Charlaine Harris (37 page)

“Why was he so angry?”

“He thought I'd cheated somehow. He was having trouble accepting my ability as real. He was trying to find a rational explanation for something that's just unexplainable.” I wondered if I needed to call Art Barfield.

Seth Koenig looked thoughtful, as if he was making a very large mental note.

“And where were you, Mr. Lang?” Koenig asked.

“I was walking down Beale Street, trying to find some good blues to listen to. Doing a tourist thing.”

“What time did you get back to the hotel?”

“About seven, I think. Harper had been asleep.”

“I was upset after the little scene with Dr. Nunley,” I explained. “I had a terrible headache. I took some medicine and lay down.”

“Did anyone see you here during that time?”

“I didn't have room service, and no one called.” Dammit.

“And you, Mr. Lang?”

“It's possible someone will remember me in some of the places I stopped in on Beale.” Tolliver listed the places he'd visited, and told Agent Koenig he'd had a beer at one bar. “It's also possible no one will recall me. The street wasn't crammed with people, but it was busy enough.”

“And you were on foot?”

“Yes, we took a cab to the movies.”

“You saw what movie?”

We went all through our afternoon, including our meeting with Xylda Bernardo and her grandson Manfred.

“I've met Ms. Bernardo,” Koenig said, a slight smile on
his lips. It was the first time I'd seen him smile, and it looked good on him.

He stayed another hour, taking us over the afternoon and evening over and over. Just when I was beginning to think we were home free, Koenig said, “And now we come to an interesting point. Who was the man in the lobby with you last night, the man who sent Dr. Nunley on his way?”

I'd wondered when he was going to get around to Rick Goldman. “His name is Rick Goldman. He's a private detective, he told me,” I said carefully. “He was in the class at the cemetery, so he was there two mornings ago. According to him, he signed up for Occult Studies because the—well, a faction of the governing board, whatever it's called—was a little uneasy about Dr. Nunley's class. According to him, they'd asked him to take the courses, observe what happened, and report back to them.”

“You got his card?”

“We aren't on those terms.”

Koenig snorted. He'd taken a couple of notes. Now he put his little notebook back into his pocket. I was a bit surprised that he didn't use something higher-tech, like a BlackBerry.

“One more question,” he said, wanting me to relax so he could spring something on me. I refused to take his unspoken invitation to breathe easier. “When you two went out last night, why'd you return to the St. Margaret's cemetery?”

I'D
been waiting, like a cartoon character with a piano hoisted over its head, for the big collapse of the conversation, and here it was.

Tolliver and I glanced at each other. We had a choice to make. Did Koenig know we'd been there because he had solid evidence of our presence? Was this sheer conjecture, a stab in the dark to see if he hit a nerve? Or did he only know we'd taken our car out?

Tolliver tilted his head slightly.
Up to you,
he was saying.

“We went for a long drive. We had cabin fever,” I said. “We just looked at Memphis. We've never been here before. But we avoided anywhere we might be recognized. We don't want any more media attention. We want to be out of here, and out of the public eye.”

“You're one of the few people I could hear say those
words without wanting to laugh in their face,” Koenig said. He passed a hand over his crisp dark hair. “And I can't impress on you how lucky you are that it's me investigating this case, instead of…”

“One of your colleagues who wouldn't believe I can do what I can do?” I said.

His mouth snapped shut. After a second, he nodded.

“No one knows, right? Where you work? That you're a believer.”

He nodded again.

“How long have you realized there's more to this world?”

“My grandmother could see spirits,” he said.

“You have a big advantage over people whose minds are closed,” Tolliver said.

“Most days I don't think so,” the agent admitted. “Most days, I'd be happy to be like the other people I work with. Then I could just dismiss you people, all of you. But I believe you have exceptional abilities. That being said, I don't think you're telling me the truth. In fact, I think you're lying.” Koenig looked at us with a kind of profound disappointment. I almost felt guilty.

“We didn't kill him,” I said. That was the important truth. “We don't know who killed him, or why.”

“Do you think the Morgensterns killed Clyde Nunley? Do you think they killed their daughter?”

“I don't know,” I said. “I hope to God they didn't.” I hadn't realized how much I hoped that the Morgensterns were innocent of their daughter's death. And if they hadn't killed Tabitha, I couldn't imagine why they would kill Clyde
Nunley. I was assuming that the same person or persons had killed both victims.

That assumption might not be true. “Tolliver and I have been invited to their home for lunch today,” I said, just to change the subject. “We'll see more of the family then, I guess.”

“Do you want to see what you can get from the body?” Koenig asked as casually as if I'd been a fiber expert or a pathologist. “That is, if I can arrange it.”

This was kind of exciting, being taken seriously by a law enforcement professional.

“I'll do Nunley if you let me do Tabitha,” I said.

He looked genuinely surprised. “But you've already, uh, ‘done' Tabitha.”

I didn't really want to review Nunley. Been there, done that. I'd do it, though, if I could have another chance at the little girl. “That day, I was so upset and shocked when I realized there really were two sets of bones in the grave. Maybe I could get more.”

“It may take some time, but I'll see what I can do,” Koenig said. I couldn't help but notice his eyes flicked over my bare legs again. Well, he was a male, after all. I didn't think Koenig was particularly interested in the person who used those legs.

“It drains her to touch a body,” Tolliver said, trying to force Agent Koenig to acknowledge that I was making a generous offer.

“Interesting,” he said, and that was his only comment. “Let me know when you return from the Morgensterns'
house, would you? Maybe you'll pick up some impressions from someone there.”

“Hey, once again, not psychic. The only time I get impressions is when I touch a corpse, and I'm not planning on there being any at the Morgensterns' house. In fact, I'd just as soon this case get solved so quickly I wouldn't have to locate another body until we travel to our next job.”

“Assuming you get to,” Koenig said pleasantly.

There was a significant pause, while Tolliver and I absorbed the threat.

“If push comes to shove, we once did a favor for the governor,” I said, very quietly. I was very willing to shove.

I loved the expression on Koenig's face. I'd really surprised him, and that was a true pleasure. Childish, I know, but I never said I was adult all the way through. I don't ever reveal who my clients have been, but in this case, I felt that I had to take a stand.

“You mean you can call the governor of this state, maybe get him to come down on me or on the Memphis police, let you leave Memphis?”

I didn't say anything. I let what I'd said reverberate a bit.

“That's an unexpected threat,” Koenig said. His face had gotten colder and harder. “Of course, any threat from you two is unexpected. I kind of think you won't be ringing that bell.”

We looked at each other. “You'd be surprised what we'll do,” I said. Tolliver nodded.

Koenig gave us his best tough-guy stare.

“Whose car was it?” Tolliver asked.

It took Koenig a second to change mental gears.

“Whose car? You mean, the car left at St. Margaret's?”

Tolliver nodded.

“Why should I tell you?”

“After all we've shared, and you're not going to let us know?” My tone may have been a wee bit mocking.

“I think we can take it that the car was Dr. Nunley's own vehicle,” Tolliver said. “Just a guess on my part.”

“Yeah,” Koenig admitted. “It was Nunley's car. It wasn't there at nine last night, but it was there early this morning.”

We tried not to look too startled. We'd been there earlier; the body had been in the grave, but the car hadn't been there, for sure.

“How do you know that?” I asked, and was proud that I sounded so unconcerned.

“The campus police take a turn back there every night about nine, and no one was parked in the St. Margaret's parking lot. Since they're campus cops, they just cruise through the lot. They don't even get out of the car, much less check the inside of every grave. The strange thing is, Nunley was probably in the open grave already. The time of death was way earlier than that. He couldn't have died after nine. The body temperature indicates he was dead by seven at the latest, and the stomach contents tend to bear that out. Of course, the lab results aren't back, and there's a lot more to be learned from the body.”

Tolliver and I exchanged a glance. It took all my self-control to keep from covering my eyes with my hand. We hadn't known how lucky we were. If the campus police had
caught us there with the corpse, no way in hell would anyone have believed we were innocent.

“So, Agent Koenig, why do you think the killer drove the car away and brought it back?” I asked. “Let me put on my thinking cap.” I held a finger to my cheek in a parody of concentration.

Actually, I already had a pretty good idea. Or rather, three ideas. One, the killer wanted to get the car cleaned to erase any forensic traces. Two, the killer had to fetch something and take it back to the cemetery to complete the picture he was trying to paint. Three, the killer heard us coming and wanted to get the car out of there while we were approaching, so we wouldn't see who was driving.

Seth Koenig looked from me to Tolliver with a stony face, not amused in the least. He said. “That man is dead. If you can't take that seriously, you're just not human.”

“Playing the not-human card,” I said to Tolliver.

“As if we hadn't heard that one before,” he said.

“I know what you're doing,” the agent said. “And you're good at it, I'll give you that. Were the rocks in the grave when you saw the body?”

“We didn't see the body,” I said flatly.

“They were big rocks. Big enough to crack a skull,” Koenig said. “I think that's why the killer had to come and go. He had to go get a couple of big rocks. He threw them down in the grave so they'd land on Nunley's head—might have taken a couple of tries. The killer wanted the scene to look as though Nunley might have tripped and fallen into
the open grave. But we're pretty sure that just didn't happen. Dr. Nunley was almost certainly murdered.”

“Dum-dum-
dum
,” I said.

“I know you're not laughing inside about this,” Koenig said. “I know you want me to leave so you can talk about it. I'm letting you know I'm available for further conversation. And if you remember anything, you're smart enough to realize we need to know about it.” He rose, in an easy motion that made me envious.

“We understand,” Tolliver said, getting up at the same time. He stood between Koenig and me. “We'll be talking to you.” He hesitated. “I appreciate that you're doing your best with this case. It's bothered Harper a lot, too.” He looked back at me, and I nodded. Though we were ready, past ready, for Koenig to leave, this had been a much more amicable interview than we usually had with anyone who carried a badge.

When the door shut behind Koenig, Tolliver didn't move for a long moment. Then he turned to me with raised brows.

“That was different,” I agreed.

“The bad thing about him being halfway nice is that I almost don't like lying to him,” my brother said. “The good thing is, he gave us a lot of useful information.” His face darkened. “Like the time of death.”

I nodded. “That's pretty scary, huh? That we got there at just the right moment not to run into the murderer?”

“I wonder if we were that lucky. I wonder if the murderer
wasn't parked somewhere, watching us—to see if we'd find the body and call the cops. If we didn't, he'd know he needed to do something different, because there'd be no point in bringing the car back if there'd be a police officer standing there saying, ‘And what are you doing in the deceased's automobile?'”

I shivered, picturing someone lurking in the dark coldness of the old graveyard, someone watching and waiting to see what we made of our discovery. I'm no good at detecting the presence of living people. But the awful image faded after a moment. That didn't hang together.

“No, no one was there,” I said. “Because someone did bring the rocks—thought it
was
of use to try to cover up the murder. So it stands to reason that the killer didn't know we'd found the body in the meantime, that we could testify that there wasn't anything in the grave but the corpse when we saw it.”

Tolliver thought that over, nodded. It made sense. “Assuming we tell anyone. Assuming people believe us,” he muttered.

“Yes, always assuming that.” I stood and stretched. Because of my bad leg, I couldn't stand as smoothly as the FBI agent, who was way older. I tried not to resent that. I moved carefully, loosening the muscles. “And we just missed the campus cop patrol. We thought it was so deserted out there! They should put in a traffic light.” There was a lot more thinking to do about what Seth Koenig had told us, but we had a social engagement I was dreading. “I'm going to get ready for the lunch. I guess we have to go.”

Tolliver blew out a deep breath. He was as reluctant as I was, and he had the added complication of Felicia Hart's probable presence. “I think the Morgensterns feel guilty because we can't leave Memphis,” he said. “They feel kind of like they're our host and hostess.”

“But their daughter is dead, and they should be free to think about that, concentrate on that.”

“Harper, maybe they don't want to. Maybe we're a welcome distraction.”

I shrugged. “Then at least we're serving some useful purpose.” But I couldn't even feel good about that. “I think this is a bad idea.”

“I'm not exactly looking forward to it myself. But we have to do it.”

I held up my hand, because his tone was definitely on the testy side. “I get that. And I'll stop sulking in a minute. Okay, you shower. I'll get dressed.” I glanced at my watch. “We've got an hour and a half. Do we have directions?”

“Yeah, I got them over the phone from Joel. I'm sure Felicia is going to be there.” He gave me a stern look. “Do I have to ask you to be nice?”

“Of course I will be.” I gave him just enough of a smile to make him anxious. We didn't talk much during the long drive across the city. I drove, Tolliver navigated.

The Memphis home of the Morgenstern family was not unlike their Nashville home, though it was located in a somewhat more modest neighborhood. Diane and Joel liked upscale suburbs, not old city neighborhoods. They liked the kind of place where the trees are only partially grown and
the lawns were rolled out in strips, where people jog in the early morning and the late evening and there are always service trucks circling the houses like remoras seeking sustenance from sharks.