Ghosts of Rosewood Asylum (31 page)

He’d risen to a crouching position when he
remembered that, because Hunter was a consultant, Zach hadn’t entered him into
that
XPI
text group. In any case, Zach wanted to send him an amended
message:  Im ok. Pick me up @ muses in 30 mins? Please txt if yes. Will
expln l8r.

Zach stood as carefully as he would have
aboard a train on rickety tracks. His legs were weary but not wobbly; his head
throbbed with warning of dehydration. It was dark; it was quiet. It was time to
get through the boxwood hedges. He glanced around to make sure nobody was around.
No one was but, looking east toward Lincoln Avenue, Zach realized that the
hedges only ran along the back fence. In his woozy state earlier, he hadn’t
even noticed that by walking, or likely crawling, another thirty feet, he could
have merely snuck around them.

Be careful what you wish for, godson.

His uncle’s voice was as clear and loud as a
church bell. As was his meaning. In the divine plan, Zach hadn’t been meant to
follow Bryce and Matthew. Something bad would have happened.

Stealthily, he circled around the boxwoods
and approached the corner of the fence where earlier the guys had snuck
through. From up close, he could see Matthew’s handiwork on the fence. A scene
from Saint Xavier Theater’s production last year of
Southside Story
flashed through his head. It had been Matthew’s first in charge of set design,
and he’d invited Zach and other team members to attend. There were tall fences
set up on stage made of this very material.

He’d used stretchable cords similar to, but
thinner than, the webbing contraption used in place of a tailgate on the back
of pickup trucks. He must have gone through painstaking lengths to match the
size and color of the actual fence with such precision. Tiny hooks latched to
the actual fence and the corner post. As Matthew had admitted to Bryce, it
wasn’t built to last, but the forgery was invisible to the unknowing eye. He’d
probably planned on coming back next week and cutting it off, maybe slashing up
more of the fence to look like vandalism.

Zach unhitched the hooks on the post, slid
through the opening it created and emerged on the other side. As he reattached
the hooks as they had been, a thought struck him—what else had Matthew designed
and planted? No doubt he had concealed a device on the administration building
wall, a contraption designed to create false EMF readings. The peach room was
bogus, but what else?

He strode up Lincoln Avenue as quickly as
his legs would take him. At one point, he attempted a trot, but the pain
precluded it. Each step felt as though he were walking on skeleton feet. The
chilly night air nipped at his nose and his ears. The breeze carried with it
more than a suggestion of burning wood. Apparently, people who just the
previous afternoon may have run their air conditioners, were now blazing
fireplace logs to prevent having to prematurely light their furnaces.

Zach’s mind wandered back to the visions
he’d experienced. The cop had been Paramour, of that he was certain, and
there’d been a cover up. Paramour had tried to frame the woman living in the
basement of murder. But why?

Zach called Wendy, who answered on the first
ring.

“Zach, where are you? We’re all wor—”

“Shh,” he hissed into the phone. “Don’t
worry. I’m fine. Hey quick. Tell me something, when did fingerprints get
discovered?”

She sighed. "“Generally, Henry Faulds
is considered the ‘Father of Fingerprinting,’ but there is some controversy
surrounding—”

“When, Wendy? When?” Zach had cupped his
hand over his mouth to muffle his voice.

“Oh, like late 1800s, like 1890s.”

Zach was passing the empty lot that adjoined
Ginny Foster’s house. Fortunately, there weren’t many windows along the home’s
west side. Why would there be? There should have been another house right next
door.

“And when were they used by police?” Zach
whispered into the phone.

“I think Scotland Yard used fingerprints as
early as 1901, but they weren’t used in court until like 1905. First in England
and then—”

“That’s all I need,” Zach said. “I’ll talk
to you—”

“But Zach, don’t you want to hear what I
found out about Paramour today?”

He considered Wendy’s tendency to go on and
on, but his curiosity outweighed his need for brevity. “Only the very most
important part,” he said. “The rest can wait. I can call you in an hour.”

“Aren’t you going to be back here at
Rosewood before that?”

“You’re at Rosewood?”

“Yes, I am. Anyway, about Paramour. He
disappeared in early July of 1899. At his home, he left a brief note saying
that he was following a lead on his missing wife’s whereabouts and that he’d
return.”

He limp-walked up the middle of Lincoln. On
the opposite side of the street from the Fosters, Mrs. Radkey’s house was
completely dark. Odd at this hour for her to be either asleep or out and about.
Maybe it was bingo night. Zach continued past the house. There were tiny
trinkets of light that danced with the shadows in the back windows.

A sure sign of lit candles.

“His wife had gone missing?”

“Yes, a couple years earlier.”

“And what happened?”

“Well, the first part of Paramour’s note
may
have been true,” Wendy said. “Who knows? But, in the end, the second part
proved to be false. He was never seen nor heard from again.”

It all fit! Paramour killed the orderly,
Thomas Carter, and then tried to frame “PME,” the woman living in Rosewood’s
basement. Being a doctor and a scientist, Johansson would have known about the
theory of fingerprinting. He’d have read about it at least in medical journals
if nothing else. Police weren’t using the technology yet and so Paramour hadn’t
bothered to take precautions when stabbing the body. Dr. Johansson may not have
been able to match the fingerprint on the knife to Paramour, however he’d known
it didn’t belong to the patient in the basement. Johansson’s findings
threatened Paramour.

How was the woman connected to Paramour? Was
it in Dr. Johansson’s buried journal?

She scraped embers from the fireplace and
scalded his feet.

It was his godfather’s voice, but they were
Evelyn’s words. Hunter had been right. Dr. Johansson hadn’t been responsible
for the fires. John Paramour, the police chief who tried to frame a woman for
murder, the boy who had been punished by his mother by having his feet burned,
had to have been the arsonist.

“Wendy, you’re the best!”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Zach.”

They said their goodbyes. The fireplace
scent in the air melded with the odor of ground coffee beans the closer to
Muses
that Zach got.

Before he could put his still-silent-moded
phone back in his pocket, a text message flashed on his display screen. Without
slowing his limped gait, he opened it.

A message from Hunter:  R we awake?
Will pick u up @ muses but Lucy, u got some ‘splainin’ 2 do!

Zach’s wallet contained just enough money
for three overpriced, 20-ounce, bottles of water and an extra-large Café
Americano. If he had more money, he’d have ordered more water. The hot drink
would be used to warm his hands until his body rehydrated. Then, he’d trade a
tinch of dehydration for the energy jolt the caffeinated beverage would surely
provide.

Except for one overweight man, his laptop
open, drinking iced-coffee topped with whipped cream,
Muses
was empty.
The late-night crowd hadn’t yet arrived, and the post-dinner folks had already
departed. The snotty barista who’d given Zach the dirty looks the previous
night was again on duty. He looked at Zach with contempt. Zach suspected that,
covered in dirt and leaves, not to mention dehydrated and short of blood, he
must look an utter mess. And, considering he’d guzzled two water bottles before
even paying for them, Zach would cut the kid some slack.

“It’s nice to finally see you.” It was her
voice.

Zach turned around. Evelyn was standing near
the door.

“Evelyn. I’m glad to see you, tonight.”

“Well,” she said, with a decidedly nervous
grin, “it’s nice to be seen.”

“Café Americano,” the kid shouted out. “Any
‘to go’ orders for your friends tonight?”

“Maybe later,” Zach said.

“Riiiiiight.”

With an attitude like that, Zach thought, I
still may be reporting your behavior to your boss.

Zach felt obliged to apologize to Evelyn for
the kid’s behavior, but before he could say anything, she spoke. “With the
exception of you, I just don’t understand most young people today.”

Zach chuckled and motioned toward a table
near the front window. It was too cold to sit outside, and he wanted to be in a
position to see Hunter as soon as he arrived.

Once seated, Evelyn looked Zach up and down.
“You look like you’re neither here nor there.”

Zach wasn’t sure what to make of that, but
he wasn’t about to waste time. “Evelyn, I need answers.”

“Answers for what?

“On John Paramour. On Dr. Johansson. On his
journal.”

“I’ve told you, I don’t know a Dr.
Johansson.” Her mouth twitched.

Zach decided to try and catch Evelyn in a
lie. “We made contact with and released Dr. Johansson’s spirit last night.”

Evelyn put her hand to her mouth. “Oh dear.”

The ruse had worked perfectly, but its
effectiveness did nothing to dull his disappointment in her. “You did know of
him. Why did you lie? Why did you claim you’d not heard of him.”

“Zach, please,” she said. “I don’t mean to
lie. It’s just that the truth for me is sometimes hard to identify.”

Zach had no idea what that was supposed to
mean. “You also know more about John Paramour than you’re letting on.”

She sat without movement or sound. Zach had
already decided to let her sit until she spoke, until she told him what he
needed to know. She held several of the pieces to the puzzle he was trying to
complete. One silent moment stretched uncomfortably into another. When she did
speak, Zach thought she was joking.

“Oh, no. Your friend is here. The negro
one.”

“What?” Zach peered outside. Hunter’s white
Lexus had indeed pulled up to the no parking zone in front of Muses.

“I told you,” Evelyn said, “I can’t be seen
with you.” She rose from the table.

“But I
need
to know what you know about
this case.”

“Meet me back here later. I’ll wait for you
and I’ll tell you everything.” She inched away from the table toward the back
of the shop where the restrooms were located. “But Zach, come alone.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Zach’s strength wasn’t one-hundred percent,
but he hurried outside. Hunter stood next to his car, and took a few steps
towards Zach. “The psychic is near— Christ, pal you look...”

“I thought I asked you to pick me up in
thirty minutes,” Zach said his tone almost accusatory.

The smile was gone from Hunter’s face.
“Zach, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel really well, but I’ll be all
right.”

“Have you heard about Sashza?”

“No. What now?” Zach said more cynically
than he’d intended.

“She’s at the hospital,” he glanced at Zach
and continued. “She has second and third degree burns over much of her body.”

A flash of anger seized Zach.
Sailor
Black
. Just a hint of it. Just enough to remind him of his weakened state
and the implications that might arise out of him slipping out of control. Zach
had never lost so much blood during an episode; accidentally instigating one
now would most certainly cost him his life.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Get in. I’ll update ya on the way back to
Rosewood.”

Zach got in the car. Hunter sped through the
parking lot and onto 115th Street. By the time Hunter finished explaining what
he knew, which wasn’t much, they’d pulled up to the Rosewood entrance. More
lookie loos had shown up since dusk, and Zach felt grateful that none had
decided to encircle the property and caught him going through the back fence.
As they waited for the security guard to unlock the gate, the faces outside his
window mostly blended together. One old black man stood out from the rest. He
was tall, had a white-stubbled beard and wore a brimmed hat. He held a sign
that read: Jesus is NOT a ghost!

Zach had no clue what that message hoped to
convey, but he had an irrational desire to hop out of the car and ask the man
what he thought of the Holy Spirit. He realized he still must not be thinking
with perfect clarity.

Hunter passed the security checkpoint and
roared his car up toward the conglomeration of vehicles outside the Rosewood
lobby. He stopped far short of them. He put the car in park and turned to Zach.

“Brother, I picked you up early ‘cuz there’s
somethin’ I need to tell you.”