Heath and I then got out of the car and approached the small group of employees. We motioned to Tracy and she pushed her way over to us. “Listen,” Heath said, handing over his business card to her. “I want you to stay away from Ken. Tell your manager that he skipped out on his bill or something, but make him persona non grata from now on, okay?”
She took his card and appeared a little confused. “I don’t know that I can do that.”
“You can, Tracy,” I told her. “And you will. He’s dangerous in more ways than you know. You have to stay away from him.”
Tracy licked her lips. “Yeah, okay. He really is creepy.”
“And no leaving the bar without an escort either,” Heath said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “If you get scared, or stuck in that place alone at night, you call me on the number on the card. That’s my cell. I always answer, no matter what time, day or night.”
Tracy smiled up at him, a look of wonder in her eyes. “Wow,” she said. “You’re so nice.”
“I have my moments,” he said, grinning back. “Just stay safe, okay?”
“You don’t think Ken actually wants to hurt me, do you?”
“I don’t know what that guy wants to do, Tracy, which is why you need to be really careful from now on, okay?”
“Should I call the police?”
“Not unless he tries something or gets upset that he’s not allowed in the bar anymore. If he says or does anything that’s threatening, you get a restraining order, okay?”
She nodded. “Okay. Thanks, you guys.”
We left Tracy about the time the firemen had cleared the building. We avoided eye contact with them, and hoped the guilty looks on our faces didn’t give us away. Still, it was the only way to make sure that Tracy was safe from the likes of Sy the Slayer.
Heath and I then walked down the block to the next street and turned left, keeping a careful eye out as we went. We got to the alley behind the bar and peered warily into it.
It smelled of stale beer and garbage. Not exactly inviting. Heath and I proceeded into the alley, and I flipped on my sixth sense, “feeling” out the energy of the place. I also knew that Heath did the same.
We walked slowly and cautiously, constantly looking behind us to make sure Ken hadn’t come into the alley, but for the most part we were alone. We got to the door that we suspected was for Sheedy’s, and Heath tried the handle. It was locked. Good.
Then I looked at him with a silent question. “I don’t feel her,” he said.
“Let’s head down a little further.”
We walked another few yards to the large Dumpster—which I assumed had been the crime scene for Gracie’s murder—and poked around the area, but there was nothing left in the ether to feel out. The area was sort of dense with the comings and goings of people cutting through the alley, from the bar, from other shops, the garbage trucks, etc., etc. It was impossible to cut through all that “noise” to get to Gracie’s murder, and neither of us could sense her ghost, so it was likely that she’d already crossed over.
Mentally I tried to reach out to her spirit, but I got nothing. I could tell Heath also tried, but it was radio silence.
At last we gave up and headed back to the car.
“Now what?” I asked Heath as he started up the engine.
He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “Did you see how Ken switched hands?” he asked me. “He was right-handed up until the spook took him over.”
“I did notice that. Which means he could be a suspect for Brook’s murder. If he’s been under the spook’s influence for this long, maybe he’s turned into a killer who doesn’t need a spook to do his dirty work.”
“The guy is definitely whacked,” Heath said. “And what the hell was he mumbling?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think it was the Lord’s Prayer. I think Ken is super freaked-out by Sy the Slayer getting into his head and he’s doing whatever he can to keep him out. What’s scary is that it seems to be the case that once this spook has ahold of you, he doesn’t seem to want to let go. I’m caught between feeling sorry for these guys and wondering if they were already bad men who would’ve murdered anyway.”
“Tracy did say Ken had an edge to him even before Gracie was murdered,” Heath said, staring out the window moodily.
My phone rang at that moment and it made me jump. I answered it and heard Kendra say, “Guess what!”
“You found out who owns the house on Stoughton Street?” I asked hopefully.
“No,” she said, her voice still excited. “Dan Foster has agreed to an interview. We go in tomorrow morning at ten.”
“Great,” I said, but there was no enthusiasm behind the sentiment. “Swing by my place and pick me up?”
“Sure. I just dropped Gilley off at his condo and he said he lives one floor below you, so I know where it is. By the way, Gilley is supercute.”
Kendra had already changed tracks, but I was still contemplating the interview with Dan Foster. I knew the spook was going to make an appearance, and Kendra had no idea what she was in for.
Kendra chatted at me about Gilley for another minute or two before promising to pick me up the next morning between nine and nine thirty and I hung up.
“Trouble?” Heath asked when I tucked my phone away.
“Isn’t there always?”
Chapter 12
Kendra arrived at my door promptly at nine. Gilley was in my kitchen, conspicuously hanging around, pretending to want coffee. This was after an entire late afternoon the day before where he’d complained and complained about how clueless Kendra was not to spot the obvious and how she’d practically hung all over him. “Girl has no gaydar . . . at all. It got embarrassing!”
And yet, I’d learned that after I ducked out on them, the pair had soon grown bored researching the Stoughton house and opted for a quick bite at a nearby restaurant that had turned into several hours of lively conversation, giggles, and appletinis. I wondered if Gilley realized that he’d just been on a date with a girl.
So, when Kendra arrived with her cleavage pushed up, a fresh coat of lipstick, and boots with heels high enough for her to wobble on, I knew that Gil had a problem.
Still, he flirted and she flirted back for ten minutes before she boldly wrapped her arm around his middle and said, “I think you and I should go out. How about Saturday night?”
To which Gilley immediately stiffened and said, “Uh . . . Kendra, you should know something about me.”
“Uh-oh,” she said, but still in that playful flirtatious voice. “Sounds serious.”
“It is.”
“What is it?”
“I’m engaged.”
I leveled a look at Gil. The little bastard. Why he didn’t just tell her he was gay was beyond me, but maybe he was thinking of letting her down easy.
“You’re engaged?” she said, immediately letting go of him. “For real?”
Gil nodded solemnly, and then his phone rang. “There’s my fiancé,” he said.
“What’s her name?” Kendra asked, her hands finding her hips.
“Michel.”
Well, at least that part wasn’t a complete lie.
Kendra harrumphed and glared at Gil while he took the call with an exuberant, “Hey, sugar, you’re up early!”
I waved at her and motioned for the door and we left a red-faced Gil to talk to his “fiancé.”
“Men are such pigs,” Kendra said as we got in the car.
“Some of them can be,” I said. “But some are really wonderful.”
“You referring to your boyfriend?”
“I am. He’s pretty great.”
“Yeah, well hold on to him, M.J., because all the ones I meet are either born liars or gay.”
Little did Kendra know she’d just flirted with both.
“Oh!
” she said suddenly. “I almost forgot. Look what one of my assistants found!”
Kendra handed over her smartphone and I looked at the display. It was a photo of a group of what looked like hospital staff and other people in business attire. Behind the group was a sign that read WINSTON SENIOR CENTER ELDER CARE FUND, and as I squinted at the faces, one stood out.
“That’s Luke,” I said, pointing to his image.
“Yep. Guess who he’s standing next to.”
I looked and saw Luke’s sister, Courtney, standing to his left. “That’s his sister, Dr. Decker,” I said. I searched the group for Steven’s face, but didn’t see him.
“Look to Luke’s right,” Kendra said.
I did and there was a woman with long wavy brown hair and a tremendous smile. She looked both relieved and excited. “I don’t know her.”
“You should,” Kendra said.
“Why should I?”
“Because that’s Brook Astor.”
I gasped and felt a sense of dread settle into my midsection. Luke had his arm wrapped around her waist. They were definitely friendly.
“She worked at the hospital a couple of years ago. She was the fund-raising coordinator for the hospital and the elder care center across the street.”
“When did she quit?” I asked, still staring at the photo.
“Not long after that picture was taken. At that time, her ex was a resident at the hospital and, according to my source, a nurse who was friends with Brook, the split was hard on her—she learned that her ex had cheated on her, and she hadn’t seen it coming. The nurse also said that, for a short period of time, Brook and Luke hung out together.”
My eyes widened. “Hung out how exactly?”
Kendra shrugged. “Don’t really know for sure, but the rumors suggest that they were more than just friends. The nurse suspected something was up, and she was shocked by it because Luke’s about ten years younger than Brook. She thought Brook might’ve been leaning on Luke to get her through the divorce. She said she thought maybe he didn’t take their split so well.”
I sighed and handed Kendra back her cell. This was looking worse and worse for Luke, and I had to question my theory that he wasn’t a murderer all over again.
I told Kendra a little about what’d happened with Heath and me at the bar the day before. She was riveted, but I could also see some of the skepticism in her eyes. “So, was this Ken Chamblis ever listed as a suspect in the investigation?”
I shrugged. “Don’t know. Heath and I couldn’t find out much online. I was hoping maybe you had a source at the police station that could look into it.”
“Oh, I do and I will.”
“Also,” I said, “if you can possibly ask your source whether or not there’s any indication in the autopsy report of a right-handed or left-handed killer in Gracie’s murder, I’d appreciate it.”
“Which hand was Ken’s dominant?”
“Right, until the spook took him over—then he became a left-hander.”
“That is so freaky!”
I then tried to prepare her for the same possibility happening to Dan Foster during our interview. “Which reminds me,” she said, completely unfazed by the thought of Foster becoming possessed by an evil spirit. “You’ll have to hold the camera during the interview. I was going to bring Mike, my camera guy, but we’re only allowed two people in at a time.”
Kendra then fished around in the small pocket next to her seat and brought up a sheet of paper. “These are the questions I’m going to ask. Can you take a look and let me know if I’ve left anything out?”
I took the paper and peered at the list of questions. I was shocked by how terrible they were. Kendra was obviously interested in poking the bear, because most of her questions were meant to bait Foster into admitting he’d killed Bethany Sullivan—something he’d steadfastly refused to do throughout his trial. There were a few token questions at the end where Kendra was humoring me by asking Foster if he felt possessed by an evil spirit at the time of the murder, or if he often heard the voice of a ghost telling him to do bad things. It was a joke. And it ticked me off.
“Kendra,” I said evenly. “If this is what you plan to ask Foster, then I’m not going with you and you can pull over right now and let me out.”
She turned her attention away from the traffic to stare at me. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious.”
“M.J.,” she said, curling her hands tightly around the steering wheel, “I went through a lot of trouble to set up this interview. Something you asked me to do.”
“Yes, I wanted your help getting in to see Foster, but if you’re gonna treat this as an opportunity to get his confession on camera and turn my investigation into a joke, then I want no part of it.”
“I didn’t say it was a joke!” she yelled.
I lifted the interview sheet. “Mr. Foster, do you often hear the voices of evil spirits urging you to kill innocent women?”
Kendra’s face reddened. “I thought it’d be in line with what you were after.”
I shook my head. “We’ll never get to that question because either your first, second, or third question is gonna make him stand up and walk out of the interview.” Kendra glared at me, but I wasn’t backing down. This little chat with Foster was too important. “Kendra, you’re putting him on the defensive, and the reason he granted us the interview is because we let him know we believed there was another force at work here. We have to go in there making him believe we’re there to help him. This is not the time to hit him with some gotcha journalism.”
With narrowed eyes, Kendra shifted her gaze away from me and focused on driving in silence for the next few minutes. At last she grudgingly muttered, “Fine, M.J. We’ll play it your way. Tell me what you want me to ask him and I’ll ask.”
But I didn’t trust her. I suspected the reporter in her was just a little too ingrained and I was really starting to doubt this whole plan. “I should do the talking,” I said.
She laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No.”
“M.J.,” she said, using as level a tone as I’d used earlier, “I asked you along as a courtesy. I could’ve taken Mike in with me and left you behind.”
“You think this’ll be fun for me?” I shot back. “Kendra, you have no idea what we’re up against. I know you don’t quite believe any of this is real, but I’m here to tell you that it is, and we are playing with forces that are incredibly dangerous. If you start underestimating the potential danger involved in exposing yourself to Dan Foster and by extension the evil spirit who may be taking over his mind, then you expose yourself to a danger you will be completely unprepared to handle.”
She rolled her eyes. “Foster’s behind glass,” she said. “There’s no way he can hurt me.”
“Ken Chamblis is still out there,” I replied. “And maybe there’re others, Kendra. That closet had seven names and we’ve only accounted for five of them. And that still doesn’t answer the question of who the right-handed killer of Brook Astor is.”
Kendra lifted her phone with the fund-raising photo and waved it at me. “Obviously Luke’s the guilty one,” she snapped. “I mean, come on, how much proof do you need?”
“It wasn’t Luke,” I said firmly. I wasn’t one hundred percent convinced, but Brook was stabbed by a right-handed killer, and Luke was a left-hander. Even if Sy the Slayer had taken over Luke’s mind at the time of the murder, he wouldn’t have switched Luke over to using his right hand, because Sy was also a lefty. I knew that was a threadbare thing to cling to, but I just couldn’t believe that Luke had committed that murder.
“This is my story,” Kendra said, and I could tell we were close to the point where she would grant my wish not to go with her to the interview, and pull over to let me out.
“I’m not trying to take the st
ory away from you,” I replied, and then I had an idea. “Hey, you know what? Maybe there’s a way we can work together on this and still have it appear as if you’re asking the questions. I know that sometimes when a reporter is interviewing someone, there’s a sort of dub over of the reporter’s questions if the sound quality isn’t so great or the lighting is bad. What if I ask the questions, we get Dan to answer on camera, and then, later, we can dub you in asking the same questions?”
Kendra seemed to think that over. “Yeah,” she said at last. “That could work.”
“Cool,” I said, relief in my voice. But then I felt a moment of panic when I realized that I’d have to carry the entire interview with Foster. I had no idea who was gonna show up for the interview—whether we’d get Dan for the whole time, or if Sy would even make an appearance. And I wasn’t even sure I wanted Sy to show up. He scared the hell out of me, but I knew I also had to convince Kendra of his existence if she was going to take us seriously and continue to help us with the investigation.
In the few minutes that remained, I tried to mentally prepare for either scenario with Foster and felt the sudden presence of Sam Whitefeather—my spirit guide—step close to my energy. I relaxed a little, knowing he was extending me what protection he could from the other side.
Kendra and I had to show our IDs and press passes to be allowed into the back lot where the county lockup was. As Foster hadn’t been sentenced yet, he was still being held by Suffolk County. He’d be transferred to a state pen as soon as his sentence came down.
We went through more ID checks and a similar process to the one Heath and I had faced a few days before when we’d gone to see Guy Walker; then we were escorted into a fairly large concrete-block room. What alarmed me was that there was no glass separating us from the prisoner. There was simply a table with two chairs on one side and one chair on the other. We’d be face-to-face with Foster, and I could see Kendra fidget nervously with the camera while we waited. She hadn’t expected this setup either.
We sat in silence for maybe fifteen minutes before the far door opened and in shuffled Dan Foster. He wore handcuffs and leg shackles and a loop of chain around his middle. A guard escorted him in and kept one hand on Foster’s back as he made his way slowly over to the table.