The Hysteria: Book 4, The Eddie McCloskey Paranormal Mystery Series (The Unearthed) (8 page)

“Is that your penance?” I was wondering if Eamon had turned into a religious nutter.

“Not how you’re thinking,” Eamon said. “My remote viewing—”

Pater did something and white noise came on. I couldn’t hear what Eamon was saying in his room.

Pater had to raise his voice to speak over the white noise. “That’s all the information we’re providing on Eamon’s process.”

In his half of the room, Eamon had stopped talking and was now watching us intently. I wondered if he could read lips then I realized he didn’t need to. He could probably tune in to our half of the room and listen.

I got up. “Are there any dance halls around here?”

“No.”

I was thinking about that drawing I’d found in Megan’s roller skates box, with the people dancing in the ballroom. The significance hadn’t struck me at the time, but my conversation with Pater had stirred a few ideas up.

Pater said, “Why do you ask?”

“How about night clubs?” I looked through the glass at Eamon. “Any nearby, and can he tune in?”

Pater smiled. “Why do you ask?”

“You already know why. I’m thinking of the dancing manias of the Middle Ages. They’re believed to have been caused by MPIs. These manias cropped up over the course of hundreds of years throughout Europe. During the Dancing Plague of 1518, hundreds of people danced for days, many collapsed eventually from exhaustion, and some even died from the exertion.”

“Beware of a well-read man,” Pater said. “Let’s step into the next room where I’m sure Agent Manetti is waiting to tell me I’m doing this all wrong.”

He said it endearingly, without malice.

I pointed at Eamon. “There’s no way he can get out of there, right?”

“No. And if he did, we have ways of incapacitating people quickly. As you yourself learned.”

I gave Eamon the one-finger salute as Pater killed the white noise and we left the room. Manetti and Riehl were waiting for us.

”I’m not working with this convict.” Manetti took a long look down her short nose at me.

“That’s ex-convict to you.”

Pater gave her a stern look. “Is everything all set?”

Manetti spoke through gritted teeth. “Yes.”

Pater turned to me. “We’ve cleared everything with local LE. That’s—”

“Law enforcement, got it.”

“I had a conversation with Detective Quick and explained to him your cover story.”

“My cover story?”

Pater smiled. “Try to stay up with us, Eddie. If you’re going to be on this team—”

Manetti’s eyes bulged.

“—in a temporary capacity you need to be sharp. Now, your cover story is that you’re hired by Mr. Turner. But in truth, you’re working with us.”

“And who’s us?”

***

“How are you going to find her?”

This from Manetti after fifteen minutes of radio silence in the car together. She was driving, sticking to the speed limit. If she wasn’t such a bitch she’d be drop dead. Probably thirty and would look thirty for another fifteen years. I lazed in the passenger seat, the window cracked for fresh air. We were alone.

“All in good time,” I said.

“Bullshit.” She came to a complete and dead halt at a stop sign. She wouldn’t have lasted two minutes in South Philly. “You have no idea. You’re all talk.”

“Why don’t you take the hard-ass down a few notches, you don’t have to prove your toughness to me.”

“How dare you—”

“Isn’t that easier? You don’t have to try so hard because you know I already consider you an equal. We can cut through the bullshit and find your friend.”

“You sexist bastard.” Her knuckles tightened against the steering wheel. “If I was a man acting like this you wouldn’t think twice of it.”

“Wrong, I’d think you’re an asshole who was so worried about posturing that he was in serious danger of losing sight of the mission. Why are you so threatened by me?”

“I’m not. I just can’t abide people who are in way over their head and think they’re not.”

“Then you can abide me, lady. I know I’m out of my element. But angst and self-doubt aren’t going to help.”

She didn’t believe me for a second.

I sighed. “Me working with you is just smart business. We increase the chances of finding Megan. Take your ego out of the equation and you’ll see that.”

“You’re talking to me about ego? A few years ago you were on parole for possession with intent, had no college degree, no career, and were basically a drifter.”

“Yeah, but that was three whole years ago.”

“And now you’re an expert on missing persons?”

“Come on. You gotta admit me figuring out this was an MPI was a nice bit of Sherlockean logic.”

***

Manetti badged the patrolman standing outside Jamie Witherspoon’s door, then ignored the police tape and stepped inside.

I didn’t get a good look at her badge.

“Shut the door,” she said.

The patrolman didn’t even turn around to look at me when I closed the door. He’d been briefed, probably by Quick.

“What are we looking for?” I said.

“You tell me. You’re the expert.”

“He was off, Manetti.”

“Must have been to let a guy like you in.”

I ignored the gibe. Looked around. The place smelled like stale sweat, body odor, blood. There was nothing on the coffee table except the kitchen knives.

“Megan’s room isn’t like this,” I said, thinking out loud.

“What’s that?” She wasn’t really interested. She was looking at his books on the end table.

“Nothing.”

She didn’t follow-up. I kept my thoughts to myself.

“Find something there?” I asked.

“Yeah.” She held up a Dan Brown novel. “Witherspoon has bad taste.”

“I’m going into the bedroom.”

“Try not to fuck anything up on the way there.”

I tried not to and hopefully succeeded.

Witherspoon’s bedroom smelled even worse than the living room, a combination of body odor and seminal fluid and sweaty clothes. The bed sheets hadn’t been changed in awhile.

He’d painted a circle and bull’s eye onto the wall and there were nicks and holes in it.

Target practice.

I didn’t see any darts around. But I did see a few throwing knives on his computer desk.

“Jesus.”

Manetti was in the doorway, her nose crinkled up from the smell.

“Either he had an orgy in here or he had no sense of smell,” I said. “I know a guy who can’t smell, it’s possible.”

She came into the room and her eyes honed in on the knife wall.

“Throwing practice,” I said. It reminded me of Strongbow.

Manetti went to the computer desk and brought Witherspoon’s PC out of hibernation.

There was a Word document open.

I read it over her shoulder. It was a list of names. I didn’t see Ken Hernando on there. But I did see one I recognized.

Megan Turner
.

“Other than Megan, do any of these ring bells?” I said.

Manetti didn’t answer.

“Hey, partner. Any names on here ring a bell?”

She kept her dark eyes on the screen. “Almost all of them do.”

“So who are they?” Ten names. Six women, four men. It was moments like this I wish I had a photographic memory.

“They all have connections to Megan.”

“All of them?”

“That’s what I said.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

She got up and moved back. “A lot.”

I let that go. “Hold on a minute, couldn’t Eamon have read this list with his RV abilities? Why are we the first ones finding this?”

She paused, a little too long. “The computer has probably been asleep for awhile. Kind of hard to read a Word document on a black screen, isn’t it?”

“It hasn’t been asleep forever.”

“Eamon isn’t checking every place he can constantly.”

Every place he can. There were some limits to what he could do. I needed to understand what those were. Because after this job was over, I’d still have to deal with the not-so-little shit in the future.

At least, I planned to.             

“But Eamon can tune in here. That’s how you were waiting for me in the hallway.”

“Wrong. We had a tail on you.”

If she wasn’t lying, that added at least one more person to their team, someone Pater hadn’t introduced.

“Oh so that’s who that was near the bakery.” I was fishing here. “He did a piss poor job of tailing me for a federal agent.”

I watched her face closely when I said he. Manetti didn’t flinch, didn’t give anything away.

“You think you’re smart, huh? We’re pros, McCloskey. You’re just—”

“Little league, I know. When are you people gonna stop jerking me around?”

She ignored me and used her phone to take a picture of the list. She tapped a few keys, presumably sending it to her team. She called Riehl and told him to scrape the picture for the data.

“You guys are a well-oiled machine,” I said.

“That’s right.” She looked at me. “And we’re not missing any parts.”

“Send the list to me too.”

She put her phone away. “Unnecessary.”

“Did you forget I’m the one that knows how to find Megan?”

“So why aren’t we doing that right now?”

“I have to get back to Turner’s place first. Pater wants me to stay under, I gotta stay under. That involves checking in with the client. And other things.”

She eyed me like I was a criminal. I was used to the look, because I used to be a criminal.

“Send me the list.”

***

Back outside, I discreetly checked my phone to make sure Manetti had emailed me the list. There was a text waiting for me from a withheld number. I opened it and saw the picture of the Word document.

Manetti said, “Let me tell you something you don’t seem to appreciate, McCloskey. We’re in the weeds here.”

“I have eyes.”

“But not a lot of brains.”

I walked her to her car. Not out of chivalry or manners. This chick could get her own fucking door.

I wanted more info.

“I’ve been in the weeds before. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“It’s your first day in the Big Leagues.” Again with the baseball analogy. “We’re running out of time. You better be ready for it.”

“Awful pessimistic.”

“Pater’s predictive modeling has never been wrong. Neither has he. I wouldn’t bet against him.”

“He’s not infallible.”

“No, but the system we have is tight. If our team is on the ground, it’s because there’s a high likelihood of an event.”

“Circular logic. It’s going to happen because you’re here.”

“We’re here because it’s probably going to happen.”

“Same difference.”

We stared at each other. She had not an ounce of respect for me. I was okay with that. I was used to being underrated and actually preferred it. I was pretty sure she was mashing her teeth. I tried a different tack.

“Your team’s low on resources. You could use somebody who’s good in a storm.”

“You have no idea what you’re into here.”

She got in her car. I motioned for her to roll down the window. She rolled her eyes at me instead.

I raised my voice so she could hear through the glass. “Since the shit’s going to hit the fan, can I get a gun?”

She pulled away, almost running over my toes.

It’s difficult when you’re an ex-con, but one of these days I really need to buy a gun.