Rusty Nails (The Dade Gibson Case Files) (2 page)

“This is a delicate matter,” Louise explained, her red hair seeming to glow under the barrage of strobe lights. “I thought my problem might not seem quite so bizarre after watching some of the stuff that goes on around here.”

Dade nodded as he noticed a seraphim with radioactive blue plumage getting nail wounds tattooed into the center of each palm.

“I see what you mean,” he said. “Now, what’s your problem?”

Louise took a deep breath. “I’m not really sure how to ease into the subject, so I’ll just jump in headfirst. The bones of my late husband are missing. Someone stole them right out of his crypt. I want to hire you to find poor Richard’s remains.”

“The bones of your husband?” Dade repeated. “Why would anyone want them?”

“I don’t know,” Louise said. There was enough of the Deep South in her voice to bring to mind cornbread and grits and black-eyed-peas. “It’s all a mystery to me. That’s why I need your help.”

“Did your husband have any enemies?” Dade asked.

“Don’t we all?” Louise said. “But enemies are usually satisfied with death.”

“Do you know if any of the other graves around town have been vandalized?”

“None that I know of.”

Dade nodded his head. “Unusual set of circumstances we’ve got here. How did the two of you first meet?”

“I’m sure that you’ve heard a lot about Internet dating. Ours was similar to that. Only I met Richard at an online Ouija board site. I was surfing the web as I’m prone to do when I’m bored and ran across a link for a site called The Ouija Room. The site was basically an online replica of a Ouija board. On a whim, I typed in ‘Crowley’s Point,’ thinking I might be able to talk to one of the town’s founders or someone famous from the area’s past. I got Richard instead. We must have spent three hours talking that night. I typed until my fingers were sore, and I went to bed feeling like I had found a new friend who understood me.”

“Hold the phone,” Dade said. “Are you trying to tell me that you met your husband after he was already dead?”

“I know it sounds crazy.”

“I specialize in crazy,” Dade said. “But I have to admit that this is a little out there even for me.”

“So your husband was already dead when you two fell in love?” Liz asked.

Louise Hartwell nodded. “One thing led to another, and over the next few weeks, I spent more and more time online, talking to him. He was grateful for the company too. Said it passed the time in limbo.”

“Limbo?” Liz repeated, hoping for clarification.

“The place between this world and the next,” Hartwell explained. “It’s kind of like an eternal halfway house. Richard wasn’t sure why he was stuck there, but he said it was better than the alternative. He had been expecting Hell.”

“Did you do any research to verify that this man ever existed?” Dade asked. “Weren’t you worried that this might have been an online predator pretending to be something he wasn’t?”

“Oh sure, I considered that. But there was something genuine about Richard that came through during our chats. I went to the library and dug up some old newspaper articles on him. I’ve got a couple of friends that do filing at the Public Works office. They told me that he had been registered for electricity, water, sewage, and garbage pickup a few years back. The Internet brought up a few outdated listings for him too. As nearly as I could determine, he was real, and I was in love with him.”

Dade cleared his throat, unsure of how to proceed. “Mrs. Hartwell, when did you last talk to Richard?”

“He stopped talking to me the day his bones were stolen.”

“This is too wild for words,” Dade sighed.

“You sound as if you don’t believe me,” Louise said.

“It’s not that. It’s just…” Dade found himself at a temporary loss for words. “Surely you see my perspective on this. You’re asking me to search for the bones of your dead husband who was dead before you ever met him. Does none of that strike you as odd?”

“I think I may have been referred to the wrong person,” Louise said, her voice taking on a cold note of hostility. “I was told you were reputable and skilled. Nobody said anything about insulting.”

Dade cleared his throat. “I apologize. I’m merely asking the same questions that any other investigator would ask. And to be truthful, I’m probably giving your story a lot more credence than most would.”

“Richard told me something like this was going to happen. He prepared me for it. I just didn’t believe him at first.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me anything directly. He said he was afraid of giving me too much information. The only thing he kept saying over and over again was that he was in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble can a dead man get himself into?” Dade asked.

“That’s why I’m coming to you,” Louise explained.

“Are the police involved?” Liz asked.

“No. They wouldn’t take something like this seriously.”

“You could have reported it as simple vandalism of the grave,” Dade suggested. “Or was there some reason you didn’t want the police involved?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Louise said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I just didn’t want them mucking things up like they have a tendency to do.”

“How did Richard die?” Liz said. “And is it possible that has something to do with his...disappearance?”

“When the subject came up, the only thing he would say is that the he had planned on going home to be with the angels, only the angels had other plans.”

“That’s it?” Dade said. “That was his explanation for how he died?”

“It’s a sensitive subject with him,” Louise said.

“And you didn’t try to find out on your own?” Liz asked, clearly not believing the story.

“Richard was murdered,” Louise admitted, averting her eyes. “The murder is still unsolved. The police don’t really know what happened to Richard. He was found alone in a hotel room without a mark on him.”

“So it’s possible that his murder might be somehow related to the disappearance of his remains.”

“It’s possible,” Louise Hartwell admitted as she dug a tissue out of her purse.

“Mrs. Hartwell, I normally don’t investigate murders,” Dade explained. “That’s usually a job I leave to the police.”

“You haven’t lived here long enough or you’d know that the police wince at the name Richard Edgemore.”

“I’ve lived here for several years now, and I’ve never heard that name,” Liz said.

“You would if you traveled in certain...circles.”

“What does that mean?” Liz asked.

“You’re not eccentric enough,” Louise said.

“You mean I’m not into this kind of scene,” Liz said, gesturing to all of the debauchery going on around her.

“Basically,” Louise admitted.

“This might be a little out of my realm,” Dade said.

“I pay very well,” Louise said as she slid an envelope across the table.

Dade opened the envelope slightly, his eyes widening at the sight of so much money.

“Not enough?” Louise Hartwell asked.

“No, it’s plenty,” he said as he reluctantly pushed the envelope back across the table. “In fact, it seems like too much for this kind of job. It feels like you’re overcompensating for some unrevealed detail.”

“I don’t understand,” Louise said. “You’re giving the money back?”

“I’m afraid so,” Dade admitted.

“You’re not taking the case?” Mrs. Hartwell asked, dumbfounded.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “As much as I need the money, I don’t feel like this is a job I should take. Something doesn’t click here, and I don’t know what it is.”

“Dade,” Liz hissed, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him toward her so that she could whisper in his ear. “What are you doing?”

“This sounds fishy,” Dade said. “I don’t feel good about this.”

“Is that your final decision?” Louise asked him.

“It is,” Dade said.

“I’m not a woman who gets turned down very often,” Louise Hartwell huffed. It was clear from the way she clipped her words that she was furious.

“I’m sorry,” Dade said. “I just don’t feel like I would be the best person to take your case right now.”

“I thought these sorts of things were your specialty,” Louise said.

“They are,” Dade said. “But so is spotting a liar, and something about your story doesn’t track.”

“I didn’t lie to you,” Mrs. Hartwell hissed.

“Maybe not,” Dade said, “but there’s a lot more to that story that you aren’t telling me. I don’t like working for a client that thinks it’s acceptable to keep secrets.”

“We’re not through here,” Louise Hartwell said, standing up from the table. “I promise you that. I’m sure you’ll come around to my way of thinking soon enough.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Dade asked.

“You’ll find out,” she said cryptically as she turned and walked away.

Chapter 3

The sun was a thin slice of orange that lingered on the horizon as the street lights were just beginning to flicker. Benjamin was on his way back to St. Michael’s after speaking in front of an audience of over a hundred priests, rabbis, and ministers attending a conference on modern-day miracles. He had lectured on faith healing and exorcism and done so with enough authority to walk away pleased with himself. Now, he felt like he could relax, satisfied with a job well done. He also felt like rewarding himself. His favorite all-night delicatessen was located about six blocks up, and he considered stopping there for a late snack when the headlights of a passing car lit up a nearby alley. In the shadows, Benjamin glimpsed a dirty man standing over a young boy, and that was enough to ruin his appetite.

The twinkling street light steadied enough to cast a dull glow over the scene, and Benjamin quickly stepped behind a dumpster, hoping that he hadn’t been spotted. From what he could discern, the vagrant looked like he hadn’t bathed in quite some time. Flies circled his skin and landed on his head, burrowing through thick tangles of dark hair that were matted and oily from months without washing. He wore an old faded rock and roll T-shirt that was ripped across the chest and jeans that were tattered and soiled from months of continuous wear. Father Benjamin had seen enough of these types in homeless shelters to know what they were like on the streets. Living day to day from whatever they could scavenge from other people’s discarded trash tended to make even the most resolute person devolve into something ruthless and cold. Benjamin had seen these people do whatever it took to get their hands on a dollar, and that was the thing that frightened him the most. This man had nothing to lose.

As he studied the scene he gasped at the sight of blood. It pooled around the boy in the alley like some mindless red amoebae. The child wasn’t crying or trembling like he would have if hurt. But there was no denying what the maroon puddle really was. Benjamin wondered how the child could have possibly been alive after bleeding so much.

“I can smell it on you,” the vagrant said, showing his blackened teeth. “You have it in you to make me well. I’ve heard the stories, you know? This war is tearing all of us apart. They say you can give us what we need.”

As the bum took a step forward, walking out of the shadows and into the hazy light, Benjamin noticed the large gash in the man’s chest and the green bile trickling from his lower lip. The wound was like an open mouth, eager to devour, and Benjamin couldn’t even begin to imagine how the man was still able to walk.

Maybe all of that blood was his and not the child’s. It seemed more likely. But the bum’s shirt wasn’t spattered in red nor were his jeans crusty with coagulated blood.

The vagrant seemed to tremble in what might have been hesitation or fear, yet his eyes never strayed from the growing puddle of blood that was spreading away from the boy. With a snarl, he pulled out an old, rusted pocket knife and pressed a hand hard against the wound in his chest. Thin trickles of blood seeped through his fingers, dripping onto the concrete.

“You know what I’m going to have to do if you don’t cooperate,” the man said. “I’ve become pretty good at spilling blood during the course of this war. We all have.”

Although he was still frightened, Father Benjamin knew he couldn’t wait any longer to act. “The police are on their way,” he said, stepping into the alley. “You should leave now.”

“There are things in heaven and earth that you couldn’t possibly understand,” the vagrant said. “And this child is the key. You would do well to just mind your own business”

“This is just a boy,” Benjamin protested.

“So was Christ at one time.”

“I’m not sure I understand what it is that you’re after,” Benjamin said, trying to keep a note of authority in his voice.

“Just something to make me whole again. The wars are getting worse every day. I left the Kingdom stained with blood, and now the guilt is too much for me. I need solace, and this boy can give it to me. He has what I need. I need the nails.”

Benjamin felt a brief surge of hope as the derelict closed his eyes and put his hand against the wall to brace himself. But the feeling that he had the upper hand vanished like mist on a cold, wet morning when the man began singing hymns in a low, off-key voice.

“You’ve got options here,” the boy said, holding out both hands, palms up. Virgil stopped singing. In one of the child’s hands was a crucifix. In the other was a small baggie filled with a sparkling crimson powder.

“Choose your salvation,” the boy said. “And choose carefully.”

Touching the sticky red mess and shuddering, Virgil brought one finger up to his lips and let his tongue taste eternity.

What Benjamin saw next defied what he knew to be true about the natural world. One moment the wound in the man’s chest was open and bleeding. The next, the skin was made whole again without so much as the first sign of a scar.

“It’s a masquerade,” the man said, speaking to the child with sudden understanding. “A costume party that everyone’s going to attend. I realize that now. Nothing is what it seems. I know who you are.”

Without warning the bum started toward the boy with his knife held out. “I have to try and stop you. I’m not so far gone yet that I don’t feel any sense of duty.”