Krewe of Hunters 1 Phantom Evil (15 page)

“I understand that Regina went to see a voodoo priestess,” Jackson said.

He saw the man's expression change, his easy composure vanish and his muscles harden. Holloway waved a hand in the
air. “I can't possibly explain to you how deeply my wife felt the loss of our child. She was inconsolable.”

“You didn't like the idea of her consulting outside religions?” Jackson asked.

“Religions? You mean
voodoo?
” Holloway asked.

“It is a religion.”

Holloway sniffed. “Yes, and that heinous Church of Christ Arisen is supposedly a recognized religion, too. You know, you can register online and become a minister of something or other overnight. I believe in our great Constitution, friend, but, sometimes…” He paused. “I should be politically correct. But right now, here's the truth. I think that so-called voodoo might have finally warped Regina's mind. That's what I want to know. Ghosts, voodoo, belief in hokum. Belief that ghosts exist, maybe. She was a sensible, intelligent woman once. And now…well, that's why you're here. You tell me, where do we draw the line on our freedoms—and
insanity?
”

“In New Orleans, and in most of the United States, the real practitioners of any religion abide by the laws of the nation. Any religion,
established
religions, creates offshoot fanatics, Senator Holloway,” Jackson said mildly. “And it was my impression that you believed that your wife had been murdered—that she hadn't committed suicide.”

“Even if it was suicide,” Holloway said, his head lowered, “I have to know. I just have to know the truth, that's all. Hell, if you tell me that the house is full of ghosts, I don't think I'll buy it, but I'll have nowhere else to go. Half the city believes that she was killed by ghosts. I just have to know.”

“We're following every lead and every possibility, Senator Holloway. I have one other question for you, for the moment,” Jackson said gravely.

“Yes, fire away,” Holloway said.

“Were you being blackmailed by anyone?”

“Blackmailed?” Holloway repeated, staring at Jackson. “No!”

Jackson nodded. “Okay, then were you cheating on your wife?”

 

“I think it's ridiculous if we all go down there,” Whitney said. They were watching the screen, and watching nothing at all. They were back to real time, and they might as well have been looking at still pictures.

“Why?” Will asked her. “There's safety in numbers.”

“It was a shadow. Just a shadow,” Jenna said.

“It actually takes a solid object to cast a shadow,” Will pointed out.

“Right, so a shadow might have been a ghost,” Whitney said.

“I don't see a solid object that could have created the shadow so…yeah, why not? It could have been a ghost,” Will agreed.

“I know what she's saying,” Angela said, interrupting the argument at last.

“You do?” Will asked, surprised.

Angela grinned, nodding her head. “A lot of people are shy. If you were shy in life, and—if ghosts do indeed exist—might they not be shy in death, too? If we all bombard the place, nothing will happen. That's what Whitney is saying. One of us should go down, and someone else could linger in the kitchen, and someone else keep watch on the screens.”

“Precisely,” Whitney said. “And we should do it before Jackson comes back.”

“Hey, he's on this team, head of this team!” Jenna said. “He's obviously sympathetic to what we're doing.”

“Yes, but we know how he feels about people playing games, and pretending that they see things they really don't,” Whitney said.

Angela glanced at her, bemused by the young woman's perception.

“And he's worried about our safety,” Will said.

Angela uncurled her legs and rose. “I'm going down. Will—you wait up in the kitchen, and that way, you're not even a few seconds away. Jenna, Whitney, you two man the screens. Or ‘woman' the screens, you know what I mean.”

“All right,” Will said, rising. “I know about illusion, but trust me, that shadow on the screen was no trick, right, Whitney?”

“I swear we didn't alter the film. We didn't play with it. It wasn't a trick,” Whitney said.

“Maybe our fearless leader is right,” Jenna said nervously. “Maybe safety comes first.”

“We're here to investigate. We have to investigate,” Angela said.

“But…” Jenna said, still sounding unhappy, her voice trailing.

“But what?” Angela asked her.

“You found the body down there. Or the skeletal remains. You might be susceptible,” Jenna reminded her.

“All the more reason I should go,” Angela said. “Come on, Will, let's do this.”

Will rose and walked with her through the hallway to the kitchen. He paused, waiting by the top of the stairs. She met his eyes.

“I'm here. I'm right here,” he told her.

“A ghost isn't going to hurt me,” she said gently.

She walked down the stairs to the basement level. The ground she had dug up—with assistance from Jackson at the end—remained disturbed. There were still pegs in the ground with tape wound around them to preserve the area in which they had been digging.

She decided to sit cross-legged on the floor near the location. She closed her eyes.

Her ghosts came to her in dreams; she was learning that. Dreams that could come when she let them, whether she was sleeping or awake.

She had to let go of reality, and remember the past.

She sat still, just breathing, thinking about some of the yoga mantras she knew.

This was not, however, she told herself dryly, a state of Zen.

She opened her eyes, and she nearly froze.

A single, naked bulb allowed for light in this area of the basement. It cast shadows into the corners and over the relics of life gone past, the everyday things that were part of the humdrum—tools and mops and sweepers, cleaners, more.

Shadows were creations of light. Light was energy. Life was energy. Death somehow changed energy.

She saw him at last. A man dressed in a waistcoat, frock coat and stovepipe hat, looking nervously at her from the shadows cast beneath the stairs. He looked at her, as if he was afraid of her reaction to him.

Tentatively, he stepped out.

It's all right,
she said silently.
It's all right.

She didn't know if she was trying to assure him, or her self.

Her eyes were open, she realized. She was staring at him, really seeing him.

And then…

She realized that she was surrounded. Men and women in Victorian attire were all around her, looking down at her. And there were more people, she realized. A man who might have been in Edwardian attire. A youth in a T-shirt, a fellow with shaggy hair, who looked as if he might have just walked in from the street…except that he hadn't.

She was certain a woman touched her cheek.

These are his victims,
she thought.
These are the victims of Madden C. Newton. He killed them all, some here, some elsewhere, but he buried them down here, and most had their bodies discovered, but some did not, and perhaps they have lingered, trying to help those who had not escaped the heinous man's hold in death.

The light, the one bulb in the room, suddenly burned with a brilliant explosion. The entire room was suddenly aglow; dust motes danced like silver in the bursting-nova gold that seemed to glow.

“Angela! Angela! Angela!”

She heard the cry; for a moment, she didn't realize that it was coming from the great ballroom. Whitney and Jenna were shouting to her.

“Angela! Get the hell out of there!”

Senator David Holloway lowered his head and looked to the left.

That was usually a sign that someone was going to lie.

“No,” he said, and the sound of his voice was a rasp. “I wasn't having an
affair
. I loved Regina.”

Jackson sat still for a minute. He leaned forward then, keeping his voice low and evenly modulated. “Sir, a man can love his wife and find a time when he needs the solace of another woman.”

Holloway looked up at him. Jackson noticed that he had a pencil in his hand and that the pencil was about to snap.

The senator stared at Jackson and spoke with a harsh voice of authority. “Mr. Crow, I did not have an
affair.
I was there for my wife every second that she needed me. My God! I lost my son, too, that day. But I understood. I understood a mother's love. I had my constituents. I had a world in which to immerse
myself. My wife had always been that, an amazing and brilliant aid to a politician, and a wonderful mother to our son. She was lost but, I'm telling you—I was there for her. And I want you to find out what happened, and I guarantee you, it had nothing to do with me having an
affair!
”

“Thank you, Senator Holloway. I'm sorry. I apologize. I needed that from you. You asked for a thorough investigation, after all. Had she started to believe in ghosts? Did someone get into the house and kill her? Or did she kill herself because she could no longer bear the pain of her life?”

Holloway stood. The pencil snapped. “She didn't kill herself because of me! She didn't kill herself. She might have been…scared to death, and if so, it's because that damned house is tainted. Something is there. You need to find it.”

Shakespeare rattled through Jackson's mind.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks—except that it was no lady speaking, it was Senator David Holloway.

He kept emphasizing the word
affair
. Jackson was pretty sure that meant that he hadn't engaged in any sexual activity that had meant anything to him at all.

He wondered how Lisa Drummond would feel about the denial, if, in fact, she was the woman with whom he had had an affair.

Jackson stood. “Thank you for your time, Senator Holloway. Please understand, I wouldn't be asking you these questions unless we needed to find the tiniest detail, and when we talk, little things may come out.”

“Of course. But if you think that I'd have harmed my wife in any way because of an affair with another woman—it's ludicrous.”

“Probably. But, Senator Holloway, did it ever occur to you
that someone else might have wanted to keep your wife from ever letting the world know it—if she had
believed
that you had engaged in an affair?” Jackson asked him. He didn't expect an answer. He just reached out and shook Holloway's hand. “Again, thank you for your time.”

He headed out of the office, waving a cheerful goodbye to Lisa Drummond, who stared back at him, pasty white and unresponsive. He paused outside with Blake Conroy.

“Where would I find Martin DuPre?” he asked.

“Out, somewhere. He was running errands for the senator,” Blake told him, grinning as he studied Jackson's face.

“Ah. So, would Grable Haines take him around town when he's out doing errands?” Jackson asked.

“Sometimes,” Blake told him. “Not always.”

“Very helpful. Thank you, Blake.”

“No, I wasn't trying to be evasive,” Blake protested.

“And I wasn't being sarcastic. Thank you. See you,” Jackson said. He ignored the elevator and headed down the stairway. Faster than waiting, he thought.

Outside, he noticed a flyer taped to a street lamp. It drew his attention. Fight for Our America! the headline read. It went on, “We work against affirmative action, and for the people of this country. Join us tonight as we rally. Aryans for America.”

He stepped closer to read the address.

“Hey, I'm over here, boss!”

Across the street, he saw Jake lounging against his car.

He walked over to him. “Well?”

“Well, driver boy is in a car just around the corner,” Jake told him. “Want me to show you?”

“No, I'm assuming you already had a chat, and that you
made it sound like you were both just gofers, waiting to do as you were told.”

Jake grinned. “You bet. Couldn't think of a better angle.”

“Did you get anything?”

“Actually, I did,” Jake told him. “And?”

“He's in trouble.”

“How?”

“Gambling debts,” Jake told him.

Jackson angled his head to the side, arching a brow. “And he just told you all about this?”

“We got to talking. The day Regina was killed, he was at the casino. He was sure that he was in the right poker game. He wasn't. He had thought that he could dig himself out. The senator was a good guy, he said, and would have loaned him the money he needed—but he wasn't going to get it.”

“And why not?”

“Regina Holloway,” Jake said. “Regina liked him fine. He swears that she really liked him. But she wanted him to grow up, work hard and pay his debts, instead of falling back on the senator.”

“So, what's the situation now?” Jackson asked.

“He's fine. Holloway gave him the money, and he's supposed to work it off, hanging in extra hours, driving some other people around for the senator, that kind of thing.”

“So, Senator Holloway paid the debt for him after his wife died?”

“Yeah. Grable said that he didn't even ask again. After Regina died, he just called him into the office, told him he'd pay the debt once and only once, and after that, God help him, because he wouldn't do so again.”

“Good work,” Jackson said.

Jake grinned. “It's all in knowing how to play it. Don't you agree?”

“More or less,” Jackson said. “So, the kid had motive.”

“Yep. What did you get?”

“Well, let's see—I think that the senator did sleep with another woman, and I think that the other woman was his secretary, Lisa Drummond. She's not a femme fatale of any kind, but she was there, that's what I'm thinking. And she cares about the senator.”

“Hmm. A man with a secret, and it seems that it was actually a secret. But the senator is the one who brought us all in. Even if he was sleeping with another woman, he might have loved his wife.”

“I agree.”

“So where are we?”

“With a pack of motives. Turns out that our bodyguard, Blake Conroy, has a juvenile record—killed another kid in a fight. But he's a born-again Christian, and he admits to lots of religious debates with Regina Holloway. Oh, and let's see. He doesn't like Martin DuPre very much, but he thinks that the chauffeur is okay.”

“And what's the story with DuPre?”

“Didn't talk to him. He wasn't there. Seems like he does a lot of running around. Errands, you know.”

“Yes, he's got a busy life. That's one of the things that makes Grable Haines very unhappy. He gets to chauffeur Martin DuPre around town.”

“But the chauffeur is here now, and DuPre isn't,” Jackson said.

Jake shrugged. “I don't know where DuPre is now. Grable
has got his paper. He's just sitting in the car. Tonight, he has to take DuPre around town. He said that he was taking some folks to a restaurant on Chartres tonight. One of the big new tourist places.”

“What people?”

“Grable didn't say—I don't think he knows. He says that when he's out with DuPre, the man lords it over him. He says that Senator Holloway never acts that way—like they're all just servants. But Martin DuPre loves to play the big man, and that he wants to
be
Senator Holloway.”

“Is it jealousy? Sour grapes?” Jackson asked.

“Could be. Could be that the guy is an ass, and that's why everyone dislikes him.”

Jackson laughed. “Got it. I don't dislike you because you're male, female, black, pink, Christian, Jewish—I dislike you because you're a total jerk. Hmm. Then why does the senator keep the guy?”

“Maybe he's good at errands,” Jake suggested.

“Any errands.”

“Whatever those errands may be,” Jake agreed.

Jake's phone rang. When he excused himself, flipped it open and answered, he frowned. He glanced quickly at Jackson, and tried to look away—a sure sign that the conversation had something to do with him. “It's all right… We're on our way. And I won't say that you called.”

Jake turned. “There's been an incident at the house. Apparently, they got some ghosts in the basement on tape. They manifested for Angela.”

 

Angela had felt it; against the brilliance of the light that had come into the room, there had been a ray of darkness. A ray of
something that had nothing to do with light, and everything to do with an aura of darkness and evil. The light had been something with an incredible strength; something that seemed more powerful than anything else. But the light had hurt the darkness, and that which had remained shadow and issued a silent scream of rage, trying to grow, to fight against the dazzling brilliance.

She had felt it just as she had heard the others screaming.

But nothing had happened. The door at the top of the short flight of stairs had burst open, and Will had come rushing down, screaming loudly. She had run to him, and together, they'd vacated the basement, running back up to the kitchen. There, daylight streamed through the windows and French doors to the courtyard. Whitney and Jenna had come rushing in, and they had all just stared at one another.

“What happened?” Jenna demanded.

Angela, surprised, looked at her. “What do you mean, what happened? You all screamed at me to get out.”

“There was light—so much light. Something like moving shadows at first, and then a burst of light so hot the film almost seemed to burn, and then we could see you, and there was like a—a black thing coming right at you!” Whitney told her. “You were all alone down here—and there was a giant black shadow!”

“The light suddenly burned brilliantly—and then…” Angela paused. “Let's go see what you've got on film.”

“Wait!” Will said, staring at Angela. “I've been here—I haven't seen anything yet, either. So, first, you tell us—what did you see?”

She was shaking inwardly; she had felt the malevolence, and she remembered coming home after dinner with Jackson,
looking at the house, and thinking that, somehow,
evil
still managed to dwell within.

She had felt it again. Just then. Down in the basement. Evil had been the darkness against the light. Something that hadn't been able to bear the fact that—

“Oh, no, what did you two see?” Angela asked Jenna and Whitney. “What did you see that made you start screaming to tell me to get out of there?” she demanded.

The two women looked at each other before looking at her again.

“A…giant shadow, I guess,” Jenna said. “And we were all up here. All of us. Except for you, and you weren't the one suddenly causing the light and shadow. Angela, we saw it!”

“Like there was someone there, and someone who cast some kind of massive— I don't know—it was like
black,
rising against all that light,” Whitney said.

“Coming toward you,” Jenna said gravely.

Angela looked at Will, frowning.

Will said, “Hey, when they screamed, I went flying down the stairs to get you.”

“What did you see then?” she asked.

“You—all I did was reach for you,” Will said.

“Okay,” Angela said, looking at Whitney and Jenna again. “Coming toward me, and doing what?”

Once again, the two looked at each other.

“It was—bad,” Jenna said.

“Bad?” Angela asked.

“I was afraid that…it was going to try to envelop you in some kind of darkness,” Whitney said.

“At first, it seemed that everything was so beautiful!” Jenna spoke over her. “And then that darkness started rising against
the light. I was just terrified for you. I didn't see burning red eyes or a horned devil or anything…just darkness. Malignant darkness.”

“So, what did you see?” Will persisted.

Angela hesitated a minute. “All right, but then we see what's on the film. I'm going to tell you what I saw and felt, but…you repeat this to anyone—anyone! Including Jackson and Jake—I'll…well, I'll just call you all liars,” Angela said. “I can easily say what I saw and felt around you because you—you all know that there are things that we can't really explain. But with Jackson in particular, I like to say what
was
—the facts—and that's it.”

“Please!” Whitney begged. “We won't repeat what you don't want us to repeat, but please just tell us!”

“I saw…people. I think I saw the fellow who was killed here. The man who had owned the house, and sold it to Madden C. Newton—Nathaniel Petti. I believe that we dug Nathaniel's bones out of the ground the day I came. He was standing beneath the stairs, and he seemed—shy. Then…I felt as if there were others, and I saw a host of people. There were women in long, Victorian skirts. Men in waistcoats, vests…bleached-cotton shirts. They appeared to be milling around me, but they weren't frightening. They seemed kind and oddly grateful and resigned, and even hopeful, if that makes sense. Then the lightbulb flared. And then, at the exact time you started screaming…”

“What?” Whitney nearly shouted.

“I felt the same thing you did,” Angela said, and sighed softly. “I don't even know how to describe it. It was as if someone was absolutely
hateful
. I was afraid. I admit I was afraid. But
then Will rushed down, and…nothing. Now, let's go and see the film.”

The other three nodded gravely. They walked back into the ballroom and Whitney picked up one of the controls, running back the film to the point where Angela had come down into the basement.