The Evil Inside

8

When they neared Jamie’s house, Sam had Jamie put a call through to Jenna again. Still no answer.

Jamie swore, an unusual and colorful event. “By all the damnable banshees of the night! Why isn’t that girl answering her phone?”

“I’ll let you out. I’ll keep looking,” Sam said. “Call me if she’s in the house.”

Jamie got out of the car. “Aye, and if she’s not, I’ll start around the common and the blocks around the Hawthorne.”

Sam let Jamie out and tried cruising around on Church Street. There was no sign of her, but Essex Street was blocked off to everything but pedestrian traffic. As he tried to maneuver the streets, the going got difficult. Horrific murders might have recently taken place in Salem, but to the tourists flocking the area, the situation was in hand. The killer had been caught.

And, of course, they were tourists. They wouldn’t be likely targets of a maniac who’d only killed locals in his own realm thus far. Just as the mob had never really threatened the average Joe on the streets of Chicago or New York, visitors could allow themselves to feel safe.

Indians, pirates, crones, vampires and princesses walked into the streets against the lights, and he had to drive slowly and carefully.

His phone rang: Jamie.

“She’s not at the house.”

“All right. I’m parking. I can crawl faster than I can move in the car.”

“She wouldn’t have left the historic area.”

“Is she armed?” Sam asked Jamie.

“I…don’t know,” Jamie said.

“All right. We’ll keep up.”

He swore to himself-far less colorfully than Jamie. He parked at the next opening. A tow-away zone. Screw the car.

He exited and headed for Essex Street, wishing he’d made her give him an agenda, his heart pumping harder with every passing second.

Jenna figured she couldn’t jump over the wall-at the rear of the cemetery it was a huge drop down to the street below.

It occurred to her that she could confront her attacker. But the light from the streets flashing off the honed blade convinced her that she didn’t have what was needed for such a thing.

She should have carried her gun. After the team had been made official-proving themselves in New Orleans and learning that they could be a viable force together-they’d gone through the regular route of Federal training. She was good with a gun. She’d been careful here, not carrying it, because she didn’t want the police complaining to her superiors. Plus she wasn’t entirely used to having it on her yet.

Not such a good plan, despite the finest of intentions…

The creature kept coming.

Keeping her eye on it, Jenna began a snakelike movement toward her right and the back of the museum that bordered the graveyard, using the cemetery’s overgrown trees as a protection against the creature.

True panic gripped her when she heard the scythe being swung through the air, high this time. She felt it whizz by her, and then she heard a strange, hollow sound as it smacked against a headstone.

Riddled with relief, she paused.

Plastic. The damned thing was plastic!

She turned and stood her ground, staring at the horned god for a minute. The figure was close, and she could now see that she was taller than the creature by a good two or three inches.

She smiled.

It looked at her, and turned to run.

Jenna wasn’t about to let this fool go. She sprinted after it, glad for the training she’d been compelled to complete, it having taught her how to run well over uneven surfaces like the jagged line of standing and broken gravestones within the cemetery.

The masked figure turned back once and saw that she was almost upon it.

Jenna heard a yelp of panic.

They were nearly back to the middle of the cemetery when she made a dive and tackled the creature.

“Ouch! Stop it! You’re hurting me!”

Jenna eased off and pulled the horned god mask off over his head. She looked down in the hazy light, and saw the least likely of assailants.

It was a kid. She estimated the boy to be thirteen or fourteen, a young teenager. He had a freckled face, and sandy red hair, a spattering of acne and a look of sheer terror in his brown eyes.

“What did you think you were doing?” Jenna demanded.

“Aw, come on, I was playing with you. A little scare for Halloween!”

Jenna stood and reached down a hand. The kid stood, and looked quickly to the side as if he was ready to bolt again.

“Oh, no, no, no! Who are you, what are you doing and who set you up to do this?” she demanded.

He made the slightest turn; she gripped his wrist in an iron vise.

“Ow!” the kid wailed.

“You’re not going anywhere. I’m getting the police.”

A look of petrified alarm came to his face. “No, please! Please-please, please don’t do that.”

“Then you’d better start talking.”

She fumbled in her pocket for her phone. It wasn’t there. Cursing, she tried not to let on that it was going to be difficult to carry out her threat.

The graveyard was empty now except for the two of them-and the hazy shadows that gathered around, anxious for excitement in their endless days and nights. Jenna kept her attention focused on the boy.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” she asked.

He looked away.

“Don’t you?” she demanded, her fingers tightening again around his wrist.

“Yeah,” he said dully. “You’re that whacked-out FBI lady who talks to ghosts-and who wants to let a crazy killer out on the streets!”

She gritted her teeth. “No one is going to let a crazy killer out on the streets. But you, young man, are an idiot. You’re right. I am FBI. What if I’d been armed? I might have taken a shot at you!”

“It’s plastic!” he protested.

“You meant to scare me. If you’d scared me enough, plastic or no, I wouldn’t have known, and I might have shot you. It’s a damned good imitation of the real thing.”

He was silent, his cheeks red. “Look, I’m sorry!” he pleaded.

“Who are you?” She’d thought at first that it might be the bitter David Yates, or his comrade in accusation, Joshua Abbott. But this kid was too young to be either. Those two had to be seventeen now.

“My mom will probably kill me,” he murmured.

“Your name and your mom’s name, or I call the police. And I want to know why you’re doing this.”

“Marty-Martin Keller. And…I just did it because I hear them talking. All the adults in town are talking about you and that Mr. Hall. They’re all angry. They say the cops have a killer and Mr. Hall is such a hotshot attorney he wants to prove that a crazy kid is innocent just because he can. He doesn’t care if they let Malachi out on the streets, because he lives in Boston. And the rest of us will all be hacked up in our beds.”

Jenna took a deep breath. “What made you choose this costume?” she asked, somewhat calmer.

He lowered his head. “We had it at the school for years. Every year, they do a play-about the witchcraft trials, you know? And about the city now, and how we all have to learn to like each other, whether we’re Jewish or witches or whatever. Nobody uses it after the first of the year. Nobody cares about it. I was going to put it back, honest, just as soon as Halloween is over.”

“And that’s it? The costume was convenient?”

“It is a scary costume. Please-scary, huh?”

“What else?” Jenna asked.

He looked away again.

She shook his arm. “I can and will call the police!” she warned. Well, she would-when she found her phone.

He let out a long sigh of surrender and aggravation. “Okay, I wanted to be a big shot. I wanted to tell the kids at school that I’d made you pass out or something.”

“How long have you been chasing me?”

He looked puzzled. “What do you mean-how long?”

“How many days?”

His frown of confusion deepened. “Just…just now. I saw when you left that shop-I followed you after that, and barely no one was in the cemetery, and…I just meant to scare you and disappear, that’s it, I swear it!”

“How long have you had the costume?”

He shook his head. “I just slipped it out of the drama room today, honest. I told the kids what I was going to do. You can ask-they just finished their like once-a-year cleanup thing yesterday. I wouldn’t have taken it before then. I’da been caught.”

She stared at him long and hard. He was starting to shake.

She was glad that he was afraid of her. He might be a couple of inches shorter, but she wondered how she’d make out in a brawl with him. He was an adolescent starting to gain broad shoulders and a frame.

“Are you on the football team?” she asked him.

“Uh, yeah-junior varsity.”

“So you were trying to impress the seniors, huh?” He squirmed.

“Like David Yates and Joshua Abbott.”

“Hey, that kid hurt David Yates. He really hurt him!” Marty protested.

“And you’d be big man on the field if you scared the FBI agent, huh?”

He lowered his head. “Please don’t get me in trouble. Please.”

“You are in trouble. Give me the costume. Get out of it.”

“Here? In the cemetery?”

“You bet. Now. It’s not getting out of my sight. It’s a cape and cowl, kid. You’ve got to have something on beneath it.”

“Boxers and a T-shirt.”

“Then you’re going home in boxers and a T-shirt.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“Find out if what you’re telling me is the truth. And I’m going to have this costume inspected.”

“For what?”

“For blood, Marty, for blood,” she said.

“But-”

“If it’s clean, I’ll see that it gets back where it’s supposed to be without anyone knowing. And if I find out that you’ve told me the truth, then this whole event will be our little secret.

“But, Marty, if this was ever used to hurt anyone, there won’t be anything I can do about telling the truth.”

“I didn’t hurt anyone!” he protested, sliding out of the cape and handing it to her. At least, he was wearing decent boxers. On a beach, he might have looked ready for a swim.

“Jenna!”

She whirled around at the sound of her name. Sam’s voice. And there was a hint of panic in it, of relief-and of anger.

Marty was going to use it as a chance to bolt. With her free hand, she caught his wrist again.

Sam leaped the little fence from the street side of the cemetery and came striding in.

“What the hell…?”

He looked as if he wanted to pull her into his arms.

And shake her.

He eyed her hold on Marty, the costume in her hands.

“Marty wanted to scare me,” she said.

Sam seemed to tower over the boy. His shoulders were far broader, and he just had that look of Sam-authoritative and something like a well-tailored and groomed bulldozer. “I’m sorry!”

She thought that Marty would cry any minute.

“We’ll call the police,” Sam said, reaching for his phone.

“No,” Jenna said softly. “We’ve already been through this. Marty and I have an agreement. I’m going to get this costume to our lab, and find out if there is anything on it. Marty has apologized to me. He just borrowed the costume from the drama department today because he’s heard how much we’re loathed for what we’re doing, Sam. Seems that most people believe that Malachi is guilty, and they want us to stop doing what we’re doing.”

Sam stared at Marty. “Why this costume?”

“Because,” Marty said, his voice filled with exasperation and fear. “It was there. Every kid in town knows it. It’s just a creepy costume and mask from our school events!” he said.

Marty was shaking. Jenna was certain that he was repeating what he had heard the adults around him say over and over.

She almost felt sorry for him. And she was surprised when Sam spoke sternly but evenly.

“Marty, think about it. What if Malachi is just different? If he’s just a skinny kid who is super religious because that’s the way he was raised. What if he didn’t do it?”

“But-but he did do it,” Marty said.

“How do you know? How do you know that for a fact?”

“I’ve seen the TV. Hey, I know they all thought that he killed old man Andres-and that Covington guy, too,” Marty said. “And then his crazy dad-hey, we don’t even blame him for killing his crazy dad, but he could kill us!”

“We know that he didn’t kill Mr. Covington,” Sam said flatly.

Marty shook his head. “No, no-David and Josh, they said that he killed Covington.”

“Marty, David Yates is afraid of Malachi. Don’t you think that he might make up a story-or that maybe he even thought that he saw Malachi?”

Marty’s eyes darted from Sam to Jenna. “He-he’s afraid of him for a good reason!”

“Oh, come on, Marty! You’re a smart kid. You don’t believe in the ‘evil eye,’ do you?” Sam asked him.

Marty was confused and still very scared. “I-I…I don’t know…”

“Let him go for now,” Jenna said softly. “Marty needs to learn that everything he hears isn’t true. Come on, Sam. Let’s let him go.”

“How am I going to explain going home in my underwear?” Marty asked.

“How were you going to explain going home in a stolen costume?” Sam asked him in return.

Marty looked at them both. Jenna was no longer holding him.

He turned and ran.

They watched him for a moment, and then Sam turned to Jenna. She thought for a minute that he was going to put his hands on her and shake her. He looked as if he wanted to do that, but with supreme effort refrained.

“Why the hell didn’t you answer your phone?” he demanded. “I thought that something serious had happened to you. Your uncle is in a panic. Your uncle!”

Without another word, he pulled out his own phone. He dialed Jamie, staring at Jenna.

“Found her.”

She could hear Jamie’s reply. “Where?”

“In the cemetery.”

“What?”

“She’s fine, Jamie. We’ll see you soon.”

“Why didn’t she answer her phone?”

“Because I lost it!” Jenna said loudly. “And I think probably in here-probably against the back wall.”

“Did you hear that, Jamie?” Sam asked.

“Aye. I’ll meet you at the new barbecue. It’s two blocks from the graveyard. Lost her phone! Eh, my heart’s not old enough for all this fibrillatin’!”

Sam pocketed his phone, staring at her. “You did just cost us about ten years of life, you know.”

“Sam, I dropped my phone. It’s in here somewhere. I have to find it.”

“Jenna, it’s almost dark.”

“I’ll find it.”

“Retrace your steps.”

She nodded, and explained where she’d been, not explaining exactly why. They split up by about twenty feet, trying to cover more ground.

“You should never be alone,” he called to her.

“Oh, please, Sam! It was a kid trying to scare me, and I handled it.”

Night was on them; the only light came from the street, and she wondered herself if she had a prayer in hell of finding her phone.

“You could ask the ghosts for help!” he called.

“Maybe I will!”

She was surprised when she felt a soft touch on her arm.

It was a young woman. She had large eyes and soft flyaway hair, and she couldn’t have been more than twenty years old when she had passed away. She managed a gentle smile and led the way.

Jenna found her phone against the back wall.

“Found it!” she called to Sam.

“That’s a miracle!” he told her.

“Oh, well, you know, a ghost helped me!” she called cheerfully. “Of course, if we were smarter, we could have just had you call it…”

He came to her and took her arm. She wished she didn’t get such a feeling of heat every time he touched her. She hoped her cheeks didn’t redden, or if they did, that the shadows of the night hid her reaction.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said huskily.

“Sam, I want to get this costume to a lab right away. If we can find a twenty-four-hour FedEx or post office-”

“Want to head to Boston?” he asked drily. “You know, the Massachusetts police aren’t the Feds, but they are pretty damned good.”

“Sam, I’d have to explain that in my mind’s eye, I see someone dressed like this killing people. And I’d have to explain how I got it.”

“Legalese, Miss Duffy. I can work it out with John Alden. He’s a good guy.”

“Sam, we may be letting loose of a piece of evidence-”

He sighed. “And you have no jurisdiction here at the moment. You weren’t invited in. If the costume goes to an FBI lab and something is found, I might wind up with a chain of evidence issue in court, or a judge could find some other reason to have it thrown out. We’ll just head to the station and call John.”

As he spoke, they heard the single wong of a siren. They had reached the low wall to the street; suddenly, a flashlight blazed into their faces.

“Graveyard is closed! Gate locked. What are you two doing in there?” An officer, his face shielded in the shadows cast by the glare of the light, demanded.

“Sorry! We were just leaving,” Sam said.

“What’s that you’ve got?” the officer demanded.

“It’s just a costume,” Jenna offered.

“It’s a serious offense here to tamper with the graves! To vandalize!” the officer said angrily.

“We weren’t vandalizing!” Jenna protested indignantly.

“Look, hey, the gates were locked when we were in here!” Sam said.

“Bad enough dealing with kids and whackos during the season, but it’s worse when wiseass adults are playing around in the cemetery!” he said.

Sam looked at Jenna. “Okay,” he told the officer. “Take us in.”

“Take you in?” the officer was surprised. “I wasn’t arresting you-I was giving you a serious warning. You’re to come here to learn and have a good time and not destroy what is historic and can never be replaced.”

“I know,” Sam said. “And you’re doing a great job. Go ahead and bring us in, though. I’ll call Detective Alden while we’re on the way. He might just be sitting down to his supper.”

John arrived right after Sam and Jenna had been seated in his office, in the middle of her call to Jamie. He was perplexed as to why it was so important to have the costume brought to the lab.

Jenna leaned forward to speak to John Alden, but Sam thought they were going to be in much better shape if he did the speaking.

“John, bear with me on this. You’re a good guy. You’re really one of the good guys. And I know that you find it hard to believe that the evidence before your eyes is telling you the wrong story. I have a theory, and it may be crazy, but hear me out. No matter that you’re only charging the boy for some of the murders, you think the same person killed everyone, and I agree with you. You believe it was Malachi Smith. I don’t. And it’s not just because I’m defending him in court. I don’t believe the kid did it. You’re a cop, and yes, you work with the prosecutor. But prosecutors don’t want to prosecute the wrong person. No officer of the court wants to be responsible for a miscarriage of justice. That’s what we’re looking for here, John, justice.”

“Why this costume?” John asked, willing to listen to them but undeniably confused.

“The kid wearing it-?” He paused, looking at Jenna.

“Martin Keller,” she said. Her voice was tight, her jaw set. She wasn’t happy with him. But they were playing on the same side in a precarious game, and she had to see that.

“Martin Keller ‘borrowed’ the costume from the drama room. He was using it to scare Jenna. I believe that our killer is dressing up when he or she sets out to commit murder. It may be slim, but there is a possibility that the person is dressing up not just in a similar costume, but one borrowed from the drama department.”

“He or she? You think it might be a woman?” John said. “This much violence perpetuated by a woman is pretty rare.”

“I didn’t say it was a woman,” Sam said. “I don’t know. But, yes, look back. In the Tate/LaBianca murders, Manson’s stable of idol-worshipping followers were mainly women, and they were capable of extreme brutality. Karla Homolka seduced the victims when she and her husband went on a killing rage-she was responsible for the rape and murder of her own sister.”

“So, you do think it’s a woman?” John asked.

“No, John, honestly, I don’t know yet. I’m just pointing out the fact that even if statistically men have committed more murders with this kind of violence, it’s more than possible that a woman could be responsible,” Sam said. He waved a hand in the air. “At this point, John, what I’m trying to explain is this: wear a costume, and you’re someone else. Wear a costume, and you can walk around unnoticed. Or even, wear a costume, and it might mean something specifically to you.”

“You think they were ritual killings?” John asked.

Sam lowered his head, fighting the frustration. “I know that a kid in this costume tried to scare Jenna tonight. I know it comes from the school’s drama department. I believe someone is wearing a costume like this-an encompassing costume, one to hide identity-to commit the killings. Please-hey, Jenna wanted to take this to the FBI.”

John stared at Jenna. “The FBI has not been invited in.”

Jenna stood, irritated. “Would it be such a bad thing? No one wants to take over. Obviously, we respect the Massachusetts police. No one wants to take charge of the investigation. But if you have help, please use it! Use us! The world is working on lower budgets. Why not charge a Federal lab? But Sam said that you were a good and honest cop and we could keep a chain of evidence. If you think we’re just being silly, then please, give the damned thing back to me!”

Sam noted that John just stared at Jenna for a moment, his jaw fallen. Then he smiled and looked at Sam.

“I’ll get the costume to the lab. I don’t want a miscarriage of justice, Sam. I just can’t believe that someone else has done all this. The kid was covered in blood. Covered. In. Blood. But I won’t have it be said you were denied anything in the right to defend your client.” He pointed at Sam. “You two chose not to call the police, and the costume is in your hands. So as long as we’re being ‘unofficial’ about everything, you see to it that school is afforded a new costume. And I’ll see to that Martin Keller is-”

Jenna started to move forward again. Sam stood to block her.

“No, John, please. Meeting the kid was a good lesson for both of us. We know what a lot of the local people are feeling. Let’s not say anything until we know about the costume. I don’t want to make it so no one in Salem will speak to us by having a kid arrested for a prank.”

“If by a bizarre chance something is found…”

“Of course. It would be remiss if you were not to become involved all way through Martin Keller, his parents and the school. Thanks, John.”

He herded Jenna out, and then remembered he didn’t have his car. “Um, John, a ride to my car, if possible?”

The same officer who had come upon them at the cemetery drove them to Sam’s car.

It wasn’t there.

“Tow zone, Mr. Hall, I’m afraid,” the officer pointed out. “You won’t be able to pick it up until tomorrow. I’m afraid you’ll have to pay that fine, too.”

Sam was ready to explode. He didn’t give a damn about the fine, but he did love his car. It made coming and going the distance so much easier.

It was a material object, he reminded himself.

Yeah, but it was his material object. He’d always loved cars. He’d mowed lawns for his car, painted, hauled trash, worked hard. He couldn’t help it; he just really loved cars. He spent a lot of time in his car; it was a place he often spent a lot of time just thinking and calculating his arguments.

“I can drop you somewhere else,” the officer told him.

“You can drop me at the foot of Essex,” Jenna told the officer. “I think that Sam is just going to stand here and stare at the spot where his car used to be.”

She got back into the police car. Sam shook his head. “Right. I’m going to stand here.” He tapped on the hood. “Go.”

He watched as the car drove away, and then he kicked the ground. Damn it. He’d been frantic over her, and now, because of it, his car had been towed.

She lost her phone in the cemetery while accosting the kid who had tried to scare her. What the hell was she doing in the cemetery again-communing with her ghosts? And she was flipping pissed off at him because he’d stopped her from speaking so that he could get a rational argument through to John Alden.

But she was safe. That was worth a car being towed. Well, of course. Logical and ethical. Human life was always the most precious commodity. When life was gone, it could not be returned.

It was more than that.

Tense and angry, he walked back toward his own house. He didn’t find the streets all that charming at the moment; partygoers were out, dispersed among families, just trying to find a place for dinner before settling back into their bed-and-breakfast inns or hotel rooms for the night. There were endless balls in Salem as Halloween approached. Some private, some sponsored by the Wiccans, some sponsored by frat houses and sororities. It was true that every manner of costume known to man could be seen in the city.

As he walked, he turned back to look at a rowdy crowd of fraternity boys. They were all dressed up as Greek heroes.

A Warrior Princess Xena was following in their wake; she must have been freezing her…assets off. The night had definitely grown chill.

He frowned suddenly, stopping dead in his tracks. Just behind Xena Warrior Princess was someone else who didn’t belong in the crowd of Greeks.

Someone in a Celtic costume-that of the horned god, or the goat god. He started walking toward the group. The warrior princess cried out as she was pushed by the horned god, falling over and only just being saved from a hard meeting with the pavement because Sam was there in time to catch her.

“Rude asshole!” one of the Greeks called out. “Thanks-” he began to say to Sam, but Sam was already moving through the crowd.

He saw the horned god, and he took flight after it once again. The horned god turned and saw him, and slipped back into a crowd of princes, princesses, a frog and one Freddy Krueger. Bert and Ernie and the Count from Sesame Street took up most of the sidewalk.

By the time he made his way through the cartoon menagerie, the horned god was gone.

He stood, puzzled. It was a common costume, especially in Salem. At one time, surely, the Christian church had mistaken the Celtic goat god or horned god for the devil, and thus the creature of decadence had become something like evil incarnate.

Pictures of the horned god adorned many of the museums dedicated to explaining what might have happened to cause the Salem Witch Trials.

So why run? Why run away in the costume because Sam had seen him?

Because Jenna was right?

Feeling uneasy, still angry, angrier with himself because he’d allowed himself to get caught up in it all and angrier still because…

She did something to him. It wasn’t like the simple burst of hormones, wanting a beautiful woman. That would be too easy. True, he thought. Men could be ruled far more easily from below the belt. But that was easy, simple. I want you; do you want me, too? His life had been gifted, too many appetites easily achieved.

This…this was a different kind of hunger. Not the kind that was easily appeased, and not the kind that he could walk away from and…

He didn’t like it.

Sam Hall. Oh, yeah, the clever one. Sometimes you’d need to intimidate-investigate. Become a P.I. Size mattered, psychologically, face-to-face with someone in a courtroom. Remember to go to the gym. Join the defense-remember to win.

Fall for a red-haired Irish lass and…

“Ah, yes,” he said softly aloud. “Burn in hell!”

He reached his house. Inside he shed his trench coat and stripped haphazardly as he headed into the shower. Cold first, cold as ice, and then hot, the kind of water to knead the tension out of his muscles.

It worked on his muscles, not on his mind.

Death. Death was what you couldn’t take back. You could argue, you could rail. You couldn’t win against death.

He’d learned that.

And then, tonight, when she hadn’t answered her phone…

FBI agent. Competent. Trained.

Competent, trained people, veteran cops and marshals and soldiers all fell when they were ambushed, unadvised, unwary.

He heard his doorbell ring as he turned off the water. Frowning, he slipped into his terry robe and padded barefoot to his bedroom. He kept his Smith & Wesson in the drawer next to his bed. With all that was going on, if someone was ringing his bell at night, he was going to the door armed.

He looked through the peephole and felt all the tension he had just tried to ease from his body slam right back into it with a searing sensation of heat.