Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,62
turned out McCarron was a bitter man—he’d lost a loved one when a transplant hadn’t become available in time. Maybe that’s why I’m thinking of the trial. No one stole anyone else’s body organs at the time, but according to McCarron, that started his obsession.”
“Yeah, I remember that trial—and the aftermath. McCarron came off like the handsome boy next door, appalled about the murders, and denying that he could ever do anything like that. Then, I remember the news in the months after the trial, he admitted to several other murders, including those of a few other people that happened to be for his own convenience and nothing about heartbreak. If I recall, he finally admitted to killing one man just because he’d taken his parking space.”
“True. He admitted many things after he was convicted. His trial was in Virginia, and he was given the death penalty, so he started talking to bargain his way out. He was executed just a few years ago. There was a big uproar all over again,” Stacey said as she set a steaming pie in front of Keenan and one at her own place. “But he was executed.”
“So, we know he had nothing to do with these murders. I’ve yet to find a ghost capable of killing—unless they just scared someone to death. Possible, but those I’ve met aren’t out to do harm. They want to protect someone or...protect a place, like your friends at Lafayette Square,” he reminded her with a smile.
“I just keep remembering that trial. I don’t know why.”
“Well, it was a major event, and you were involved.”
They sat and ate, both in silence for several minutes.
“I wish I could put my finger on it.”
“You will. Thoughts just out of reach finally get closer. And then there are dreams.”
She nodded dully, then suddenly stood. “Well, just leave this. I’m exhausted. I’m going to shower and hop in bed. Please, don’t worry about picking up—I can get it all in two minutes in the morning.”
She disappeared to her room before he could protest. She seemed distracted, probably worried about dreaming. She must be hoping that she would—and also that she wouldn’t.
He heard the door to the bathroom close.
There wasn’t much of a mess: two little single-serving pans and a salad bowl. He tidied up quickly, as there was no reason not to.
In his head, he went over every minute of their conversation with Colin Smith.
Yes, the man could be a liar.
Keenan hadn’t been involved with the McCarron trial in the same way that Stacey had been involved, but he remembered it. On the stand, McCarron had come off as if he was Mr. Nice Guy, horrified that anyone could imagine him guilty of terrible things. Even when there was solid evidence against him.
Later, Keenan had heard that McCarron’s prison interviews had been chilling. He’d killed people as casually as another man might swat flies.
Finished with the dishes, he went to grab his bag, glad that he’d stopped for his things. A shower seemed like a good idea. Hot water was relaxing.
He paused outside Stacey’s door, wanting to make sure that she was all right. He couldn’t hear any movement in her room. Maybe she’d already fallen asleep.
He then went to check that the outer door to the building was locked, and he secured the door to her apartment on his way back in, and, finally, the windows.
Reassured, he went for his shower, pausing by her door but wondering why, and not wanting to examine the answer too closely.
He was just stepping out of the shower when he heard her first scream.
* * *
It was as if she’d stepped back in time, and yet she knew she hadn’t.
It was the smoke in the room that seemed to blind her. There was a hearth and a fire burned within it. The smoke rose and swirled, combining with a gray mist in the air that might have swept in from the foggiest street.
Stacey was there, but she didn’t know exactly where; it was as if she was all-seeing, omniscient.
And at first, there was nothing but the room and the knowledge that the killer was also within it. Close...knowing what was to come.
There was a surgical bag set down on the floor against the wall near the hearth. And she knew what it contained. Scalpels and saws. There was also a curious container near the bag, and she knew what that was intended to contain.
Pieces of life itself—the organs that belonged to the intended victim.