Killer Image (An Allison Campbell Mystery) (20 page)

Allison nodded. “The sticking point for Mia has been her whereabouts at the time of Arnie’s murder. The day Udele disappeared, Jason was at Mia’s. If she can prove an alibi, her name could be cleared—for that murder, at least. “

“Of course, Allison, but where are you going?”

“I have some thinking to do.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Allison grabbed her purse. “I’m going back to my professional roots, Vaughn. It’s a trip I should have made a long time ago.”

Night fell fast in the country. Allison pulled the Volvo through an old chain link gate, now hanging by one hinge, and onto blistered, buckled blacktop. The sun was already sinking low in the sky. Mature pines and maples danced shadows across the parking lot that once belonged to the Meadows.

Long abandoned, the Meadows had become a graveyard. The imposing building sat empty, its windows shattered behind iron bars, proof that nothing could be kept safe. Allison parked at the far side of the lot, behind the building. She climbed out of the car, traded Jimmy Choos for her running shoes, and walked toward the institution that had been such a part of her past.

Surrounded by a tall chain link fence, then acres of woods, and then farm land, the Meadows was a prison within concentric circles of green. Nature had reclaimed what she could. The roof had caved in places, and the thick branch of an oak tree speared through asphalt shingles like a knife through a body. The neat hedges had turned into wild sentries, their bristling green tentacles reaching into broken windows. Gnarled vines, bits of paper and cardboard and discarded cans had accumulated in corners. The steel-door entryway remained intact, but next to them, someone had spray painted “Love Shack” in red bubble letters. Allison shook her head. So far from the truth.

She stepped over a broken iced tea bottle and through a thicket of tall grass that had sprouted between sidewalk cracks. She stared into a broken window at the former lobby. It was empty, except for one lone chair that sat propped on three legs next to the built-in receptionist desk. On the chair was a towel soiled with black stains. Cobwebs hung from the corners of the room.

Allison closed her eyes.

The silence was overwhelming. The Meadows had been built miles from town. It took four back roads to get there, and she couldn’t even hear highway noise. She opened her eyes. Over the horizon, the setting sun glimmered in vibrant shades of red and purple, but the kaleidoscope of color did nothing to soften the memories.

Somewhere overhead, a crow called. Allison heard a rustling in the overgrown shrubs that lined the building’s façade. She froze, listened. A squirrel dashed out in front of her and Allison let out a long, hard breath. She pictured Violet, leaving the Meadows for the last time. Allison had watched her from a window as the teen made her way out the door and into her caseworker’s car. Violet had looked back, her expression unreadable through the blur of Allison’s tears.

Allison trudged alongside the old building and made her way toward the recreation center in the rear. A separate chain link gate led into a field encircled by what once had been a paved track. Like the parking lot, the gate was broken and the track was cracked and overgrown with weeds. On the other side of the track, propped up against a razor-topped fence, stood two sets of bleachers. Vines and saplings were growing between and around the metal benches, as though holding the bleachers captive. Allison made her way to that side of the rec field. She stared for a long while at those bleachers, remembering the young girl who would sit by herself on the end, refusing to play whatever sport was going on.

And Allison would join her. So she wouldn’t be alone.

Allison wiped a spot on the edge of one bleacher. Night was near now. The ghost of what was once the Meadows spread out before her, she took stock of the place that robbed her of her confidence and, through Violet, had broken her heart. Allison watched a hawk swoop from a nearby tree. The odd rustling in the foliage no longer scared her. Nor did whatever memories lingered in the shadows of this forsaken place.

She thought of Violet. There was nothing she could do for her now. She thought of Maggie McBride. Maggie still had a future.

Eventually, Allison stood and made her way back toward her car. Once upon a time, she came to a crossroads and made the wrong decision. This time, she would make the right one.

Twenty—Two

The next afternoon, Allison was just leaving her sixth message for Sasha Feldman when Vaughn knocked on her office door. He came in and closed the door behind him.

“Still won’t answer?” he said when he saw her frustration.

Allison shook her head. “Doesn’t pick up, won’t return my calls. I know she has a lot going on, so I feel bad disturbing her, but I expected some response.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to head over there myself,” Allison said. “Today if I can.”

“Well, it won’t be now.” He pointed toward the front door. “Visitor.”

Allison knew exactly who it was—and this time she wasn’t surprised to hear from him. “Lieutenant Helms.”

“Shall I tell him you’re unavailable?”

“No.” Allison sighed. “Might as well get it over with.”

Vaughn escorted Helms to Allison’s office a few minutes later. Today the detective wore a navy blazer and tan pants. No tie. Although his eyes shone with a certain dogged intensity, his manner was friendly. He shook Allison’s hand and sat in the chair across from her.

“Thanks for seeing me without notice, Allison. This will only take a few minutes.” He pulled a notebook and pen out of his coat pocket. “I’d like to talk about Maggie McBride.” He looked up. “How long have you known her?”

Allison thought. It felt like forever. “Almost a month.”

“How would you categorize your relationship?”

“Professional.”

“She seems to consider you a friend.”

Despite herself, Allison smiled. “Did Maggie say that?”

Helms nodded.

Allison shrugged. “We share a dog.” He gave her a quizzical look, and Allison gave him an abbreviated version of how Brutus came to be in both of their lives. She watched his face for a reaction, but he remained impassive. He wrote something in his notebook.

Helms said, “Any signs of violence from Maggie?”

“Absolutely not.”

“A temper? Fits of rage?”

Allison shook her head.

“Has Maggie told you she practices witchcraft?”

“Yes. Wicca.”

“And that she believes in black magic?”

“She didn’t say that specifically.”

“What
did
she say?”

Allison took a moment to think. Mostly, Allison had dismissed whatever she said as the babblings of a teenager searching for identity. Allison said, “Not much. We didn’t really get into it.”

The Lieutenant frowned. “Are you aware that Maggie kept a knife in her room?”

That came as a surprise to Allison. “No.”

“Udele Daldier was killed with a knife.”

For some reason, it was odd hearing Udele’s last name. She had always been simply Udele to Maggie and her family. It struck Allison that Udele Daldier had a past and a life and, probably, dreams and hopes bigger than running the McBride household. Udele had not been particularly friendly to Allison, but nevertheless, Allison felt a pang of sorrow for the fact that whatever Udele Daldier wanted out of life, it was not to be.

“The same knife?”

The Lieutenant simply stared at her. “Ms. Campbell, do you understand what a troubled girl Maggie McBride is?”

“Maybe having everyone refer to her as troubled is part of the problem.”

Helms stood and walked over to Allison’s book shelf. He took his time perusing the books on the shelf before saying, “Did Maggie ever mention spells, curses, that sort of thing?”

“Do you think Udele died because of a curse, Lieutenant?”

He turned abruptly. “Please. Just answer the question.”

Allison took in his demeanor: all business. Lieutenant Helms had reason to be worried. It didn’t look good to have had a second murder go down on the Main Line under his watch, especially with the first one still unsolved. But worry could turn to desperation—and desperation into a witch hunt. Allison decided for Maggie’s sake to play along.

“No, no curses, Lieutenant. I think Maggie was mostly playing at the witchcraft. For a reaction. But she certainly wasn’t out to harm anyone.”

The Lieutenant stuck the end of his pen in his mouth, bit down on it, and gave her a condescending smirk. “You believe that?”

“Yes.” Allison bristled. “Besides, Wiccan is a peaceful religion. It’s not the same as devil worshipping.”

“But it’s a slippery slope. What begins as interest in the occult can broaden, deepen, especially if fueled by anger or illness.” Helms shrugged. “We’ve seen it before. It’s not that big a leap.”

Allison studied him. His eyes had softened until they had the look of sad resignation. She was sure he’d seen the worst of what humanity had to offer. Of course, to him, the leap from Wiccan to more sinister occult interests wouldn’t seem so huge. But Allison didn’t agree. “Look, Lieutenant,” she said, “I really have nothing to add to this conversation. I’ve known Maggie for a few weeks. She has an attitude, perhaps—”

“Perhaps? She’s the most recalcitrant kid I’ve ever had the misfortune to work with. She has a record, you know. Shoplifting. Loitering.”

“That doesn’t make her a killer.”

“Has she told you anything about school? About her relationships with other kids?”

“I know she’s been in trouble a few times.”

“It’s a little more serious than that. She was suspended for threatening to kill another student.”

Allison paused. “Kids make threats all the time. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“With references to the devil, Ms. Campbell? She threatened this other student with a letter written in what she claimed was blood.” His eyes widened. “Now I ask you, is
that
normal kid stuff?”

After the Lieutenant left, Allison walked back to find Vaughn. There was so much she didn’t know about Maggie. Why hadn’t the McBrides mentioned more about Maggie’s school problems? Were they afraid telling her everything would scare her away? Probably. But even so, she’d been owed the truth. Suspension—and near expulsion—from school, psychiatric counseling, anger management classes.

What had Lieutenant Helms said? The fight between her and the other student had started over a boy. And not just any boy: Ethan Feldman. Was there a connection between the letter and Arnie’s death? The police thought so. Feldman had forbidden Ethan to see Maggie after that. He’d called the school and demanded that the teens be kept separated during school hours. He’d threatened a restraining order if she continued to call their home.

Any kid would be upset. Arnie Feldman’s actions, though perhaps understandable, would have been humiliating, especially to an emotionally unstable teen. But would they have been enough to cause Maggie to kill him?

She’d read between the lines Lieutenant Helms had drawn for her. From his perspective, Maggie killed Feldman as vindication for trying to keep her and Ethan apart. It was a logical step given the threats she’d made in the past.

Allison considered what she knew of Maggie. Difficult? Yes. Antisocial? Perhaps. On the surface anyway. Capable of murder? No. Allison had experienced Maggie’s moodiness, her unwillingness to please, her desire to get in those little painful jabs. But she’d also seen her smile, had watched her protect her mother and save a dog no one else bothered to help. The kid had a caring side. Not the profile of someone incapable of empathy.

Unless it was all an act.

Allison had been fooled before. She thought of Violet, at the shock of finding out that Violet had run away to be with Sparky. At the shock of realizing how very, very wrong she could be about people.

Was she wrong here? Was Maggie simply playing her? This was bigger than running away. Murder took a brutality of character she didn’t think she could miss. But Maggie was fifteen. Teenagers’ brains were still developing. They often made decisions without considering consequences, focusing only on their immediate desires.

But these murders, for Allison had no doubt that the murders of Udele and Arnie were connected, didn’t seem like impulse kills. Rather, they seemed calculated. And anyone who knew Maggie would know of her interest in the occult. Between that and her personality, Maggie was an easy target.

Further support for Allison’s burgeoning theory: someone was framing Maggie.

But if Maggie was innocent,
who
had killed Arnie Feldman? And, even more baffling, who would want to kill Udele too?

Vaughn didn’t agree. “All roads lead to Maggie, Allison. That’s the sad truth.” They were in the client room, straightening-up after the long day. Allison was pooped. She sank into a chair and focused her attention on Vaughn.

“Then all the roads are leading in the wrong direction.”

“Okay, then, let’s play whodunit. We know Mia is off the hook, at least for Udele’s murder. Coroner puts time of death sometime in the morning between nine and noon and Mia was volunteering at the local soup kitchen. Has three witnesses who will swear to it. So how about Hank McBride?”

“Why would he frame his own daughter?”

“Maybe he wants her out of the picture. What better way to make that happen?”

Vaughn stacked catalogues and put away files as they spoke. He was art in motion. She watched him, not even trying to hide her skepticism. “How so?”

He put down the file he was holding and took the seat across from her. “McBride wants a seat in the Senate. What if Arnie Feldman had something on him? He had to get rid of him. Both Feldman and Maggie stood in his way. There was one way of getting both of them out of the picture and grabbing some public sympathy.”

Allison said, “Go on.”

“He paints himself as the poor father with a psychiatrically ill daughter. He does everything to help her. Hires professionals. Even hires a popular image consultant to work with her. Nothing works. In fact, things get worse. It isn’t his fault.”

Allison said, “It’s too risky. There are easier ways to get rid of someone. Why would you purposefully bring the police into your own house? And that’s assuming Feldman had something on McBride. We don’t know that, although it’s worth exploring.” She put her head in her hands, squeezing her skull as though the pressure would keep the looming headache at bay. “The fact is, we don’t know much of anything.”

“True enough. From what you’ve said, all this conjecture might be moot,” Vaughn said. “They haven’t arrested Maggie, but it sounds like it’s just a matter of time.”

“We need to know more about Feldman. What he was working on, who his clients were. Something tells me if we understand why he was murdered, our questions about Udele may be answered as well.”

“Sasha Feldman’s a must. And Arnie’s ex-wife, Brenda.”

Allison nodded. “Makes sense. I’ll visit Sasha, you take Brenda. Between you and Jason, we should be able to pull together basic info.”

Something the lieutenant said was niggling at the corners of Allison’s mind. The knife. The crime scenes. The pentagram. Maggie’s necklace. She needed to understand the significance of Wicca and how it fit into this.

“I think we should also explore Wicca. I’ll do some Internet research on witchcraft and local covens to see what I can find out.”

Vaughn looked at her. “Are you thinking that the real killer is part of that world?”

“Maybe. Or maybe the real killer knew enough about it to frame Maggie and Ethan. Either way, it’s worth researching.”

He seemed to consider this. “Why don’t you let me handle the Internet stuff? I have a friend who’s a computer genius. He’s kind of bored right now. He may be able to track down the local covens.”

Allison felt hopeful. It
would
save her hours in front of a computer. And she was no computer genius. “You trust this friend?”

Vaughn nodded.