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Flannagan pointed out, “The security patrols are already using them.” He glanced around the stable. “What the hell happened to the backup generator?”
“Don’t know. Bring that up with Lynch as well. And leave the lantern. You can have this.” Trent tossed Flannagan his flashlight, and the rumored ex-mercenary snagged it easily out of the air. “Let’s move.”
“You got it.” Flannagan left the lantern with its harsh light washing the area in white light on the floor near one of the stalls.
Jules watched him leave, his rifle still slung over his back, as quickly as he’d strode in. She didn’t trust him one little bit. After all, he was rumored to be a mercenary, a soldier who sold his loyalty to the highest bidder. Could he have done the same here? Was it possible that he was one of Lynch’s henchmen, hired to fulfill the reverend’s fanatical need to kill?
But why would Lynch want to kill off another student? That didn’t make any sense!
Didn’t Lynch have the ultimate say as to who was enrolled? If he made a mistake, taking in the wrong kid, why not just expel the student on a trumped-up charge? Why sink to murder?
For the thrill?
To make a point?
To make certain the victim never talked?
Quivering inside, Jules looked at the dead girl again. Propped up against the wall, her wrists slit, her hair burned, scrapes on her body, Maeve, like the horses, had been terrorized. Threatened. Burned. Someone was sick enough to have gotten off on her fear.
“What happened to you?” Jules whispered, then, hearing Trent’s boots, snapped out of her reverie and helped him drag two huge battery-powered heaters from storage. They placed the heat sources about twenty feet apart in the aisle, then switched them on to bathe the center aisle of the stable in a weird, unworldly glow.
“That should do it for now,” Trent said, looking around one last time.
Jules couldn’t take her eyes off the dead girl. “You know, I think Maeve was here to meet Ethan Slade,” she confided, then explained about the note she’d witnessed spilling from Maeve’s bag and how distraught the girl had been earlier: “… she was really upset, nearly incoherent and crying her eyes out.” Guilt tore through Jules at the memory. “I should have insisted she see a counselor. If I had, she might be alive now.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it; this isn’t your fault.”
“But I should have stepped in,” Jules said. “I had a feeling that something was wrong.”
“We all knew she had a thing for Slade, that she was obsessed. She’d been counseled by Dr. Williams and Lynch, too, I think.” He touched Jules on the shoulder gently, his gaze holding hers. “We don’t have time for this—no blame game, okay?”
“But—”
“I know what you’re going to say, but we have to work past it. For Maeve. To find out what happened to her. So, now, tell me, do you think Ethan’s a suspect?”
“I think everyone is,” she said, trying to push aside the guilt that clung to her. She remembered the comments in Lynch’s files, all scribbled in his strong hand. “And that includes Dr. Tobias Lynch himself. No, check that. I think he’s at the top of the list. After all he’s the one who made all the notes, seemed to realize that some of the people he was hiring had their own sets of mental or emotional problems.” She glanced toward the doorway where Flannagan had disappeared. “Take our buddy Bert Flannagan, for example. Turned down by a couple of police departments, but fine with Lynch. Good enough for Blue Rock. Flannagan had been in the mili
tary, was good around weapons, flew planes, saw combat, even maybe was a mercenary, all according to Lynch’s notes. Doesn’t sound like the best influence around troubled kids, now, does it? Only if the institution is really into discipline and warfare and the like.
“So why would the reverend, the director of the school, hire people he knew weren’t completely sound, huh?” She asked. “Why not hire those applicants who are one hundred percent above board, those without even a hint of a problem? Lynch needed teachers and counselors, a whole staff of educators to deal with seriously troubled kids. And Lynch knew how deep these kids’ issues are. So it really doesn’t make sense, right? If you ask me, it’s a lot like bringing together high octane gasoline and a lit match.”
Trent scowled as his eyes glanced around the interior of the stable one last time. “I read Lynch a little differently,” Trent said. “I think he’s a man of conviction. Believes he’s doing the right thing, following God’s course. I don’t think it’s an act.”
“Maybe not. But there are graveyards filled with dead soldiers, all who died in the name of religion. Leaders from the dawn of time have twisted their faith into their own personal vendettas.” She eyed Maeve’s corpse again and shuddered. This was no place for a discussion on theology or religion. “Look, I have to get out of here,” she said. “I need to talk to Nell Cousineau, for one. I’m almost certain she sent me that note asking for help. She knows something. And then there’s Ethan Slade. I’d like to hear what the hell he knows!” Her mind was spinning ahead. “Also, I need to talk to my cousin Analise and her husband, Eli. He was a TA here. He might have heard something when he was enrolled at Blue Rock and—”
“Jules!” Trent cut her off, then softened his voice and hugged her. “Slow down, would you? This is police business. It’s dangerous!”
“That’s not exactly a news flash!”
“Yeah, but, listen,” he said, “I don’t want you hurt. I’ll take you back to Stanton House. You go back to your suite and lock the doors. I’ll—”
“What? Are you crazy? After finding Maeve?” she asked incredulously. What was he thinking? “No way can I just sit still and wait around.”
“There’s not much else you can do.” He was emphatic. “The phones aren’t working, so you won’t be able to get through and you won’t accomplish anything running around the campus in the middle of the night with a goddamned killer hiding nearby!”
“But I have to do something! I—we—can’t just sit around and wait. The last time he killed two people! How do we know that there isn’t another dead kid somewhere?” she said, her panic rising again.
Trent shook his head. “We don’t. But if someone’s dead, we can’t do anything about it now. It’ll be daylight in a few hours.”
