead’s exit. On it.”

Roarke hit on two others, with the pattern holding.

When the pizza arrived, Eve did indeed mutter—but grabbed a slice of pepperoni. The lab might have smelled like a pizzeria, with a sugary topping of fizzies, but the work got done.

“Louis Carroll Ravenwood,” Roarke announced. “McNab, do a double, would you, to confirm this is the first?”

“Can do.”

“Daresbury, England—which, as I’ve spent a little time boning up on Lewis Carroll—was where Carroll was born and raised.”

“Not a coincidence,” Eve stated.

“I’d say not. Spiritualist, offering readings, consultations, séances, and past-life regressions; 2022 to 2028.”

“His longest stint.”

“It seems. Pulling related data, I have an article or two. He claimed to be a connection of Carroll himself, through one of Carroll’s sisters. And was called to Daresbury by Carroll’s spirit, whom he also claimed to channel. He worked with his sister, not surprisingly called Alice.”

“There’s no sister mentioned in any of the other data on the other names.”

“Wouldn’t be,” Roarke confirmed, “as she died in Daresbury in 2028. Suicide.”

“Bang.” Eve’s eyes narrowed. “Mira will make buckets of shrink juice with that.”

“And more so as it was discovered Alice Ravenwood had been an addict with a taste for meth and LSD. She suffered from acute depression and, after lacing a pot of tea with sedatives, served it to herself and her brother. She died; he nearly did. He left Daresbury soon after. There’s nothing on him, under that name, past that.”

“I want to see the police report. Maybe he dosed the sister. Either way, it gave him his springboard for all the rest. Crazy bastard skins the clients, then picks one to re-create the— Fucking A, I’ve got him. Carroll Bright. Claims to be a ‘Doctor of Paranormal Studies.’ I’ve got a goddamn address.”

CHAPTER TEN

Bright sighed as he entered the lovely parlor where Ms. Harriet March was setting out the service for tea.

“My dear March, the time has come for us to move on. How do you feel about Budapest?”

“Hungry for goulash.”

He chortled, giggled, slapped his thighs. “That’s the spirit! I’ve given notice. We’ll begin packing after our session with the delightful Mrs. Melton.”

“Our Mouse signaled they’re on their way.”

“Excellent.”

“And will Mrs. Melton join her sister in the Wonderland?”

He smiled at the avid look in her eyes. He’d been right to keep her. He’d sensed her potential when she’d first come to him—seeking communication with a lost love. A shadow of darkness inside her, so easily deepened with time and patience.

And of course the tonic she’d become so fond of.

“She and her husband will make their journey tonight, even as we make our own.”

Eyes shining, she clapped her hands. “We’ve never sent two clients down the rabbit hole so close together.”

“Isn’t it fun! Our time in New York has been so lucrative, and we waited so long for the first to go. I thought sending another would be our little farewell party. And there she is now! Would you get the door, Ms. March?”

“Of course, Doctor Bright. The tea and cakes are all prepared.”

Naturally, he thought, and swallowed the little tablet that would offset the tea. He checked himself in the mirror—his favorite looking glass had traveled with him around the world. And he decided he’d use his favorite top hat for this last session in New York.

Then he turned to greet the marvelously wealthy and wonderfully hopeful Mrs. Melton.

She came to him, both hands outstretched. “Oh, Doctor Bright, I’ve so looked forward to today. I’m so anxious to speak with my sister again.”

“There’s nothing like a sister,” he said with a wide, wide grin. “Let’s have some tea.”

It would, he thought, be a lovely party.

* * *

Eve planned her approach carefully. She and Peabody would go to the house, gain access.

She circled the conference room where she’d assembled her team. “I want him in the box. Once we get him out, the search team—with the warrants—goes in. The detectives from Illegals will handle the search for the drugs. McNab and Callendar take the electronics. And since the expert consultant civilian wants in, he’s on finances. We want to establish Fitzwilliams paid him that nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars a session and do a secondary check to see if he scammed his way into her will, probably through the foundation.

“Look for false IDs—licenses, passports—and a client list. Check for recordings of the Fitzwilliamses’ murders, and any others.” She glanced around the room, nodded. “Peabody.”

“Set.”

“Let’s hit in.”

Roarke moved up beside her as they headed out. “He must have abilities. He’ll try to read you.”

“I know how to block. Peabody’s father’s a sensitive, and he taught her how to filter. She’s anxious about it, but we’ve got to go in. I want to see his place, see his reactions before we bring him in.”

“He’s not working alone.”

“Thought of that. This is what we do, Roarke.”

He knew it, all too well. “It’s one thing when your body’s on the line. This is your mind as well, so have a care with both.”

“Plan to.” She separated from him in the garage, got into the car with Peabody.

“I’m a little nervous,” Peabody admitted. “What if he tries to put—”

“Don’t say whammy.”

“What if he tries to put the thing I’m not saying on us?”

“Think about sex with McNab.”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t you say your father told you to fill your mind with other thoughts, confused and jumbled? Do that. Nobody’s going to want to keep pushing in if all he gets is you and McNab and sex.”

Catching Peabody’s smile, Eve hissed. “Not now. Stop thinking about it now. It creeps me out.”

“Just practicing.” Happily, Peabody practiced all the way uptown.

Rather than search for a space, Eve flipped up her On Duty light and double-parked. She didn’t think this first stage would take above fifteen minutes.

“Wow, this place is really beautiful.” Peabody studied the wide, three-level townhouse as they approached. “It looks sort of European. I bet it’s on the historic register. One of those great old buildings from the nineteenth century that survived the Urbans.”