Josh Lanyon - The Mermaid Murders

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.

Chapter Twenty-One

G o. Go now.

Jason studied the signal bars. Or rather the lack of signal bars. No service .

No kidding.

What are you waiting for? Go.

He could wait for darkness to fall, but he didn’t think that would gain him much advantage. There was only one way out of the cellar of the lyceum, and by now Gervase must be in position to pick him off when he stepped outside.

Jason could stay put and wait for Kennedy to show up with the cavalry. Except maybe Kennedy wouldn’t have the cavalry. Maybe the cavalry was on the other side this time.

And if Kennedy walked into Rexford looking for Jason, he would put himself in the line of fire.

Jason waited by the door of the cellar, watching the panes in the window overhead turn gray with twilight.

Maybe Gervase hadn’t made it to Rexford yet? Maybe he was still hiking in? In which case Jason was wasting valuable minutes hovering in this doorway.

No. No, Gervase was in great shape for his age—plus he had desperation to fuel him. No, he would have reached the village by now. And he would know exactly where Jason was.

All he had to do was wait for Jason to stick his head up.

Whac-A-Mole. Only with police issue mallets.

Angrily, Jason realized he was shaking. He told himself it was from the cold water. He was not going to come unglued at the idea Gervase was standing up there waiting to put a bullet in him.

Think .

First of all, if Gervase was going to kill him—kill a federal agent—it was going to be because he believed he could get away with it. He was acting to protect himself, so he could go on living his life as police chief and solid citizen. So he wasn’t going to murder Jason outright. That would be idiotic. Aside from having to also and immediately deal with Kennedy—and how the hell would he explain the murder of two federal agents?—he’d bring the full investigative resources of the entire federal government down on himself.

No. Gervase was intelligent. And practical.

Even if his original idea had been to shoot Jason on the spot, he’d had the entire hike from the highway to calm down and think.

And what he would think was that if he was going to get rid of Jason, he would need it to look like an accident. Gervase would need to fix it so that even in a worst case scenario, there would be a nice big reasonable doubt in his favor.