The Haunted (Sarah Roberts 12) (16 page)

“Get her out of here,” Kershaw shouted.

They led Sarah away, a large smile on her face.

Aaron turned around and was led away.

Chapter 24

The cell was small and uncomfortable, but it gave her a chance to rest. As a holding cell, it was better than a dank prison cell. Early morning light spilled across the bed. A toilet sat behind a partition and there was a sink she could drink from. The food wasn’t great, but Kershaw had delivered it himself. He was trying to make peace with her, which had more to do with Parkman and their friendship than with her.

Kershaw had provided clothes before she fell asleep last night. The pants had a stretchy elastic waist so they fit snuggly, but the shirt’s sleeves were too long so she had to roll them up. It wasn’t a bother, though. There were more important things in life to worry about than if the clothes fit properly.

Staring at the ceiling, she tried to piece together what role Vivian had played recently? Overall, Sarah had been tossed around a bit, but was relatively unhurt. Whatever evidence in those boxes that were meant to burn had been recovered. Kershaw told her when he brought the clothes that his men were going through them, one by one.

Whatever was discovered in those boxes had to implicate Dr. Williams—who died in the fire—and Cole Lincoln in several of the crimes they were involved in. Otherwise, why did they try to burn the boxes? Last she heard, no one knew where Cole had gone. He had disappeared at the end of his shift. By now, the morning after, he could be anywhere.

With all that going on—Sarah locked up in a cell and Aaron in another one—where was Vivian? What was Parkman up to?

Most importantly, was her role in this over?

The memories that had haunted Sarah had diminished. Were those memories planted to entice Sarah into therapy? If so, that meant Vivian could control everything that Sarah was exposed to, even her brain waves and thoughts.

“Why not?” Sarah said out loud. “You’ve controlled me physically before. All this time, it’s been your show. I’m just the willing puppet.”

She curled up in a ball and tried to figure her life out. Maybe it was time to relax a little, stay calm. Just chill. Go back to answering random messages from Vivian. Ones that included a fist fight or a purse snatching. Something easy.

Before she was shot in the head in Toronto a while back, she had expressed her feelings to Aaron. How she wanted to quit the dangerous vigilante life for good and begin a normal family, a regular existence. But a bullet to the skull had changed that and made her realize just how much she was needed. She had been ungrateful of the gift, the ability she possessed to talk to someone from the Other Side who had foreknowledge of ominous things to come. Someone who could save her life when needed, step in and take over even when Sarah was powerless or drugged. Sarah trusted Vivian implicitly and that hadn’t wavered. If those rape images were planted in her mind to elicit a specific response, it worked. If Vivian led Sarah to Cole, then Sarah had to be the willing puppet. In the end, it justified the means.

She had learned to trust the process years ago, but that didn’t stop her from questioning it from time to time. And there was a quiet assurance that Vivian wouldn’t ever give her something she truly couldn’t handle.

A lock clicked down the hall. Footsteps approached.

“Sarah Roberts?” a man asked.

She got up off the bed and approached the bars.

A uniformed officer came into view. He reminded her of a young David Caruso back when the actor played a cop in the original Rambo movie.

“Kershaw wants to speak with you.”

“Really? Tell him to leave a message. I’ve got appointments all day.”

She walked back to the bed and stretched out on it.

“Very funny.” He slid the door aside. “Get up. Let’s go. Kershaw has good news. You’re going to want to hear it. Follow me.”

She rolled over and eyed him. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to hear what he has to say.”

Sarah followed him up the corridor toward the front offices.

“What was the name of the first Rambo movie?” she asked.

“First Blood,” the officer said over his shoulder.

“Right, thanks.”

At the door, he stopped. “Why did you ask about First Blood?”

“You remind me of Caruso in that movie.”

The young cop shook his head, a sheepish grin on his face. “Everyone says that. Shit, I hate it.”

“Why? Caruso’s a great actor.”

“I just want to be known for me, for who I am.”

“Doesn’t everybody.” She walked through the door and made a beeline for Kershaw’s office, the escort officer staying close. Sarah wondered how
I just want to be known for who I am
related to her. She was known for who she was even though Vivian was responsible for most of what she did.

How lucky am I?

At the glass door to Kershaw’s office, she knocked. Kershaw looked up and waved her in.

“You can go, Officer Douglas,” Kershaw said.

The door closed behind her.

“Take a seat, Sarah.” He gestured at one of the chairs opposite his desk.

Sarah decided on the one that was out of the sun beaming through the window. The office was full of trophies, plaques, family pictures and sports memorabilia.

“You a baseball fan or a football fan?” she asked.

“Both.”

On his desk sat a large golf trophy.

“Golf, too?”

He nodded. “But we aren’t sitting across from each other to discuss sports. With all the scumbags I deal with day in and day out, I need my office to have as much of me as it can have to maintain some semblance of sanity.”

“Makes sense.”

“Got a call this morning.”

“From?”

“A woman claiming to be the sister of the dead woman found in your car yesterday.” He paused to lean back in his chair. It creaked under the strain. He tented his fingers and stared at her.

“And?” Sarah prompted.

“It
was
her sister.”

“Great.”

Sarah waited. It looked like Kershaw was going to spill whatever he knew over the next ten hours unless she was willing to draw it out of him, sentence by sentence. But this tête à tête was his show. So she leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, and waited, her face expressionless.

“Just like in the movies, this sister received a letter. One of those, in-the-unfortunate-event-that-I-die letters. It spilled the beans on Cole Lincoln.” Kershaw waggled his eyebrows up and down, then stopped when Sarah stayed expressionless. “The sister, the dead woman, feared Cole would have her killed. Her last debt repayment was to play the role of a receptionist for a legitimate psychologist named Dr. Lance Williams. According to the letter the job seemed legit, so she agreed to it. I’m assuming that was to lure you to him.”

“Does the letter mention why she had the debt to Cole?”

Kershaw shook his head.

“Sounds like you’ve solved the murder in my car. So I’m free to go?”

Kershaw got up from his chair and turned to stare out the window. “You don’t seem to be overly excited that we have a letter, something that sways the attention from you.”

“I didn’t kill the woman. I know that. I was the victim here. I’m lucky you aren’t wiping my burnt skin off the floor of that room today and using my teeth to identify me. I was locked inside a psych
acute
ward with no hope of getting out alive so no, I’m not terribly excited about anything right now. I’m ready to move on. Now that you have all that you need on Cole Lincoln, I can leave it well enough alone.”

Kershaw turned to her. “Parkman and I go way back. He told me a little about you. There’s no way you’re going to
move on,
as you put it.”

She shrugged. “Why stay involved? With your resources, you could have Cole picked up by tonight and the charges filed for his arraignment in the morning. What else is there for me? He’ll be up on murder one and then some. Sounds premeditated to me.” She stood and brushed her hands back and forth, slapping them together as if to clear unwanted dirt. “We’re good here. I’m done.”

Kershaw walked around his desk and stopped in front of her.

“Why don’t I believe you?” he asked.

“Because you don’t know me. Now, whether you believe me or not, am I free to go?”

Kershaw nodded. “But stick around. I may want to talk to you again.”

“I’ll be at my cabin. I’m sure you know where that is.”

“It’s a mess up there.”

“So I’ve heard. But for now, that’s where I’ll be. And Aaron? Is he free to go?”

“Already gone with Parkman last night.”

She reached the door and turned back. “I thought you detained him?”

“I did. For all of half an hour. Just to calm him down. That guy can be dangerous.”

“Agreed. Oh, my car keys?”

Kershaw shook his head. “Can’t do that. You’re carless.”

“And why’s that?”

“Forensics still has your Charger in the shop. There was a murder committed in it after all. Gotta work all the angles.”

“When they’re done with it, have it brought to me at the cabin.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Kershaw said, his voice raised an octave.

Sarah slammed the door on her way out.

Chapter 25

Half a mile from the cabin, Sarah instructed the cab driver to stop and let her out. As the cab pulled away from the shoulder of the road, she headed in the opposite direction of the cabin. In the warmth of the spring day, she hiked up her sleeves.

A full minute later, the taxi was out of sight. A ninety-degree turn to the right brought her over the shoulder of the road, down the embankment and into the cover of trees. With Cole and those two men who drugged her in Williams’ office still out there, she wanted to reconnoiter the area before walking into the cabin unarmed, straight into an ambush.
 

Stepping over the fallen branches and dead leaves that littered the floor of the woods surrounding her cabin, she tried to remember the last place she had put her gun. It was probably still stowed behind the night table by the bed unless the men who ransacked the cabin found it.

Mindful of noise, she watched every step, placing her feet gently, and only paused when the sound of a vehicle traveled by on the road. When her cabin came into view, nothing seemed out of place. No vehicle was in the driveway and the front door was closed, but sitting askew. To an outsider, it would appear as though no one was home and everything was fine.

She leaned back against a tree and waited, watching the cabin and the driveway while she listened to the traffic on the main road. After about ten minutes, she asked Vivian if there was anything she needed to know.

Vivian was silent.

Which meant nothing. Only that Sarah probably wasn’t about to die. Although she wouldn’t put it past Vivian to forget to mention that little detail.

She pushed off the tree and walked the remaining fifty yards to the cabin. Once there, she walked around it, front to back, looking in the windows, testing to see if they were locked.

Even though Vivian was quiet, not even the slightest feeling of her presence, Sarah felt something was off. She couldn’t explain it. It was like there was tension in the air.

At the front door, she spun the knob and shoved the door hard enough for it to smack the inside wall. A quick peek inside revealed nothing untoward except the ransacked mess. No one had cleaned up a thing since it was ripped apart. Whoever came through were bent on destruction. The furniture was flipped over, broken and sliced apart, stuffing protruding from the cushions of the couch. The little kitchen area was covered in broken dishes and glasses. The table where she had her computer was broken into four pieces, one piece sitting in the doorway to the bedroom.

“What the hell?” she whispered to herself, shaking her head.

Anger stirred inside. Why do this? Just to get her? To make her pay for the repairs to the rental unit? Too petty. To anger her? Too immature. Maybe they were sending a message. Leave a dead body in her car. Ransack her cabin. Commit her for being insane and then she dies in the fire she supposedly set. A lot of people might buy that story, but Parkman and Aaron wouldn’t have.

She walked over broken table pieces and recliner chair stuffing toward the bedroom. Inside the room, nothing was any different than the rest of the cabin. The bed frame was destroyed and the mattress gutted. But the night tables on either side were intact. She rushed over to the one on her side of the bed, pulled it away from the wall and slapped her hand on the back.

The Glock was gone.

“Looking for this?” a man said.