Deadly Visions (13 page)

J
oe stood up in the police headquarters confer-I ence room and once again faced the Spotlight Killings task force. He'd phoned Henderson minutes after his discovery on the website, and she immediately called the seven A.M. meeting.

Carla yawned. “You'll have to be mighty entertaining to keep me awake, Joe. I wasn't ready for this.”

Henderson shot Carla a cold glance. “We'll talk later about why it took a bunco squad cop to figure out what you're about to hear. Bailey?”

Joe nodded. “Actually, I'm sure that you all would have discovered this in the next day or so. As you may know, someone entered my apartment yesterday and disturbed some of the furnishings. There was a word scratched into my dining table.”

“Rakkan,” Howe said.

“Right. Well, I looked it up, and it's a somewhat obscure name from Asian mythology.” Joe picked up a stack of stapled photocopies and gave them to Howe
to pass around. “Rakkan was a spirit who roamed the countryside in search of a worthy man.”

“Worthy of what?” Carla asked.

“Worthy of the life that the spirit has been denied. Rakkan was once a panther on earth, but as a spirit he moves from village to village, searching for this truly worthy person. When the people he meets don't measure up, he kills them.”

Howe grimaced.”Nice guy.”

“In the story as printed in the photocopy you have, the number of victims in the various towns range between two and eight. With each confrontation, Rakkan takes on a different form. He becomes a beggar, a prostitute, an animal, and even a tree. Each time, he ends up killing the people he meets.”

Carla thumbed through the pages. “You're saying the Spotlight Killings follow this pattern?”

“Yes. In the last place he visits, a town that was once his home, he seeks out the best and most prominent citizens. They still don't measure up, and he kills them. He's angry this time, and he taunts them before they die, inviting them to their doom.”

“The voices,” Carla said.

“Exactly. And look at the different ways they die. When he assumes the form of a cloud over the village, he kills one with lightning.”

“Just like Derek Hall was electrocuted,” Henderson said.

“And when Rakkan takes the form of a horse, he drags his victim for an entire day and night.”

“LikeThomas Coyle being dragged behind his car,” Carla said.

“Right. You won't find a match in that photocopy
for every murder, but I've found them in other versions of the legend. Whoever this killer was, he was emulating the Rakkan story.”

“What about the other towns?” Howe said. “Have you checked to see if—”

“Yes,” Henderson cut in.”At least three other cities in the past five years have had murders that somewhat match the Rakkan legend. We've been in contact with the FBI, and they're now running them through the VICAP program.”

Howe leaned back in his chair.”No offense, Bailey, by why in hell didn't someone figure this out before?”

Joe shrugged. “Maybe because the legend has Rakkan changing his M.O. in each town. We had nothing to link them together. In most of these cities, there wasn't even anything to link the individual murders to each other.”

A tall, long-faced detective spoke from the other side of the room.”We got ourselves a tapestry maker.”

Henderson nodded. “That's what it looks like. The killer thinks of each murder as another thread in a grand tapestry that can take years, or even a lifetime, to complete. He thinks of himself as an artist.”

Carla wrinkled her brow. “So why was this sicko carving the name into Bailey's dining room table?”

Joe shrugged. “Maybe he got tired of waiting for us to make the connection.”

“Maybe it wasn't the killer at all,” Carla said. “Maybe it was someone who wanted to tip us off.”

“Someone like his late wife?” Howe said sarcastically.

Carla shrugged.

haddenfield, Donna, and Paul stood in Central City Park, a triangular slab of concrete near the busy Five Points area. It was eight-fifteen A.M., and the park was populated with office workers grabbing their final precious moments of freedom.

Haddenfield wore the same grim expression as he'd had all night. Donna and Paul were getting panicky, and he needed to calm them before they did something stupid. “You know, Gary wasn't happy with the way this assignment has gone. It's possible that he just skipped out.”

Donna shook her head. “Not without telling us. Something happened to him.”

“It's a no-brainer,” Paul said.”It was that guy he was tailing. We never should have let him go.”

“Gary knew what he was doing.”

“Bullshit!” Donna said. “We should have gone straight to the goddamned police. Instead, we jerked around all night. Give me one reason why I shouldn't take those videotapes and go straight to the cops.”

“I'm telling you that you can't. That's all the reason that you need.”

“Do better.”

“I'll get some people on it, but we can't go to the police,” Haddenfield said.

Paul stepped forward.”What people?”

“Extremely qualified people.”

“If something happens to me, I certainly hope you'll try harder than this,” Donna said.

Haddenfield breathed deeply. He needed to get hold of that bastard Dylan, but so far he'd been as elusive as Gary. In the meantime, he couldn't let
these punks push him around. “As of now, Gary is not your problem. We have a job to do. Let's go.”

After the task-force meeting adjourned Joe left the station and walked to the Java Joint for a cup of coffee to go. He took it outside and tried to clear his head.

He couldn't.

Christ. That voice had sounded so much like Angela's.

Can't let it rattle him. Gotta hold it together, not only for himself, but for Nikki.

An antiques store display window caught his eye. There, surrounded by small knickknacks, was a statue he'd been admiringfor months. Called “Lillian,” it was a beautiful woman with bobbed hair and '20s-era flapper clothing. It had always reminded him of Angela the summer after Nikki was born, when she'd cut her hair short.

Probably the best summer of his life.

He'd considered buying the statue, but it cost a small fortune. And he tried to keep himself from living in the past.

Yeah, sure. Then why in hell had he stopped here for coffee? Maybe a subconscious desire to make contact with Angela again?

What the hell. He wasn't ready to indulge in self-analysis right now.

He turned and headed back to his car.

Thirty minutes later Joe climbed the front steps of the narrow two-story home in the Morningside neighborhood, only a few blocks from Piedmont Park. He hesitated before ringing the doorbell. He should have called first, but he probably wouldn't have been welcome in any case. How long had it been? Four, maybe five months?

A succession of locks clicked, and the door swung open. Suzanne Morrison stared at him in surprise.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I know this is kind of crazy, but—”

“I'm busy,” she said coolly.

“I can wait.”

“You'll be waiting a long time, because I'm just getting started. I have an entire family here. Come back tomorrow, or better yet, call.”

She tried to push the door closed, but he held it open with his palm. “Please. You're the only person on earth I can talk to right now.”

Maybe it was due to the desperate tone in his voice, but her face slightly softened.

“I can wait in my car until you're finished.”

She hesitated, then stepped aside.”You can sit in if you'd like, as long as you promise not to wear your Spirit Basher hat.”

“I promise.”

“If I see a flashlight or a pair of infrared goggles, you're out of here. These people don't need to be distracted by your routine.”

“That's not why I'm here, Suzanne.”

“Okay, then.”

She opened the door wide and led him up a narrow flight of stairs to a sitting room facing the front
bay windows. Three women and two men sat in a circle in the center of the room. There was no table.

“This is Joe Bailey,” she said to the group. “He's here just to watch. Does anyone have any objections to him being here?”

They shook their heads. Suzanne picked up a chair from the corner of the room and pulled it into the circle. She and Joe sat down.

Suzanne spoke to a gray-haired woman in her sixties. “Patricia, why don't you tell me something about your daughter?”

Patricia moistened her lips. “I'm hoping to speak to Nadia. She died when she was ten years old. This was over twenty years ago, but I've been thinking about her a lot lately.”

As the woman continued, Suzanne nodded compassionately. Joe had seen half a dozen other sÉances that Suzanne had conducted, and they'd all begun in the same manner. Her M. O. was different from most modern-day mediums, who asked hundreds of questions and constantly refined the line of inquiry to reflect the answers given. This form of cold reading was surprisingly effective, especially for “psychic” television hosts who had the luxury of editing out their numerous wrong guesses.

Suzanne said very little, however, revealing just a few morsels of information before going into the body of her presentation. She closed her eyes. “Okay, I am now going to speak to my friend. She was taken at a very young age too, but she speaks to me and helps me communicate to those who have passed to the other side.”

joe glanced at the others. If they were even slightly skeptical, they hid it well.

Suzanne tilted back her head. “Daphne, I have some nice people here. They miss their daughter, just like your parents miss you. Can you help them?” She cocked her head toward the older woman. “Think about Nadia. Remember her. Feel her. That's the surest way to bring her back here.” The guests appeared to be following Suzanne's advice. Some closed their eyes, others just smiled contentedly. Suzanne drew a sharp breath.”She's here.”

“Nadia?” the elderly woman asked.

“Yes. Daphne says that Nadia's having trouble remembering what it was like here.”

The woman wrinkled her brow. “She's forgotten us?”

“No. But the experience of being human is just a dim memory to her. Since you've last seen her, she's seen wonderful places and done amazing things. But she'd never leave behind her love for you.”

One of the men cleared his throat. “Can she see us?”

“No. Anything I can hear, Daphne can hear. She then passes it on to Nadia.”

“I understand.” A tear fell down the woman's cheek.”Tell Nadia I'm sorry.”

“She wants to know for what?”

“I now know that the man who owned our house …He did things to her. Like he did to my other daughters.”

Joe glanced at the two thirtyish women, obviously Nadia's sisters. Tears ran down their faces.

The floorboards beneath them creaked and groaned even though everyone in the room was still.

Suzanne tensed.”Nadia remembers. Mr. Robertson said he'd hurt you if she ever told anyone.”

“That's what he told us all,” one of the sisters whispered.

The floor groaned louder. The floor slats were wriggling, Joe realized. Was there someone on the lower level, pushing up on the boards?

One of the slats broke free and the end curled back, inch by inch, until it was almost two feet over the other boards. Joe saw nothing pushing or pulling the wood slat. It then snapped back to the floor as if some unseen force had abruptly let go of the end. The sound startled the sÉance participants, but they scarcely had a chance to catch their breaths before a dozen other wood slats wriggled and curled upward.

Suzanne spoke over the sound of the other floor panels snapping back.”It's still very emotional for Nadia. It was an unhappy time for her.”

Snap. Snap.

Suzanne's eyes were still closed.”She felt so alone.”

Joe crossed his legs, swinging his left foot over one of the rising slats. There was nothing over it.

Incredible.

The woman sobbed. “I'm sorry, Nadia. I'm so, so sorry.”

“She doesn't blame you,” Suzanne said. “And she's the one who's sorry. Sorry that she couldn't be strong for you.”

Snap.

“How could she be?” the woman said. “She was only a little girl…. Ten years old.”

Suzanne's lips tightened. She was obviously hearing something that disturbed her.”Nadia couldn't live in your world anymore.”

Patricia shook her head. “It wasn't an accident, was it?”

“No.”

“Mother of God,” Patricia whispered. “For years, I've thought she stumbled into that quarry pool. There were other kids playing there. But after I found out what she was going through, I was afraid …”

Suzanne nodded.”It was too much pain for her.”

“Tell her that the bastard went to jail. Tell her that he died a miserable death there.”

Joe was startled by a popping sound outside the window. Everyone turned. The top edges of the window screens had broken loose.

“Sweet Jesus,” the man said under his breath.

As they watched, the screens'aluminum frames curled outward and twisted over.

Suzanne opened her eyes, but she did not look back at the window. “Your daughter doesn't realize that she's causing these things. It just happens sometimes, especially when we discuss things that affected them emotionally.”

Patricia stared in horror at the bending, twisting screen. “I love you, Nadia,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.”I hope you've found peace there, the peace you couldn't have with us.”

Suzanne smiled. “She has. She says that you have no idea, Mamacita.”

The woman stared at Suzanne in amazement. “She used to call me that. She had a Spanish friend who
called her mother Mamacita, and she picked up on it.”

The window screens stopped moving.

“She wants you all to remember the past but not to live in it,” Suzanne said. “She loves you. That's the one thing that hasn't changed since she was here. She says that will never change.”

“I thought you were better than that,”Joe said after Suzanne said her good-byes to the family. They had stayed almost a half hour after the sÉance's end, drinking tea and reminiscing about Nadia.

“What are you talking about?” Suzanne locked the front door.