Page 5 of Sound of Darkness

A serious problem with being dead, Sergeant Parker had told them, was transportation. He didn’t have his own car anymore.

They had trusted him, of course. Mark wished he had known the man in life. He had been tall and solidly built, light-eyed, with just a few strands of gray starting to show in his dark hair. He could be solemn and thorough, but he could smile and joke as well.

He’d been killed on the job, shot down during a task-force takedown at a crack house.

Now, the information he provided had been invaluable. But from what Jackson had said, it didn’t sound as if they’d received any tips from anyone—living or dead—on this new kidnapping. They just had another missing woman.

“Okay. Carver had Sally; she was held down in the basement. He was abusing her, torturing her, and he would have killed her. And we got in there without having to jump through legal loops for a search warrant in time to find her alive because we know how to play it as a team,” Mark said aloud, wondering why Jackson would pull him now to show a newcomer the ropes. “It doesn’t make sense, him wanting me to work with a rookie, especially now. I understand him sending us in different directions. Red and I can take on the physical search and you can handle Carver. But—”

“Hey. We were all rookies once,” Ragnar reminded him. “And I know you usually take lead on questioning because you’re damned good at it, but I’ll be all right.” It was evident Ragnar was puzzled too, but he was doing his best to make the situation seem more normal and okay.

“Yeah,” Mark agreed. “It just feels strange. I know you talking to him might be our best bet on finding out if he is working alone, working with someone else, or if there is a copycat out there.” Mark winced and glanced at his partner. “I seriously considered shooting Carver in the head when he had that boy.”

“But you didn’t shoot him in the head, because you always follow the law. We’d all like to tear up The Embracer,” Ragnar reminded him, “but as federal agents, we’ve sworn oaths. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been damned good at following the law.”

“We might have bent it a little today,” Mark said dryly.

“Hey, I heard screams,” Ragnar said. “And if you remember—though I guess none of us forgets these things—you and Red found the last victim. I know how that makes you feel. Think of it this way: if you’re not the one to question Carver, you won’t be tempted to jump across the table and rip his eyes out.”

“True.”

“We found Sally Smithson alive,” Ragnar reminded him.

“Yes, and I’m grateful.”

“And maybe you and Red can find the next victim alive as well,” Ragnar said. His eyes were on the road. “While I’m trying not to leap across the table and rip Carver’s eyes out.”

Mark thought about the victim he and Red had found too late.

“Maybe you have a point,” he said quietly. He glanced at his watch. The afternoon was waning away. It was nearly three, which meant nothing. Krewe members didn’t keep anything resembling normal working hours, so the coming night didn’t matter to him. Still, if he and Red were going on a search, a bit of daylight would be nice.

“I’ll have you to your car in less than forty-five minutes,” Ragnar promised.

“Yep. Good. Thanks. I’m going to call back into headquarters. I need to learn everything they have on this latest kidnapping, especially if Red and I are going to be working with a rookie.”

“Colleen?”

Colleen stood at the back door of the Ayerses’ house, silent and still, listening.

But no sounds—other than the chirping of birds and the slight sound of Jackson Crow’s soft breathing—came to her.

She looked at Jackson and shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I don’t hear anything at all.”

“That’s all right,” he assured her.

She knew he was frustrated.

Jackson had come to her small office at Krewe headquarters that morning to ask her to accompany him out to the Ayerses’ house.

A frantic call from Rory Ayers, a DC contractor, had been put through to him. His daughter had only been gone overnight, Ayers acknowledged—and there were all kinds of reasons young people disappeared—but too many other young women had disappeared recently.

And two had been found dead.

Jackson Crow had gotten every other agency in the area working on the disappearance—even if a missing persons report was usually filled out after a greater length of time.

Agencies were sharing every little tidbit of information they acquired, but the Krewe was lead agency on the investigation. Colleen knew Krewe members had been sent to a small town in northeastern Virginia in search of another young woman.

Which was troublesome now, with another kidnapping apparently in progress.

And usually law enforcement could be skeptical about the urgency when a person had only been missing a short time. People had fights. Young women went off on adventures and were often afraid to tell their parents, especially if alcohol or drugs were involved.

But Rory Ayers was certain.

He knew his daughter.

Dierdre hadn’t come home. No, she wasn’t a disgruntled teenager defying her family. She was a solid young woman who intended to finish her college degree when classes resumed in the fall.

She didn’t have a boyfriend they didn’t like or trust. Indeed, they liked Gary Boynton a lot. He was courteous and respectful; he understood family. Dierdre had been with him, but they’d had their own cars that night, and she’d headed home and...

She’d never made it.

Just an hour ago—while Colleen and Jackson had been on their way to the Ayerses’ house—Dierdre’s car had been found in a ditch. The tech department had traced the location through her cell phone. Of course, first responders had feared the worst.

But Dierdre Ayers had not been in the car. The search party scoured the area for miles and found no sign of her.

Her car was now with the Krewe forensic team.

“There’s a man in custody now,” Jackson said as they stood at the back door. “He had another young woman in his basement. But he could have taken Dierdre last night and...”

His words trailed off, and he turned to look at her before continuing. “She was on her way here, but you’re not getting anything at all. So, I imagine she is nowhere near the house, and you’re not getting any echoes of her having been here and taken from here?”

Colleen shook her head. “She never made it home. And whoever took her, they made sure they got to her before she was close to the house.”

He nodded. “I’ll go in and tell her parents we’re going to go through the traffic cams again, and we will figure out what happened. I’ll meet you in the car. I’ve made arrangements to set you up with someone else who is excellent at finding people.”

“Oh?” she asked.

So far, she’d only been on assignment with Jackson, learning the ropes. Learning how to be Krewe.

Obviously, one could not tell most people that ghosts often helped lead them in the right direction, or even sometimes explained what had happened in a boggling case. Not that it usually worked out quite so easily, but the dead could be extremely helpful.

“Go back to the SUV. My physical notes on the victims are in a folder on the back seat. Have a look at everything we know, which is not much different than what’s in the media,” Jackson said.

She nodded and went around the backyard to where Jackson’s black SUV was parked. She retrieved the folder, took a seat in the front, and looked through the information.

Two women were dead.

Emily Watkins, twenty-three and a dance instructor, had disappeared on her way home from the studio. She didn’t drive into downtown Richmond but took public transportation instead. They had checked all kinds of cameras, and the police had asked the media for help by putting her picture out there.

She had been found in a forest at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains, in a pine box. At the time, it had seemed an isolated case. Friends, clients, everyone had been questioned. But during that investigation, the first letter had arrived at the newspaper.

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