Haunted Read online

  Sheriff Michael Blaine

  20 years ago

  “Tom!” I yell, slamming open the door to the lab and hurrying through to the office, desperately trying to find Tom Milford. “Tom, we have to get this guy! We need evidence!”

  Finding no sign of him, I storm back into the examination room. A moment later, hearing footsteps in the distance, I turn just as Tom comes through from one of the storerooms. He's cleaning his glasses on his shirt, and I can see from the look in his eyes that he's not best-pleased to see me right now. He's been avoiding me for a few days now, ever since he was part of Lenny Johnson's little late-night blockade.

  “Evidence,” I continue, struggling to stay calm. “Give me something that links Neil Bloom to the Mo Garvey murder.”

  “Mike -”

  “Now!” I yell.

  “I don't have anything.”

  “That report you wrote was bullshit!” I continue. “There's no way you got all those test results back so quickly!”

  “I stand by my report,” he replies, heading around to the other side of the table, as if he wants to put as much distance as possible between us. “It has my signature at the end.”

  “How did he do it?” I ask. “How did Lenny Johnson persuade you to back him up?”

  “I don't know what you're -”

  “Don't lie to me!” I shout, grabbing a test-tube holder and sending it sliding off the edge of the bench. The tubes shatter when they hit the floor, and Tom takes a step back. “You have evidence that links Neil Bloom to the murder,” I continue, “and you're going to turn that evidence over to me or I swear to God I'll have your medical license revoked.”

  “I have no such evidence,” he says firmly.

  “Because you never bothered to check?”

  “Mike -”

  “You know Mo Garvey's killer is walking free!”

  “I'm sorry, Mike,” he replies, “but I heard you telling a press conference that Mo Garvey's killer had been killed in a car accident. I believe footage of you saying that was broadcast live to homes all across the country, so I really don't see how you can come in here now and start claiming that someone else was responsible.”

  “I thought Lenny was taking care of it!” I hiss.

  “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means -”

  Catching myself just in time, I realize that I can't possibly tell him the truth. Then again, as he stares at me, it's clear that he already knows.

  “There's an old boys' network in this town,” he continues. “You've never really been a part of it, but you knew it existed. Is that what you thought was going to happen the other night, Mike? Did you think Lenny was going to take Neil out into the forest and cut him down like a rabid animal? Neil's part of the network. They protect their own. That's why he gets away with just a strict talking-to and -”

  “He murdered a little girl!”

  “I know.”

  “He mutilated her!”

  “I know.”

  “He touched her!”

  “I know.”

  “He's a killer!”

  “And you knew that,” he adds, “and yet you still went ahead with that press conference.”

  “I didn't expect to see him out on the street again!”

  “Then maybe you shouldn't have made so many assumptions.” He pauses again. “Lenny's talked to him, Mike. Lenny knows him, and he's told him in no uncertain terms that nothing like this can ever happen again. Lenny smooths things over in Railham, that's why everyone respects him so much. The situation will be okay if you just sit tight and let Lenny deal with it all. He hasn't let Neil off scot-free. The man is on a kind of probation. For life.”

  “Everything will be okay?” I reply, sickened by those words. “Did you really just say those words? Tell that to Mo Garvey. Tell that to her parents.”

  With that, I turn and head to the door.

  “Her parents understand,” Tom calls after me. “Her parents are pragmatic people, Mike. They know that tears and tantrums won't bring the girl back. If they can accept the situation, then -”

  Slamming the door shut so that I can't hear any more of his simpering bullshit, I storm along to my office before stopping for a moment as I realize that nothing I do is going to take this rage from my chest. I let Lenny Johnson suck me into his way of doing things, I agreed to let him take charge, and in return he decided to let a killer walk free. And while Lenny and Tom and the others might be convinced that Neil can be trusted, I know better than that. Whatever darkness bubbled up from the depths of that man's soul and caused him to kill Mo Garvey, it'll emerge again.

  Unless I find a way to stop him.

  ***

  “Honey? Oh thank God, I was starting to wonder where you were!”

  As I slip my jacket off and toss it onto the chair, Louisa comes hurrying through from the front room. She seems a little dressed-up for an ordinary evening at home, and in fact the house looks pretty tidy too.

  “I just came to get a change of clothes,” I mutter, already heading toward the stairs. “I'm sorry, I don't have time to talk. I have to get back out there.”

  “Mike -”

  “I have to!” I snap, turning to her. Instantly regretting raising my voice, I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. “I can't explain right now, but I have to do this.”

  “Mike, did you forget?”

  “Forget what?”

  She takes my hand and tries to lead me over to the front room.

  “I don't have time,” I tell her, pulling back.

  “Humor me.”

  Sighing, I let her take me as far as the doorway. Just as I'm about to tell her once again that I don't have time for this, I look through and see two of her old school-friends, Mark and Maisie Fleming, sitting awkwardly on the sofa with coffee cups in their hands. For a moment, staring at them, I can't figure out why the hell they're here.

  “I'm sorry,” Louisa tells them, “but I was right. Mike did forget.”

  “What did I forget?” I ask, turning first to her and then back to the Flemings. “What's going on?”

  “There he is,” Mark says with a nervous, slightly embarrassed grin. “The hero of the hour!”

  “We arranged to go to dinner this evening,” Louisa tells me. “I'm sorry, it's my fault, I should have reminded you this morning, but you were barely here. I tried calling you, but I couldn't get through.”

  “It must be such a relief to have this all over with,” Maisie says. “Those twenty-four hours when we thought a maniac was loose in our town... Well, I've gotta tell you, even without kids, it was enough to drive me spare. I mean, there was no guarantee he'd only go for children, was there? I was almost too scared to leave the house. It was as if the entire town was under a pall.”

  “She was terrified!” Mark adds. “Really, she was too nervous to go to the store. We had to walk together.”

  “But now everything's fine,” Louisa tells them. “There's no need to worry.”

  “Thank God!” Maisie continues. “I wasn't even sleeping properly!”

  “Excuse me for a moment,” I reply, turning and heading back out to the hallway. I feel nauseous and I swear I'll throw up if I hear one more person congratulate me on a job well done. If they knew the truth, that the killer is still walking about, they'd be horrified.

  “Mike?” Louisa says, hurrying after me. “Are you okay?”

  “I have things to do.”

  “You look pale. Are you sick?”

  “I'm sorry,” I continue, making my way up the stairs, “but I can't go to dinner. I have a million things to do at work and I can't even be sure I'll be back tonight. Don't wait up, okay?”

  “But -”

  “Let me get on with this!” I hiss, turning back to her. “Okay? You don't understand what I'm dealing with, but trust me, it's more important than sitting around shooting the breeze with two idiots I don't even...”

  My voice trails off as I see the shoc
k in her eyes, and a moment later I realize there's no sound coming from the front room. I guess the Flemings heard me.

  “Just leave me alone,” I add, hurrying up the stairs.

  Fortunately, Louisa doesn't come after me this time, although when I reach the top I'm surprised to see that Alex is sitting on the landing, looking at one of her favorite books.

  “Are you okay there?” I ask, making my way past her, heading toward the main bedroom.

  When she doesn't reply, I stop and look back down at her.

  “Alex?”

  “I don't want to go into my room,” she replies, and I can instantly tell that something's wrong. She sounds cowed and scared, and I can see the fear in her eyes.

  “What's wrong with your room?” I ask.

  She looks toward the door.

  “Alex? Why don't you want to go into your room?”

  When she still fails to answer, I turn the handle and push the door open.

  “Daddy, no!”

  She sounds panicked, but the door bumps against the wall and I peer in to see that there's nothing untoward. Her bedroom looks completely normal.

  “No monsters in here,” I point out, stepping inside and then turning to see that she's staring at me with that same fearful expression. “Seriously, Alex, what's wrong? Daddy doesn't have time for silliness right now.”

  Figuring that maybe I need to humor her, I crouch down and take a look under her bed.

  “Nothing there!” I say, forcing a smile.

  “That's not where she was,” she replies. “She was in the corner by the window.”

  Getting to my feet, I head back out to join her.

  “Who was in the corner by the window?” I ask, before remembering her earlier claims about a little girl in the bedroom. Sighing, I realize she seems determined to keep going with that idea. “There's nobody in your room, Alex.”

  “She's mad at someone,” she whimpers.

  “You've got an overactive imagination. You realize that, don't you?”

  “I want her to leave!”

  She's still staring into the room, but I don't have time to deal with her childish fears right now. Reaching down, I tousle the hair on the top of her head before turning and heading to the master bedroom.

  “Okay, well you can play out here,” I tell her, “but keep away from the top of the stairs. We don't want you taking a tumble. And stop worrying about strange little girls in your room. They're just in your head.”

  I glance back at her, but she seems lost in whatever game she's playing. I should probably try to take her into her room and prove to her that there's no reason to be scared, but I'm already running late and I need to get back out onto the street. Figuring that Alex will be fine, I head through to find a clean shirt.

  On a night like this, the last thing I need is talk of ghosts.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Alex Roberts

  Today

  “Alex! Are you coming down or not? Vic's here!”

  “Just give me a minute!”

  “You said that five minutes ago!”

  “I mean it this time! I'll be there soon, I promise!”

  I wait, watching the bathroom door, and a moment later I breathe a sigh of relief as I hear Brad going back out to the porch and talking to his friend. I wait for a few seconds, enjoying the sense of normality, before turning back to look at the test stick I've been holding in my right hand for the past ten minutes or more.

  All I have to do is turn it over, and I'll see the result.

  I can't be pregnant. I mean, sure, I might be late this month, and I might have been feeling a little off-color, but that doesn't mean I'm pregnant. Brad and I are careful, and I figure the stress of the past few months has just been messing with my cycle. Still, I've been gradually getting more and more worried, and now I'm ready to see the answer. I'm certain that when I turn the stick over, I'll see the single horizontal blue line that gives me the all-clear.

  I'm not pregnant.

  I've been so careful.

  Taking a deep breath, I tell myself that I should just get this over with. Still, I hesitate for a moment longer, before finally turning the stick and looking at the little window.

  I take another deep breath.

  It's wrong.

  It has to be wrong.

  I give the stick a shake, but the blue cross remains. I can feel my heart pounding, I even feel a little dizzy, but I keep focusing on the fact that I must have ended up with a faulty test kit. I can't -

  Suddenly something cold touches my arm from behind. Dropping the stick into the sink, I gasp and turn to look back across the bathroom, but there's no sign of anyone. I wait a moment, just in case this is some kind of weird trick by Brad, and then I rub the cold spot on my arm. Once I'm sure I'm alone, I look back into the sink, but the test stick still shows the same stubborn blue cross. Finally, grabbing the stick, I bury it deep in the bin, before washing my hands and telling myself that I'll buy another test tomorrow, one that'll prove this was just a false positive.

  I always swore I wouldn't have children yet, not until I know for certain that this house is safe. And now, as I catch my own gaze in the mirror, I feel more sure than ever that the test result is wrong. If I was really pregnant, I'd know. Deep down, I'd feel it already.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sheriff Michael Blaine

  20 years ago

  Stepping out of his front door, Neil Bloom stops for a moment and stares at the street. It's almost as if he's sensing something, or as if he's sniffing the evening air, but finally he turns and pulls the door shut before heading along the path and then out onto the sidewalk. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he starts making his way toward town. He looks for all the world like an ordinary guy, just out for an evening stroll. Just another citizen of Railham.

  Climbing out of my car, I start following him.

  I've been on his trail for a few hours now. After finishing the press conference earlier, I handed all my work over to a surprised-looking Harry and came to keep an eye on Neil Bloom. Aside from a brief trip home, I haven't taken a single break. I know this monster's going to make a mistake at some point, that he won't be able to help himself, and when that moment comes I'm going to cuff him. I swear to God, until that happens I won't let him out of my sight, and Lenny won't be able to argue if I take Neil into custody for some other offense. I refuse to believe that a man like Neil would commit such an awful act and then just snap back to respectability, and I'm certain he's going to do something soon.

  For now, I just have to hold back, keep an eye on him, and be ready.

  As he goes around the next corner, I pick up the pace. When I get to the corner, I can't see him for a moment, but then I spot him over on the other side of the street. He seems to be heading toward the west side of town, which is the seedier area with plenty of low-life bars. I let him get a little further ahead before setting off after him again, and I feel certain that I'll have him behind bars before the end of the night. I can still put this mess right.

  And then he vanishes.

  I lose sight of him for a moment, and I quickly realize that he seems to have disappeared entirely. After waiting a moment in case he magically reappears, I hurry across the street and over to the next corner, but I don't see anybody around at all. I don't know how he could have slipped away, but I'm certain he can't have doubled back on himself, which means there are only a few options. Maybe he -

  “Nice day for a walk.”

  Startled, I turn and see Neil standing in the shade of a tree, at the edge of a lawn.

  “Sometimes I like to stretch my legs,” he continues, taking a step toward me. He still has his hands in his pockets. “I like to walk, even if I don't have anywhere I'm walking to. I like to tour the neighborhood. Does that make sense? Are we on the same page, Mr. Blaine?”

  As I stare at him, it takes every ounce of strength to keep from rushing over there and grabbing him by the throat.

  A mo
ment later, he seems to sniff the air slightly.

  “Walks help calm me down,” he explains, keeping his eyes fixed on me. “I love the smell of sweet blossom in the air. The sounds of people getting on with their lives. The sight of -”

  Suddenly he looks past me, as if something has caught his attention.

  Turning, I see two little boys playing in a yard at the far end of the street. When I look back at Neil, I find that he's watching me again.

  “Don't worry,” he continues, “they're perfectly safe.”

  “The hell they are,” I reply. “I'm not letting you get within a hundred feet of any children.”

  “Huh.” He hesitates for a moment, before starting to nod. “So you were following me. I figured as much, but I still wanted to hear you admit it.”

  “I'm not going to let you out of my sight,” I tell him.

  “Isn't it unconstitutional to track someone like this?”

  “I don't give a damn.”

  “I could put in a complaint.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  He pauses again, before stepping closer.

  “I know what you think,” he says after a moment, lowering his voice slightly. “You think I'm a monster. You think I took that little girl and did terrible things to her. You think I drugged her and took her to a cabin, and you think I spent hours and hours indulging my every dark fantasy.”

  “I swear,” I sneer, “if you say one more word...”

  “You'll what? Hit me? Kill me?”

  “Do you admit you killed Mo Garvey?” I ask, still struggling to keep from grabbing him by the throat.

  He shakes his head. “I'm not admitting anything.”

  “You don't have to. I already know.”

  “But you caught the killer, didn't you?” he replies. “I heard your speech earlier. You caught that drifter.”

  “He didn't kill Mo.”

  “But you said he did,” he continues, with a faint smile. “Those words came from your mouth, Sheriff Blaine. You're quite photogenic, and you came across as a very strong, comforting man. It was so reassuring to know that we have a man such as your good self looking after us. And I think you will look after us. I mean, if you say he was the killer, I wouldn't dare to accuse you of lying.”