Read Krewe of Hunters The Unholy Online
Authors: Heather Graham
Krewe of Hunters The Unholy (3 page)
“Sam Stone and the Curious Case of the Egyptian Museum,”
Bogie said. “You know, the costuming and effects for that movie were done where you work. The place was Claymore Illusions
back then.”
“I know,” Madison told him. “That’s why it seemed so perfect that the studio was hired for the remake. I think the fact that the place was used for creating props, costumes, illusions and whatever was needed for film noir is half the reason Eddie Archer loves it so much.”
“Eddie appears to be a talented man with a real appreciation for the past,” Bogie said, not for the first Jfor thet time.
Madison let out a little cry, startled as something pounced onto the sofa beside her. She laughed at herself.
As if he knew she was upset and needed some warmth, Ichabod meowed and settled his furry body next to hers.
“Hey!” Bogie said softly. “It’s going to be all right. Don’t go getting all jumpy on me now.”
Madison forced a smile despite feeling a sense of dread.
It wasn’t going to be all right.
* * *
Sean Cameron arrived in L.A. in the afternoon, when the sun seemed to spray down light like a fountain, and the bustle of the city was as frantic as ever. This might be Tinseltown, and massive movie deals might be taking place in any coffee shop, but it was also where he’d learned that it was often the B-lister who had to put on pretensions, and where the working moguls could be as down-to-earth as their gardeners.
Such was the case with Eddie Archer.
Sean had spent five formative years working under Archer. The man was a genius when it came to creating creatures and special effects. To this day, Eddie loathed straight CGI or computer-generated imagery. Of course, effects were effects, but in Eddie’s view, to create what
looked
real, you had to start with something real. Thanks to Archer, Sean had learned a great deal about physical illusion as well as computer-generated magic. He’d worked with Eddie in many capacities, learning to create costumes and attachments, build creatures, as well as work with computers.
Archer certainly enjoyed his income and the fact that he was customarily sought out by the most important and influential names in the business. But above all, he still loved his
art,
and he loved sharing that excitement and enthusiasm with promising young artists, wide-eyed and in awe of the chance to work for him.
Sean had gotten a frantic call from Archer an hour before he’d gotten the call from Logan Raintree, head of their Krewe of Hunters unit, telling him he’d received an official request that they be brought in. He assumed that Eddie Archer had used his influence with someone above the local police and even the state police, because just when he’d been about to tell Logan Raintree that he had to go to L.A. one way or another, Raintree had asked him to head out on the first flight and look into the situation.
“Remember, if something’s impossible—then it’s impossible,” Logan had said. “I know this man is an old friend of yours, a mentor. And I know you don’t want his son to be guilty of murder. But our job isn’t to hide things, fix things or helperaings or with creative defense mechanisms. Our job is to discover the truth.”
“I’m aware of that, Logan,” Sean had been quick to reply. He hadn’t taken offense. Whenever a team member had any personal involvement in a case, it was important to note what priorities had to be maintained. He’d gone on to say, “But I knew Alistair when he was a kid. Nice boy. He’s trying to figure out how to be his father’s son and his own man. And no, murder wouldn’t be how he’d plan to make his name. From what I understand from Eddie so far, the kid loved this girl. She used him, but he was crazy about her. And he’s a basket case now. He was immediately arraigned, and he’s out on bail—Archer money and pull, I imagine—but he’s basically locked up, anyway. He’s wearing an ankle monitor and he’s at a mental hospital that deals with dangerous and suicidal clients. A posh place, I understand. Apparently it’s where the A-listers go when there’s some kind of serious question about rehab, sanity…or possibility of a criminal offense.”
“I’m sure this place is the best money can buy,” Logan had said.
“Yeah. Archer loves his kid,” Sean had told him.
And Eddie Archer did love his one and only son. Married three times, Eddie Archie had just the one child. Alistair was the son of his first marriage, to Annie Smith, with whom he’d grown up in Valencia, California. Annie had been a fledgling actress, but her first love had been her family. She’d died when a vicious flu strain had swept through the world, shocking everyone with the deaths it had caused. Eddie had been absolutely bereft.
And then lonely. And Alistair had been left without the mother who’d adored him. Eddie made up for that the best he could; he was always there for his son.
But although Annie had been as sweet and dedicated to a man as a woman could be, Eddie hadn’t had much luck with women since her death five and a half years ago. When he’d married Benita Lowe two years after Annie’s death, Sean had come to the wedding. He could have said right then that it wouldn’t last. Benita had practically snatched the bill from the caterer’s hand and had a few things to say about the cost of the reception. Turned out she wanted Eddie to save his money—for her. That marriage had ended in a matter of months. A year ago, Eddie had given marriage another try, again with an actress, Helena LaRoux. Sean knew Helena; she’d attended Eddie’s second wedding with her third husband. Sean hadn’t gone to that wedding. He’d sent his best wishes to Eddie, hoping he was wrong in his judgment of Helena. They’d had a few minutes to talk at Eddie’s wedding to Benita, and he’d discovered that Helena apparently thought Benita’s then-husband was superior to her own, as far as contacts and possibilities went.
Sean heard a horn beep and when he saw Eddie’s car across the divider realized he’d been waiting in the wrong place, pretty sad considering the fact that he’d lived in L.A. for five years and visited frequently ever since. He threw his garment bag over his shoulder and hurried over to slide into the passenger seat of Eddie’s sporty little Ford hyb hetle Forrid.
“Hey, old friend,” Eddie greeted him. “I’d give you a big man-hug, but they don’t let you sit here long these days!”
“Just drive, my friend, drive,” Sean said.
Eddie nodded and focused his gaze on the road ahead and the insanity of LAX. “Thank you for coming,” he said.
“Ah, Eddie, you knew I’d come if you called me.”
Sean glanced at Eddie, who looked drawn and haggard, a lot older than his years. That was natural under the circumstances.
“You’re sure you’re okay, Eddie? Okay to be driving around?”
Eddie nodded gravely. “I wouldn’t risk your life—or my own. Alistair needs me. I’m strong. I know my son is innocent, and it has to be proven.”
Eddie did seem rational and in control, driving like an expert as he maneuvered the complicated airport exit and the California highway system.
“From special effects to the FBI?” Eddie asked. He tried to smile. “I still marvel at that. I was in shock when you told me. Guess it must be your ability to create giant man-eating rats against a green background.”
“Hey, now,” Sean said, trying to speak lightly. “They didn’t just pluck me out of the studio, you know. All right, well, they did at first, but you remember I’d done some work with Texas law enforcement groups. And now we’ve gone through the training system at Quantico. My team and I, that is,” he added. “None of us was FBI when we formed. But you must know something about my team, Eddie—besides the little we’ve exchanged in phone conversations. Because I got the call from our team leader not long after I talked to you.”
Eddie nodded. “Ever since I was informed that my son was in a jail cell, covered in blood, I’ve done nothing except rack my brains to figure out how we can prove that Alistair didn’t do this—that he couldn’t have done it. I thought about you instantly, and the fact that you’ve become part of an elite unit.”
“I’m not so sure they call us elite,” Sean murmured.
“Sean, the cops have gone through the security tapes. There was no one in or out of the cinema or the studio, other than Alistair and Jenny Henderson. There were no cameras running in the museum. It was closed. The whole thing is impossible. I
know
Alistair didn’t do it. My attorney is suggesting we consider an insanity plea…but Alistair isn’t crazy. He didn’t do it.”
Sean studied Eddie as he drove. The man was a father, desperate to save his son. Sean groaned inwardly; he hoped Eddie hadn’t wanted the Krewe involved because he believed he had an old protégé working with a group that was part of the federal government. Did he figure Sean might help with an insanity plea? It seemed to him that a good defense attorney could get a person off on insanity in a dozen different ways.
The television made me do it. The voices in my head made me do it. A video game made me do it, a book made me do it.
The ghosts living in the old Black Box Cinema did it, not me.
And if you
imagined
that a ghost did it—or made you do it—was that as good as actual insanity?
“Eddie, a ghost—or a creature—didn’t kill the girl. I mean, if you’re hoping we can come up with the spirit of a dead noir actor, it’s not going to fly.”
Eddie looked at him, frowning. “Sean, I…I know that. I don’t believe a ghost killed anyone, either.
Can
ghosts kill someone? Or if a ghost ever did kill anyone, wouldn’t it be that guilt or fear or terror simply overwhelmed that person? Sean, trust me, I don’t think a ghost killed Jenny Henderson. But someone did,” he said grimly. “Someone who knows the studio. Whether it’s someone working there now or not, I have no idea. The police checked out the security footage and said, Hey, cut and dried, no one in there that night except for the security guard—who never moved. The guy didn’t even take a piss until Alistair came running in to get him. Someone else was in that studio, Sean, and you know as well as anyone that what we see isn’t always real, and that what looks real can be illusion.”
“Of course, Eddie,” Sean said, feeling a little foolish. Was he a bit testy about being part of a unit that many questioned?
The Ghostbusters of the FBI?
They were still a new unit, and they’d met all the members of the original Krewe, so they knew what they were up against. He’d been involved in the case that had put this second group together, and it had been unusual, to say the least. But like most evil, it had come down to human greed and the horrible twists and turns the mind could take.
But…
He’d also learned that there were others like himself and his cousin Kelsey. Those who could hear voices and see visions of people who’d departed the physical realm.
He’d also gone through rigorous training. He was an excellent shot, should the need occur, even if he’d always planned on living his life creating fantasy for entertainment purposes.
On both fronts, he’d learned that perception was everything. They were dealing with a locked-room mystery, he thought. A classic puzzle, and every puzzle had a solution.
And Eddie had seen this, the key to vindicating his son.
“I haven’t been in the studio in years, Eddie,” Sean reminded him.
“Yeah, I figured that, and some things have changed. Some storage has been moved around, but most of the structure is the same. Climate control or cold room, sewing section, construction—those areas are all the same. Anyway, I’ve asked one of my top young protégées to be your guide. She’ll take you through the studio, answer any of your questions. She’s the perfect assistant for you right now.”
“Oh? Why is she so perfect?”
Eddie glanced his way before looking back at the road, somber and thoughtful.
“Because she’s a lot like you. She’s quiet, doesn’t say much about anything that affects her, but…well, she’s either certifiable, crazy as
a loon, or just like you. She talks to the dead.”
2
L
os Angeles County was known for its smog, but this afternoon was worse than usual. When Madison stepped outside to wait for Eddie Archer, she felt as though the day itself was in mourning for Jenny Henderson and the Archer family.
It was just the beginning of summer, and in the past few days the sky had been powder-blue with wonderful puffs of snow-white clouds; today, a fog had rolled in from somewhere and joined with the pollution of the massively populated area. She almost expected to hear crows caw in warning while bats took flight across a darkening sky. Like something of a ’50s horror movie…
Eddie Archer’s little hybrid car pulling up in front of her place brought her back to reality.
Eddie pulled to the curb. A man slid out of the passenger seat watching her as she approached. He seemed to fit right in to the California scene. He was tall, wearing dark glasses, and appeared to be fit and athletic, with a lean muscled frame. She slipped her own sunglasses on; sunglasses camouflaged a multitude of sins, or so they said—and allowed one to hide one’s emotions.
As she reached the car, he extended a hand. “Sean Cameron, Ms. Darvil. Please, take the front. I’ll get in behind you.” He had a low, smooth, throaty voice that suited his physique. Bogie, she thought, would label him “a man’s man.” There was a quality about him that conveyed an inner easy confidence. She sensed his compelling masculinity and realized that meeting him, just feeling his handshake, made her want to know him. She lowered her head for a swift moment, willing herself not to flush.
Why on earth was she instantly attracted to a man she’d barely met?
She steeled herself mentally, disturbed and annoyed with her own thoughts. Eddie was troubled. Alistair was in a grave situation. A beautiful young woman had been murdered. She was here to escort this man around the studio today, and that was it.
“After you,” he said.
She wasn’t short, but neither was she exceptionally tall, at five-eight.
“No, no—you take the front.” She managed a casual grimace. “Since I’m staring up at you, it’s obvious you have much longer legs.” He had to be six-three or six-four, she estimated. She felt she should tell him it was a pleasure to meet him, except that seemed kind of ridiculous at the moment. “I’m glad you’re here for Eddie,” she said instead.
He gave her a tight-lipped smile and a nod. “I’ll say the same,” he told her huskily. “Please, take the seat next to Eddie. There’s plenty of legroom in the back. Humor me—it’s a Texas thing.”
Madison decided she wasn’t going to wage a war over a car seat and got in.
When she was seated, Eddie turned to her. “Thanks, Maddie,” he said quietly. “Thank you, sincerely.”
“You’re welcome, Eddie.”
“So, the police still have the museum area—the tunnel—cordoned off. Naturally, Sean has jurisdiction anywhere, but I’d like you to show him the studio. You can answer any questions he might have.” Eddie’s voice grew emotional as he added, “I’m going to abandon you two and get back to the hospital to see Alistair. I don’t like leaving him alone. I don’t mean alone—I mean, without seeing me as much as possible.”
“I understand, Eddie,” Madison said quietly. Alistair—assuming he was innocent—definitely needed family support at a time like this.
But he had a stepmother, too, although it was true that Alistair had never called his father’s wives “Mother.” But he seemed to have a friendly relationship with Helena LaRoux, and as far as she could tell, Helena liked Alistair. Alistair was happy if his father was happy, and he found it amusing that Helena had made no bones about the fact that she’d loved Eddie and wanted to be Mrs. Eddie Archer. She claimed to love Eddie and maybe she did. It was a nice bonus that he was as powerful as he was—and Helena never pretended that she wasn’t eager to be rich and famous on her own. It seemed, however, that she was happy to share her journey with Eddie’s son.
Appearances,
Madison thought. Hollywood was all smoke and mirrors.
“He’s got family there now,” Eddie told her. “Helena is with him. But we’ve only been married a year, and although she and Alistair get along fine, she’s not his real mom, and certainly not his dad, you know?” he ended hoarsely.
“No one else is you, Eddie.”
She noticed that Sean Cameron reached over from the backseat, placed a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and squeezed.
She’d heard about Cameron before; she knew his name, and that he’d worked at the studio. Now that she was with him, she realized she’d even seen pictures of him with past creatures created at the studio and at industry parties. Once she’d actually wondered about him and joked with Carla, a seamstress, about him.
Why didn’t he still work there, huh?
she’d asked. She often worked a double shift, seventy to eighty hours, with a group that was seventy to eighty percent male. All those hours and all those men, and they were like fathers, uncles, little brothers or obnoxious cousins. Or uninterested in the opposite sex.
Carla had reminded her that she dressed some of the hottest actors in the business, and she’d been asked out often enough.
It wasn’t as if she was totally averse to a whirlwind romance—here today, gone tomorrow—it was just that the right opportunity hadn’t come along. She preferred to remain friends with men she might work with again, and she
didn’t
want the girlfriends, wives and lovers of actors or colleagues not wanting her to be part of future projects. So she kept her distance. Sometimes the actors she worked with could be cold and full of themselves, but luckily, that was seldom the case. And when she kept her distance, she earned their respect. Maybe men always admired and longed for what they couldn’t have. Maybe women, too.
And maybe she was just damaged. Maybe a friend like Bogie was a reward for the strange and painful things that had happened to her.
Right now, she needed to concentrate and focus on the moment—and not on Sean Cameron. She didn’t know the man. Not at all. She’d seen him standing outside a car. She’d heard his voice and shaken his hand. Watched how he’d silently laid his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, a true sign of friendship and support. There was something about his voice, though. It seemed to enclose her and make her feel his words were sincere, that he was some kind of secure bastion against the world. Eddie had called on him in a time of need.
As they pulled up in front of the cinema and studio, Madison saw that there were four police cars guarding the entrance. She looked past the cars and the crime scene tape to the beautiful Art Deco–style Black Box Cinema with its terra-cotta sunburst facade, and the elegantly crafted sign. The building itself was a handsome and historic structure; it appeared sad, though, wrapped in crime scene tape as it was.
When she looked to the side C to"0eshe saw the parking lot, empty now of cars. During lockdown it was usually crowded even at night—all hands on deck.
She noted a vintage Cadillac that was out of place among the clearly marked patrol cars. It was parked at the far end; there was a man standing outside the car, staring at the buildings, as if he was carefully watching the police and every move they made.
He turned as they drove up. Before they could exit, he walked over to the car, and Eddie rolled down the driver’s-seat window. From the passenger seat, Madison leaned over and saw that it was Andy Simons, Eddie’s partner.
“Hey, you doing okay?” Simons asked Eddie.
Madison didn’t know him half as well as she knew Eddie; Simons was money, Eddie was art. But the two were longtime friends and Simons—like everyone else associated with the studio—would stand by Eddie to the very end. Eddie and Andy were complete opposites in more ways than one. Eddie was slim and athletic, an attractive middle-aged man, casual and easy in his manner and dress. Andy was muscular and his clothing—even his jogging attire, as she’d seen once—was pure designer quality. He had a head of light blond hair that he kept artfully colored and his nails were manicured. He’d always been nice when Madison encountered him, he just didn’t have Eddie’s natural ease with the artisans and employees of the studio. However, that didn’t matter much, since he was seldom around.
“Thanks, Andy,” Eddie said huskily. “I’m doing all right.”
“And Alistair?”
“The best he can be—under the circumstances.” Eddie gestured at Sean. “Andy, you remember Sean Cameron—”
“Of course I do,” Andy said, looking into the backseat and smiling. “Nice to see you, Sean. We missed you—and your talent—when you left. Odd timing, though,” he added.
“He’s not here for his old job,” Eddie said. “Sean is with the FBI. His unit is going to take the lead on the investigation. I told you I was going to call in some favors to see that Alistair got a fair shake, that I wanted to bring in an FBI unit.”
“Yeah, I know. But, Sean—you’re FBI?” Simons asked.
“Career change,” Sean said with a shrug. “Life takes us to some strange places.”
“That’s a major change.” Simons looked at Eddie, frowning. “I knew you wanted the FBI involved, but I wasn’t sure you could pull it off. But then, you’ve always been able to create magic.”
“Never hurts to have two law enforcement agencies working together—we can bring different specialties to the table,” Sean explained.
“But from fabricator…to FBI?” Simons said, grinning.
“You never know,” Sean Cameron said.
There was an air of expectancy in the silence that followed, but Cameron didn’t say anything else and Eddie spoke up.
“Madison is going to show him around the studio. It’s been a while.”
Simons nodded. “Great.” He smiled at Eddie and tried to sound cheerful. “No one works harder than Madison, and I’d say she’s definitely a good choice for bringing Sean up-to-date. And we can’t ask for anything better than the FBI,” he said. He bent lower and grinned at her. “You’re the best, too, Madison. We all appreciate what you’re doing, but I have to ask—you okay with this? You don’t have to be here, you know. We can only ask so much of you.”
“I’m just fine. I’ll do anything to help Alistair,” she said.
“Anything,” Simons repeated. His comment seemed odd to Madison, or maybe not. To the outside world, there was no way that Alistair
hadn’t
committed the murder. Maybe he was really asking if she’d be willing to lie, if necessary. Was
he?
she wondered. Andy Simons’s fortune was tied to Eddie’s, and while he might have had the seed money, it was Eddie’s talent that had kept them both going.
The one aspect of the business Andy didn’t have anything to do with was the Black Box Cinema
.
That was strictly Eddie’s.
“Agent Cameron, welcome, and thank you,” Simons was saying. He straightened a bit. “Glad you’re with us. I’ve been standing in the parking lot for hours—don’t know why, except that I want the police to realize that all of us at the studio believe in Alistair, and we’ll be watching them.”
“I know why you’re here. You’re my friend,” Eddie said. “And I’m grateful for the support.”
“Sure. With Sean on the case now, I’ll head home. But, Eddie, if you need me—
for anything, anything at all
—just call.”
“Thanks, Andy,” Eddie said.
“Thank you. And I will be calling on you.” Sean Cameron reached through an open window to shake the man’s hand.
“I’ll talk to you later, then.” Simons gave them all a grave nod and walked to his car.
“Thank God I do have friends on board, and we’re not just throwing Alistair to the wolves,” Eddie said.
“Character can mean everything, Eddie. And a vicious murder isn’t in Alistair’s character.” Sean Cameron opened his door to exit the car and Madison did the same.
“Keep the faith, Eddie,” Sean said, ducking his head down to the window.
“I will.” Eddie nodded, and eased the car toward the road.
One of the police officers on guard duty approached Madison and Sean. Madison felt awkward about this; Sean Cameron did not. He smoothly produced his credentials and they were ushered through the massive gates. They were stopped once again, at the entrance to the cinema.
