He started sorting through the patient sheets again, culling down the entire file to fourteen men, including Eola and another case Charlie Marvin had told him about, the street kid named Benji who’d attended Boston Latin while living in the dying mental institute.
Now what?
Bobby glanced at his watch, winced. He’d already burned up an hour and a half. Time to find a dog-friendly hotel and return to Annabelle.
He picked up the fourteen sheets. “Mind if I make copies of these?”
“Be my guest. Hey, didn’t you say Charlie Marvin worked at Boston State Mental?”
“He was an AN,” Bobby supplied. “During his college days. Then volunteered his time as a minister until it closed down.”
“Sure about that?”
“It’s what the man said. Why?”
Sinkus finally looked up. “Bobby, I got decades of payroll ledgers in front of me. Nineteen-fifties till closing. I’m telling you, no Charlie Marvin ever made a dime.”
“Would you like some help?” Charlie called down to me.
“Oh, ummm, that’s okay. I’m coming up.” Bella was already bounding up the stairs. Whereas I found Charlie’s sudden appearance disquieting, she was overjoyed to see her newest best friend.
She hopped, leapt, and licked. I lugged the three bags up the stairs, thinking fast. Last I knew, Charlie didn’t have my address. Where in God’s name had I put my Taser?
Then I remembered. I’d set it down. On the shelf. Inside my storage unit, while I’d pulled out the suitcases. My locked storage unit. I almost turned away, headed back down the stairs. Almost.
“Sounds like you had quite a morning,” Charlie commented cheerfully as Bella and I emerged into the gray light of the building’s lobby. I saw now that one of my neighbors had propped open both front doors. Unloading groceries, no doubt. It would make an excellent headline for the Boston Herald: “Young Woman Brutally Stabbed to Death While Fellow Tenant Stocks Fridge.”
I needed to calm down. I was jumping at shadows again. According to Bobby, Charlie had spent last night at the Pine Street Inn. Meaning he couldn’t have delivered my latest gift. At eye level again, I realized that Charlie wasn’t really that tall, nor large, nor, at his advanced age, threatening. In fact, as I gingerly set down my luggage so I’d be free for defensive measures, Charlie was kneeling and scratching my dog under the chin.
“Some officer called at the shelter, asking about me,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Did he? Sorry about that.”
“Gave me a chuckle,” Charlie said. “Being a ‘person of interest’ at my age. Anyhoo, one of the guys who runs the shelter has a police scanner. Naturally, we tuned in after that. Dispatch mentioned this address, and being a busybody and all, I thought I’d stop by and check on you for myself. I can’t help thinking some of this is my fault.”
“Your fault?”
“I’m being followed,” Charlie said bluntly. “Least, I’m pretty sure I am. Started the day I met up with Sergeant Warren and Detective Dodge in Mattapan. Wasn’t sure at first. Just kept getting a kind of hinky feeling between my shoulder blades. I think maybe I was being followed again the night I ran into you. And I think the same person who is following me knows something about the mass grave. And maybe something about you.”
“Why something about me?”
“Because you’re the key to that grave, aren’t you, Annabelle? I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but everything that’s going on, it’s all about you.”
My neighbor picked that moment to jog up the stairs, four plastic grocery bags in hand. He gave us a brief nod—what was there to notice, a young woman, an old man, a blissed-out dog—and headed up the central stairs.
Charlie’s eyes tracked the man’s movements, though his fingers never stopped caressing Bella’s ears.
“You know something about Mattapan,” I told Charlie, a statement now, no longer a question.
Very slowly, he nodded.
“Something you haven’t told the police.”
Another slow, thoughtful nod.
“Why are you here, Mr. Marvin? Why are you stalking me?”
“I want to know,” he said quietly. “I want to know everything. Not just about him, but about you, Annabelle.”
“Tell me,” I demanded suddenly, a foolish mistake.
Charlie Marvin smiled. “All right. But seeing as we’re now friends, you have to invite me into your apartment.”
“And if I say no?”
“You’ll say yes, Annabelle. You have to, if you want to learn the truth.”
He had me and we both knew it. Curiosity killed the cat, I reminded myself. But the truth was too powerful a lure. Slowly, but surely, I nodded my agreement.
I made him go up the stairs first. Seemed slightly less stupid that way. Kept him in my line of sight. I had the suitcases to carry, I told him. If he followed me, I’d probably whack him with one of them accidentally. He had no idea how clumsy I was, I said.
Charlie accepted my explanation with his cheerful smile. Understanding completely. Not at all challenging.
The long hike up five flights of stairs—lugging suitcases, no less, gave me plenty of time to curse myself. Why had I forgotten the Taser? And how in the world did I end up with a dog who was such a rotten judge of character?
Because I was pretty sure Charlie Marvin was a threat. I just wasn’t sure how.
In the good-news department, I had fitness and youth on my side. By the time we hit the fifth-floor landing, Mr. Marvin was breathing hard and holding his side.
He stood back. I worked the first lock on my door. Second. Third.
“Cautious girl,” he commented.
“You never know.”
My door opened. Once again, I let him do the honors of going first. Then I propped open my door with the giant suitcase.
“In a building structured like this one,” he commented, “seems like our every word might echo down the staircase.”
“Oh, they will,” I assured him. “Screams, too. And we know at least one of my neighbors is home.”
He smiled more ruefully this time. “I spooked you that bad?”
“Why don’t you tell me what you want to say, Mr. Marvin?”
“I’m not the real threat,” he said quietly. I thought he looked a trifle grieved, even sad.
“Mr. Marvin—”
“He is,” Charlie said, and pointed behind me.
Bobby was walking. Very fast. D.D. was talking. Very angrily.
“You didn’t run a background check on Charlie Marvin?”
“We checked on him. Sinkus followed up on the man just this morning. He does volunteer at the Pine Street Inn. He did have an alibi for last night.”
“Oh yeah, and how do you know the Charlie Marvin volunteering at the Pine Street Inn is the same as our Charlie Marvin?”
“What?”
“You gotta go in person. You gotta show a picture. Of all the stupid, rookie mistakes!”
“I didn’t make the call,” Bobby protested again, then gave up the matter. D.D. was too pissed off to listen. She needed someone to grind up and he was the lucky body standing closest. That would teach him.
They’d put out an APB for a man matching Charlie Marvin’s description. Since they had to start with what they knew, officers were converging upon the Pine Street Inn, as well as Columbus Park, Faneuil Hall, and the former site of Boston State Mental, all known Charlie Marvin destinations. With any luck, they’d pick up Marvin within the hour. Before he ever suspected a thing.
“It still doesn’t make sense,” Bobby grumbled as they hustled through the lobby. “Marvin can’t be Uncle Tommy. Too old.”
“My car,” D.D. said, pushing through the heavy glass doors.
“Where’s it parked?”
She told him, he shook his head. “Mine’s closer. Plus, you drive like a girl.”
“That would be Danica Patrick to you,” D.D. muttered, but followed him swiftly toward his Crown Vi
c. Then, as they were getting in: “Charlie Marvin lied. That’s good enough for me.”
“He doesn’t fit,” Bobby insisted, firing up the engine. “Uncle Tommy would be around fifty. Charlie Marvin looks to have jumped that hurdle at least a decade ago.”
“Maybe he just appears old. That’s what a life of crime will do to you.”
Bobby didn’t answer. Just swung his vehicle out, hit the lights, and headed full steam for the Pine Street Inn.
I whirled around toward my open door. Saw nothing. Jerked back around, hands out, feet spread for balance, expecting the counterattack.
Charlie Marvin still stood there, that beatific expression on his face. I thought I was starting to figure it out. Mr. Marvin heard voices when nobody was home. To give credit where credit was due, Bella also seemed to have figured it out. She sat down now, between us in the tiny kitchen, and whined nervously.
“Better late than never,” I told her. Sarcasm is totally lost on dogs.
“You’re very beautiful,” Charlie said.
“Oh, I blush.”
“Too old for my taste, though.”
“And that quickly, the moment is lost.”
“But you’re the key. You’re the one he really wants.”
I stopped breathing again, feeling my mouth go cotton dry. I should do something. Grab a phone. Yell for help. Run back downstairs. But I didn’t move. I didn’t want to move. I honestly, God help me, wanted to hear what Charlie Marvin had to say.
“You knew,” I whispered.
“I found it. One night a few years back. When they first announced they were going to raze the buildings to the ground, I came back for a farewell tour. One last adios to a place to which I’d vowed never to return. But then I heard a rustling in the woods. Got curious. I’d swear to God there was someone out there, then poof, he’d simply vanished. It was almost enough to make you believe in ghosts. ’Course, I’m not that superstitious.
“Took me another four nights of scouting before I spotted the glow in the ground. I waited beneath the trees. Until I saw the man rise from the earth, bank the lantern, and disappear into the woods. I got a flashlight after that. Returned right before dawn. Found the opening, descended into the chamber. I never would’ve imagined. It took my breath away. The work of a master craftsman. I always knew it couldn’t last.”
“Who did it, Charlie? Who came out of the ground? Who killed those girls?”
He shook his head. “Six girls. Always six girls. No more, no less. I kept checking, kept waiting for something to change. But year after year. Two rows. Three bodies each. The perfect audience. And I never ran into the man again, though Lord knows I tried. I had so many questions for him.”
“Did you kill them? Is it your work that was discovered on the grounds?”
He continued as if I’d never spoken: “Then, of course, I saw the story of the grave’s discovery on the news. Another victim of urban growth. But that’s when it came to me. This would force him into the open, make him want to check on his work one last time. So I started hanging out again, hoping to catch a glimpse. But all I saw was you. And you are a liar.”
For the first time, his voice dropped, grew menacing. I took an instinctive step back.
“Who are you?” I asked him. “Because you’re certainly no minister.”
“Former patient, fellow aficionado of mass graves. Who are you?”
“I’m dead,” I told him bluntly. “I’m the ghost that haunts the grounds. I’m waiting for that monster to return so I can kill him.”
Charlie’s blue eyes narrowed. “Annabelle. Annabelle Granger. Your name was in the paper. From the pit. You really are dead.”
And then, a heartbeat later, his face broke into a smile. “You know, I had my heart set on your blonde sergeant friend,” he said slyly. I saw the wink of the blade in his hand. “But come to think of it, Annabelle dear, you’ll do just fine.”
Bobby hastily described Charlie Marvin to the young Latino who greeted them at the Pine Street Inn. Juan Lopez agreed that BPD’s Charlie Marvin was indeed the shelter’s Charlie Marvin. Had been volunteering there for the past ten years, in fact. Score one for the good guys.
Except Mr. Marvin wasn’t currently on the premises. Had taken off about an hour ago. No, Lopez didn’t know where. Mr. Marvin was a volunteer after all. They didn’t track the man. However, Mr. Marvin was known to work the streets, visiting with the homeless. The police might want to try some of the parks.
Bobby assured him they already had officers on the way. Marvin was wanted for immediate questioning.
Lopez seemed doubtful. “Our Charlie Marvin? Bushy white hair, bright blue eyes, always got a grin on his face, Charlie Marvin? What’d he do, man? Steal from the rich and give to the poor?”
“It’s official police business. In regard to a murder.”
“No way!”
“Yes way.”
“Well, score one for AARP.”
“Just give us a call if you see him, Mr. Lopez.”
“Okay, but now that you got me thinkin’, I’d head to Mattapan. Check out the grounds of that old mental institute. You know the one they’ve been digging up? Charlie’s been hanging around there day and night ever since … Hey, you don’t really think …”
“Thanks, Mr. Lopez. We’ll be in touch.”
Bobby and D.D. headed toward Mattapan, while Bobby got out his cell phone and dialed Annabelle.
I anticipated Charlie’s first reckless lunge, sidestepping on auto-pilot while my brain tried to sort out many things at once. Charlie Marvin was a former patient at Boston State Mental. Charlie Marvin had discovered the pit. Far from being horrified, Charlie Marvin had been impressed.
It would seem Mr. Marvin had a little violence in his past. He certainly knew how to move with a switchblade.
After his first failed lunge, we neatly exchanged places within my tiny kitchenette. Before I got too far in congratulating myself, I realized Charlie’s move had worked perfectly. He was now positioned between me and my open doorway.
He watched my gaze dart past his shoulder to my best hope at escape, and grinned broadly. “Not bad for an old guy,” he offered. “I confess it’s been years, but I think I got some magic left.”
Bella backed into my legs. She had her hackles up, was regarding Charlie, a low growl in her throat.
Bark, I wanted to yell at my hyper dog. This would be a good time to make some noise! She, of course, continued to growl in the back of her throat. Which I couldn’t really blame her for, because three minutes into my first confrontation with evil, I still couldn’t manage a scream.
Fear sometimes paralyzes the vocal cords, my father had said. He really had done his homework.
Charlie stepped forward, I stepped back and bumped into my kitchen counter. The kitchenette allowed precious little room for maneuvering, but I already realized I couldn’t let Charlie herd me deeper into my apartment. The open door, the exposed hallway were my best hope for escape.
I found my balance, prepared to take a stand. He was old, a switchblade wasn’t as threatening as a gun. I stood a decent chance.
Charlie feinted low to the right.
I prepared to swing into an arcing kick.
Bella leapt up at the last minute.
And I heard my silly, heroic dog yelp as Charlie’s blade buried itself in her chest.
Phone ringing.
Phone ringing.
Phone ringing.
The answering machine picked up. Bobby heard Annabelle’s crisp voice announce, “We are not home right now. Leave your name and number after the beep.”
“Annabelle,” he said urgently. “Annabelle, pick up. We need to talk. Got some new information on Charlie Marvin. I’m running late, at least pick up the phone.”
Still nothing. Had she grown tired of waiting for him, gone running off on her own? Anything was possible with this woman. Maybe that’s why he felt so scared.
Screw it. He hit the brakes.
“
What the hell—” D.D. exclaimed.
“He followed her.”
“Who?”
“Marvin. He found her in the park last night. Twenty to one, Charlie Marvin knows where Annabelle lives.”
Bella went down, the phone rang, and I heard my own voice ripped from my throat. “You son of a bitch!”
I launched myself at Charlie, knitting my fingers together and aiming for the soft spot at the base of his throat. He rolled, grabbing my forearm, slicing at me with his switchblade. I toppled, and we became lost in a tangle of limbs. In the detached part of my brain that preferred to watch rather than act, I thought this wasn’t the kind of fight I’d been preparing for. There was no fancy footwork, no graceful dodging of well-considered blows. Instead, we grunted and heaved, pummeling each other frantically as we rolled across the floor.
I could taste sweaty salt beading down my face, feel stinging in my hands and arms. Charlie continued to slash madly. I continued to batter at his face, working with my right hand to hit his eyes, while defending with my left.
I was quicker. He was better armed. I was bleeding. He was short of breath. He sliced left, flaying open my cheek. I slammed the heel of my hand into his sternum and he fell back with a gasping cough.
I got my hands beneath me. Staggered to my feet. Lurched for the door.
I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t leave Bella. He’d kill her for sure.
Charlie was already up, weaving forward. I scuttled back toward the kitchen cabinets. He kept coming. I reached behind me, working the wooden edge of the cabinet with my fingers.
He came within range. I kicked for his chin. He ducked beneath and I finally showed a little skill, reversing my motion, catching the top of his head, and slamming it toward his knees. Not as much force as I wanted, but enough to get the job done.
I got the cabinet open, starting sifting through the disordered stacks of pots and pans.
Charlie was straightening up.
Come on, come on.
And then I found it. Edge of my cast-iron frying pan. The perfect weapon.
Charlie started advancing once more and I prepared to do something I never thought I’d do: kill another human being.