The Death Dealer (14 page)

Genevieve was more disturbed than she had expected to find out for certain that Lori Star was dead.

The victim of a murderer.

Possibly—no,
probably
—the victim of the same killer who had murdered Thorne Bigelow.

She was certain that no one other than Joe and herself would instantly make that assumption. But Joe had
known.
He had known, before Lori was found, that she had been killed. And he had seemed to know that she would be found in New Jersey, as well.

She knew that he wasn’t going to take her with him to meet with the police. His own position was going to be tenuous enough; he was just lucky that Raif was on his side, and Raif was lucky that the New Jersey homicide officers were willing to accept that there might be a connection to Thorne Bigelow’s death and let the New York cops in on the case.

She was actually glad that she wouldn’t have to come up with an excuse to get away from him that afternoon. She hadn’t known how she was going to manage the feat, since he had been getting more and more adamant that she not go anywhere without him.

She didn’t mind that Joe was so determined to be with her, but she
did
mind that he continually seemed not just preoccupied but so…

Haunted.

She was worried about him. He had been so strange last night.

“Make sure you keep in touch with me,” she told him when he brought her back to her apartment. “Please.”

“And you stay here. Promise?”

“I’ll be around,” she swore.

And she would be. Just not exactly at home.

Shortly after he left, she got the call she’d been expecting from Adam Harrison. He had gotten her message, he said, and had arrived in town, where he would be happy to meet with her at her convenience. She asked him to come right over.

She felt that she knew him fairly well. He had been there when she was brought back into the light of day. And he had been at Leslie’s funeral. She knew that Joe had also gotten to know him when Adam had come to New York City to help Leslie deal with her ghostly communications when Genevieve had still been a prisoner far beneath the ground in the abandoned subway tunnel.

Adam Harrison was regal and dignified, despite his advancing age. He was a tall man, slender, with snow-white hair and kind eyes that looked out on the world without judgment. Probably the best thing about him was his ability to listen without distraction.

He greeted her like a distant uncle, with warmth, but without presumption. He held her at arm’s length for long seconds, studying her with discerning eyes before commending her on how well she looked.

She made tea and asked him about the weather in Virginia, and then about Brent and Nikki Blackhawk, the employees who had been with him in New York.

He asked about her mother.

And then they were seated together at the table and she couldn’t quite start speaking.

He laid his hand gently over hers and looked at her encouragingly.

She inhaled deeply, then plunged in. “Have you ever heard of a man named Thorne Bigelow?”

He frowned. “Yes, actually. He wrote an excellent book about Poe,” he responded. “And he was murdered recently.”

She nodded, and he waited patiently for her to speak.

“There was a society. The New York Poe Society—it still exists—and the members are known as Ravens. He and my mother are both on the board.”

“Ah,” Adam murmured, and leaned back in his chair. “I’m going to take it that you hired Joe to work the case. Because your mother is a Raven and you’re worried about her.”

“Exactly.”

“So tell me what else has happened that has you so worried,” he said.

She told him all she knew about Thorne Bigelow’s murder, the accident on the highway, the disappearance of Lori Star—and the very recent discovery of her body. He listened gravely.

“Do the police seem competent?” he asked at last.

“The lead detectives on the case are friends of Joe,” she said, then shrugged. “And he seems to think they’re more than competent.”

“Genevieve, I’m sure you’re aware that my agency deals with the occult.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you believe that you’ve seen a ghost?”

“No,” she said, then frowned, remembering the night she had dreamed she was someone else. When she had awakened and found that Joe had also had a strange dream.

“Genevieve, I can’t help you if don’t talk to me,” he told her.

She smiled wistfully. “You know, Adam, I
wanted
to see a ghost. I even made myself think I saw one, at the cemetery, a year ago. I wanted to believe I saw Matt and Leslie, arm in arm, disappearing over a rise together. I wanted to believe that it was okay. I mean, don’t you think that happens a lot of the time? We see and hear what we want to? We believe what we want to?”

“I’ll put it this way,” he answered. “I know that our energy goes somewhere when we die, and that some people can see that energy. But you called me for a reason. Would you like to tell me what it is?”

“It’s Joe,” she said.

“I see.”

“I think something’s wrong with him.”

“What has he said to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Then…?”

“I can see it.”

“What is it that you see?”

“He’s…strange. It’s as if…I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain any of it. But it all started…” She hesitated, thinking back. “It all started when he was supposed to meet me at the museum. It was a fund-raiser in Leslie’s honor, actually,” she told him.

He nodded, and she went on.

“He didn’t show up. When I called him, he was down at O’Malley’s. He said that he hadn’t been able to get to the museum because of the traffic. There was this really bad accident on the FDR. He pulled a little girl out of a car. And Sam Latham, another Raven—another member of the board—was hurt.”

“Was anyone killed in the accident?”

“Yes. The little girl’s uncle.”

“Hmm,” Adam said thoughtfully.

“Then…last night he was at Hastings House.”

“Oh?” Adam said, his attention sharpening.

“He said he was just in the area and the house was open. So he went in and found a teenage girl hiding inside.”

“Living, I hope?” Adam said.

“Yes, but she was strange, too. She said the house saved her. She was being chased by some thugs, and she said the house…let her in. That it saved her. And then Joe was so strange after that. I kept thinking he must have been remembering Leslie. I tried to leave him alone, even later, when—Even later.”

A slight smile played across his lips. “So…you and Joe are together?”

She was surprised at how easily she blushed. “For now, anyway,” she said. “I’m afraid that maybe he just feels overly protective of me.”

“When you’re overly protective,” Adam said gently, “you sleep on a sofa. And that wasn’t a sleeping-on-the-sofa blush.”

“Well…” she mumbled.

“You’re afraid that he’s in love with a ghost, aren’t you?” Adam asked her.

She wasn’t ready to accept that there really were ghosts, so she said, “I think a man can easily be in love with a memory.”

“Memories tend to be golden,” he pointed out.

“Adam, Joe isn’t the type to admit he sees ghosts,” she said. “But from the way he reacted to what that girl said, I think maybe that’s what’s happening. Or what he thinks is happening, anyway.”

“He doesn’t know that you’ve called me, does he?”

She flushed again, shaking her head.

He drummed his fingers on the table. “Well, I think he’ll see me anyway. Out of respect, if nothing else. I was a close friend of Leslie’s, and he knows it.”

“Can you…can you help, do you think?”

She was surprised when he was quiet for a long moment.

“I think that if Joe is seeing ghosts, one of them—maybe Leslie—is trying to tell him something,” he said.

She was surprised at the misery she felt. They needed all the help they could get, so this was hardly the time to be jealous.

Especially of a ghost.

“Is, um, that the way it usually works?” she asked, and she could tell that her voice sounded distant.

“Look, you hired Joe because you were worried, right?”

“Yes,” she said.

“And,” he continued, “you also hired him because you wanted him around.”

She lowered her head.

He touched her hand again. “That’s a good thing. I’m pretty sure Joe wanted to be around.”

“Thanks,” she said, and looked at Adam curiously. “So how does it usually work? Do you…just walk down the street and see ghosts?”

“Actually, no,” he told her. “I don’t have a gift of any kind.”

“But…you’re the Harrison in Harrison Investigations,” she said.

He stood, hands behind his back, and wandered to the window to look down at the street. “I had a son…who is gone now.”

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

“It’s fine. He’s been gone a long time. But before he died, he
did
have a gift. He knew what was going to happen. And he knew he wasn’t long for this world. He actually told me when he would die, what would happen.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

“He didn’t really leave,” he told her softly.

She kept smiling, but Adam Harrison could see right through her.

“The souls of those we love do linger sometimes. When they need to,” he told her.

“When they need to?” she repeated questioningly.

“Sometimes they just need to understand what happened to them. Sometimes they’re lost. And other times it’s as if they have a mission, something they have to do, someone they have to save.” He paused, looking at her. “Leslie MacIntyre had an exceptional gift. She helped so many of them.”

“So many of the dead?” Genevieve asked. She had always liked to believe that her mind was open. She had even liked to believe that the souls of the departed were real, that in giving up her own life, Leslie MacIntyre had found eternity with her beloved Matt.

But now…

She just felt crazy. And a little scared.

What the hell was Joe going to say? She had called in the ghost hunters to save him.

“Sometimes,” Adam said lightly, “the gift seems to pass from one person to the next. After death,” he added very softly.

Chills shot down her spine.

“Then Joe might have…inherited Leslie’s gift, is that what you’re saying?”

He shrugged and sat down again, looking at her. “Maybe Joe. Maybe you. Maybe both of you. I don’t really know. There are no real rules that I know of, and there’s certainly no manual.”

Another chill shot through her. She shouldn’t have called this man. Everything he said was just upsetting her more, not to mention how upset Joe was going to be with her.

As if he’d read her mind, Adam said, “Don’t worry, please. I really am friendly with Joe Connolly. He’s not going to think it’s all that strange to see me. I’ll have to call in a few more people, though.”

“Ghost hunters?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Don’t worry. Joe is already acquainted with a few my ‘ghost hunters,’ as you call them. He likes Brent and Nikki, and so will you.”

“I met them. He’s Native American, right?”

“Half.” He laughed. “The other half is Irish. He’ll fit right in at O’Malley’s.”

She didn’t know if he was teasing or not. “I don’t think Joe is going to like any of this at all,” she said.

“I hope you’re wrong, but either way, he needs it,” Adam said firmly.

Her stomach had been fluttering, but now, as he looked at her, she was satisfied that she had done the only thing she could have. And that it was the right thing.

“We do have to get to the bottom of this,” he said.

His expression was grave, and she suddenly wondered if she was in any personal danger.

Maybe she should have just stayed the hell out of it.

No. She couldn’t have. She cared too much about Joe for that. But she was afraid, she realized.

She wasn’t a Raven, though, so shouldn’t that mean she was safe, if they were right and the Poe Killer really was going after members of the society, not just trying to cover his tracks? But Lori Star hadn’t been a Raven, either. She had simply been a young woman who had connected herself to the case because she’d experienced something strange and told her story.

Of course, Gen thought, as a shudder rippled through her, much the same could be said of her. She’d chosen to connect herself to the case, too.

There were certainly no obvious similarities between Marie Rogers’ death in the eighteen-forties and the situation Joe found when he reached New Jersey.

He met Raif and Tom first, and they briefed him as they arrived at the mortuary, where the body had already been taken.

“The corpse was dragged out of the river about an hour and a half before I spoke to you,” Raif said.

“She’s been in the water some time,” Tom told him.

“From what I’ve heard, she isn’t very pretty,” Raif said.

“Water really does a number on a body. Even after only a few days,” Tom said.

Joe knew that already. “Cause of death?” he asked.

“Looks like strangulation,” Raif told him. “Though they won’t know for sure until they finish the autopsy. We should be just in time for it to start. They’re rushing it, just in case there’s a connection to the Bigelow case,” he explained.

“Thanks for letting me in on this,” Joe said. “Any trouble with the Jersey boys? Over me, I mean?”

“No. Vic says you’ve worked with him before,” Joe told him.

Vic? It had to be Victor Nelson. He would be about fifty now, and he had apparently moved from Vice to Murder. Years ago, Joe had been hired to find a missing teenager. She’d been living in a crack house in Jersey City. When he’d found the girl, he’d helped the cops—including Victor Nelson—close down the house, and as a bonus, they’d broken up a gun ring that had been based there, too.

Victor Nelson greeted Joe and the others civilly inside one of the autopsy rooms. The doctor on duty was a man named Ben Sears. He nodded in acknowledgment as they came in, then got started.

Lori Star’s skin was mottled, discolored, and her flesh gnawed. Fish and river creatures had already been busy, mostly on her extremities.