“We really have to go!” Cathy said.
“And so do we,” Devin said. “Thank you for your time.”
Ron turned to his sister. “Is that everything?” he asked her.
Vickie and Devin turned away, heading back toward Tremont.
“Well? Anything?” Devin asked Vickie.
“No. I guess they’re just a pair of pleasant entertainers. They both know Alex, and like him.”
“It’s true that under most circumstances people wouldn’t even be worried yet.”
“I know,” Vickie said. “But I also know that something is very wrong.” She let out a sigh. “Do you think that they’re for real?” she asked. “Maybe they have different names, too. Maybe it was a massive conspiracy at the coffee shop. Or not a massive conspiracy—a small conspiracy. And the Dearborn brother and sis are in on it with Audrey Benson—who isn’t really Audrey Benson.”
She was sure that Devin had to think that her ideas were both paranoid and pretty far-fetched.
“There’s so much we don’t know,” Devin said. “I called an Uber—he’ll get us right up ahead on Tremont Street,” she added.
They were heading into a bright and beautiful afternoon and the street was busy. All manner of people were about—couples wandering, groups chatting and some hurrying along as if they’d stayed out too late for lunch. She clutched Devin’s arm and pulled her to the side when a troop of tourists—all holding hands!—came through, something like a herd of creatures not about to be stopped.
“Saved!” Devin said, laughing. Then she sobered. “Here’s the question. Does this guy—or woman!—really believe it’s possible to raise the devil? Or is it just some kind of ruse to gather followers together for some other end?”
“What other end?” Vickie asked.
“You never know,” Devin said.
They turned the corner. As they did, a young redheaded woman, a handbag over her shoulder and a cup from a local coffee vendor in her hands, came rushing up to them.
“Vickie? Victoria Preston?” she asked. The woman’s eyes seemed a bit unfocused and wild.
Vickie frowned. “Why?”
“Who are you?” Devin asked the young woman. “And why are you asking?”
The woman didn’t answer. She suddenly hurled the contents of her cup at Vickie. Thick, warm liquid covered her front. The redhead turned and tore down the street, thrusting aside the busy walkers and disappearing into the crowd.
“What the hell?” Devin demanded.
The liquid was deep red.
Blood.
Luckily, it had missed Vickie’s eyes.
“You all right?” Devin demanded.
“Yes! I’m fine.”
“I’m going after her,” Devin said, already running.
“Well, what the hell, so am I!”
*
“Hey,” Barnes said, joining Griffin and Rocky. He walked in and perched on the desk and seemed to read something from their faces.
“So, we didn’t just stop it all last night, huh? You know this because...?”
“Right off the bat?” Griffin asked. “Well, Alex Maple disappeared...along with a waitress, a young woman who apparently lived in the Atlantic Ocean and was very corporeal despite the fact she died in 1958.”
“Ah, come on,” Barnes said uneasily, “we’re not talking ghosts here.”
“I said corporeal—no ghosts, just a stolen identity,” Griffin said. He was never sure what Barnes did and didn’t know about the Krewe of Hunters, or what he suspected. He tended to be a man who was willing to take whatever help he could get to solve a case, but that didn’t mean he’d be open-minded about their skills.
Information about Griffin’s unit was certainly out there in the news, if you knew where to look. They weren’t officially the Krewe of Hunters; it was a moniker they received because Adam Harrison had brought the first Krewe members—including Jackson Crow and Angela Hawkins—together on a baffling case in New Orleans.
They were considered an elite unit, and when they went out, it was usually on “special” assignment.
Griffin continued. “Vickie and Devin sleuthed out that information. I got just about nothing from the college professors I spoke with.” He decided it wasn’t a good time to dwell on their inability to get answers.
“I don’t get it—how did they get this information so quickly?” Barnes asked. “And how do we know this waitress is missing? Just a few hours missing? People have similar names. Numbers can be transposed in the wrong order.”
“Barnes, she served Alex Maple on Saturday night. She also served Vickie and her friend Roxanne Greeley last night. She was only working at the shop a few weeks and she gave them a social security number that belonged to someone who died years ago.”
“That is suspicious,” Barnes agreed grudgingly. “But as you said, this woman served Vickie and her friend last night. So, she didn’t disappear when Alex disappeared, right?”
“I don’t believe anyone is seeing the full picture, Barnes,” Griffin said.
“And you know that he’s right about this thing going deep,” Rocky added quietly.
Barnes sighed fully. “We could still be off. I mean, it’s possible. Alex Maple is an adult. He doesn’t really owe anyone an explanation of his whereabouts.”
“He is an adult who was attacked, who had been under protection—and who received a lot of media attention after the attack,” Griffin said.
“Come on, Detective!” Rocky said. “There’s obviously something going on here.”
Barnes protested. “Hey. I rushed things for you guys on the city level. We went into the guy’s home—and he’s definitely not there. But there’s still the possibility that he’s just gone. You come on—he’s one of those nerds—crazy academic types. He’s lost his phone—misplaced it. He’s just off.”
“You don’t even believe that,” Griffin said.
“Everyone wants Darryl Hillford to have been guilty of carrying out all of the assaults. The people of Boston want to walk the streets safely—they want the Satanist attacker to have been stopped,” Barnes said impatiently.
“That’s natural. You know what? I watched a guy—in his twenties—take a suicide pill rather than surrender to me. You don’t think I want it to be over? Hell, we were headed back to Virginia before the attacks started, Barnes.”
“I know, I know!” Barnes said, wincing. “I just...dammit! I want it to be over. I don’t like any of this. It’s frightening. It’s creepy. ‘Satan rules’...” Barnes shivered. “I’m a Boston cop. I’ve seen about everything. But I really don’t like this. Thing is, I go way back in this city, but the whole history thing—I don’t know what people like Vickie and Alex Maple know. I was never a historian, a professor or a writer. But you guys specialize in that kind of thing, right, Agent Rockwell? You’ve dealt with people who twist religion all around before, right?”
“Yes,” Rocky said quietly. “I’ve dealt with it before.”
“And this does extend beyond the city, I think,” Griffin said. “But it involves the city. Barnes, we do still need your help.”
“Vickie and Devin are coming in soon. Vickie is going to work with a sketch artist. I need you to support us—I need the BPD as well as the FBI to get the pictures out there.”
Barnes nodded. “I can work the city,” he said. “And you can do what you feel you need to do.”
“We’ll be heading to check out the past in Fall River first,” Griffin said. “I’m going to be trying to find information from the 1800s and the 1970s, when the Ezekiel Martin quotation was used by other criminals.”
“You can drive out and be back in a day,” Barnes told him. “And what about Jehovah?”
“If we don’t have answers by the time we’re done in Fall River, we’ll start investigating the areas that are farther west in the state,” Griffin said.
“So you’re leaving me with the city,” Barnes said.
Griffin laughed softly. “Detective! If I weren’t completely aware of how competent you are, I might have fallen for that line.”
“Still, wish you’d be here.”
“You have other FBI support, and the Boston police are some of the finest in the country,” Griffin said.