The Evil Inside

11

“You’re back. With reinforcements!” Andy Yates said, smiling as he shook Sam’s hand and then Jackson’s.

“Jackson Crow,” Sam said, by way of introduction. He didn’t attempt to explain who he was. “We’re still beating the same path.”

“You do know,” Yates told them, “if I had thought of anything, I would have called you. I think that Malachi Smith is guilty as all hell, but if I were to find out something to the contrary, I would consider it my civic and my moral duty to tell you so.”

“Thank you, Councilman, I believe that,” Sam said easily.

“We just had a few more questions about the property issue,” Jackson said.

“Ask away. My life is public record,” Yates said. He indicated chairs in front of his desk for the two to take while he walked around to sit behind the desk himself. “I told you, I made a generous offer for the property, and I was refused.”

“You aren’t a Wiccan, are you, sir?” Jackson asked.

Yates smiled. “Me? No. I’m Anglican. Well, I try to be. Can’t say I make church every Sunday, though we try. My wife, Cindy, she thinks it’s good for the kids.”

Jackson laughed easily. “Yes, my parents wanted me in church, too. And she’s right-growing up with a belief system is good for kids. At least, I think it is. When you hit eighteen to twenty-one, you can decide where you’re going in life, but it’s good to have a start learning that life does come with a moral code.”

“Exactly,” Yates said. He frowned. “What would my being a Wiccan or not being a Wiccan have to do with the property?”

“You were going to open a bed-and-breakfast, right?” Sam asked.

“Sure. I thought it would be great. A bed-and-breakfast in a haunted house. You know, when the season is right, people love spooky old places like that with history. Well, old history. I don’t know what it would be like now. I mean, before, the murders were all in the distant past.” He looked at Sam and shrugged. “Actually, I’m undecided on that thought. It could be worth even more now-people can love the gruesome, you know.”

“Do you know the other interested party?” Jackson asked.

“Pardon?” Yates said.

“Samantha Yeager-she wanted to buy the property, too,” Sam said.

“Oh, yeah, well, sure. When she moved in, she came to some town hall meetings.” He shrugged. “Impressive woman. Have you met her?”

“Not yet,” Sam said. “But I plan to.”

Andy Yates laughed. “Well, then, I imagine you’re going for a tarot card reading. She’s awfully busy these days.”

“I guess that’s what we’ll be doing,” Sam said, smiling.

“You think that she killed the Smiths? And Earnest Covington and Peter Andres?” Yates said, his smile still animated.

“We don’t think anything, really,” Sam said. “It’s starting to look like I don’t really have anywhere to go.”

“Why is that? Oh, yeah, I think Malachi Smith did it, but we are a somewhat transient community. Some maniac could have come in and hung around and moved on,” Yates said.

“There you go-room for doubt,” Jackson said, looking at Sam.

“I don’t know if that’s really room for doubt-Malachi Smith was caught red-handed. Or red-bodied, the way I hear it. I’m just surprised that you seem to be giving up so easily, Sam Hall. I mean, you are his defense attorney,” Yates pointed out.

“I’m not giving up,” Sam said, smiling.

“But we are investigating with research into the method and manner of the killings. These were crimes of passion, the way I see it,” Jackson said. “Overkill. Yes, those who are psychotic can practice overkill, but that usually comes with some form of torture. I think these crimes were perpetuated by someone with a real grudge.”

Yates groaned. “I see, I see, I see. And I’m supposed to have a grudge because of my son. Well, I don’t. David is doing extremely well. His grades are high, and he’s being scouted for a football scholarship by a number of major colleges. I don’t bear a grudge. Why should I? Malachi was taken out of school. That was that. I knew Peter Andres, of course. He was a substitute. All that poor guy did was try to help Malachi. I knew Earnest Covington. He came to meetings, too. He supported me. I’d have no reason in the world to hurt either of them-much less want to hurt either of them in a ‘crime of passion,’ as you say. And I suggest that you do meet Samantha Yeager. You’ll feel pretty ridiculous if you are thinking that she might have swept into town, killed Peter Andres, and waited around to kill Earnest Covington and then the Smith family. I’m afraid if you’re looking for someone with a grudge, you do have nowhere to go. And, sadly-and I mean that-that just leaves Malachi Smith hitting a breaking point and going crazy and on a murder streak. Not sure I blame the kid, but it’s a tragedy that Andres and Covington had to die along with the Smith family.”

“You feel nothing for them?” Jackson asked quietly.

Yates sighed and leaned across his desk very slowly. “Yes, I feel for them. But they created the monster, didn’t they?”

“Bratty little liars!” Angela exclaimed as Jenna revved the motor.

“Well, bratty, yes. Little, no,” Jenna said.

“They wouldn’t have dared try anything!” Angela said, her eyes flashing. “Or, if they had tried it, they would have been surprised. We’ve had some pretty good training.”

“Yeah, so have they-on the football field!” Jenna said with a laugh.

“You’re not armed. And neither am I…but still, we’re Federal agents,” Angela reminded her.

“I know. I was thinking that last night when the kid came at me in the cemetery. I’m glad I realized he was a little punk. Still, maybe it was a good thing I’m not armed-what if I had panicked and shot the kid?”

“You wouldn’t have…” Angela assured her. “So, where now?”

“I thought I’d park the car and we’d see what was going on in the center of it all.”

Angela groaned. “The men are going for tarot card readings. You’re not going to make me get one, too, are you?”

“No. I thought we’d see how Will is doing with his street entertainment.”

When they drove back to her uncle’s house and she parked the car, Jenna noted that Jamie wasn’t back yet.

“I wonder where he went. School has been out for a while, and he went in early,” Jenna said to Angela. “Call him.”

She was relieved when Jamie answered the phone right away. “You’ll not believe this, lass, but I’ve got myself a new patient!”

“Really?” Jenna asked.

“Um. And his name is Martin Keller.”

“The kid from the graveyard last night!”

“The same. Apparently, his mother was deeply concerned about the fact that he came home in his underwear last night.”

Jenna laughed. “Well, have you learned anything?”

“Ah! Patient confidentiality, I’m afraid. Suffice it that I tell you that a kid in his situation would be truly sorry about a little fiasco like you experienced last night. I think the fact that he’d have to see me would definitely make one such child repentant! I’ll see you all later then. I’ve just slipped out between meetings with…a patient…and the talk I must now have with that patient’s mother.”

“Go, uncle!” Jenna said, and hung up. She repeated the conversation to Angela, who smiled. “Well, it is interesting to listen to the mouths of babes!”

“That’s what Rebecca Nurse told me this morning. It’s the kids we have to get to-and I’m not going to feel guilty trying to question children, because it’s the adults who have gotten to them!” Jenna said.

They walked down to the pedestrian way. Once again, Haunted Happenings was in full swing. Stilt walkers in various costumes were posing for pictures and teasing the young and old alike. A troupe of performers was putting on a pirate skit.

Down toward the center they saw Will, resplendent in a sweeping velvet cape and top hat, and with a group of children sitting before him as he made multicolored light leap from a crystal ball and then dart about over their heads.

“He is a master of light and illusion!” Angela said.

“And knowing the difference between the real and the illusion,” Jenna added.

When Will saw the two of them watching him, he didn’t miss a beat in his trick as he motioned for them to stay. Jenna nodded, and they waited. He completed his act with a final sizzle of light in vibrant colors above the crystal ball, and then he bowed to the applause and promised he’d be back in a minute, when he’d present them with a little bit of the old “Trinidadian” fantasy, magic and illusion.

The crowd before them dispersed. Will swept off his hat and cape and hurried toward the two of them. “Wine bar right there-let’s slip in. I could do with a nice Cabernet!”

The establishment was as crowded as the rest of the area, but Will had apparently formed a bond with the young woman at the hostess stand and they were quickly brought to a small, intimate booth in the back. They were served quickly.

“You have news? Or you just wanted a glass of wine?” Jenna teased.

“Two things,” Will said. “Not fifteen minutes ago, I saw the head of that church old Abraham Smith attended. Goodman Wilson.”

“What? How did you know it was him?” Jenna asked.

“Oh, ye of little faith!” Will said in mock horror. “Jake. You’d asked Jake to delve into things. He pulled up everything you asked for, and then some, gave us all a nice thick dossier.”

“So, the churchman was here, in the middle of all this?” Jenna asked, surprised. “No liquor, no dancing, no singing…wouldn’t that include no bobbing for apples?”

Will shrugged. “Maybe it doesn’t relate to young children. He came and he looked around for a long while. Finally, he approached a group of children who had apparently come down as a school group.”

“And?” Angela asked.

“He bent down to talk to one of the little girls.”

“What did he say?” Jenna demanded.

“I don’t know, I couldn’t hear.”

“Oh,” Jenna said, sitting back in disappointment.

“Ah, but it brings us to the second thing I have to tell you,” Will said.

“So tell us!” Angela said.

“Well, one of the mothers recognized Goodman Wilson, too. She came over like a bat out of hell, and grabbed the little girl.”

“I guess no one likes an unusual church,” Angela said.

“I did hear what the woman said to him,” Will said. He lifted a hand before either of them could prod him. “She told him to get away from the children, that he had created Malachi Smith and caused everyone to die, and that his church was pure evil.”

“What did he do?” Angela asked.

“He just stood very straight and spoke to her calmly. He said that God loved everyone, and that Jesus taught us all to seek peace and to turn the other cheek. Then he walked away.”

“And that was it?” Jenna asked.

“Well, it was it as far as Goodman Wilson was concerned.” He smiled, waiting this time for one of them to ask him what else had happened.

“Will, damn it,” Jenna said.

“Okay, okay-another mother came running up to the pretty blonde woman. She set a hand on her shoulder and said, ‘Cindy! Cindy, please, please, don’t let all this upset you so much.’ And then the blonde-Cindy Yates, I figure, started crying, and she said, ‘It’s that man. It’s that awful man. He was trying to get near the children, and he creates killers. I wouldn’t be surprised if the wretched old bastard had helped Malachi Smith do all those killings.’”

“We are booked. Well, Madam Sam is booked. She’s the best, I’m afraid,” the ring-nosed girl at the counter told Sam and Jackson without much conviction.

“Oh, please, see if there isn’t something,” Sam begged, leaning on the counter and flashing her his best smile.

She smiled uncertainly in return. “Well…I don’t think I can get you both in.”

“You go. I can try again tomorrow,” Jackson said, letting out a feigned sigh of complete disappointment.

“No, I mean, really. I should have her on a break when her current client comes out, but you ask so nicely…I can slip you in,” the girl said.

“That is really good of you. Thank you, thank you,” Sam said.

She smiled and walked toward the back. Sam followed her.

“Just wait here. When the curtain opens, you can go on in.”

Sam waited as told. In a few minutes, a twentysomething-year-old heavy-metal rocker type man with jelled black hair, head-to-toe tattoos, earrings, lip ring and giant lobe rings came out looking as if he had just reached nirvana.

Sam walked on in.

“Madam Sam” was something.

She was sexy.

She reeked overt sexuality; in fact, he assumed that a good portion of her “clientele” had to be pubescent males. Her breasts nearly heaved out of her peasant blouse. Her eyes were ringed darker than a raccoon’s, and her boa constrictor seemed pleasantly entrenched with its head centered in her cleavage.

Sam sat down in front of her. She studied him for a moment and smiled. It was the kind of smile that made him imagine she might have a forked tongue of her own.

“I’m Sam, too,” he told her.

“Give me your palm,” she said.

He did so. She let out a soft sigh.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Well, I see here that your life is…about to change drastically. You’ve enjoyed the adoration and admiration of friends and strangers alike…but, ah! There’s just a twist and jiggle in the lifeline. You’re about to do something that will make you the laughingstock of millions!”

She looked into his eyes. He smiled. “I’m flattered. You know who I am.”

“And you know who I am. Now just ask your questions. I saw your girlfriend yesterday. You’re going to ask the same questions, and I’m going to give you the same answers.”

He smiled. He wondered if he would have corrected her about Jenna if he’d been the one to come in the day before. He doubted it. He’d known then what he wanted; he just hadn’t known if he’d get it or not. He wasn’t at all sure that one night constituted a relationship, but he knew that he was sure praying like hell for a second night like the one before.

“Actually, I’m not going to ask you questions. I just wanted to meet you. I’d been by to see Andy Yates, and he said that I’d be impressed. I am.”

“And now I’m flattered,” she said. “So-you no longer think that I’ve gone crazy and run amok and gone about town killing people?”

“All I’ve tried to do from the start is ascertain the truth.”

“The truth was handed to you on a silver platter on your drive into town,” she said. “Is that why you decided to take on the case? You just like a challenge? Or do you actually feel that sorry for the poor, demented kid?”

“I’m a sucker, I guess, for kids covered in blood.”

“Well, I honestly wish you luck.”

“Just curious-what do you think will happen now? The kid will probably have to sell the house. Should I see to it that he starts a bidding war between you and Andy Yates?”

Samantha Yeager took no offense at all. She stroked the back of his hand and seemed to stretch like a feral cat. “Oh, you are a naughty boy, thinking that Andy Yates or I might want to capitalize on this!”

“But you will, won’t you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Frankly, I don’t know if I even want the place anymore. It’s a long way down the road, the way I see it. I mean, the kid has a fantastic attorney, doesn’t he? Maybe you’ll still get him off.”

Sam stood. “Maybe I will. Who knows? Thanks for your time.”

“Oh, well, you’ll be paying for it,” she said.

He started out the curtain. She called him back. “Hey, handsome.”

He turned.

She smiled and leaned forward, crushing her breasts together and pushing the boa’s head from its perch. “If Red gets boring, give me a call.”

He came back in and leaned toward her, heedless of the boa. “I’ll do that,” he said. “But you know what they say about the Irish, and especially those with red hair. Tempers-and other things-run hot. But, hey, thanks for the invite.”

He smiled, reached into his pocket and produced one of his cards. He slipped it under the boa and into her cleavage.

“Nice touch,” she purred.

“Call me, will you, if you think of anything?”

“I can think of many things.”

Sam smiled again, turned and walked out. He paid his bill at the counter, slipping the clerk an extra ten for getting him in.

She rewarded him with a look of absolute adoration.

“Madam Sam” must have been raking it in, while the clerk just got to work.

Jackson was no longer in the store. Sam went out into the street to look for him, and at that moment his phone rang.

“I found a few strays,” Jackson’s voice told him. “Come on down to the wine bar. Jenna and Angela are here. I’m thinking it’s time to compare notes.”

“On my way,” Sam said, hanging up and heading the few doors down.

Will had gone back to put on another show for the appreciative audience enjoying Haunted Happenings. When Sam arrived, he squeezed in next to Angela.

Jenna couldn’t help but rue the fact that she was positioned between Angela and Jackson.

Getting ridiculous! she warned herself.

“How was your reading?” Jackson asked.

“Interesting. I’m going to crash and burn,” Sam said cheerfully.

“She knew who you were, right?” Jenna asked.

“Oh, yes. Well, shall we compare notes?”

“Here?” Angela asked.

Sam shrugged. “We’re going to be lucky to hear one another over the music.”

It was true. The booths were dark and velvet covered, and each was a little intimate enclave unto itself. Jackson had already updated them on what he and Sam had done during the day. Jenna and Angela told them about their day, as well. Jenna chose to omit trying to explain that she’d had an encounter with the spirit of Rebecca Nurse, and Angela followed her lead. But she was adamant when she said that the boys were lying.

“It seems,” Jenna said, “that David Yates is primarily the one saying that he saw Malachi coming out of Earnest Covington’s house. I think that Joshua is just saying it because he believes David. If David says it-it must be true. Sam, he did all the evasive things that someone does when they’re lying-and then he became belligerent. He more or less threatened us with his father, the mayor…you name it.”

“And what did you do?”

“Well, I didn’t threaten him back. I did mention perjury, and that it was likely that he would wind up in court, and that an adult would contradict his testimony with passion and credibility.”

“Ah, well, then, let’s see if that brings about a response of any kind,” Sam said.

Jenna lowered her head, trying to repeat everything that Will had told them.

“Now, that’s really interesting,” Sam said. He looked at Jackson. “What do you think? Could Goodman Wilson be involved?”

Jackson shook his head. “I haven’t met the boy yet. But if he’s as faithful to his beliefs as you all say, he wouldn’t lie, even for the pastor who kicked him out for loving music. And I do find that fascinating. And oddly charming. I don’t know. I really think that if Goodman Wilson is involved, it’s on his own.”

“But not impossible,” Sam said.

“Hey, profilers aren’t perfect. But if you ask me…I don’t see it being Wilson.”

“So, why do you think that Cindy Yates is so hateful toward him?” Jenna asked.

“She believes that Malachi Smith wronged her precious baby,” Jackson said. “And if Malachi harmed her child, he did it because of the teachings of his father-and his pastor. Actually, we should ask her.”

“She’s hung up on me,” Sam said.

“Maybe there’s a way… Odd. Her husband is so open,” Jackson said.

“Oh!” Jenna said, and told Sam and Jackson that her uncle had taken on a new patient-Marty Keller. “Technically, I’m not telling you this. And technically, of course, I don’t know myself. After he came home in his underwear, his parents decided that he had to see someone since it was obvious he must be having mental problems.”

Sam smiled at her. “Well, that’s good. Keeps Jamie in the loop. I haven’t heard back yet from John Alden about the tests on the costume.”

“Perhaps you could call him,” Angela suggested.

“I can…”

“And when you do,” Angela asked, “can you ask him if we can get back into Lexington House?”

Sam looked around the table. Jenna saw that Jackson and Angela didn’t flinch.

Sam nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll ask him about that, too. He may be tired of me and he may say no. I had the right to get in there, but…I’ve been in.”

“He’s an old friend, right?” Angela said. “And I know you can get him to let us in.”

“We’ll get in,” Sam said. He sounded weary. “I hope it can help. So far, Goodman Wilson claims he has a congregation that will give him an alibi for the murders. Jenna talked with Madam Samantha Yeager’s clerk, and we know that she was working the night the Smith family was killed. Yates will have a pack of alibis…there has to be something missing.”

“The boys,” Angela murmured. “I know for sure that they are liars.”

“We’ll find out where they were,” Sam said grimly. “Hey, do they have food in this place?”

“Cheese and crackers,” Angela informed him.

He groaned.

“We need to move on,” Jackson said.

Will was still in the street. He took a minute to confer with Jackson, but he wanted to stay on a while. He’d head back to Jamie’s house when he packed up for the night.

Jenna called her uncle, but he’d already made it back home and was going to go to bed, so she, Sam, Jackson and Angela made their way through the costumed crowd-garish, silly, horrific and beautiful-to an Italian restaurant off Essex.

They hadn’t eaten since that morning, and they weren’t particularly talkative when the food came. When they had finished and stepped back outside, Sam said, “I guess it’s time to call it quits for the night.”

Angela yawned. “Especially if we’re going to get into the Lexington House in the morning.”

With that prompting, Sam excused himself to put through his call to John Alden.

They could all hear John Alden groan at the other end. Nothing had come back yet from the lab regarding the school’s horned god costume; he reproached Sam, reminding him that he would have called right away if it had.

His groan was louder when they asked about Lexington House.

But in the end, John agreed that they could all go in the next morning. Apparently he had a few words for John about making sure the FBI agents knew that they hadn’t been asked in; Sam assured John that they all knew that very well and appreciated the courtesy extended to them.

“Let’s head back,” Sam said.

Angela and Jackson strolled ahead. The revelry of the night had not abated, even though schoolchildren were no longer-sanitarily-bobbing for apples.

Jackson stopped walking. “You know, we all just dumped our stuff at your uncle’s house. He doesn’t mind, does he? I mean, do you have enough room, or should we have found an inn?”

“No, no, there’s plenty of room,” Jenna said.

“Especially since Jenna can move on over to my house-just a block down,” Sam said.

“Oh, no!” Angela protested. “We wouldn’t dream of putting you out, Jenna.”

“Hey!” Jackson said.

“But, really-” Angela began.

Jackson groaned, pulling her to him. “My darling, use a few of your investigative skills. Jenna wants to stay at Sam’s, and Sam very much wants Jenna to stay at his place.”

“Oh, of course! I know, of course. I mean, I don’t know. I mean, oh, Lord! Shutting up now!”

“I think Jenna wants to stay,” Sam said, looking down into her eyes.

“Well, it’s the only right thing to do, really, isn’t it?” she asked.

In another block, they broke apart for Jackson and Angela to head to Jamie’s house, and Sam and Jenna to return to his.

When they stepped into his house, she started to say something about Samantha Yeager. He didn’t let her.

He pulled her into his arms.

“But-”

“No more case tonight,” he said softly.

His mouth found hers and his hand was on her clothing.

She felt his fingers on her bare skin.

And she agreed.

Jenna wasn’t usually a dreamer. And of all nights for her to dream, it shouldn’t have been that night, while she lay curled against Sam’s naked flesh, held in his arms.

But she did dream.

She was standing on the walkway to the Lexington House. The dormered windows stared at her like giant dark eyes. The wind had picked up, and she could feel an icy salt chill to it. As she stood there, despite the wind, a mist of fog seemed to settle and grow darker and darker, silver mist at first, and then gray…and darker gray.

The house itself…could hold evil.

But…

Malachi Smith seemed so filled with light.

Malachi wasn’t there. Someone else was. Something that had come, or something that had remained.

She had to go into the house. The answers were there, somewhere, in the house.

She started up the path. A figure began to form in the mist.

It was that of a woman.

The old, worn woman who still had eyes of gentle watery blue.

Rebecca Nurse. Gentle, pious. Good.

Trying to stop her.

The specter of Rebecca Nurse held her hand up. “No,” she said. “No-for the lies will rip you apart.”

“How will I know the lies, if I don’t find the truth?”

“The children…they have fits. They listen to what they hear.”

Jenna started to open her mouth to ask the specter more; she wasn’t able to do so. The dark eyes of the house suddenly seemed to explode, and liquid spilled from the dormered eyes, and then the eaves, and the door frame.

Liquid rushing out to encompass her.

And the liquid was blood.