Rusty Nails (The Dade Gibson Case Files) (6 page)

Dade sighed. “O.K. fine. This is going nowhere fast. Let’s try a different approach. Let’s talk some more about Richard. He obviously must have been a man with money to judge by the size of this crypt.”

“Richard did very well in life,” Louise explained.

“Has he ever told you how he came by his fortune? Or does he usually just stick to pillow talk?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dade saw Liz crack a smile. To his credit, however, he managed to keep a straight face.

“He was a chemist,” Mrs. Hartwell said as if that cleared everything up. “A very successful chemist.”

“A chemist, huh?” Dade said, not entirely buying it. “If I remember our previous discussion correctly, you said that Richard Edgemore’s name was widely known in Crowley’s Point. What would be so significant about a chemist that would make so many people recognize his name?”

“I don’t know that his occupation had anything to do with his popularity,” Louise said. “I didn’t know him when he was alive.”

“You’re just not going to cooperate with me, are you?” Dade asked.

“You’re the investigator,” Mrs. Hartwell said with a fake smile. “You’re being paid to find out the answers.”

“I want to go inside the crypt momentarily,” Dade said as he mulled over the things Louise Hartwell had told him. “But I think I need to ask a few more questions about Richard. I’m new to this town and don’t know what to believe about some of the rumors I’ve heard. Maybe you could clear some of them up for me. I’ve heard that Richard had some sort of connection with angels, and I think you’ve got some sort of connection with angels too. You know a little bit more about this than you’re letting on. So what can you tell me? My success, in part, depends on you.”

Dade wasn’t ready to tip his hand just yet and reveal what he knew. But after meeting Louise at an exclusive club for angel fantasists and then seeing her murder an angel in cold blood, the angel angle seemed worth pursuing. As expected, the look on Mrs. Hartwell’s face was a mixture of confusion and agitation. Dade felt a briefly satisfied that his deductive reasoning had proved dead-on for a change. Louise forced a smile and sighed. “This is something I’ve never asked Richard about because I’ve never wanted to know the truth. I guess every girl wants to believe that she’s the only one. In any case, there were stories floating around town that Richard fell in love with an angel.”

“Are we talking a real, bona-fide angel or are we talking a Zodiac Club angel?” Liz asked.

“They’re one in the same,” Louise explained. “Or at least some of them are. Of course, there are some that just dress the part. But there are others....”

“Do you believe the stories, Mrs. Hartwell?” he asked.

“It’s difficult to say,” Louise replied.

“Why is that?” Liz asked.

“Because I didn’t know him then,” she replied. “I didn’t even meet him until he was dead. It’s probably not even my business to know what really happened.”

“But you’re making it your business to find his bones now. What if there’s some sort of connection between the stories and this disappearance? Oh, but I forgot, that may be part of this big secret that he won’t tell you about in his Cryptic-Message-Per-Day.”

Louise scowled. “Don’t get cute with me, Mr. Gibson.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’ll tell you this much,” she said at last. “And this is all I know. When Richard died, it was mysteriously and in bed. All the windows and the door were locked from the inside. They even had to break in the door to get to Richard. When they did there were feathers everywhere. An expert ornithologist examined the feathers and was unable to identify them. To this day nobody except Richard really knows what happened, and he’s not telling.”

“Somehow,” Dade said. “I think it might be a good idea to put that on your next list of questions for the dry-erase board. And put it high on the list of priorities so he doesn’t waste these precious messages on things like his secret recipe for marinara or the best way for balding men to grow hair.”

“Very well,” Louise Hartwell said with a frown. “Why don’t you go ahead and have a look around.”

She stood outside the crypt like a stone guardian while Dade and Liz made their investigations. Dade insisted that he needed an unbiased look at the tomb first and foremost. Truth be told, he felt that there were some things that needed to be said. Things that couldn’t be discussed in front of Mrs. Hartwell.

“Do you believe that whole bit about Richard Edgemore and the angel?” Dade whispered.

“It’s hard to say. I mean, angels seem to be the common thread running through all of this.”

“Mrs. Hartwell hasn’t exactly been straightforward with us so far,” Dade reminded her. “The information she’s giving us is selective and abbreviated. I don’t buy the story about them being married or in love or whatever you want to call it either. She’s after something, and Richard Edgemore may well be the key. But the angle on this is all wrong.”

“I don’t believe the whole story either. But I do believe that angels have something to do with all of it. I also think-”

Dade’s hand over her mouth stopped her from saying anything else. Mrs. Hartwell’s dark, mammoth figure loomed in front of the immaculate stained glass front of the mausoleum. Because of the distortion of shadow, it was impossible to tell whether or not she was listening. But the walls weren’t so thick that she couldn’t pick up snatches of conversation if she wanted to. Dade motioned Liz a little deeper into the crypt where the glass gave way to marble and dead remains. She could still eavesdrop if she noticed anything interesting being said, but at least now, she would have to strain for what she heard.

In the back of the vault there was no dust on the floors, no dust on the marble vaults, no dust anywhere save for just a little heap of what looked like powdered chalk in the corner furthest from the entryway. Dade approached it carefully. Although the small hillock of pale dust bore an uncanny resemblance to blackboard dust, there was one other thing that came to mind which, if ground up or given time to decay, might produce a similar result.

“What does that look like?”

“Bones,” Liz said with some certainty. “But what is that above it?”

At first, Dade didn’t see what she was talking about and then as she stepped out of the light, it became perfectly clear. The character had been chiseled on the mausoleum wall just above the small heap of white powder and bore an uncanny resemblance to the tattoo they had seen on Louise Hartwell’s buttock. Digging a small note tablet and pencil out of his jacket pocket, Dade made a quick rubbing of the strange dark letter and studied it for a moment more, thinking that there was something familiar about it. After searching for a bit longer and not finding anything else of importance, they decided to call it quits. When they emerged, however, Mrs. Hartwell was gone. Still, she’d left something behind. There, tucked cozily beneath the windshield wiper, was another photograph of Dade’s father and sister.

“Don’t forget,” a note on the back read. “Those bones won’t find themselves.”

Chapter 11

What had merely been another job before, was now a matter of personal business, and Dade was more determined than ever to find out some answers. Once back at his office, he grabbed a beer from the small office refrigerator and turned on his computer. Then he sat down at his desk, studying the various Post-It notes that Liz had stuck to every available inch of the monitor. Obviously foreseeing potential difficulties due to Dade’s lack of experience with anything technical, Liz had written out step-by-step instructions on how to do everything from e-mailing a potential client to linking to a website.

Once the computer was fired up, Dade guided the cursor up to the location bar of the web browser and typed in an address that Louise Hartwell had mentioned. Called The Ouija Room, the site was reported to be an online commune with the dead. Only instead of moving a planchette around a game board and scribbling down the answers on a notepad, the webpage had a search engine that allowed the user to type in the name of whatever spirit he wished to speak with. Below that was a chat field where the spirit and the user could talk. It seemed sort of farfetched to Dade. But after everything he’d seen in his time as an investigator, most things usually weren’t as outlandish as they first appeared.

He recognized a few of the runes and symbols that adorned the webpage’s background, and knew from experience that they were used in summoning the dead. So at least that part looked authentic enough. He also recognized a snippet of Sumerian he had seen once in a case involving an emailed spell that a sorceror had used to call forth a demon and attack his adversary with only a few clicks of his mouse. Maybe there was something to this website after all. Someone had certainly done their homework.

Not really sure what he would find by using this approach, Dade hunt-and-pecked the name of Richard Edgemore into the search engine. Holding his breath and hoping that he wouldn’t feel foolish afterward, he hit the enter button and waited for the dead man’s spirit to be summoned. Within a matter of seconds Edgemore’s name flashed onto the screen followed by an impatient question mark.

“Mr. Edgemore,” Dade pecked, wishing that Liz had stayed around to type for him. “My name is Dade Gibson.”

“Where am I at exactly?”

“Inside my computer.”

“Ah, yes, modernization. Use the old crystal ball for a paperweight and play memory with the deck of tarot cards. We’re certainly advanced now, aren’t we?”

“If you’d prefer to talk in some other fashion, we can find some other means. I understand you’ve been using a dry-erase board in the past. We could do that if you’d like.”

“No, no, this seems to work well enough. And you mentioned a dry-erase board? Whoever told you that?”

“Maybe I was misinformed,” Dade said with a certain amount of unease. “It doesn’t really matter anyway. What matters is that I get some answers so I can help you.”

“I’ll tell you what I can, but you must remember that my perceptions are sort of limited in my current form.”

“Fair enough. Now, from what I hear you’re in a little bit of trouble.”

“You could say that. Of course, if you did you would be sorely understating the problem.”

“I’ve been hired to locate your remains,” Dade responded. “I’d say limbo isn’t much of an understatement.”

“Quite right,” Edgemore agreed. “I understand it’s not a pleasant way to spend eternity. Did I also understand that you had been hired for this job?”

“That’s right,” Dade said.

“I suspected that the vultures would resort to this sooner or later.” For some reason, the fact seemed both a surprise and an inevitability.

From what Dade had gathered so far, Edgemore didn’t have a clue that Louise Hartwell had such an interest in him. She certainly hadn’t been speaking to him with a dry-erase board. And he obviously had no previous knowledge that someone was being paid to track him down. There was some other motive at work here.

“You spent a little time with the angels,” Dade prodded. “Could you tell me about that?”

“They used to visit me nightly. I was a popular guy back in my day.”

“And why was that?”

“I had what they needed.”

“I don’t understand,” Dade pecked at the keyboard.

“I was rich and could get them whatever they wanted without consequence. This is a small town, you know. Money can buy lots of things, including silence and drugs.”

“You were a pusher?” Dade said incredulously.

“Of sorts. Some of the dissident angels were quite fond of cocaine and heroin and anything else they could get their hands on that had a numbing effect. For a while, there wasn’t a hardware store in town that had a can of paint thinner to spare.”

“That seems like a risky business.”

“You have no idea. Sometimes a man will sell his soul for any price.”

“Do you know who stole your remains?” Dade asked.

“I left you a clue on one of the mausoleum walls.”

Dade remembered the rubbing he’d made of the strange symbol.

“I saw it,” he responded. “And made a copy of it. But wouldn’t it just be easier to tell me his name?”

“I don’t know his name. All I could discern was that tattoo. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know what they’re going to do with me. All I know is that it’s dark and cold and scary here.”

“They haven’t made any attempts to speak with you yet?” he asked.

“None. You’re the first person I’ve talked to in quite a while.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better I have every intention of getting your bones back.”

“I don’t know who kidnapped me. I don’t know what the score is where you’re concerned. But I do know that you’re getting into some very suspect lines of inquiry,” Edgemore warned. “Just be certain you’re ready to get involved.”

“I’ve been promised a sizable retainer for this job. Why is someone willing to pay me so much to find your remains?”

“May I ask who hired you?” Edgemore asked, dodging the question.

“Surely you know,” Dade replied.

“It could be any number of people,” Edgemore responded. “Even in death, I know things that people would kill to know. The one thing I’m puzzled about is who is desperate enough to pay someone to track down my remains.”

“Louise Hartwell.”

There was a brief pause before Edgemore spoke again.

“Ah, yes, Louise. What a dear, gentle, sweet woman. You’d do well to stay away from her.”

“And why is that?”

“Let’s just say she’s been making quite a few enemies as of late.”

“Then answer this: why would anybody steal your bones in the first place?”

“A man’s soul can be bound with bones,” Edgemore continued. “That’s why mine have been stolen. I would imagine that the angels are starting to get desperate and need some questions answered about their addictions. While holding my bones, they can ask me whatever they want and I’ll have to answer out of fear that they’ll imprison me in limbo for eternity.”

“It sounds a bit like psychic blackmail,” Dade typed.

“You’ve hit it on the nose, my boy.”

“So answer this. If some of the angels are drug addicts, why don’t they just find a good twelve-step program instead of going to all of this trouble with bones and limbo and such.”