Once Shadows Fall (35 page)

“I’m okay. It looks worse than it is. How did you find me?”

“I picked up where you left off and followed your trail of bread crumbs. Once we figured out the late Mr. Lemon and Dr. Death here were working together, it wasn’t hard. With Pell’s help, Cairo’s been working off a blueprint.”

“What do you mean?”

Flashing blue lights were now coming through the opening in the drapes.

“Lucky Jack,” Cairo sneered.

“More like observant Jack. Drop the knife and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Cairo did as he was told.

Jack continued, “Lemon’s grandson, Mathias, probably murdered or was an accessory to murdering Ron Curry and his family in order to take his place at Mayfield. He’s no longer with us. Cairo just operated on him.”

“I saw.”

Jack nodded. “When I was at the library, I came across a reference to a book called
Terror in the Dark
. It’s a study on serial killers. Unfortunately, they didn’t have it. After some searching, I located a copy at an old bookstore not too far from my house. It gives a good account of how Lemon rigged his home to catch fire.

“It was obvious to me back then that Pell was modeling off Albert Lemon. Cairo in turn patterned himself after Pell. Each one was trying to put his own stamp on the killings. I suspect the tunnels we encountered are Cairo’s version of catacombs. Essentially like the mazes in the pyramids that led to the burial chamber.”

Beth shook her head.

“When we searched Pell’s home, I was always bothered by two empty spaces on his bookshelves sitting side by side. What we did find was a notepad with random doodling and quotes from the book. There were pages and pages of them. Pell was completely obsessed. My guess is one was Lemon’s diary, the other
Terror in the Dark
. Once I found the copy and began to read, I understood what they were doing. That led me to some newspaper articles that identified this neighborhood.”

“Congratulations,” Cairo said. “Unfortunately, you’ll never touch Howard. He’s beyond your reach.”

“Perhaps,” Jack said. “Your phone call puts him right back in the mix. Fortunately, cell phone calls can be traced and monitored, in case you didn’t know. Even that throwaway piece of crap you were using.”

“The courts have already said he’s not competent to stand trial.”

“For the old crimes, maybe,” Jack said. “We’ll see about the new ones. Accessory to murder, conspiracy and all that.”

“Why the clues?” Beth asked.

Cairo simply stared at her and then laughed to himself in a high pitched giggle.

“You know the answer,” Jack said.

Beth glanced at him and thought for a moment. “Ego. He has a need to prove he’s smarter than everyone else. But it’s not a normal need. What do you call it?”

“Pathological.”

“That’s the reason for the game they were playing. Cairo told me he wondered why he turned out the way he is. I guess he was hoping a madman’s diary would help him understand.”

“You think it’s over. I can assure you, it’s not,” Cairo said.

A silence ensued before Beth said, “He’s right, Jack. They’ll probably wind up as roommates.”

Jack turned to look at her.

“Not much we can do. It’s up to the courts now.”

Beth was almost ready to agree until Moira Gillam and the other mummies in the basement flashed into her mind. Cairo was leaning against the door frame. The mummies were replaced by Betsy Ann Tinsley, Jerome Haffner, and Sandra Goldner, wearing her orange cocktail dress, all robbed of their lives by a monster. A monster who might be released on the public one day. The kind who took delight in killing defenseless animals and torturing people.

A long time ago, when she first joined the cops, she asked her father how he felt about shooting a man who had raped and murdered a ten-year-old girl in Charlotte. To her surprise, he was not emotional at all, nor was there any hesitation in his response. “There are certain lines you cross you don’t get to come back from. I had no doubt when I pulled the trigger. To tell you the truth, I’ve never given him any thought since.”

In that last moment, the Soul Eater may have understood what was going through her mind when she looked back at him. Certainly Jack did. His nod to her was almost imperceptible.

“You and the bitch haven’t won anything,” Cairo said.

As they turned to walk out the front door, Beth lifted her elbow and hit the light switch.

I
t was early May. Dusk. Two figures stood on a little knoll in Chastain Park. Some distance away, electric lights burned over a baseball diamond, and boys were chasing grounders hit by a coach at home plate. Jack thought back to when he was young. He’d played on that field. It was a quieter, more predictable time, marked by greater civility and trust. The world had changed; the diamond remained a constant. Not really a bad time to sit in the backyard with someone you loved, sipping ice tea from tall glasses, and watching fireflies light up the night.

Beth had just finished spreading Peeka the cat’s ashes on the sloping green lawn, the same place she’d found him years earlier as a starving kitten. Jack felt a pang for her loss, which melted away when she turned back and smiled at him. He’d never seen anything quite so beautiful. Marta sat close by watching her as well. Her tail rocked slightly when Beth waved.

The fire department had been able to contain the blaze at Cairo’s house but couldn’t save the structure. Just as well. The chamber of horrors had sunk back into the abyss from which it came. Perhaps fire would cleanse the city and give it a chance to heal.

Now that the ordeal was over, Georgia Tech wanted him back, but it didn’t feel quite the same. He’d have to give it some thought. But not just then. Beth reached the crest of the knoll and without a word slipped her hand into his, then rested her head on his shoulder. From their vantage point he could see Atlanta’s skyline in the distance. Most of the lights were on. Overhead, the first evening star appeared, bright against a deepening blue sky. Somewhere in the dark a scent of honeysuckle floated back to him. It was a beautiful time of year and Atlanta
was a beautiful city. He didn’t know a better one. There were probably more beautiful cities, but he didn’t know them.

Marta finally nudged their hands with her nose. He looked down at her and then at Beth. She nodded. And together they walked down the hill and out into the vulnerable night.

T
his book wouldn’t have been possible without the help and support of my dearest friend, Jane Mashburn, a gem of a person if there ever was one. Thanks also to Gary Peel, who patiently sat there and listened to the numerous scenes and passages I inflicted on him without ever once trying to flee.

Since this is my first book, it’s difficult to speak with any authority on the craft of writing or the publishing industry. I can, however, point out some things that quickly became obvious to me as the novel progressed.

First, if there are better or more helpful agents out there than Jane Dystel, Miriam Goderich, and the people at Dystel Goderich Literary Management, I don’t know who they are. At no point could I have asked for more. From the very beginning, they believed in the book and never gave up. Their efforts were not simply confined to finding it a home but in helping me develop as a writer through their suggestions and comments.

It would be disingenuous to claim this book was authored by me alone. In candor, it is the product of Matt Martz’s insight and direction as my editor along with editors Maddie Caldwell and Nike Power—yes, that really is her name—all of whom dug in and helped me see what I could not. Their patience, advice, and nurturing is not to be believed. Any writer, let alone someone new to the profession, should be willing to walk over hot coals to have them on their side. Three editors for the price of one? Not a bad deal at all. They made the process of putting the final version together a wonderful experience. Each turned out to be part muse, part psychologist, and all friend. I simply can’t imagine being luckier than I was to have such a fine group of professionals on my side.
My appreciation and gratitude also goes to Andy Ruggirello, Crooked Lane art director, for the great work in creating such a nifty cover, and to Alex Celia for his meticulous copy editing. A tip of the hat also goes to Jennifer Canzone, for her design of the book itself. Thanks as well to the amazing Sarah Poppe for all her help and assistance and to Butch Morgan for his impromptu proofreading.

Lastly, and most importantly, to those who have read, or will read,
Once Shadows Fall
, I sincerely hope you will enjoy the story
we
crafted for you.