looked at each other. Pine said, “It’s not so easy for the FBI, either. Everyone thinks the Feds are the eight-hundred-pound gorilla. Go ask the IRS who has more resources, them or some billionaires they’re chasing. It’s no contest. The rich sweep the field.”
“There might be a connection to Andersonville,” said Blum. “I mean, that’s where two of the bodies were found.”
“That is certainly possible,” said Pine. “And whoever is behind this has to have some connection to porn films.”
Laredo chimed in. “It could be they’re antiporn and this is their way of showing their disapproval, by murdering actors in that field.”
“By why dress them up in those getups?” asked Wallis. “What would be the point?”
“A veil and a tux,” mused Pine. “Bride and groom, obviously. That has to be worked into the scenario somehow. It was important to the killer.”
“Which means we’re back at square one,” said Wallis. He rose, his expression troubled. “I’ve got to get back to the office and report in to my superiors. Not something I relish doing, since I’ve basically gotten nowhere. Let me know if anything occurs to you.”
After he left, Laredo looked at Pine. “I got a text from Stan Cashings this morning.”
Pine’s face was inscrutable, while Blum’s eyes widened a bit.
“Okay,” said Pine.
“Cloak and Dagger?” prompted Laredo.
“How do you know Stan?”
“I’ve worked with him. Thought you knew that.”
“I didn’t.”
“Why do you want to know about something called Cloak and Dagger?”
“I think it was a bar back in New York, in the eighties. I think my father might have worked there. Why would Stan have contacted you about that?”
“Because he transferred down to DC last year. WFO,” he added, referring to the FBI’s Washington Field Office.
“Then maybe I called the wrong person. He didn’t mention that on the phone.”
“No, he was a good source. He knows New York as well as anybody. If this place existed, he’ll be able to find out about it.”
“Still doesn’t explain why he would call you.”
“Because I told him where I was going and that you were going to be there.”
“He also didn’t mention that.”
“Stan plays things close to the vest. It’s the FBI way. It’s not like you and I don’t share that attribute.” The two stared at each other for an uncomfortably long moment.
Blum cleared her throat and said, “So, getting back to the murders here.”
Pine said, “We’ve got to run down this connection to the porn films. The killer had to know intimate details of the actors, their real identities, where they live.”
“So you think they knew him somehow?” said Laredo.
“Rebane had some man in her life, Clemmons told us. We haven’t learned the same about Gillespie but it’s possible he had some relationship with the killer. He could have brought them here under some pretext, killed them, and laid them out for us to find. Then he gets cold feet for some reason about Clemmons, maybe because she could tell us the connection between Rebane and Gillespie, and that’s why she had to die.”
“Maybe someone could have seen them together somewhere,” said Blum.
“That’s an awfully big task for a few people to track down,” pointed out Laredo.
“You’re not expecting any reinforcements from the Bureau?” said Pine.
“Not at the present, no. The Bureau is stretched thin as it is. Lots of stuff on the burners.”
“Three murders aren’t chump change,” Pine retorted.
“Preaching to the choir, and I’ll ask for help. Just don’t hold your breath.”
They heard the sound of feet rushing down the hall, and Graham burst into the little breakfast room. Her face was pale, and her features held a stark terror that made Pine and Laredo rise at the same time, their hands near their guns.
“What?” barked Pine.
“You’ve got to…come. Hurry! Oh my God. Hurry.”
She turned and fled back down the hall, with the three in pursuit.
They quickly hit the main street and hurried after Graham, and soon she stopped in front of one of the buildings.
It was the Drummer Boy Civil War Museum, a gray painted brick structure with black shutters on the windows and a metal roof over the porch overhang. Out front was the Confederate flag, and large wooden cutouts of figures in blue and gray uniforms and smaller versions of drummer boys in uniform. The faces were blank holes, allowing visitors to fill them with their own countenances and have their pictures taken. You could do the same thing with the cutout of a lady in a hoop skirt.
A woman in her forties with wavy brown hair, wearing a