The Unholy (Krewe of Hunters #6)

The Unholy (Krewe of Hunters #6) Page 26

“I have a few questions for you, Pierce. Private questions.”

“Whatever you need.”

“Why are they sleeping in separate rooms? Is the marriage on the rocks?”

“No, Eddie is still in love,” Pierce said dully. “Mrs. Archer complains that Eddie snores, and that she can’t get sleep if he’s there. But they do have connecting rooms.”

“With doors between them—which, I assume, she closes at night, so she doesn’t have to hear his snoring?”

“Yes.”

“Anything else wrong with the marriage?” Sean asked.

“You know how much I love Mr. Archer,” Pierce began.

“I won’t repeat anything, Pierce. But I need to know.”

“I don’t think Helena ever really loved Eddie. I think that when she went to Benita and Eddie’s wedding, she saw that Benita had something she wanted much, much more than what she had herself. I think she waited for the right minute and stepped in. She’s been planning on marrying him for a long time. She doesn’t love Eddie, couldn’t care less about Alistair and, quite frankly, I believe she could be guilty of anything.”

“All right, Pierce, I need you to answer this one to the best of your ability. What time did Helena return to the house the night Jenny Henderson was killed?”

“I didn’t see the exact time, but I’d say it was about half an hour after young Alistair left the house for the studio.”

Sean had to acknowledge that if she’d come home and stayed home, that definitely removed her from the list of possible candidates.

“Is there any way she could have left after that without you seeing her?”

“Sure. The Archers generally use the grand stairway to the bedrooms, but there are stairs in the back—the family room area—too. I was up in my own room after Alistair left, and I didn’t hear her car start,” Pierce said.

Sean thanked him, wishing the phone call had allowed him to completely eliminate Helena LaRoux.

She wasn’t bright enough to have pulled it off. That was the general consensus. But…she could be a better actress than anyone knew. And if Alistair was locked up for life—or, God forbid, worse—Eddie would need her. Then, she’d have even greater power.

And she’d stand to inherit everything, unless Eddie had a will that excluded her.

He called Eddie and felt bad when his old friend and mentor answered, his voice filled with hope since he’d seen that Sean was the caller.

“You have something?” Eddie asked.

“Nothing solid yet,” Sean replied. “But—and forgive me, I have to ask certain questions for the purposes of elimination—do you and Helena have a prenup?”

“Yes.” Eddie’s voice sounded hard.

“What about your will?”

“I have small bequests to various friends and workers. Alistair receives the bulk of my money and investments, and Helena is nicely cared for, as well. My family isn’t out to get me, Sean. I’m also leaving Benita nicely set up.”

“What happens if Alistair is out of the picture?”

“Out of the picture? How?” Eddie asked, his tone cold. He didn’t give Sean a chance to answer. “The killer could have killed Alistair, too. He didn’t. Why would I worry about Alistair now? He’s safe, isn’t he? Alistair is safe?”

“Where he is, yes,” Sean said. “Listen, Eddie, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just trying to make sure I can eliminate certain people, you know?” And, of course, discover what their motives might be.

He bade Eddie good-night. Then he put down the phone and pulled out the crime scene photos again. He’d walked by the tableau of the scene from Sam Stone and the Curious Case of the Egyptian Museum dozens of times in the past; he hadn’t paid enough attention. He’d been a bigger fan of films like Laura and The Maltese Falcon.

He picked up the crime scene notes, which detailed everything the reporting officer had seen on the museum floor. There was no mention of the tableaux at all. That wasn’t unusual. The responding officer would have waited for a detective to arrive on the scene, once he’d assured himself that there was no help for the victim, and from the amount of blood on the floor, that must have been evident.

Knox had listed studio employees and recent visitors. Records had been checked and interviews conducted by a score of officers, but thus far, that hadn’t raised any flags.

Sean was so deeply involved in what he was reading that he started when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the time and realized the Krewe had come in, a fact verified by Logan Raintree’s name on his caller ID. “We’re here,” Logan said.

“Where? Airport, endless highway or hotel?” Sean asked him.

“Endless highway,” Logan said. “Endless highway after endless travel. We’re heading over to the hotel now. I want to keep your relationship with the local police positive, so we’ll use the suite rather than the station. Are we all set?”

“Yes, there’s a large dining-slash-work area between two bedrooms, and the other three are just across the hall. So we’re all set.”

“See you in twenty—or an hour and a half, depending on traffic,” Logan told him dryly, and hung up.

Sean eased back in his chair.

He was surprised at the accommodations they’d gotten—and all within a decent budget. Eddie Archer had pulled strings here, too. They were staying in an old mission-turned-boutique hotel that was conveniently located. It was right off the 101, close to the police station and the highway that would bring them directly to the studio door. It was the perfect arrangement for them. The suite included a work area between the two bedrooms, which offered a refrigerator, microwave, wet bar and, most important, a huge table, a sufficient number of outlets and plenty of space. They’d have a designated room at the police station, too, but his group needed privacy at times, and the Hotel Pierre provided them with everything they required.

He was glad the rest of his unit had finally arrived—Logan Raintree, ex–Texas Ranger, was the head of their team. Kelsey O’Brien was an ex–U.S. marshal—and his cousin. Katya Sokolov, doctor and pathologist, had been an M.E. before joining the team and training at Quantico. Jane Everett, a talented artist, had the uncanny ability to recreate accurate images of the deceased from nothing but a skull or a description. Tyler Montague was another former Texas Ranger. Everyone had his or her specialty in dealing with the unusual, the unknown…and the unnatural. As in, he supposed, the supernatural. They’d been carefully selected by Adam Harrison and Jackson Crow. Adam had been involved in mysterious searches and situations so often that the government had asked him to put together his “Krewe of Hunters” teams. Jackson was the only one of them chosen straight from the ranks of the FBI behavioral sciences department, and head of the original team. The six members of their particular unit complemented one another beautifully.

His cell rang again and he answered, expecting to hear Logan again, perhaps telling him that traffic on the 405 had snarled so badly that it would be midnight before they arrived. But it wasn’t Logan. He was surprised to hear Madison’s voice, soft and somehow sexy even at an anxious pitch.

“Sean, I’m really sorry to disturb you, and this…it may be absolutely nothing….”

“Tell me. What is it?”

“Bogie managed to set off my car alarm. He was certain there was someone outside watching me and— Stop it! I am telling him what you said!” she whispered, and he knew she was talking to her resident ghost. “Bogie’s convinced that I’m in danger. I admit to being a bit unnerved, but I really don’t mean to bother you. You’re involved with the serious law enforcement side of this situation and—”

“Stay where you are. Stay in the house, doors locked. I’m on my way.”

“No, no, that’s all right. I thought maybe you could just get a police officer to—”

“I’m on my way,” he repeated, cutting her off. “Stay inside, everything bolted and locked!”

Sean cursed as he grabbed his jacket and hurried to the elevator, where he pushed the call button far too many times. He was out front, heading to one of the “elite” parking spaces for his loaner car, when he cursed again and returned to the desk, confirming that his fellow Krewe members would be brought to their respective rooms. Then he raced back to the car.

It was late; the roads were still busy, and yet not hopeless, as they could be. He knew he was speeding, but what the hell—so were half the cars on the road. He kept it to a safe level, glancing at his phone—which he’d set on the passenger seat—now and then just to make sure he didn’t miss a call.

What had they been thinking? Yes, bring in someone who knew the studio, knew the dynamics and the people. Someone close.

Too close?

Why had it never occurred to him that he could be putting her at risk?

He tried to convince himself that he hadn’t blindly led an innocent young woman into danger, that Bogie was being Bogie, a little macho, a little old-fashioned.

He slammed on the brakes, not realizing how fast he’d been driving, when he reached her neighborhood and swung into the space next to her car. He jumped out and hurried to the door. She’d been waiting for him.

The door opened and Madison stood there. He was surprised by the hard thud of his heart and the catch in his throat. Her eyes were wide—perhaps too trusting—and her expression was grave. And still, she seemed as straight as an arrow and disturbed at the thought that she might have interrupted him over something that wasn’t important.

They’d barely met, he reminded himself, alarmed by the rise of emotion she elicited.

But that didn’t matter. He had stupidly and unwittingly put her in danger.

He was overreacting. But he couldn’t take the chance!

“I’m really sorry I made you rush over like this,” Madison said. “And I really don’t know what good it can do. I didn’t even know Bogie was capable of pushing the alarm on my car key.”