Grave Echoes: A Kate Waters Mystery (7 page)

“That would be something. Tell you what,” John said, walking toward a desk in the corner. “I need to finish this other girl and a homicide victim that just came in, but I should be finished with them by the afternoon.” He glanced at his watch. “How about I give you a call tomorrow?”

“Great. I owe you for this one,” Wells said.

John waved him away and then took off his gloves to make a phone call. Wells looked back at Jevanna Waters, studying her a moment. He recalled the items he had found in her car: a bucket of dirt, dagger, poppet doll, and black candles…she was definitely involved in the occult. He’d worked a few occult cases in the past and knew that some people involved in witchcraft often had malicious intentions, which could lead to shady games. He didn’t think the girl’s sister Kate had ties with the occult, but maybe Jevanna Waters’ friends did.

With the new discovery of prints on her neck, combined with the dry cigarette filters, Wells’ curiosity was piqued, as he began to think she had been running from something the night she crashed. It would explain her unusual speeding.

John continued talking on the phone as Wells headed for the door. He waved good-bye and then glanced back at the two girls before leaving, hoping only one of the them had suffered a violent death—it was already one too many.

***

Before Kate and David left Jev’s house, David visited with Terry, letting her know what happened to Jev. Terry was shocked and told them whatever they needed, to give her a call. Now, it was Kate’s turn to break the news of Jev’s death, but to someone much more involved. When they drove into the PNGS parking lot, Sean waited outside, and by the look on his face, he knew something was wrong. Kate wished she knew what really happened between him and her sister before she broke the news to him.

She parked the jeep and shielded herself from the cold wind with a burgundy knitted scarf and made her way to the front steps. Sean stood, fidgeting, his hands shoved deep in his pant pockets and the hood of his navy blue jersey pulled tight around his head, further emphasizing the distress that wrinkled across his face. Kate searched his eyes for a glimpse of guilt. She stopped in front of him, pausing to find the right words, but Sean couldn’t wait.

“What’s going on?”

She shifted her gaze from his. She’d never had to tell anybody about a death before, let alone someone intimately involved with the deceased. Even though she had surfacing concern about Sean and her sister’s relationship, she and he were still friends, still colleagues, and no matter how she told him the news, it was going to sting like hell.

“Kate? What is it?”

“It’s about Jev,” Kate started. Her eyes drifted back to his.

“She’s alright… isn’t she?” His voice was hard and strong. He looked genuinely concerned.

Kate shook her head. Her lip quivered. Then she saw shock burst through his eyes, his mouth fell agape.

“She’s all right? Right?”

But Kate couldn’t say it. The words wouldn’t come out and she couldn’t stop the tears.

“She’s dead?” he said in a near whisper. Kate nodded. “Oh shit!” Sean punched his fists at the air.

“She crashed her car last night.” Kate couldn’t hide the quiver in her voice. “The officer this morning said she probably died instantly.”

Sean fumbled in his coat pocket for a pack of cigarettes. A red book of matches fell on the ground. Kate bent down and picked them up. On the cover was the name Walter Biddy’s in black lettering. She handed him the matches, and he struck the book vigorously, igniting the tip of his cigarette with a large flame. He blew smoke from his lips, now curved with sorrow.

“How’d she crash? Did someone hit her?”

Kate sighed, wiping her face, trying to regain composure. “They think she lost control of the car or fell asleep. It rolled and then she collided into a tree.”

Sean swung around, as if attempting to shield himself from the punch of bad news.

“We never had a chance to make up!” he said, throwing his arms out to the wind, like he was cursing at the Gods.

“I’m so sorry Sean,” Kate said. They stood quietly for a moment. She could hear Aaron and Bruce talking inside. A train three miles north of them blew its whistle. Sean finished his cigarette, rolling the coals off the filter. Then he flicked the filter into a nearby can.

“Why were you two fighting the other night, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Sean walked to the edge of the porch, looking out over the tree line that bordered the building. “I wanted her to stay the night. She said she had other things to do.”

“Last night?”

He turned around to face her. “The night before last. Last night I was with some friends. Anyways, it was late, and I was kind of hoping I was her last stop. I guess I got jealous.”

“Jev was afraid of commitment,” Kate said. “Some things scared her, you know?” It was a setup question, to see if Sean might reveal something about his “violent temper.”

“Well, something was bothering her. She left in a hurry. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t stay.”

Kate leaned against the railing and considered his choice of words,
stop her
. “I think something was bothering her too,” she added firmly.

Sean turned to her. “Why do you think that?”

Her reasons for reaching that conclusion were accumulating and another one had suddenly surfaced. “Jev was a night owl; she’d never fall asleep at the wheel. I think she drove recklessly.”

“You think our fight caused her to crash?”

“I didn’t say that.” But she thought it.

Sean’s posture stiffened and his eyes narrowed. “I loved her, Kate.”

“So did I.”

The lampposts shone skirts of yellow light on the pavement winding up the grassy hillside. He drove to the top near the periphery of the cemetery and parked on the side of the road by a small trail covered in ivy and blackberry bushes. No one knew it was there, and he wanted to keep it that way.

He grabbed a black backpack from the back seat, slung it over his shoulders, and proceeded down the trail, easing the branches aside and stepping lightly over the ivy, careful not to disturb its natural appearance. Now habituated to the dips, turns, and rocks on the trail, he no longer needed a flashlight. He knew where he was going. Brush half-buried an underground vault 400 meters ahead. Inside, he kept valuables he planned to sell for an early retirement. Possessing the only key to the old vault and sole knowledge of its existence provided him a secure location to store and retrieve his treasures. Now, with his key missing, his plans were as still as the girl who stole it.

Luckily for him, she’d died, carrying his secret to her grave. He hadn’t necessarily wanted her to die; her cleverness and attractive looks were qualities he admired. But it was for the better. He’d hoped to locate the key in her pocket or somewhere near the vault where they’d struggled, but his searches had turned up nothing. Now, he couldn’t access his treasure or stow more away. He hated others controlling his fate, and because the one who oppressed him was dead, it infuriated him even more.

He set the backpack down, unzipped it, and sifted through its contents: a wrench to unfasten the bolts on the crypt door, rope, duct tape, Spider knife, crowbar, a can of Dr. Pepper, a flashlight, and his lucky brass compass. He took out the flashlight and positioned it in the tree behind him. Light cut through the fog and illuminated the crumbled, granite tomb. Moss grew between the cracks along the side and completely engulfed the roof, providing a fertile base for ferns and weeds to sprout like hair.

The name Mullay crowned the door of the seven-foot tall by seven-foot wide crypt, the tomb of a long-forgotten Irish family deceased several generations ago. It provided enough space to stack four coffins on each side. Near the top back wall, a small opening with iron bars allowed air to ventilate the tomb. The large oak door, shaped like a church steeple, hung by three sword-shaped, iron strap hinges bolted at the sides, and the cast iron lock in the middle, intricately carved with a Celtic cross, must have been a work of art in its time.

Reaching into his backpack, he grabbed the wrench and fastened it to one of the bolts on the hinges. It didn’t budge. He leaned his weight into it, shoving it back, but the wrench slipped out of the groove, and he fell on his knee.

“Fuck!”

Blunt pain ricocheted through his leg when it slammed into a stone post by the door. He rubbed his kneecap and stood staring at the crypt, looking for another way to enter. Time had cemented the bolts to the door. The opening at the back was too small to crawl through, and although he could axe the front door apart, it would ruin the security of his storage space. He could store the valuables at his house, but having an off-site location detached him from the crime in case officials ever discovered anything. In order to tell if the girl’s sister ever found out, he rigged the tomb with a stick set perpendicular to the seam of the door and a piece of gum in the bottom corner, which should come unstuck if she ever unlocked the door.

As grim as the situation looked, he wasn’t going to lose hope. Not like his mother would have, always succumbing to her hopeless and pathetic view of the world. He would not end up like her—poor, miserable, and deserving every inch of defeat she was dealt. He’d learned early on that you got in life what you took from it. Hard work, persistence, and trust in no one were his tenets. In just two years, he’d managed to acquire over a million dollars and there was no way he was going to lose it all to one stupid, pretty girl. She might have surprised him, even screwed up his plans temporarily, but he was a hunter. And that’s what he was going to have to do—hunt his key down.

Since his search of the wreckage that night had been limited by time and weather, he’d stolen her house key, knowing the authorities would scan the perimeter of the accident more thoroughly than he could, and possibly return her belongings, along with his key, to her home. But her sister had interrupted his search. He’d managed to escape, fortunately having loosened the bottom three boards along the fence line when he had snooped through the backyard earlier. Before running from the kitchen, he’d noticed a box on the kitchen table with the words, Portland Police Department, taped on the side. It seemed likely his key would be in there, and if it wasn’t, the girl’s sister would suffer the consequences.

***

Kate parked at the top of a hill in a lot reserved for houseboat residents and visitors who climbed nearly fifty steps to and from the docks every day. The last of the golden hues from the sunset had long faded behind the mountains, darkening the amber-shaded hills across the river into a violet patchwork of oaks, maples, and firs. Kate’s girlfriend, Sarah Goodman, lived on one of the houseboats along the Willamette River, a popular stretch of water extending through the Oregon valleys and merging into the grand Columbia River north of Portland.

It had been two days since Jev’s death and the betrayal Kate felt about her sister’s secrets continued to haunt her. Because she and David were still in the infancy of their relationship, Kate didn’t want to introduce any more drama on top of the stress surrounding the death of her sister, which had already made an impact on their intimacy. She tried throwing out subtle comments regarding the occult to get an idea of how he might react to Jev’s belongings; but it wasn’t easy to talk casually about ceremonial knives and tarot cards. Even though Jev had owned the paraphernalia, Kate didn’t want to be associated with any possible aversions David might have toward it.

Instead, Kate sought Sarah’s counsel, to cope with her sister’s sudden death and the dark secrets she had harbored. Sarah worked as a mental health psychiatrist at Washington County Mental Health Ward and if anyone could understand strange, occult practices, it would be her. At four feet eleven inches, Sarah confronted the world with the courage of a grizzly bear, offset with a smile that could warm even the darkest patients.

Locking the jeep and heading toward the stairs, she walked along the ridge of blackberries trailing down the ravine into the rocky shores below. A gate secured access to the docks with an external keypad system that residents could access via remote from inside their homes. From where she stood at the gate, Kate could see Sarah’s house near the end of the dock where the boats were moored. Her lights were on. She skimmed the quiet lot for signs of activity since reports of recent thefts in the parking lot gave her an uneasy feeling. Shadows danced in the quiet breeze. She picked up her pace. At the gate, Kate reached her hand out to press the intercom button when the door opened abruptly. A dark figure emerged, legs, torso, and arms draped in shredded black cloth.

Moving back a step, Kate searched the costume for a face or even human flesh. A large green mask with yellow fangs and bloated features resembling decayed flesh stared down at her. Eyes gleamed and darted underneath the stillness of the mask, enhancing the ghastly effect.

She tried to back up, but hit the fence. “Excuse me,” she said.

“Trick or treat?” a man said in a low, chilling tone.

Nervousness forced a smile on her face but she replied back coolly, “You’ve already tricked me.”

He laughed with boyish delight. Behind him, two more figures appeared. One dressed as an evil pirate and the other a vampire.

“Mike, cut it out!” the pirate said. “You’ll have to forgive my brother; he really gets into Halloween.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Kate said. She watched them romp across the lot and jump into a beige, Honda Accord. Then she turned to the key pad and punched in Sarah’s code. The gate buzzed and she let herself through.

A cluster of homes, lit up by tall, rusty light poles with fluorescent lights surrounded the inlet, bordered by cottonwoods and picnic benches along the three miles of waterfront trails. Some of the houseboats had metal awnings that covered recliners on the decks and others looked like old ships with wooden wheels, flags, and glass floats suspended where light could fracture colorful rays across the rooms inside. Kate kept her eyes on the boardwalk, feeling the gentle sway of the dock as black water slapped against the sides, rocking small motorboats against the bumpers. Lights from the lamps and homes shimmered distortedly on the water like firelight.

Kate reached the end of the dock and saw Sarah waiting out front in a recliner, her face long a weary. She wondered if it were a reflection of her own, with the bloodshot eyes, dark circles, and pallid skin. Make-up couldn’t cover up grief.

“Kate,” she said, opening her arms to her.

An hour later, after half a box of tissue, Kate opened up about Jev’s witchcraft. She sat by the fire, leaning forward on her elbows and cupping her face in her hands. The heat warmed her, loosening rigid muscles with the aid of Sarah’s red wine.

“Are you sure they weren’t Wicca tools?” Sarah asked. “There’s a big difference between Wicca and the Occult,” Sarah said to her.

“Wicca is witchcraft—that is the occult. It’s the same thing.”

“No. Wicca is a form of witchcraft,” Sarah explained. “We’ve had patients who were pagans—they worship nature and deities, in some strange ways at times, but still completely harmless.”

Kate wouldn’t describe the items in the trunk as harmless.

“It’s like that mermaid over there,” Sarah said, pointing to a statue on the shelf. Two large clamshells covered the mermaid’s breasts and her tail wrapped around her shoulder, cradled in the crook of her arm. “That statue represents a sea Goddess. Wiccans and pagans might worship her for her wisdom and beauty.” Sarah sipped the last of her wine. “But the occult is much darker…Anti-Christian based. Their worship centers on the devil and his disciples.”

“Well, there weren’t any mermaids or faeries in Jev’s trunk,” Kate said, finishing her glass off too. “One of her books had a red pentagram on the front cover. It looked pretty damn evil to me.”

“If the point on the star faced up, it is a witchcraft book, but if the point is faced down, so that two points at the top look like horns of the devil, it is an Occult book.”

Kate could not remember which position the star faced and didn’t think such a small difference could differentiate devil worshipping from a nature-based religion.

Sarah stood and took Kate’s empty wine glass into the kitchen. Kate followed her, sitting down on a bar stool at the kitchen island.

“Don’t be mad at Jev.”

“I’m not mad at her, more like hurt…disappointed.”

“Jev probably didn’t tell you because she knew you would react disparagingly and thought better to avoid it altogether.”

“Disparagingly…,” Kate replied, feeling the sting of Sarah’s psychological analysis. “I’m only reacting disparagingly because I’m finding out after the fact.”

“Maybe Jev was afraid you wouldn’t trust her to be responsible.” Sarah gleamed insightfully at her. “You know Jev always felt like you looked down on her life choices.”

Even though Kate sat six feet above the river, separated by concrete, wood, and carpet, she could almost feel the cold currents, hollowing a canyon of regret and abandonment through her heart. Sarah’s statement stung because she knew there was some truth to it. She feared that over time, Jev’s secret would slowly crumble away the walls of her good memories with Jev, eventually tainting her trust in future relationships.

“How’s your narcolepsy? Have you been sleeping?” Sarah changed the subject as if she could read her thoughts.

“Not very well. I think Jev was in trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

“I started having sleep paralysis with hallucinations about Jev before she died.” She could feel Sarah’s blue eyes darken on her, trying to breach her thoughts.

“And…,” Sarah said, requesting more explanation.

“I had three episodes of sleep paralyses in the last week, and the content of them was almost all the same. The first started with Jev running through a forest at night; she was scared. Then she was in her car, driving too fast, and I kept seeing this gold key with the Celtic knot lying in the passenger seat. The visions kept repeating, which has never happened before.”

“Like a recurring dream.” Sarah sat back, pondering. “You think maybe you’re catching a glimpse of Jev’s last moments?”

Kate knew it sounded foolish. “I don’t know…I just remember the last time I saw Jev, she’d mentioned something about Sean having a bad temper and then he told me a day before her accident that they’d fought. I wonder if she had been upset…so much, she crashed.”

Sarah seemed transfixed, swirling the burgundy wine around in her glass. “Maybe you have a need to witness her crash. To be there for Jev so that she didn’t die alone.” The statement chilled Kate—she did feel at fault for not being there for Jev when she needed her the most. “The brain is an amazing machine,” Sarah continued. “Sometimes when two people are connected, it feels like what happens to one, happens to the other, sort of like an echo.”

Now that was more like it, Kate thought, Sarah explaining events with rational logic, exposing the mysterious underpinnings of the mind from a psychosomatic perspective. Something she would normally do too, but lately, Kate’s thoughts swarmed in her head like wasps around a hive. She knew fatigue and stress were clouding her judgment, forcing her to reach unreasonable conclusions.