Dreaming Death, Page 2

  That was it. Her father was a capable man, but he’d also been quick to say no man was an island.

  And when it came to his wife and his child, he wasn’t taking chances.

  Adam made the arrangements. Agents discreetly came to the house. Then it became a tense waiting game.

  Four nights after Stacey first met Adam Harrison, it happened.

  She learned about it later.

  Stacey and her mother had gone to stay with an aunt. Her father was at home with the agents when a man wearing a demon mask broke into her father’s home office.

  The agents stopped him before he could fire at her father. Under arrest, he confessed that he’d been hired by McCarron.

  Later, Adam was in the courtroom when the work David Hanson, her father, had done for the local police proved to be invaluable, as several exceptionally malicious and devious criminals were brought to trial and, in the end, brought to justice.

  Stacey watched it all on TV. She saw McCarron and the man who had tried to kill her father, as well as those who went on the witness stand and cried and said McCarron was a wonderful man. Several of them were women who were somehow in love with him.

  Had he paid those women to swear that he was a good man? The man who had intended to kill her father—and possibly her mother and her—had sworn under oath that McCarron had hired him to do the killing.

  “Money can do powerful things!” her mother had muttered. She hadn’t gone to court, either. She’d stayed with Stacey, but she hadn’t kept her daughter from watching the trial.

  Stacey saw the widows of Dr. Vargas and Mr. Anderson try to be brave but break down on the witness stand.

  Dr. Henry Lawrence’s testimony might have been the saddest of all: crying on the stand, he said that not only had he lost a friend and mentor, the entire world had lost out on a great man.

  McCarron was remarkable on the stand. He also broke into tears, denying all charges.

  Despite his Oscar-worthy performance, he was convicted and sent down.

  So, the McCarron trial was over.

  But Stacey’s father didn’t think that was the end of it. She heard him telling Adam that even though McCarron went down, he was pretty sure there was someone higher up the chain or, at the least, in place to take over.

  But McCarron didn’t talk, and those they found who he’d hired for certain of his deeds, such as the attack on Stacey’s father, thought he’d been the top dog.

  “I’m telling you, there was someone there. Someone else who was really pulling the strings,” her father said.

  “Maybe,” Adam said. “And that’s just how life goes—‘Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.’ There will be someone out there to take McCarron’s place. But we’ll be there, too. We’ll just keep going after the bad guys.”

  Adam Harrison and his agents saw it all the way through. Then it was time for them to move on.

  Stacey was so grateful to them.

  She hero-worshipped her parents, and now she also felt that way about Adam Harrison. When they talked next, she was no longer having the nightmare. She was grateful, telling him he had saved her parents—and her.

  “No, Stacey, you saved them,” he told her.

  “I want to be a PI like my dad!” she said. Then she frowned. “What’s your job?”

  “Me? Uh, I don’t do anything special. Well, maybe I do. I find people—the right people,” he told her.

  “Am I a right person?” she asked him.

  He knelt by her, giving her a hug. She wasn’t sure how such a cool man could also seem like the world’s sweetest grandfather.

  “You sure were this time!” he told her. “But you’re only twelve years old. Let’s see where life takes you. You have high school, college...a lot of living to do. But when you’re older, if you want to see me...well, I will definitely want to see you again!” He gave her a business card with his name and phone number on it. It felt very grown-up to her, and she beamed.

  She hugged him tightly; she knew he was leaving. She hoped she’d see him again.

  But it wouldn’t be soon.

  Her mother insisted they move away from Georgetown and Washington, DC.

  Their new home was situated on a beautiful hill in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. It was still easy access to the country’s capital but distant enough so Stacey’s mom felt they had a quiet and normal life.

  Her mother left her job to teach, and her father retired.

  Life was pretty good. Despite her mom not being particularly fond of anything that had to do with guns or law enforcement, Stacey joined a young-citizens watch group in high school. And through local police programs she learned a great deal about averting and investigating crimes and how officers and forensic investigators often solved crimes together. Legwork, the art of interrogation, and science.

  She also spent many an hour watching the ID channel, learning all about crimes, both past and present, and the way they were solved.

  Sometimes—just now and then—she’d have strange little dreams. One time, she had a vivid dream about a broken zipper on her parka, and it seemed almost silly.

  Yet, putting on her parka the next day, the zipper broke.

  Then she dreamed that the underdog—Charlie Waters, worst player on the school’s team—scored the winning touchdown for the school’s football team.

  The following Friday night, remarkably, Charlie did just that.

  But it wasn’t until she was almost eighteen that she had a frightening dream again, one that really mattered—a piece of life and death she had to hope she could change.

  And that time it had to do with a friend, Kevin Waverly.

  Kevin was a running back for the high-school football team. He was well-liked, did decently in all his classes and planned on either professional ball or, if he didn’t quite cut it as pro, going into coaching or therapy for sports injuries.

  Then he fell in love with Elaine Gregory, who was sweet and beautiful. But easily manipulated.

  Elaine met an older boy who introduced her to cocaine. Soon, Elaine and Kevin were missing classes, and Coach was threatening to kick Kevin off the team. It wasn’t a large school, and Stacey had heard the gossip.

  Stacey’s dream started with her walking through the night. She was walking in a cemetery. She knew, somehow, it wasn’t the historic Harper Cemetery with the fantastic view that was a must for any tourist—no. It was the almost-forgotten Miller Cemetery just a bit to the south toward Port Royal. It offered no view except by night, when the fog rolled in and the trees seemed to drip eerie fingers of moss, and the greatest danger was tripping over a broken headstone or footstone.

  Only one angel stood guard over the place, and sadly her wings were both chipped, and her face was eternally muddied. There were a few above-ground tombs and obelisks scattered between the overgrown grasses, shrubs and trees.

  It was a perfect place for teenagers to come.

  To drink, or to sell drugs, or to do drugs.

  The first time the dream came, Stacey just saw herself walking through the cemetery.

  The next time, she saw Kevin and Elaine and a shadowy figure were by the broken angel, and the three were arguing.

  The third time she heard a gunshot.

  She told her father about her dream. He didn’t want to listen at first; then Stacey reminded him about Adam Harrison’s faith in her, and he did. He told the local police he believed drug deals were going down in the cemetery. The police ignored him. The officer on the phone told him that yes, they watched the cemetery. They didn’t have the manpower to watch it day and night. But they thanked him, saying they were forewarned.

  The dream came again, night after night. But this time as she walked through the broken stones in the eerie darkness punctuated by the light of the moon, someone touched her shoulder. She turned and trembled and tried to scr
eam but could not.

  It was Chastity Miller: she knew that from pictures. Chastity Miller had been one of Washington’s spies during the Revolutionary War. She had been beautiful and charming and part of an elite group that became known as the Culper Spy Ring, set up by Major Benjamin Tallmadge under Washington’s orders. It was said he kept the identities of those in the ring so secret that not even Washington knew all their names. In 1778, Chastity worked in British-occupied New York, bringing valuable information to the table. She could charm any British officer with her facade of sweet innocence.

  She had, however, been found out. Her body had been discovered hanging from a tree outside the city, but it was taken down secretly at night and returned to her family in the Harpers Ferry area. Her tombstone had long ago disappeared. It was believed she did rest in the Miller Cemetery.

  Except in Stacey’s dream, she didn’t rest. She stood there as if she was real.

  Terrified at first, in her sleep Stacey struggled to remind herself it was a dream.

  “It’s coming. You must do something. You can do something. It’s coming,” Chastity Miller said.

  “I know. I’ve told them!” Stacey managed to say at last. “I’ve tried!”

  “It’s coming soon. You must try harder!” Chastity said. “You can, and you must!”

  Stacey spoke to her father again; he wearily reminded her he’d spoken to the police. They were dismissive of a man telling them something bad was about to happen. They wanted to know how he knew. Was he selling drugs himself?

  “Call Mr. Harrison,” she told him.

  “Stacey, for the love of God...” He walked away, distraught.

  That night she had the dream again. She saw Chastity Miller again, beckoning her to follow and hide. And she heard the conversation. Kevin wanted the shadowy figure to leave Elaine alone. Elaine was addicted. Either it stopped or Kevin would go to the police.

  The shadowy figure had a gun. He drew it...

  She forced herself to wake up.

  Stacey remembered Adam Harrison had left her with his card. That had been years before, but maybe, just maybe, she still had it somewhere.

  She searched through her drawers, her little jewelry boxes, every nook and cranny of her room.

  She finally found the card slipped into pages of a diary she’d kept when she was twelve.

  She dialed the number before she could think too hard about it, and he answered. Since she’d seen him last, it seemed he’d upped his game. He was now an assistant director, working for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  Adam came out with two agents: one named Jackson, and the other a very tall young man with sandy hair and striking dark eyes, Special Agent Someone or Other. She didn’t really talk to him. He had to be new because of his age, and because of the way he deferred to the other men. She figured he’d be a really cool agent one day because he sure as hell looked the part.

  They listened to her, and the agents went to check out Miller Cemetery.

  Adam stayed with Stacey. She asked him why it was he believed her so easily. And he smiled and said, “My son. He was very much like you.”

  “And he’s...gone?”

  Adam Harrison’s smile grew broader. “Oh, sometimes, I believe, he’s very much still with me.”

  It took three nights. Then it happened. Kevin and Elaine slipped into the cemetery. The drug dealer was there. He listened to Kevin; he drew his gun to kill him. Kevin screamed and begged for his life and a shot went off...

  But Kevin hadn’t been shot.

  One of the agents had fired first, with amazing aim. He shot the gun right out of the drug dealer’s hand.

  It turned out to be the first domino to fall in a major chain of busts. The dealer had been selling across several states and in DC. He had many connections, and eventually a whole network was brought down.

  Because many deaths could be linked to him, the dealer had gone for a plea deal to avert the federal death penalty. He had, as she had heard said, sung like a canary.

  Adam Harrison was careful to keep any mention of Stacey from the news. According to all sources, the FBI had received an anonymous tip.

  Stacey had to go to the Miller Cemetery, not in a dream but in person. She went the next day when it wasn’t spooky, just derelict and sad. Crime-scene tape remained in the one section, drooping with the night’s rain and as sad as the rest of the cemetery. But the crime-scene investigators were gone.

  As she walked, she felt a touch on her shoulder. She turned, and Chastity Miller was standing there. It wasn’t a dream.

  Stacey would have been terrified, except she felt a strange sense that was both chilling and warming as the young woman hugged her.

  “I knew you could do it,” the ghost said.

  “I—I was so afraid! I don’t know, I can’t—”

  “You could and you did. Fear is something important; you need to know fear. It will help you behave intelligently, keep you from being rash. We have all known fear. The thing of it is to learn how to deal with that fear and meet it so you are stronger than it, and stronger than those who would create it in others.”

  “But you—”

  “I made mistakes. I know. But I wouldn’t have changed what I could do for my country. And I will do my best, always, to see the dream of our country remains strong.” She smiled. “Whatever the challenge, we fight. We fight for what is right, whenever there is a right that must be upheld. You can do it!”

  Her last words were spoken softly. She smiled and dissolved into the sunlit air.

  Adam Harrison was still in Harpers Ferry, but he was leaving shortly.

  This time when they said goodbye, Stacey told him she’d see him soon. “I’ll be working for you next,” she assured him.

  “I don’t doubt it. Just be sure it’s what you want,” he told her.

  She passionately assured him, “I owe you—for believing in me!”

  “College,” he told her.

  “Oh, you bet. The University of Maryland. They offer great courses. I’ll do it, all right, Adam. But there’s nothing else I want to do. Please... I won’t be able to stand my life without...without coming to work for you.”

  “You’ll need to apply to the FBI Academy.”

  “Oh, I will,” she promised. Her smile deepened. “And I will kick ass! I promise you.”

  Her parents weren’t happy with her choice. “We’ve spent our lives trying to shield you from danger!” her mother told her.

  She adored her parents. But she knew what she was doing.

  “I need to learn how to use what I have,” she told them.

  They let her choose her way.

  Soon after her twenty-fourth birthday, she graduated from the FBI Academy at Quantico.

  And walked straight into the offices of Adam Harrison and his Krewe of Hunters.

  One

  Keenan Wallace’s phone rang at 5:00 a.m.; it wasn’t the alarm, it was a call. Before he looked at the caller ID, he knew who it was.

  Not many people would call this early.

  “Jackson?” he said, after he’d groped around on his nightstand to find the phone.

  “We’re going to be assigned.”

  “The mutilation murders?”

  “Yep. You’ll need to get to the Lafayette Square area.”

  “All right. Is there another victim?”

  “I don’t know. If you can get there around six thirty, that would be perfect.”

  “I can be there sooner.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “The body hasn’t been discovered yet. It will be, just after six. I’m sure they’ll have Fred Crandall on the case for DC local law enforcement. He called me after the second victim was found in Alexandria. But give him a few minutes to get there once the police have received the 9-1-1.”r />
  For a moment, Keenan pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it, a frown furrowing his features.

  Keenan understood that information gained via the Krewe of Hunters network was unusual; they had sources who had special insight. And while Keenan himself had the special talent—or bad luck, as he sometimes felt it was—to communicate with many a deceased soul, he’d yet to know a ghost who could use a phone to call in a tip.

  “Jackson—”

  “Trust me. She simply hasn’t been discovered. No, I don’t know who the killer is. I want you on this one. You know Fred, and you work especially well with him.” Jackson seemed to hesitate just a moment, then added, “You’ll also be working with a new partner.”

  Keenan had worked with a number of other agents—top-notch all of them. This case was as high profile as they came: when prostitutes were being found dead and mutilated in the nation’s capital, it was bound to attract major attention.

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  “She’s new.”

  “A rookie?”

  “This will be her first Krewe case, yes. She’s just out of the academy.”

  “Wait, wait. These are some of the most heinous murders imaginable, and you’re giving me a rookie—a new agent? One I don’t even know yet?”

  “Special Agent Stacey Hanson. She’ll find you at the crime scene.”

  The name was vaguely familiar to him.

  “This is happening in our backyard,” Jackson continued. “You’ll have the full force of the Krewe behind you.”

  Still. A rookie?

  “Okay, wait,” Keenan said. “I want to make sure I understand the situation. There’s another victim—ostensibly murdered by the killer who struck in DC once and Virginia once already—but she hasn’t been discovered yet. And I shouldn’t get to Lafayette Square until six thirty. Fred Crandall will be our local contact...and I’m working with a partner I’ve never met, who has never worked a case before?”

  “That’s it.”

  “And this new agent will find me there?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Jackson, I know you’re right on top of everything, but I’m just saying. This is going to wind up being high profile, and I’m not sure a rookie—”