Soul Thief (Blue Light Series) (5 page)

It was twenty minutes past ten before Portland Police Lieutenant Richard Jennings left the scene of Doug and Annie McArthur’s ruined house and the subsequent carnage left in its wake. Five men were dead from gunshot wounds; none had been carrying identification. Even worse, there had been a massive pileup on both the north and southbound lanes of Interstate 95. Two motorists were dead and six more were hospitalized, three in critical condition. Two separate individuals had come forward saying that their cars had been hijacked by gunmen. One had identified photos of Doug and Annie McArthur; the other had no idea who the two gunmen were that threw her out of her vehicle, and furthermore, she could not adequately describe them. For unknown reasons, their faces were just blanks, she told authorities.

Following the initial stages of the investigation, things had happened fast. The
state police had quickly moved in and taken charge of the investigation, followed almost immediately by people in plain dark suits that Jennings recognized as federal agents. When he quizzed them about what agency they worked for he was given the cold shoulder. The state boys were soon gone, leaving Jennings to deal with the feds. For the most part they were rude assholes who treated Jennings like a boy scout. By mid-morning they’d dismissed him altogether, telling him in no uncertain terms that his help was no longer needed on the case. He was too close to McArthur and his wife to be objective. Jennings had left the scene feeling like a beaten dog, vowing that there was no way he was going to sit idly by while his best friend was in trouble and on the run. When he paid a visit to the city morgue he was informed that the dead gunmen had been seized by federal agents and flown to Washington. The coroner had not been given a reason.

Jennings
had dealt with feds before, on a number of cases, and he hated their guts. But these guys weren’t your regular feds; these guys were darker, more secretive, and infinitely more efficient than what he was used to dealing with. A sneaking suspicion began to creep over him as he smelled a rat. He wondered how long it would be before his old friend Zach Spencer showed up. He knew the drill. He’d been here before and he didn’t like the feel of it one bit.

Jennings
could not believe such a thing had happened and there were a million unanswered questions hammering his sore brain. He’d known Doug since he was a child; he was like a son to him. And Annie, Doug’s beautiful and gracious wife was a genuine sweetheart. Why would anyone want to hurt them? Jennings remembered the things that had happened to Doug as a child and he wondered.

So h
e did some asking around on the sly. Mostly he got the cold shoulder. An old friend with the state police told him he wasn’t supposed to talk about the case but since they were old drinking buddies he’d give him what he knew, which wasn’t much. Speculation ran the gamut from a bad drug deal to a botched professional hit. Jennings had to stifle a laugh. He knew Doug wasn’t a drug dealer or a user. It was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. And why would professionals target him? He believed, or at least wanted to believe, that by now most people had forgotten about Doug’s precognitive escapades as a child. Why would anybody want to bring all that back up? It was ancient history. More than ten years had passed since the last incident. There could be no financial gain by dredging it all back to the surface. Too many things had happened since. The world had moved on in new and dangerous ways. Once again, Zach Spencer entered his mind.

There was one
other possibility, however. Although Jennings liked Annie immensely, he knew very little about her and her relationship with the De Rochés, her rich and powerful family. He did wonder from time to time how a beautiful woman from such a rich and influential family could be happy living such a modest life. But whenever these thoughts intruded he would only have to think of Doug and he knew the answer. Douglas McArthur was one of the most likeable, honest and sincere people he had ever known. The man was kind and generous and so filled with life that it glowed about him, almost like an aura. Jennings was witness to the way he and Annie treated each other and understood that their love was the most powerful thing in their lives.

Just the same, perhaps there was a connection between Annie and the things that had happened this morning. It seemed a remote possibility, but he would have to start somewhere. He would try and contact her family today and ask some frank questions.
The hell with the feds and the hell with the politics. He didn’t need any of it. He’d fly below the radar, conduct his own investigation. He just wished Doug would call him.

As he sat at his desk drinking coffee and running all of these ruminations over in his mind, the telephone rang. He snatched it up and said, “This is
Jennings. How can I help you?”

“Lieutenant Jennings, this is Seth Baxter, I work for Doug McArthur. Do you remember me? We met at a barbecue at Doug’s house.”

Jennings sat upright in his chair. “Of course, Seth, have you heard from them?”

“Doug called about an hour ago.”

“Where is he?”

“He wouldn’t say. He told me it wasn’t safe, that they were okay, but someone had tried to kill them and he would be in touch as soon as possible.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jennings said, running splayed fingers through wisps of thin blonde hair on top of his head.
“Why?”

“
I don’t know,” replied Seth. It was a rhetorical question, of course. Jennings didn’t expect Seth to know.

“Oh, Lieutenant Jennings?”

“Yes?”

“For some reason Doug didn’t want me to call you at the station. He said to use your cell phone number. Doesn’t that seem a little odd?”

“Yes, it does, Seth.”

“I tried calling a couple of times but got your answering service so I decided to call you at the station. I hope that’s all right.”

Jennings reached in his jacket and retrieved his cell phone, looking at the dial. He pushed the button and nothing happened. Dead battery. He could never remember to keep the damned thing plugged in. “Shit,” Jennings cursed.

“Lieutenant Jennings?”

“Oh, sorry, Seth, yes, I’m sure it’s okay. Listen, do you have any idea where Doug would go?”

“No, but there is one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, when he called there was this steady background noise that sounded, well . . . it sounded like jet engines, like those on a plane.”

“Thanks, Seth,” Jennings said. “If you should hear from Doug again please tell him to call me.”

“I will, Lieutenant Jennings.”

“And Seth.”

“Yeah?”

“You haven’t talked to anyone else about this, have you?”

“No, just you,
lieutenant.”

“Good. Can I trust you to keep this conversation under your hat?”

“Absolutely.”

“Don’t even talk to another police agency.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Just a feeling it might not be safe.”

“Sure, lieutenant.”

“Good. Well thanks for everything.  Bye now.”

As Jennings hung up he thought he heard a strange metallic echo on the line, as if someone had been eavesdropping. He stared at the phone in his hand.
What the hell?
Suspicious, he hung the phone up and rifled through his desk drawer until he found a spare cell phone battery, installed it, turned the phone on and listened to his messages. There were two messages from Seth Baxter but none from Doug. Why the hell hadn’t Doug called him? He used his cell phone to call the airport. He discovered that a corporate jet had landed at eight that morning and had picked up two passengers, a man and a woman. The Jet was registered to an offshore company in the Cayman Islands by the name of De Roché Enterprises. Jennings had never heard of the company but of course it was Annie’s father’s company, no question about it. He left his office and strode out into the reception area, asked Rosemary, his secretary, to use the internet instead of the telephone to find out more about De Roché Enterprises. She looked at him oddly but did as he asked.

He had no sooner sat back down at his desk when the phone rang again.
Jennings grabbed it up, his nerves tense.

“This is
Jennings. How can I help you?”

“Rick, this is
Zach Spencer.”

Right on cue
,
Jennings thought.

“How have you been, old buddy?” Spencer said.

“Don’t old buddy me, Spencer. What’s going on?”

“
You always had a way of getting right to the heart of a matter, you know that, Rick?”

Jennings
did not reply.

Spencer cleared his throat.
“You remember that case we worked on together about a decade and a half ago up in your territory? A family was . . . killed? They had a little girl but she was never found.”

Suddenly
Jennings was on guard. “Yeah, sure I remember. What about it?”

“I remember there was a kid about eighteen or nineteen years old, a friend of yours who claimed to have seen the whole thing in some sort of dream or trance or something. He said that the parents had been killed by this dark thing he couldn’t describe and that the little girl had been taken by it. Kid had the name of some famous general, as I recall. Let me see . . .”

“Douglas McArthur,” Jennings replied with a sigh of discontent. “But it’s spelled differently than the general’s name. What do you want, Spencer?”

“Well, since you asked, I was wondering if I might get your help on a case.”

Jennings sat rigid in his seat, his hand tensed around the phone receiver. “What case?”

“Hasn’t made the news yet. Listen, for right now this is just between you and me. That okay with you?”

“Sure,” Jennings said, feeling like he was being had. He knew that Doug and Annie’s story was all over the news, and he also knew that the feds were involved, so what kind of game was Spencer playing?

“Last night three members of a family were murdered in their home in
Exeter New Hampshire. We’re trying to keep a lid on it for as long as possible.”

Jennings
sat puzzled, breathing into the phone. “Little out of my jurisdiction, don’t you think?”

“Doesn’t matter. I can get a waiver.”

“I don’t understand. What do you want from me?”

“Well
, it’s just that . . . you’ve got experience with this sort of thing.”

“I’m still not following you, Spencer.”

“That guy we just talked about, Douglas McArthur, he still live around there?”

“Now wait a minute, Spencer. That was a long time ago. He was just a kid. He doesn’t play that game any more.”

“I know you’ve never believed he was the one doing those things, Rick. Christ, neither did I. You’re right, he
was
just a kid. But he saw things, horrific things,
incredible
things. And they all came true. How do you rationalize that?”

“I gave up trying a long time ago.”

“Maybe you’d better start thinking about it again.”

Jennings
’ temper flared. “All right, Spencer,” he said. “Get to the point. What’s this about?”

“I think you should see these . . . bodies,
Rick.”

It was a long moment before
Jennings replied.

“Why?”

“They look just like that family ten years ago did. And the ones before that. We think the same . . . phenomenon killed them.”

“After all this time? Jesus Christ—”

“Something else.”

“What?”

“He left his signature.”

“Shit.”
Jennings almost stopped breathing. “The same—”

“Exactly, but this time he left a little bonus.”

“A bonus? What kind of bonus?”

“A symbol of some kind. I won’t try to describe it on the phone; you’ll have to see for yourself.”

“It’ll take me an hour or so to drive down there.”

“It can’t wait,” Spencer said. “I took the liberty of sending a chopper. It’ll be landing
in Portland in about ten minutes. You’d better hustle.”

Jennings
told Rosemary he’d be out for the remainder of the day and left the office.

The jet taxied to a stop. When the attendant opened the door, a dreadful blast of heated air rushed into the aircraft cabin, reminding Doug of a sauna. He hated saunas almost as much as he hated Florida. They both gave him claustrophobia. He took Annie by the hand and led her down the steps to the tarmac. A black limo sat at idle purring like a patient cat.

The driver was a solid muscular man who looked like he’d been sculpted from stone. His hair was black as wet tar, his skin olive and he was appallingly handsome.

“Hi,” he said casting a small polite smile at Doug and a bright, toothy grin at Annie. He held the door. “I’m Theo. Mr. De Roché sent me. You must be Annie?”

“Yes,” Annie said, falling into the car. “This’s Doug,” she said slurring her speech.

Doug shook the man’s hand.

“Terribly sorry about Mrs. De Roché,” Theo said frowning. “She was a lovely lady.”

“Yeah,” Annie said listlessly, “I suppose she was.”

Theo maneuvered the limo along
Airport Road before pulling out into heavy late-morning traffic. Before they knew it they were cruising across Tampa Bay toward Clearwater. In the distance the great silver arch of the Howard Franklin Bridge glimmered brightly. White triangles speckled the bay’s choppy blue surface.

At
Clearwater they turned north on U.S. Alternate 19 toward Stone Harbor. Inside the limousine cold air blasted, reminding Doug of the world they’d just stepped out of. He and Annie sat mostly in silence, she leaning limply against him.

Palm-thronged mansions zipped by, white and spatial, with tall gates of wrought-iron suspended between whitewashed Corinthian columns. Red bougainvillea blossoms, stripped from their vines by the winds of early morning thunderstorms blew across the road ahead of them, and for a moment they seemed to be caught in a crimson snowstorm. Annie didn’t seem to notice, just sat staring dazedly out the window.

“Bad thunderstorms this morning,” Theo said over his shoulder, as if reading Doug’s thoughts. “Weather report’s calling for more late this afternoon. Supposed to be some real killers. How’re things up in . . . Maine?” He made it sound like he wasn’t entirely sure they were from Maine, or perhaps he didn’t quite believe Maine was actually a place.

“Wet and cold,” Doug said, hoping his shortness was indication enough that he wished to be left alone with his thoughts. He didn’t like the way Theo kept glancing at Annie in the rear view mirror, like prey sizing up meat. But Doug supposed if he was in Theo’s position he’d be looking too.

Doug sat back in the limo’s plush leather seat and sighed, remembering Annie waking him up on that morning
almost two months ago when he’d first learned of the pregnancy. She’d been playing with him under the sheets, one hand cupping his balls, the other stroking his cock. Once satisfied that he was sufficiently hard, she’d put her hands on his haunches and lifted her lithe body atop his, her undulations effortlessly guiding him inside her. Annie was elegantly and shamelessly female, and Doug was always amazed at her prowess as a lover. Afterward they lay together silently basking in the afterglow.

“Doug?” she whispered.

“Yeah?” Jerked back from a contented doze, Doug opened his eyes, a little bemused, a little annoyed.

She was stroking the soft hair of his sternum. “Everything’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

She was giving him that,
‘I want to be serious because I’m feeling a little insecure’ kind of look. Doug could never imagine how someone like Annie could ever feel insecure.

“Well, I was just thinking . . . when we have a baby we don’t really have to worry about anything, do we?”

Doug’s heart-rate picked up. He pulled back slightly, gazing quizzically at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know,
things.
Money and education and all that stuff?”

“No, no, I mean, why are you
talking
about this?”

“I’m talking about having a baby.”

“I know. I thought we’d decided against children, at least for now.”

“We did, but . . .”

“But what?”

“Doug, that was
almost ten years ago . . .”

Doug felt panic rise in him. “No, Annie. It’s out of the question.”

Annie pulled away pouting. “Why does it always have to be out of the question? And why do you get the only vote?”

“Because we’re not ready. Because . . .”

“I’m pregnant, Doug.”

Doug felt like he’d been sucker punched. Jumping out of bed and landing flat-footed on the floor, he cried, “Jesus Christ! You’re
what?”

Annie began to cry. “It wasn’t my fault, Doug. I’m sorry. I take my pill faithfully every day. The doctor said that sometimes these things happen. That nothing is infallible.”

“Annie? Annie, please don’t cry. I’m really not mad, just shocked is all.”

“You’re not mad? Honest?”

In that moment Doug thought his heart would surely burst with joy. “Honest.”

“I’ve been trying so hard to find a way to tell you. I’m so glad. I’m so happy, Doug.”

“Me too.” He dropped to his knees and took her in his arms embracing her fiercely. Tears began rising in his eyes and before he could get himself under control they were spilling over onto his cheeks. Actually he’d been relieved. Up till then he’d felt terrible because he knew Annie wanted kids. Hell,
he
wanted kids, but that underlying dread at the thought of what might happen if they did have a baby would never quite go away, and although time had a way of making light of issues that once seemed critically important, deep down Doug knew that De Roché was not the kind of man who would ever forget; he was a man of his convictions, perverted as they might be, and his convictions were most likely the very secret of his tremendous success. He’d been waiting all these years, a patient man, a man who always got what he wanted.

But on that morning, a whole
two months before the shit hit the fan, Annie and Doug were alive and happy and there was a child, their child, growing inside her. They were free and in love, and life was good and brimming with hope and possibilities. Dark clouds were for another day.

He and Annie had gone back to bed that morning and made love for a second time. This one had been Doug’s, and he’d made sure it had been a long and deep and ecstatic kind of love.

“Annie, I love you,” he’d said afterwards as he held her. And it was true. In his life he had never loved anyone like he loved Annie. Perhaps he had once loved his mom and dad as much, but now he could not remember, because the pain of their loss had been so great that he had willingly allowed the years to wipe the memory of his love for them clean.

Aunt
Tessa, the kind and gentle woman who had raised him to adulthood, had tried to get him to love her, but he had never quite dared to. The fear of losing someone else he loved was more than he could bear. He had treated her with the kindness and respect that she had expected and deserved, but he was not sure he had ever actually allowed himself to love her.

Then there had been Nadia Ziegler, Doug’s high school sweetheart. She had been his friend and greatest champion through some of the most difficult times of his life. Doug had been very fond of her,
and for a time he even believed he loved her, but after high school they’d gone their separate ways. As he’d grown to adulthood, as the years and the terrible memories had faded behind him, he began to open up a little more with each passing year. Thus, when the time had come, he had given himself wholly to Annie.

The morning he’d found out about the pregnancy was the happiest morning of his life; there was no doubt about that. But there had been
something bad in amongst all the happiness. A distant storm filled with ominous clouds. It was the terrible secret that he’d kept from Annie all these years, the knowledge that what was theirs might not really be theirs at all, that in some terrible and twisted place there were men who made deals for the souls of the innocent.