Dying to Tell (33 page)

Of course that didn’t necessarily mean Giogardi’d shot himself.

He’d have to wait on the autopsy to be sure.

After he conducted a preliminary search in the house, he’d request a forensics team to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

But first he needed to take care of the boys who’d discovered the body.

He strode back to the porch and saw them huddled together, looking scared and shaken now that the adrenaline was waning. “We need to call your folks, guys.”

“We ain’t got no daddy,” Dewey said.

Jake chewed the inside of his cheek. “What about your mother?”

“She was working, but she oughta be home now.” Billy dug his hands in his coat pockets. “You gonna tell her what we were doing?”

Jake handed the kid his cell phone. “No, you are. And I hope this taught you a lesson. Guns are dangerous, and so is sneaking around someone else’s house.”

Dewey’s teeth were chattering as he inched closer to his big brother. Billy nodded and punched his mother’s number.

“Mama,” he said. “We need you to come get us.” A pause, and Jake heard her asking questions, so he took the phone and explained where they were.

“I’ll be right there,” the woman said with a huff.

She hung up, and Jake called the county forensics team.

Five minutes later, headlights beamed down the drive, then a Ford rolled to a stop. A thin brunette in a waitress uniform pulled herself from the vehicle, her hair tied back in a ribbon, her makeup a little too heavy, her expression furious as she walked toward them.

“I can’t believe you boys,” she said, lighting into them. She turned and wagged a finger at Billy. “You are supposed to be watching your brother at home, and instead you’re out here sneaking around other people’s houses.”

“Tell her why,” Jake said, giving Billy a sharp look.

Billy bit down on his lip. “We heard the man who lived here had a bunch of guns,” he said. “We just wanted to look at them, Mama.”

The woman looked horrified. “You two are grounded forever,” she said firmly. “We’ll talk about this some more when we get home. Now get in the car.”

The boys dropped their heads and shuffled toward the car, looking contrite and shaken.

“Did you know Emanuel Giogardi?” Jake asked.

“Who?”

“The man who lived here,” Jake replied.

She pursed her lips in thought. “No. We live down the road.” She glanced back at the car. “I can’t believe they did this. They’re really good boys, Sheriff, honest they are.”

“They need supervision,” Jake said, not cutting her any slack.

Anger flared in her eyes. “I do the best I can. I’m a single mother. I have to make a living.”

“I understand that,” Jake said. “And I’m sure it’s difficult, but look into your local YMCA. They have programs for kids, even scholarships.”

“I don’t take charity,” she said haughtily.

Jake grimaced. “Don’t let your pride keep you from making sure your children are safe. If they’d gotten hold of those guns, you might have been looking at one of them in there dead, not taking them home with you tonight.”

Fear darkened her face for a moment. Then she clamped her mouth closed and headed to her car, but she was wagging her finger and fussing at the boys as they drove away.

Jake retrieved a kit from his car, strode back inside, and snapped photos of the crime scene. Other than the bloody mess from the shooting, the house was meticulous. Everything was neat and orderly—towels hung at equal intervals, canned food was organized alphabetically, white shirts hung exactly an inch apart, and sheets were tucked in military style.

Either Giogardi was an obsessive-compulsive neat freak, or he’d had military training. Maybe both.

So far, the other patients who’d been treated at the clinic and the sanitarium had suffered serious mental disorders—ones that had impaired them to the point that they needed medication or inpatient treatment.

But Jake didn’t find any medications in this house. An array of professional medical journals, history books, and two awards on Giogardi’s wall indicated that the man was intelligent, and had excelled in the army.

But when Jake searched for a computer and cell phone, he came up empty, just as he had at Sanderson’s house.

Remembering the boys’ comment about the guns, he strode to the attached garage. He picked the lock, then opened the door, surveying the assortment of weapons lining the walls.

Like everything else, they were meticulously arranged. But these weapons didn’t look like hunting guns.

In fact, the M24 rifle was used by snipers.

Sadie searched the guesthouse, willing Amelia to appear, but no one was inside. She had to have been there earlier. So where was she now?

Raindrops pinged against the tin roof, sharp grating sounds like fingernails scraping across a chalkboard.

Thunder rumbled outside, and brittle tree limbs scraped the window as if they were alive, trying to claw their way in. The cuckoo clock burst into song with the shrill screech of a sick bird announcing the time. Midnight.

The wind chimes outside rattled like bones, catapulting Sadie back to her teenage years and another one of her sister’s “nowhere” nights.

Sadie had been in her own bed, waiting on Amelia to get home. But it was midnight, and she hadn’t called or shown.

Suddenly the sound of the door opening rent the air. A gust of cold air swirled up the steps all the way to her room.

Footsteps scraped the floor. One of the wood chairs in the kitchen banged against the wall. A glass shattered.

Was Amelia home?

Sadie threw off the quilts and tiptoed down the stairs. A keening noise echoed from the kitchen. The clock finally grew quiet.

Nerves knotted Sadie’s stomach as she peeked through the crack in the door to the kitchen.

A single naked lightbulb dangling from the ceiling burned dully, casting shadows across the cold room. Dust motes danced in the dark like tiny ghosts welcoming the monsters inside.

Where had Amelia been this evening?

Who had possessed her mind?

Would the police come knocking before dawn this time?

Amelia dragged her mud-coated Keds across the floor, her shoulders hunched as she sank to the floor. Her face looked gaunt, pale as buttermilk, slick with sweat. Her hair was a tangled spiderweb around her face, and there was a black smudge on her cheek. She drew her knees up, then tugged the hooded sweatshirt over her head as if to hide her face.

Then she slowly raised her hands. Stretched out her fingers. Turned her palms over.

Dirt caked her hands, and mud streaked her clothes.

For a moment, her sister looked up at her, but it wasn’t her sister looking back at her.

It was one of the others.

She ran to her, knelt, and took her sister’s hands in hers. “What happened, Amelia?”

Rage flashed into her sister’s eyes, then suddenly her shoulders slumped and the anger was gone. Fear took its place.

“The monsters were chasing me,” Amelia cried.

“What monsters?” Sadie asked.

“The bad ones,” Amelia said. “They’re everywhere.”

Assuming the monsters were a product of Amelia’s delusions, Sadie helped her up and washed her hands and face. She had to take care of Amelia, put her to bed again.

And hope that when she woke up, the others had gone and her sister had returned.

Sadie jerked out of the memory, trembling with the force of the fear crowding her chest. That was years ago, and her sister was still troubled.

Tomorrow she would have to bury Papaw. Too restless to sleep, she hurried back to the main house to gather his clothes for the funeral.

But as she walked back to the house and the wind swirled around her, she thought she heard Amelia crying out her name.

She looked around, suddenly on edge. Was someone watching her?

“Where are you, Sis?” Sadie whispered. “I need to know so I can help you.”

But the silence made her even more uneasy.

Sadie went to her grandfather’s room to pick out his clothes. Stacks of magazines leaned against one wall, and his dresser was overflowing with junk. She opened the top drawer and found some socks and underwear, then went to the closet for his suit and tie. She chose a dark blue tie to go with his gray suit, then glanced down at the shoe rack and picked out his Sunday dress shoes.

His
National Geographic
collection was stacked beside the closet, and as she shut the door, she noticed the edge of a folder sticking out from the middle of the stack.

She laid her grandfather’s clothes on the bed, then went to straighten the stack, which looked as if it was going to fall over.

Curious, she pulled the folder out and opened it. She was shocked to see that it contained medical records.

Records of Amelia’s treatment by Dr. Sanderson and Dr. Coker.

Sadie sank to the floor to skim the contents, her heart pounding as she flipped the pages. The incidents Amelia had described suddenly made sense.

According to the notations, her sister had been given a cocktail of drugs over the years, including LSD and an improved version of Metrazol that they had hoped wouldn’t cause seizures, as Metrazol had. The drug was experimental and hadn’t yet been
approved by the FDA, but doctors were hopeful they could use it in biowarfare to terrorize the enemy.

They also thought it might have therapeutic uses in treating overly aggressive behavior.

Sadie trembled at the implications. Why would they give Amelia LSD?

She glanced at the top of the page and noted the heading—“Subject #3.”

Bile rose to her throat.

Dear God. Was Brenda right? Had Dr. Sanderson and Dr. Coker used Amelia as part of an experiment? And had that experimental drug caused adverse side effects?

Could it have triggered her multiple personalities?

It took hours for the crime unit to process Emanuel Giogardi’s house. Jake waited until they were finished, which was almost morning, then rubbed his bleary eyes and drove home just in time to have breakfast with Ayla and Gigi.

Ayla giggled over pancakes, then talked nonstop about the birthday party she’d been invited to that afternoon. “We have to buy a gift this morning,” she said.

“Thanks,” Jake told her. “I need to go to Walt Nettleton’s funeral.”

“I figured as much,” Gigi said.

Ayla climbed in his lap and looped her arms around him. “Your face looks like a grizzly bear’s!”

He ran a hand over his face. “I guess I do need a shave.”

Gigi gave him a worried look. “And some sleep, from the looks of it.”

“I’ll sleep tonight,” Jake said.

Ayla planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “We gots to go, Gigi. I don’t want to miss the party!”

Jake squeezed her hard, then swung her to the floor, and she raced off to get dressed. His cell phone jangled, and he snatched it up.

“Sheriff Blackwood?”

“Yes?”

“This is Brenda. Can you give us the details on that body you found in Wells Valley?”

Jake silently cursed. How had she found out about it so quickly? Granted, he’d made a deal with her, but he wasn’t ready to discuss details yet.

“It’s an ongoing investigation,” he said in a clipped tone. “I can’t comment further.”

“I thought it was a suicide,” Brenda said. “The man left a note, didn’t he?”

“Where did you hear that?” Jake asked.

“You know I can’t divulge my source, Jake.”

Jake growled deep in his throat. “And I really can’t discuss the case until I investigate further.”

“Does it have to do with the lead I gave you?” Brenda asked quietly.

So she must have known Emanuel had been treated by Sanderson. “I honestly don’t know yet, Brenda. But I haven’t forgotten our deal, all right?”

“Thanks, Jake.” She ended the call, and he smiled as Ayla ran through and waved good-bye. Then she and Gigi rushed out the door. He jumped in the shower, then dressed and drove to his office. His deputy was on the phone when he arrived.

“Any luck at the bar last night?” Jake asked.

Mike gave him an irritated look. “I could have gotten lucky if I hadn’t been working.”