The Silenced (26 page)

“We’ve got to get this off before we return to the MacAndrew house!” he said. “You help me, and I’ll help you.”

“Don’t you dare try to turn spiderwebs into something erotic!”

“I’ll contain myself—as long as you exercise control, as well,” he teased.

It took some time before they were both presentable.

“We didn’t go upstairs yet,” Meg said.

“No. She’s not going to be upstairs.” If she was there, he thought, they would’ve heard something. Unless she was dead.

And then, he knew, they would have smelled the odor of decomposition.

He didn’t say that to Meg. And what she said next did make sense.

“I agree we won’t find Lara, but we can tell if someone’s been here recently.”

“It’s likely that if the PTP corporation bought the place, they’ve had people here, including local real estate agents,” he said. “But you’re right. We’ve come this far. Let’s go up.”

The upstairs of the house was as sadly haunting as the rest. The few pieces of furniture were broken and falling apart. Drapes were ragged and drooping from the windows. In one bedroom, Meg paused.

“What?” he asked her.

She was standing by a window and motioned him to come over. “Look, but don’t touch. There are prints in the dust on the windowsill. Someone’s been here. And there in the distance...”

Across the fields and roads, up on another hill, was the MacAndrew farmhouse.

“Well, whoever was here was certainly checking the view,” Matt said. “That might’ve been a security precaution by Larry Mills or one of the other cops. Maybe they’d thought about stationing someone here to keep watch. It’s hard to say, Meg.”

“Lara’s somewhere nearby,” she said passionately. “I just know it!”

“We’ll figure it out—and we’ll get to her in time,” he promised. He prayed he could keep that promise. But somehow, he felt that something was going to break soon.

Congressman Walker’s speech was the next day. That was a catalyst, he thought. He wasn’t sure how he knew or why, but that would be the catalyst.

“We’d better go.”

When they were outside the house, Matt looked across the overgrown field and to the Union encampment. “Let’s pay our new friend a quick visit,” he said.

“Our new friend? You mean Sylvia Avery?”

“Yes. She should be at that encampment, in the vicinity of the medical tent.”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, but started across the field. Meg was behind him; Killer was not. He went back and picked up the little dog. Crawling through the fence, Matt was greeted by a man in a Union uniform. “Sir! Living history that way!” he said, and pointed.

“Thanks, thanks so much,” Matt said, and the soldier tipped his hat. They walked past scores of people, some in casual summer dress, many in uniform—or in their daily clothes with Union or Confederate hats or other paraphernalia. But no matter what people were wearing, they were friendly and courteous as they walked around. Most seemed to be talking about what they’d seen or learned.

He supposed that people probably didn’t come to these events if they weren’t interested, if they didn’t care about history—and if they didn’t honor the fields of battle that had taken more lives than other wars.

He caught Meg’s hand. She was wearing a pantsuit that was dignified and proper but didn’t scream FBI agent. He hoped they looked like a couple of tourists fervent about Civil War history.

They passed an officer explaining the use of the Enfield rifle to a crowd, and then an infirmary. At last they came to a surgical tent. A man in a Union doctor’s uniform was describing field surgery, saying that even the federal forces had been low on ether, the anesthesia of the day. Most of the time, the men were dosed with whiskey. Limbs were removed, flesh cut, a bone saw used. Tourniquets were employed to stop the bleeding. Good doctors, he told his audience, disinfected the wounds with some of the alcohol the injured were drinking; these doctors had discovered that they lost more men to infection after surgery than they did to the surgery itself.

He poked Meg; he could see that Sylvia Avery was assisting in the mock surgery.

The doctor finished his speech, announcing that he was Dr. Collin Ferber of Philadelphia, a fifth-generation surgeon, following in the wake of his ancestor, who had worked on the Gettysburg battlefield. The crowd responded with applause, then began to disperse. Matt took Meg’s hand again and moved through the milling people to find Sylvia Avery.

“Well, hello, you did come by!” she said, obviously glad to see them both.

“It was an excellent lecture and show,” Meg told her.

Sylvia beamed. “Thank you. We pride ourselves on historical accuracy.”

“Do many of the reenactors actually stay here at the camp?” Matt asked.

“Oh, yes, most do. We used to stay, except I have to admit, the more years that go by, the more I long for my creature comforts. Showers, soft beds and softer pillows and finding an excellent cup of coffee ready for me when I get up,” Sylvia said. “Frankly, Jordan and I are too old these days to enjoy
too
much authenticity.”

Meg smiled. “Not to worry. I know many younger people who like to camp at nice hotels.”

“I was wondering, Sylvia, how do you feel about being on the battlefield? Men trooped all over these fields during the war. You’re here at night sometimes, right?” Matt grinned. “At least until you return to the B and B.”

“Do I see the ghost troops refighting the battle? Is that what you mean? Or limping away, weary and bloodied?” she asked shrewdly.

“Exactly.”

“I think at one time or other, any of us who are out in the fields at night believe that we see soldiers, Yankees or Rebels, marching. Some people think they see the actual battles as they’re being fought, men screaming and dying, bullets and black powder—the whole nine yards. Me? Yes, I guess in the darkness and the moonlight I believe I’ve seen soldiers,” Sylvia said.

“What about strange noises?” Matt asked.

“Well, yes. A friend of mine who was out here a few days ago heard something. First she thought it might be one of the advance people, so to speak, the ‘sutlers’ or shopkeepers who sell reenactment clothing or weapons or antique items. They come and set up pretty early. During the anniversary of the actual battle, things get pretty hectic here, and they like to be prepared. Anyway, my friend told me she had a horrible night. She was sure she heard someone screaming, crying out through the night. In the morning, however, she felt like a fool. She’d gotten up several times during the night and walked around, but couldn’t find anyone in distress. Another friend told her that she was hearing echoes of the past, the cries of men who died on the field, waiting for their own troops to find them among the dead.” She smiled at them curiously. “Why? Are you seeing soldiers walking in the mist?”

“Oh, yes, I believe I see them, too,” Meg said. “Is your friend here now?”

“I’m sorry, she’s not. But she’ll be here tomorrow if you want to come by. Oh, I forgot! That speech Congressman Walker is giving is tomorrow, isn’t it? Anyway, if you get a chance, she’ll be here most of the next week. And,” she added with a wink, “when it’s late at night, you’ll know where to find me. A comfy bed at Peter’s place.”

“Thank you, Sylvia. I’m sure we’ll see you again,” Meg said.

Sylvia scratched Killer’s head. “Love this dog!” she cooed. “Truly one of God’s creatures, so damned ugly he’s beautiful! Sorry, I didn’t mean to be offensive.”

“It’s okay,” Meg assured her. “He gets that a lot.”

Matt felt his phone vibrating and excused himself to answer it. Angela.

“We’ll be in soon,” she said. “Anything? Any luck?”

“No, but we feel we’re on the right track. We’ll head back to the MacAndrew farmhouse now. See you there.”

Meg was still chatting with Sylvia. He glanced at his watch, signaling that they had to leave. They said their goodbyes and returned to the car, but when they reached it, Meg paused, looking back at the ruins of the house in the neighboring acreage.

“I know she’s not there. But she’s somewhere nearby.”

“I believe you. And I believe that we will find her,” he vowed.

Time
, he thought.

Time was everything now.

* * *

“I really think this is far too much fuss for one congressman,” Ian Walker said.

Meg agreed—except that, one way or another, the answer to Lara’s disappearance lay with this man. They were seated in the massive family dining room at the farmhouse; some of the agents and security people were outside, others were stationed around the house, and everyone had come in at some point for dinner, which had been catered by a local restaurant.

“Oh, darling, after everything that’s happened?” Kendra responded. “And you’re not just
any
congressman, you know.”

“Well, I should have planned better,” Ian said. “It was all this bizarre trouble with Ellery Manheim. I couldn’t believe that he was guilty of anything, and that turned out to be true. He was as much a victim of this maniac as I was. And yet he resigned. He said he wouldn’t mar my good name with any hint of scandal. I told him I was willing to stand up to anyone, that he’s an innocent man. False accusations cause so many problems, and I didn’t want Ellery to be a victim of anything like that. But I couldn’t convince him to stay.”

“He made the only logical stand,” Maddie said. She clasped Ian’s hand. “I know what you mean, but he did do the right thing. Not to mention the fact that he’s already gotten a huge offer to write a book. Ellery is going to be fine.”

Ian Walker stood suddenly. “Well, it’s late, but no help for it. I want to see the site where I’ll be speaking. I won’t be in the cemetery, but I’ll still be close to where Lincoln gave his Gettysburg address!”

“Incredible, isn’t it? Lincoln never knew what an impression he’d make with his words that day,” Matt said. “He’d intended to be brief—Edward Everett had already given a lengthy oration, and Lincoln didn’t think the crowd could abide another long speech. He was also ill when he delivered it. Physicians later thought he might have had the beginnings of a mild case of smallpox. Also interesting—there are at least five slightly different versions of the speech.”

Meg noted that he spoke casually, just making conversation, which they’d been doing since dinner. Before that, the place had been bustling with activity, as everyone went to their assigned rooms, police and security and FBI were all introduced to one another and luggage was brought in. She’d had a few minutes to spend with Maddie, who was delighted that her room actually connected with Meg’s. “I’ll feel so safe with you next to me,” she’d told her. Meg just wished she could feel as confident. She wasn’t afraid of an unknown situation; she was afraid of treachery.

Someone in that house was to be feared. She knew it.

“Lincoln was truly such a great man,” Kendra said with enthusiasm.

“Garth Hubbard was the closest living politician to him I’ve ever seen,” Ian Walker said, squeezing Maddie’s hand in return.

“Well, you’ll have to carry on in his stead, Ian, that’s all there is to it,” Maddie said, tears in her eyes.

“I plan to at least deliver a good speech. So, ladies and gentlemen, I understand that a number of you will accompany me? As I said, I want to see the platform where I’ll be speaking. It isn’t where Lincoln dedicated the Soldiers’ National Cemetery, but I’m here to talk about our country getting together. About how we should stop with the bipartisan bull that’s tearing us apart. Gettysburg is a fitting place for it, but...I’m trying to follow in giant footsteps. I
have
to speak well.”

Jackson, standing quietly in one corner of the room, came forward. “Sir, you do realize that it’s late and dark.”

“And I have all of you,” Ian said. “Special Agent Crow, I’ll be bringing members of your unit and the Capitol police and my own people. We’ll be fine.”

Jackson nodded, but he clearly wasn’t pleased.

“And ladies...” Walker went on, turning to Maddie and his wife. “You feel free to go to bed and get some sleep. We won’t be long. I just need a feel for where we’ll be. I announced earlier that I was planning to see the venue today. If it hadn’t been for the current situation, which I will address, I would’ve been here hours ago, and we’d all be on our way to bed by now. I won’t ask for much of your time, I promise,” he said.

There was a scramble as people rose and the security forces split up; Angela and Meg were staying, while Jackson and Matt would be accompanying the congressman. Matt had a moment to speak with Meg before they left.

“I don’t like this,” he said. “Walker should stay in the house, which is surrounded by security.”

“What can really go wrong? Who knows that he’s going out there except the people who are here now? Walker himself is probably not at risk,” she added.

“Cell phones. That information could’ve been shared with anyone by now,” Matt said. Although they were alone in her room, he spoke softly, since Maddie had asked that the door between Meg’s room and hers be kept open. She and Kendra were playing gin rummy in Maddie’s room.

“But like I said, I don’t think the congressman is in danger.” She hesitated. “I know forensic units and our people and various police forces are investigating how those tongues could have shown up at the Walkers’ house and at Ellery’s. I have to assume that Ellery Manheim was set up by someone else, someone close to Walker. Whoever did this has been smart—but not smart enough. Eventually he’s going to get caught.”

“I don’t like it, not one bit,” Matt said again. “A sharpshooter in the right place...”

“I wish I could leave the house tonight,” Meg told him. “Slip out while they’re sleeping and you’re gone. Lara’s nearby, Matt, and I’m afraid she’s close to death.”

“Don’t think that Jackson doesn’t have people out there looking for her. The local police have also been advised. People are searching for her right now, people who know the area. Meanwhile, we’ll keep our eyes on everyone in Walker’s retinue. You’ll be here, and I’ll be with Walker and whoever he brings. No one, at least no one in that group, will have a chance to get to Lara tonight—wherever she may be. And the minute this situation is clear, we’ll do nothing else until we do find her.”