The Betrayed (Krewe of Hunters) (19 page)

Being in the vault alone in the dark was bad enough. But shreds of clothing and bits of decaying humanity were visible through the broken seals. Maybe the kid hadn’t seen how dismal and creepy his surroundings had been. Still, he might have accidentally touched some protruding bit of cloth or bone....

The outer area of the tomb had been ignored by the killer, who’d gone straight to the back. He’d known the altar was there; he had his knife and hatchet waiting. He’d strangled his victims—and, judging by the coroner’s report, he wasn’t experienced with cutting off a human head. Whether he’d wanted it to look like the work of a psycho or he was giddy with anticipation regarding his own efforts and their identification with the headless horseman, Aidan couldn’t be sure. But the beheading part, after the murders, had been well planned.

He moved on to the back of the vault. The crime scene people had collected what they needed and moved carefully. Aidan could make out two places where it seemed that the dust of the ages had settled—and been disturbed.

That was where he’d left his victims while going about his preparations.

And it was where J. J. Appleby had been thrown. Luckily, he’d been unconscious when his mother was butchered.

“Anything?” Van Camp asked, approaching him a minute later, together with Voorhaven.

“I’m getting the same thing as the kid,” Aidan replied, grinning at Jimmy.

“See, old man?” Jimmy teased.

“Never argued with your theory,” Van Camp said. “We’ve got the
how
of it all. We just need a definite who and why.” He looked at Aidan. “She’s been charged, but the case was nearly dismissed,” he said. “Durfey, I mean. And she swore up and down—with and without her attorney—that she’s innocent. I guess letting her out on bail was the best the judge could do, seeing as it was circumstantial.”

“Yeah, and, if you two don’t mind, I’ll need some help tonight,” Aidan told them.

“I wasn’t expecting a night off,” Van Camp said.

“What is it?” Voorhaven asked.

“Surveillance duty.” He explained what he was after.

“I like it,” Van Camp said. “You tell us the time, and we’ll be there.”

* * *

Mo nearly jumped when Rollo started barking, she was so deeply engrossed in what she was reading.

He wagged his tail, which meant, she supposed, that Aidan had arrived.

She peered through the small window in the door and let him in. It was a cool day; he had a trench coat on over his suit. She stepped back, a little breathless. It really wasn’t the time to be thinking about how much she liked his looks.

“Thanks for waiting,” he said.

“No, I’m glad to go and see him with you,” she said. She wrinkled her nose. “Most people, even hospital staff, love Rollo. We do hospital visits at Christmas and bring cards and games and— Well, never mind. But if there’s a fierce nurse on, she’ll see you and Rollo. You’re both so official-looking, I won’t have to explain that he’s more of a cure than a menace.”

He grinned. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, just let me close my computer. I’ve spent the day looking for your Lizzie.”

“And?”

“I might have found her.”

She walked him back to the computer, where she’d keyed in a “find a grave” search. “Elizabeth Hampton. I came across her in a history book about the area. The historical evidence is that Andre was in love with Peggy Shippen, who wound up marrying Benedict Arnold, instead. And, at some point, he had a broken engagement. But, as you know, he was a charming and well-liked man, and it’s not hard to imagine that there might’ve been another woman he loved—who loved him in return. There are stories that, on his moves through the area, Major Andre met Elizabeth Hampton and it was love at first sight. It’s hard to tell exactly when they managed to meet and fall so deeply in love, but apparently they did. Andre, of course, came to a sad finish at the end of a rope. But there were those who considered Elizabeth a traitor for having fallen in love with a traitor—and probably hiding him at times. No one knows how, but poor Elizabeth came to a bad end, as well. Less than a year after Andre’s hanging on October 2, 1780, at Tappan, Elizabeth was found dead. A local merchant discovered her body by the river. Her throat had been slashed, her jewelry was stolen and the authorities at the time believed they were looking for a transient murderer and thief.

“Most people suspected, however, that she was killed by local toughs, executed for betraying her patriot family and friends...and the local boy who was in love with her. Andre’s body wound up in Westminster Abbey. Elizabeth’s is somewhere at the old Episcopal burying ground, not far from where we found Richard Highsmith and Wendy Appleby. But I haven’t located any references that tell us the exact spot, whether she was buried in a family tomb or vault, or if she was just placed in the ground. The next step would be to search local records.”

“Good work,” he said. “We’ll find her. I don’t know what any of this means. But we’ll find her.”

She wanted to tell him she’d seen Richard Highsmith. But she hadn’t learned anything yet. She’d wait.

She sat in her computer chair and he bent to look at the screen. She fought the urge to touch him.

Or to reach out, drag him close and bury her face against his jacket just to breathe in his scent. She stood quickly—and managed to bump into him. “I’m so sorry! But I was thinking I should get Rollo and we should go. It’s silly under the circumstances, but this is Halloween in Sleepy Hollow and I promised to help out, so I need to go be the Woman in White again.” She was babbling. She wanted to touch him, but she was afraid to.

He seemed unaware and glanced at his watch. “Yes, let’s get going.” Rollo was already dressed in his service-dog vest. Mo attached his leash and they set out.

“I listened to the news today. They talked about J.J. and the woman who’d been arrested. Has anything else happened?”

“Anything new? Anything that’s brought us closer?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a slow process. We do have some answers, thanks to forensics and J.J. We know that two people have to be involved. And Wendy Appleby wasn’t randomly killed. She was targeted. We’re questioning people, waiting for forensic reports—and we’ll follow every clue until we get to the truth.”

“He was a nice guy, wasn’t he? Richard Highsmith?” she asked.

Aidan nodded. “He was the real deal.”

“I’m sorry. And I’m sorry, too, about Wendy Appleby. She was a good mother. You could tell from the house and the way J.J. talks about her. I hope he’ll be okay. At least, he seems to love Debbie, so I hope it’ll work out for them.”

“She’s a friend of yours, right?”

“Yes. Not a really close friend, like Grace. Remember, I wasn’t from here. I got to come for weekends and summer vacations. But you know Debbie. And you like her.”

“She’s sincere and very cooperative,” he said.

“You met her at the strip club.” She tried to speak casually. She and Aidan had been thrown together because of horrible events. So had Debbie Howell and Aidan. She couldn’t help thinking about Debbie, her beauty and effervescent personality, her cooperativeness with the law. Mo felt an uncomfortable surge of jealousy and tried to shake it. She was creating a whole dreamworld with a man who was just a professional associate.

“Yes, I questioned her, but she didn’t recognize the first image. Once Jane put some life into it, Debbie recognized her right away.”

Long days, long nights, not enough sleep. Mo turned away because she was suddenly grinning.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said.

“No, really.”

Her smile deepened.
What the hell.
“Sorry. I know you had to visit the strip club for work—and that made me picture you
going undercover as a stripper. I bet you’d be good at it.”

“Oh?” He slowly raised a brow in surprise, but she was glad to see the hint of a smile on his lips. “I’ll remember that, the next time someone needs an undercover male stripper. May I return the compliment?”

“Pardon?”

“Well, if you get tired of the greeting card business, I’m sure you’d make a bundle as a stripper, too.”

“Uh, thanks,” she said.

And luckily, that conversation went no further. They reached the hospital, and within minutes J.J.—whose face still bore witness to hours of tears—was hugging Rollo and smiling as if the sun had managed to walk into the room.

10

P
atience was everything with children. So Aidan had recently learned.

He’d also discovered that he really liked J. J. Appleby. It would still have been murder and he would’ve had to give it the same dedication, no matter who the victims were, but it seemed all the worse for the fact that Richard had been one of the few men to survive politics with a soul and Wendy Appleby had obviously been a kind, giving person and a wonderful mother.

And that J.J. was such a great kid and an orphan now.

Finally, however, Mo and Debbie—who had kept her word and stayed with the boy—finished talking. Rollo’s giant head rested beside J.J. on the bed, and Aidan could ask the boy a few more questions.

“I know this is hard for you, J.J., but have you remembered anything else you could tell me?” J.J.’s face was strained, his forehead wrinkled in thought, but he didn’t cry again. He looked at Aidan.

“Do you remember where your mom parked?”

J.J. nodded. “Kind of by the side. Mom said the easiest way out was when you parked at the side. You could get onto the highway from there.”

“Thank you, J.J. Now, do you remember anything else—like a sound?” Aidan asked. “Or maybe a smell?”

J.J. thought again. “Not a sound. But I do remember a smell.”

“Good smell, bad smell?” Aidan asked. “This was before the hood—or whatever it might’ve been—was dropped over your head, right? That was a different smell, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. That was awful—sicky sweet. This other smell, it was earlier. Maybe a couple seconds before...the other thing happened. It wasn’t a
bad
smell,” J.J. said. “It was like...heavy perfume.”

“Would you recognize it if you smelled it again?”

J.J. nodded. “But it wasn’t nice and light—like the perfume my mom wore.” He paused and bit his lip. He had obviously decided he’d cried enough. “I loved the way she smelled. This was more like...I don’t know. Not pretty or light.”

“More like a man’s cologne, maybe?” Aidan asked.

“Maybe.”

“Thank you,” Aidan said. “Okay, I’m just going to ask you one more question for now. Someone came up behind you. You didn’t get a chance to turn or scream or fight because they put something over your head.” He hadn’t wanted to subject J.J. to a more intensive interrogation the day before and hoped to learn more now.

Again, J.J. gave Aidan his full attention and nodded.

“Did you get a chance to notice what it was? Like was it a rough cloth or was it smooth?”

“Really rough.”

“Black, brown, green, blue?”

“No, no. It was light. Tan, maybe. But it happened so fast. I tried to scream. I wanted to scream—but then I didn’t feel anything at all. I was... I don’t remember anything else. Except then the first smell was gone—and, like I said, there was that sicky sweet smell.”

“You’ve been a tremendous help, J.J.,” Aidan told him.

“Your mom would be so proud,” Debbie said quietly.

J.J.’s face crumpled. But, once again, he kept from crying. As if on cue, Rollo whined and nudged J.J.’s hand.

“He’s such a cool dog. I wish he could stay here,” J.J. said.

Mo smiled at him. “He can visit every day.”

“J.J. might be out of the hospital by tomorrow,” Debbie said. “And so far...well, the social worker suggested I get a new job. I’ll have to talk to a lawyer, but like I mentioned, Wendy told me she was putting me in her will as J.J.’s guardian. You know, if something happened to her... I don’t want anything to go wrong, so I’ll find a different line of work. I’ll do
anything
to keep J.J. and me together.”

“I may be able to help you,” Mo told her.

“Yeah?”

“My friend Grace works for the tourist company that runs the Haunted Mausoleum. I’m sure you’d be a great tour guide. You’ve been here forever.”

Aidan found himself watching Mo again—and liking everything he saw. “Speaking of which,” she was saying, “I’ve got to get back home. I’m working tonight.”

“Hey!” J.J. said hopefully. “Maybe Rollo could stay here while you’re at work!”

Mo paused, obviously surprised.

“Um...”

“Please!” J.J. asked. “Debbie, it’s okay, right?

“Honey, it’s not up to me. It’s up to the hospital,” Debbie explained.

“He’s decked out the way he’s supposed to be,” Aidan pointed out, waiting for Mo to make a decision.

“I...I suppose he could stay. It’s a private room. I can come back and get him—if they’ll let me—later, after the evening’s over.”

“I can run him down to you whenever you come by,” Debbie said eagerly, “if you’re worried about waking J.J. or the staff being disturbed because it’s so late.”

Mo raised her hands. “Well, I guess he can stay then.” She went over to the dog and spoke to him. “Rollo, I’m going to leave you with J.J. for a bit—is that okay?”

Rollo let out a soft whine; he knew he was in a hospital.

Aidan stood. “All right, then, thank you, J.J., for all your help. And Debbie, thank
you.
”

“I’m not doing anything. I wish I could do something,” she said.

“Why don’t you walk us down?” Aidan suggested. “J.J. has Rollo, so he’ll be okay for a few minutes, and there’s an officer in the hall.”

“Is that’s okay with you, J.J.?”

“I have Rollo,” he assured them.

“Be right back,” Debbie said.

As they headed down the hallway, Aidan told Debbie, “You can help by trying to remember if there’s anything Wendy might have said about going to New York—and going to hear Richard Highsmith’s talk.”

“She was excited about their trip. She and J.J. were staying with a lovely gay couple she’d worked with once. I don’t think they were all that close. They were just good people who offered her a place to stay whenever she wanted to visit.”

“Do you know their names? We haven’t heard from anyone in New York City.”

“No, she just told me about them. She was careful with her money. And hotel rooms in New York are so expensive! She told me she and J.J. would be fine,” Debbie said. “I didn’t know she was stopping by the convention center. I did know that she admired Richard Highsmith.”

“Did she ever mention meeting him?” Aidan asked.

“No. She just liked his politics. I’m not sure how she’d meet him.”

“Well, they were both living in New York at the same time,” Aidan said.

Debbie laughed. “Them—and eight to twenty million other people, depending on the time of day. If she knew him, she never mentioned it to me.”

“Well, if you think of anything...”

“I’ll call you.”

They’d reached the ground floor. Debbie turned to Mo and hugged her. “Thank you!” she said.

“Me?” Mo asked, as if slightly embarrassed.

“Offering to help me with a new job. Always treating me like a real person.”

Mo smiled. “You
are
a real person, Debbie. And a really good one. I’ll see you later tonight.” Aidan opened the door, and they both waved to Debbie as they walked out.

“It feels funny,” Mo said.

“Leaving without Rollo?”

“Yes. But he’s such an exceptional dog. He knows when people need him.”

“You’re pretty exceptional, too.”

She looked at him, startled. “Me? Well, thanks.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Not particularly—but I’m mostly surprised by hearing that from you.”

“Maybe I’m just jealous because you seem so comfortable with yourself and your life,” he said. They were in a parking lot; he wasn’t sure he wanted the conversation getting any deeper. “So, tell me, what exactly do you do at this Haunted Mausoleum?”

“I’m the Woman in White.”

“Ah, yes—and no one’s determined precisely who she was!” They’d reached the car. He opened the door for her and she slid in.

Aidan resumed the conversation. “There are so many tales around this place,” he said.

“I imagine a lot of places have great tales. But what this area had was Washington Irving. The headless horseman was supposedly a Hessian soldier who’d fought for the British—and had his head blown off in the fighting. Irving turned it into a charming and scary tale that gained a loyal following from the time it first appeared. Since then it’s been made into movies and even a TV series. There’s so much history here, from the Native Americans on, but I still think there might not have been an actual Sleepy Hollow if it hadn’t been for Washington Irving.”

Aidan laughed. “And it’s doubtful there would’ve been a town called Irving, either.” His mood became grim as he drove. “I do believe, though, that regardless of the legends, there would’ve been a murder. The headless horseman simply provided the killer with a ghoulish way of displaying his victims.” He glanced over at her. “You’re with people all the time you’re at that Haunted Mausoleum, right?”

“Oh, we’re in excellent company, don’t worry. I’m a family tomb away from Grace. It’s a good crowd to work with. Our biggest fear is that one of us will get too close to someone we’re spooking out and wind up socked in the jaw or something.”

They’d arrived at her house. He hesitated because she wasn’t with Rollo, but reminded himself that there was no reason to worry. Still, he’d been taught all his life that you walked your date to the door and made sure she was safely inside before you left.

He wasn’t on a date. But he was beginning to feel...responsible.

Responsible
wasn’t really the word for what he was feeling.

“Mo, I’ll see you in. And don’t forget, if anything—or anyone—bothers you, call me right away.”

“Of course.”

As she spoke, another car came into her drive.

“Grace is here. We’re back in the nick of time,” she said.

“Do you have to go in and get anything?” he asked.

“No. That’s the great thing about being a character at a haunted attraction—you get your clothing and makeup there. No prep work.”

“Don’t forget to pick up your dog on the way home,” he said, then felt a little stupid.

She didn’t have to reply, since Grace stepped up to the car just then. “Hello, Agent Mahoney, Mo. Is everything all right? Did you need Mo again, Agent? Where’s Rollo? I saw the news—and I’m so grateful you found that boy. I’m babbling. Sorry. Mo, can you still come with me tonight? Are you needed somewhere else?”

Getting out of Aidan’s car, Mo laughed softly. “Grace, I don’t even know where to begin. But I’m fine, and I guess we should go,” she said.

“You’re doing okay with the investigation?” she asked Aidan.

“It’s moving along, Grace. And today, yes, we’re just happy to have the boy back alive,” Aidan said.

Grace seemed to want to linger by his window. Mo took her by the arm. “We’re leaving
now,
Grace. Aidan, thank you for the ride.”

As they walked away, Aidan could hear Grace whispering to Mo. He could guess what she was saying. He smiled. He wasn’t sure what Mo wanted, but he
was
pretty sure he knew what Grace was after. She wanted Mo to get involved—with him.

It was a sweet moment.

He called the hotel and spoke with Logan. Van Camp and Voorhaven were already there, marveling at Will’s multi-camera angles and the screens that showed them everything they needed to see to keep tabs on their suspects.

As soon as he returned to the hotel, they’d all meet up and, using everything they’d learned, try to recreate what had happened the night Richard Highsmith and Wendy Appleby had been kidnapped—and subsequently killed.

* * *

There was no way to avoid the fact that Mo was going to have to give a few explanations when she went in for costume and makeup.

She’d been with Ron and Phil and others when Aidan had come to the café looking for her. She played it down as best she could, telling them that, yes, Rollo had been helpful, and yes, she was thrilled and relieved that they’d found J. J. Appleby alive.

Then she had to deal with Grace’s teasing. “What’s the matter with you? I’d be jumping his bones.”

“You don’t jump an FBI agent’s bones,” Mo said primly.

“What? You think the man doesn’t have sex? Just because
you
don’t have sex—”

“I have plenty of sex.”

Grace protested in the most embarrassing way possible. She laughed.

“I just think it should mean something,” Mo said irritably.

“Sometimes it just means you have an opportunity—an intelligent, great-looking guy who happens to be available—and you take it!” Grace told her.

Mo didn’t want to argue with Grace—or try to explain that she didn’t want a man like Aidan just for a night. She wanted something more, something richer.

“People tend to think I’m...different. I’ve dated some guys who want to know all the gory details of personal cases that turned out to be homicides in New York City, and it scares the hell out of me that this is the kind of thing that turns them on. Other guys act like they’re afraid of me because I work with Rollo on missing persons cases that become homicides. And don’t laugh at me about sex, Grace. I have had it, know what it is and prefer that there be a relationship. That’s my personal choice.”

“I’m not suggesting you sleep with half of Manhattan or anything. But, Mo, that guy likes you.”

“I think Rollo’s the one he likes.”

“At least Rollo’s smart enough to like him back!”

She and Grace had that conversation in the makeup room. Before Mo had been completely transformed into the Woman in White for the evening, both Ron and Phil were agreeing that she should at least indulge in
something
with Agent Mahoney.

“Honey, trust me,” Ron told her. “If he was gay, I’d be on him like white on rice!”

Finally, she was finished, and the crew of monsters and villains was ready. Mo hung back, hugging the wall of her mausoleum.

That was when she saw him again. The ghost of Major Andre.

He wasn’t perched on a stone that night; he was standing, a handsome man in Revolutionary-era clothing, watching her pointedly.

She looked carefully around. The other characters were in their places waiting, most of them texting or playing games on their phones before the call came to turn off their devices.

Mo hurried out to the path between the mausoleums and the tombs and stones.

“Major Andre,” she said softly.