Secret Sanctuary Part 19

Cullen's voice hardened with anger. "I told you before, I don't trust that guy."

"But I do," she lied.

Cullen's gaze narrowed. "You're just saying that to p.i.s.s me off."

"Am I?"

He turned back to watch the road, his face set in hard, furious lines. "Mission accomplished."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing."

Elizabeth lifted her chin. "I'm just telling you what I thought you wanted to hear. You're off the hook now. You don't have to worry. I'm turning my attention elsewhere."

"Like h.e.l.l." she could have sworn she heard him mutter.

INSTEAD OF DROPPING her off at her car where she'd left it on Waterfront Avenue. Cullen headed south of town, turning on Old Mountain Road.

Elizabeth glanced at him in surprise. "Where are we going?"

"To see David Bryson."

"Why?"

"Emotions are running high around here. It's my duty to warn him about a dangerous situation that could be brewing." He shrugged. "I wouldn't mind having a little chat with him about the murders, either."

According to talk in town. David Bryson never left his house during daylight hours, but after dark, he prowled the streets, keeping to himself and to the shadows. Elizabeth had never personally spotted him, but she wondered sometimes if the occasional sightings of McFarland Leary couldn't be chalked up to Bryson's nocturnal wanderings.

Not that she didn't believe in ghosts. She was quite certain she'd seen one that night in St. John's Cemetery, but she wasn't about to confess her sighting to Cullen.

Old Mountain Road was a narrow, twisting trail that led, as its name implied, up the side of a mountain. At the top. clinging precariously to the edge of a jagged cliff, was the Bluffs. David Bryson's forbidden domain. As they neared the castle. Elizabeth thought that the stone facade blended almost seamlessly with the night.

There were no lights, save for a lone beacon in a tower window. A shadow moved across the light, and for a moment. Elizabeth could have sworn she saw someone staring down at them. She s.h.i.+vered, thinking of all the stories she'd heard about Bryson. A coldblooded murderer. A horribly disfigured recluse. A man whose pa.s.sions and grief could have driven him to do unspeakable evil.

Had they?

A butlera"tall, rigid, impeccably dresseda"opened the door. He was all set to turn them away, but then Elizabeth heard another voice in the background, and the man glanced over his shoulder. When he turned back, he opened the ma.s.sive door and beckoned them inside. "This way."

The inside was even darker and more forbidding than the outside. The place was old and creaky, full of shadows and mysterious doorways. Elizabeth and Cullen followed the butler down a long, dark hallway where he drew open a set of doors and waited for them to enter. Once they were inside, the doors closed with a resounding thud.

Elizabeth jumped a little, and goose b.u.mps popped out on her skin. Judging by the crowded shelves of books, they were in a library of sorts, but the room was dank and musty, hardly inviting. The drapes at the window were drawn tightly, shutting out the moonlight, and only one lamp glowed dimly from a corner.

She and Cullen were both gazing around curiously. Elizabeth had a.s.sumed that David Bryson would join them momentarily, but as her gaze scanned the murky recesses of the room, she saw that he was already there. Either he'd been present all along, or he'd somehow slipped in from some secret pa.s.sageway. She s.h.i.+vered as she felt his gaze meet hers.

"You've come about the murders." His voice was deep and velvety smooth. "I've been expecting you."

"I'm sure you have," Cullen said. "I've come by before, but your watchdog wouldn't let me in."

Elizabeth strained to see Bryson, but he'd positioned himself in deep shadow. Because of the scars?

"You'll have to forgive Richard. He's overly protective, I'm afraid, but then, he has good reason to be, considering that I'm the chief suspect in almost any criminal activity that occurs in this town." A hint of wryness crept into his rich voice.

"I know what it's like to be accused of something you didn't do," Cullen said. "I'm not here to make accusations."

"Then why are you here, Detective?"

"To warn you." Cullen paused. "Suspicions are running high because of these murders. People are scared, and when they get scared, they're apt to do something stupid."

"Are you saying the town's out to get me?"

"I'm saying if I were you, I'd hang close to home until all this blows over."

Bryson's hand moved in a fatalistic gesture. "I'm a recluse, Detective. Hadn't you heard? I never leave these castle walls."

Elizabeth saw Cullen lift a brow slightly. "Is that so? I've heard you like to take...long walks after dark."

A polite way of putting it, Elizabeth thought.

"Is that a crime, Detective?"

"Not if walking is all you do. Any chance you were near Heathrow College on the night of March sixteenth?"

"As a matter of fact, I was."

Elizabeth sensed Cullen's surprise. She turned to stare at Bryson, wis.h.i.+ng again she could see his face.

"Were you on campus?"

"I didn't go inside the gates if that's what you mean."

"What time was this?"

"Sometime before midnight. I can't be sure of the precise minute."

Cullen and Elizabeth exchanged a glance. "Did you see anyone enter or leave the campus either on foot or in a car?"

"I saw nothing."

"What about the night of February fourteenth? Were you anywhere near the Pierce compound?"

"I was not." Impatience crept into Bryson's voice. "I'm sorry, Detective, but I'm afraid I really can't help you out. I don't know anything about these murders. I can give you a piece of advice, though."

"Let's hear it."

He leaned forward slightly, and for a split second, Elizabeth glimpsed his face. She caught her breath.

And then he stepped farther back into the shadows. "Check the victims' blood types, their medical histories. You may find something there."

"How do you know about their blood types?" Cullen asked sharply, but David Bryson had melted into the shadows.

Somehow he'd vanished without making a sound.

"HOW DID HE know that both victims had the same blood type?" Elizabeth mused as they made their way back down the mountains. "That information hasn't been released to the press."

"That's what I'd like to know," Cullen muttered.

"And what did he mean about their medical histories?"

"I've been wondering that myself." Cullen lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. "But when he said that, I felt as if I should know what he was talking about. Like maybe there's something I've forgotten or haven't connected yet. You know how it is when you can't quite put your finger on what it is that's bothering you?" He snapped his fingers suddenly. "Wait a minute. I think I do know. When I first interviewed Bethany Peters's mother, she kept wringing her hands and crying over and over that Bethany had always been the picture of health. She'd never been sick a day in her life. How could something like this happen to her?"

"I'm sure it was just a figure of speech." Elizabeth said. "She was very upset."

"Maybe. But she was pretty adamant. And one of Morgan Hurley's friends said something along those lines about her. She was never sick. Might be worth taking a look at their medical records and see if we can find other similarities."

To what end? Elizabeth was about to ask, but then she turned to Cullen as something occurred to her. "Remember the test tube we found in the cooler room with Bethany's body? What if someone who knew Bethany's blood type and her medical history wanted to get a sample of her blood for some reason? An experiment, maybe?"

"But the cause of death was exsanguination. Her blood was drained. The killer would have known that."

"It's almost impossible to drain a body completely of blood." Elizabeth pointed out. "But I'm not talking about the killer. I'm suggesting someone other than the killer may have wanted a sample of Bethany's DNA. If we could find out who all knew about those blood types and medical histories and why they were so significant, then we might be able to figure out why someone wanted those girls dead."

"We already know that Bryson knew." Cullen frowned. "It still seems a long shot to me. Although..." He trailed off into thought.

"What?"

"I was just thinking about something Shamus McMa.n.u.s said to me once. We were in the Beachway Diner, and it was right before I was called to the Pierce compound after you'd found Bethany's body. He said that McFarland Leary rises every five years to come searching for the 'offspring of his offspring," I think is the way he put it."

"What did he mean by that?"

Cullen shrugged. "I'm not even sure he knew what he meant. Marley Glasglow was there at the time, and he warned Shamus about sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. I'm thinking Shamus may have overheard something he wasn't supposed to."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. But Shamus also asked me if I ever wondered why so many scientific types settle in Moriah's Landing. I think that's starting to sound like a d.a.m.n good question."

"Oh, I don't think there's any mystery to that," Elizabeth said. "There are a lot of major universities in the area, and Boston is a fairly easy commute. Plus, the Pierce Foundation awards a lot of grants. It could be simply a case of following the money."

"Maybe. But I've been asking some questions around town about Leland Manning ever since we saw him that night. He has a laboratory right there on his property. If he has the background and credentials you say he has, why isn't he affiliated with some Ivy League university, or some hotshot private research inst.i.tution? And what about his weird theory on witches? If anyone is conducting bizarre experiments, I'd put my money on him. And another thing." He glanced at Elizabeth. "He's not the recluse that David Bryson is. He frequents a bar down on the waterfront."

"Manning?" Elizabeth had a hard time picturing the rather formal man they'd met the other night in a waterfront bar.

"That could be where Shamus overheard something he shouldn't have."

"But that still doesn't tell us what he heard," Elizabeth mused. "Or if it's connected in any way to the murders." She sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. "It's all giving me a headache, just talking about it. Two months and two bodies, and we're still no closer to finding the killer. Face it, Cullen. He could be anyone. Bethany had a cla.s.s under Paul Fortier, and it's possible something more may have been going on between them. But Morgan was an arts major. She wasn't required to take biology. Then there's Leland Manning. Yes, he lives fairly close to the campus. Yes, he has a laboratory on his property. And, yes, he has some pretty strange theories. But where is the connection to the victims? Same with David Bryson. He was a suspect in the murders twenty years ago, but nothing was proven then, and we don't have anything on him now except that he somehow knew, or at least guessed, that Bethany and Morgan had the same blood type and maybe similar medical histories. So where does that leave us?"

"You forgot to mention your friend, Professor LeCroix. As freshmen, wouldn't both girls have been required to take an English cla.s.s?"

Elizabeth waved an impatient hand. "Yes, but Bethany was dead before Lucian ever arrived in town."

"a.s.suming he arrived when he said he did."

"Yes..."

"You're still defending him. I see." Cullen gripped the wheel as the car shot around a sharp curve. "Still figuring on him being your first lover?"

Elizabeth gave an embarra.s.sed laugh. "I know I implied that, but I was just...hurt. A little angry, I guess."

"You must have had some thoughts in that direction or you never would have said anything."

"I haven't. I don't know why I said anything about him." She gave him a pleading look. "Can we just stick to the investigation right now? If you have something on Lucian LeCroix, let me hear it."

Cullen glared at the road. "His credentials checked out."

"You ran a background check on him?"

He shrugged.

They both fell silent, both deep in thought, and then, as they were nearing the cemetery, Cullen said, "I keep thinking about Claire."

Elizabeth turned. "I know. It's still a shock to see her like that. She was always so beautiful and the most gentle person I ever knew. That something so horrible could have happened to her, of all people."

"Vanished without a trace," Cullen muttered.

"What?"

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "How the h.e.l.l did someone get her out of that mausoleum without any of you seeing anything?"

Elizabeth felt the old familiar rush of guilt. "You don't know how many times I've asked myself that same question."

He was slowing the car, and Elizabeth glanced around. St. John's Cemetery was to their left, and Cullen pulled off the road near the gates.

"What are you doing?" she asked in alarm.

"I'm going to have a look around."

"Why?"

"Because there has to be some way that she was taken from that crypt."

"But the police searched it. They didn't find anything." Elizabeth knew her voice sounded slightly desperate, but she couldn't help it. The last time she'd been in that cemetery, she'd been running for her life.

"Yeah, but I know the guys on the force," Cullen said dryly. "Most of them won't even walk under a ladder. It's my guess they gave the mausoleum a cursory search, at best."

Elizabeth stared at the cemetery gates, a terrible dread welling inside her. "You don't expect me to go with you, I hope."

"As a matter of fact, I do." Cullen's eyes gleamed in the darkness. "I need you to show me exactly where you and the others were when Claire disappeared."

"This can't wait until morning?"