The Demise of Tom Hendry (A Wild Cove Mystery Book 3) Page 4

  “They're trying to get Jack back with his ex-girlfriend.”

  “Martina?”

  “You know her?”

  “Yes. A nice girl.”

  That is not what Jane wanted to hear.

  The pastor continues, “But I've known Jack for some time, and he's never lit up the way he does with you. You should call him and smooth things over. I think you've both got a real shot at being happy together.”

  Jane agrees that she should call Jack, but for now, she feels a bit of distance will give her some clarity about her feelings. To sidestep going over her own problems any further, she pulls the three letters from her coat pocket. "Pastor, I need your help with an investigation. These three letters were sent to the Hendry family. The first two before Tom Hendry was murdered, and this one after. I contacted a man called Philip Barnsley, and he said that you were an expert in occult symbols, which surprised me..."

  The pastor takes the three letters and opens them up. His usually jovial disposition alters quickly. For a moment, he looks like a grim mythological Atlas holding up the world by his shoulders. Something is gravely bearing down upon him. “Yes, I know a thing or two about the occult. Unfortunately, my commitment to God has led me down many a darkened path. Only by knowing your enemy can you defeat him. I've taken an interest in such things so that I may combat them whenever they cross my path. But these letters...they are strange."

  “Philip Barnsley said that they came from Egyptian, Norse, and Coptic writings?”

  “That's correct, though two of these symbols are not written properly. This one here," he says, pointing to one of the red letters scrawled on one of the pages, “this should be with a downward stroke, not an upward tick as it appears here.”

  "The professor said that he couldn't understand what it said because it was made up of symbols from different languages. He said something about finding a cipher?"

  The pastor looks up and folds the letters over before handing them back to Jane. "Yes; a cipher would normally help you find out what the writer was trying to convey, but you won't find one."

  Jane is puzzled. "Why is that?"

  “Because there is no meaning to be found. I can tell from the structure of this, that the symbols have been used randomly. Whoever wrote these letters copied them down in haste from a book somewhere. They thought it would look effective but there's no meaning, which would give you a bothersome conclusion if you think Tom Hendry's death was connected to satanic practices."

  "What sort of bothersome conclusion?" Jane feels that a revelation is coming.

  “Well, my dear Jane,” says the pastor, his joviality returning. "Whoever wrote this wanted it to appear satanic, but without any real knowledge of such things. Now, why would they do that?”

  What the pastor has just revealed about the letters puzzles Jane. But she has no time to think about it. As she walks back out of the church into the sun, a reassuring voice speaks from the side of the street. "Hello, Jane," says Charles Hendry.

  "Charles!" says Jane, more openly enthusiastic than she intended to be, but she just can't help herself.

  Call it fate or just pure bad luck, but Charles leans in and gives Jane a kiss on the cheek. Jane does not stop this, and instead blushes as Charles pulls away. Were this any other time of the day in Wild Cove, any other moment, this would not have mattered. Perhaps an idle gossiper may have said something about seeing Charles Hendry kissing the sheriff, but it is no mild gossiper who would walk by at this point. It’s Jack, on his way out of Delilah's cafe with a rye sandwich in his oil-covered hands.

  What follows can only be described as a fight, and one that erupts before Jane is even aware of what is going on. Jack leaps at Charles, shouldering him in the stomach, and the two men fall to the ground. Next, punches are exchanged and Jack, with the element of surprise, gains the upper hand and kneels on top of Charles, throwing punches.

  Right now, Jane can't be Jack's girlfriend. Nor can she be Charles' friend. She has to be the sheriff of Wild Cove. Jack assaulted someone unprovoked. Placing handcuffs on him, Jane pulls Jack up and restrains him, trying to calm him down.

  “So this is why you're not returning my calls?!” Jack shouts. “This third-rate upper crust playboy!”

  “It's not like that, Jack. Please, you've got the wrong idea.” Jane tries her best.

  “Has he?” says Charles, getting to his feet and rubbing his jaw with his hand.

  This only infuriates Jack more, and Jane is forced to put him in the back of her patrol car. She radios for one of her officers, Pat Henley, who appears a few minutes later and escorts Jack to the station.

  The truth is, Jane just wanted to put her arms around Jack and reassure him that there is nothing between her and Charles. Yes, she is attracted to him, but she has deep feelings for Jack and although she’s still mad at him, she doesn’t want to hurt him.

  Charles is kind enough to not press charges after Jane explains the situation to him, and so Jack is released from the station, furious at Jane and refusing to return her calls.

  Chapter 6

  Tonight is Jane's turn to watch over Conwell House and its occupants once more. She knows she overstepped her boundary by allowing Charles to make a move on her, and yet deep down, she wanted him to kiss her. She felt good in his arms. Things haven't been as complicated with him as they are with Jack. She knows it’s a bad day when a murder victim's son is less problematic than the town mechanic. And yet, she can't allow herself to be pulled in by these feelings. If she is attracted to Charles, that is one thing – you can't help who you are attracted to – but her feelings for Jack are different. They are powerful in a way she hasn't experienced for many years. Jane is beginning to face the reality that she loves Jack, and that whatever issues they are facing will be worth fixing. When this case is over I'll fix things with him, is what she concludes.

  Now, Jane is faced with the unenviable task of catching Tom and Charles Hendry's stalker while her head is buzzing with relationship problems. She can't go back and stay in the house at night; this is certain. Can she trust herself in this situation? She feels she’s strong enough to rebuff Charles' advances, but she doesn't want to take the chance that he'll catch her at a low moment when her resistance has eroded. Even the most loyal of people can be tempted; they have to fight those temptations with everything they have and, as Pastor Callaghan says, with strength from God.

  As the sun rises and falls on another day in Wild Cove – marking one more day without stopping the Hendrys’ stalker – Jane decides to use a new tactic. She will still watch Conwell House, but from afar. Instead of staying inside the house, she’ll go there on foot and hide on the grounds to fool the stalker into thinking the house isn't protected. It will be a rough night, but if it leads to a clue about who Charles' stalker is, it will be worth it. This will also stop her from getting too close anymore to Charles with the comfort of a roaring fire beneath the mantle.

  Jane waits until nightfall and switches over with Deputy Morris, who drives off towards his home, yawning. The stars come out overhead and the moon is white and shining. Still, darkness rules the most, and the serene grounds of the mansion once more take on a haunting appearance. Jane decides that the best vantage point is from a small walled garden to the side of the house. From a stone archway, she is near enough to the building to see the front and side, but far enough away to not raise suspicion from any prowler. Most important of all, Lila's room’s window remains in view. If Lila is, as Jane suspects after the other night, the true target of the prowler, then surely he will come to the window again. When he does, Jane Scott will be ready for him.

  Despite the warm spring days, the night is colder than usual – a stark reminder of the bleak winter the town has just overcome. Jane's thoughts turn to the night when she followed Henry Wright into the basement of the Marsden house, of how she was alone then. Of how that could have gone so very wrong. Yet there she is again, alone; waiting for evil once more to show itself. She smirks to her
self. Maybe Pastor Callaghan is right. Maybe I am here to confront whatever haunts the darkness around Wild Cove, whether killer, stalker, or something even worse.

  Just after 2am, the night shifts. Fragmentary wisps of clouds above wander out in front of the moon, causing strange shapes and shadows to move around the Conwell House Estate. At first they seem natural, but as Jane's eyes adjust to the movement, one strange stirring on the lawn is different from the rest. Beneath the Stygian sky, someone is walking towards the house.

  They have an unusual gait to their steps and they are hunched over slightly, clearly trying to remain hidden by the night. Jane watches as the figure moves towards the cherub fountain at the front of the building. The figure stays there for a moment, crouching down behind the white marble basin that catches the water from the cherub's mouth. The man, for it is a man, now moves quickly towards the front steps that lead into the home, but he does not climb them. Instead, his footsteps fall on the gravel path momentarily until he is standing against the wall at the corner of the house, walking on grass and soil.

  He's moving to Lila's window, Jane thinks. Readying her gun, she decides to hold off until the very last moment so she can see what he is trying to do. The figure climbs up a drainpipe towards Lila's closed window.

  Jane hears the noise. It is a snapping sound. It is exactly the type of sound that someone might hear from their bedroom, mistaking it for feet trampling on broken twigs in the dark. But it is a mistake, and Jane is able to identify the noise immediately. She's heard it before. Yes, it is a snapping sound, but not of twigs; it is the sound of an old film camera clicking and winding on.

  Franklin...thinks Jane, remembering her conversation with Lila and Charles about their employee and his love for photography. The gardener...

  As the darkened figure of Franklin takes pictures through the glass of Lila's window, Jane begins to close in. The grass beneath her feet keeps her silent, cushioning each footfall. Still a distance from the prowler, Jane watches as Franklin touches the window pane of Lila's bedroom as though hoping to open it. Lila is traumatized enough by finding her father dead; to see the pale face of his killer through the glass is not something Jane can let stand.

  “Hold it, Franklin! Police!” shouts Jane.

  Franklin lets out a whine and falls from the drainpipe, landing in the large bush Jane once thought was a hulking figure. The camera falls from his grasp mid-flight. When it hits the ground a flash goes off, momentarily blinding Jane. “Don't move!” is all Jane can say. But if she starts firing she will shoot in utter darkness, putting those inside the house in jeopardy. She listens, her eyes slowly recovering from the white of the flash as feet scamper across the lawn. By the time Jane can see again, a dark cloud is obscuring the moon.

  She’s not sure where Franklin is, but a subtle rustling comes from somewhere in the tree line. He's in the woods...thinks Jane.

  At the same moment, a light comes on at the window above Lila's room. Then, the bemused face of Charles Hendry follows. When he sees the dim outline of Jane on the grass below, he pulls the white latticed window open. “Jane... What's going on? Was that you I heard shouting?”

  “Franklin...” says Jane.

  “What about him?”

  “He's the killer.”

  “Impossible, he's harmless. He wouldn't hurt a fly,” says Charles, confidently.

  “I'm sorry, Charles, but it's true.” Jane looks back towards the tree line before saying, “I saw him coming to Lila's window. He's been taking photographs with his camera. That was the sound she heard like twigs snapping. I think he ran off into the woods.”

  “A camera? He's always taking photos with that thing,”

  “Yes, but probably for some ritual, I'd imagine. I need to call this in,” says Jane.

  “I'll come down. Franklin's hut is in the woods; he's probably gone there.”

  “I can't let you put yourself in danger, Charles,” says Jane.

  Charles sighs. “If he killed my father, which I doubt, I want to be there when he's apprehended. Besides, I know you; you'll head off after him before backup arrives. Two heads are better than one.”

  Jane doesn't stop to argue. If Franklin is to be caught, it has to be now. He is a woodsman, so if he makes it to the larger countryside he can disappear. It will take a large search team and tracker dogs to have any hope of finding him.

  Wild Cove is a quiet place, usually. At least, so Jane was told on many occasions, but her experience of it has been something quite different. Because of its perceived tranquility there is usually only one cop on duty at night, and tonight, it is Jane. She calls Deputy Morris' phone as she is joined on the dim lawn by a now dressed, though slightly ruffled, Charles Hendry.

  “His hut is this way,” says Charles, leading Jane towards a part of the tree line opposite the east side of the house.

  “Come on, Morris,” whispers Jane as she and Charles run across the well-groomed grass.

  The phone continues to ring. As Jane reaches the tree line, the deputy finally answers, though groggily. “Hello?”

  “Morris. Franklin is the prowler at Conwell House. Get in your patrol car and get over here immediately. Charles Hendry and I are pursuing Franklin through the woods.”

  “I should have brought a flashlight,” says Charles. “If Franklin killed my father...

  Jane finishes her conversation with Morris. “It's okay, Charles, we'll use mine to light the way. You just point me in the right direction and stay behind me. Don't do anything rash. I know how you must feel right now, but revenge isn't justice, okay? We do this by the book.”

  Charles nods. Jane steadies her breath and, with a revolver and a flashlight in her hands, she heads into the trees in front of them.

  The woods are dark and deep, but with Charles’ help, they find a small footpath that weaves through the looming black shapes rustling all around them. “This path leads to Franklin's hut,” Charles whispers. “We never use it; in fact we leave him to his own devices. Looks like we did that too much...” It sounds like Charles is starting to believe his gardener is capable of murder.

  “Don't beat yourself up, Charles. You couldn't have known.” Jane is trying to be as caring as possible, but in a life or death situation where Franklin can emerge at any point from the darkness, she has to remain focused on apprehending the man safely.

  The rustling around her makes this difficult, as each sound feels like something alive waiting to pounce.

  “Does he have a gun?” Jane asks, almost too nonchalantly.

  “I... I didn't think of that...” comes Charles' nervous reply. “He has a hunting rifle...”

  “This just got substantially more dangerous, then. I think you should go back to the house.”

  Charles places a reassuring hand on Jane's shoulder. “No, I'm not leaving you alone out here.”

  These words are soothing, and in a strange way, they remind Jane of Jack's fierce loyalty. Both are good men; perhaps if the situation were different, she and Charles could have been something. But in moments like this, those closest to her always flutter through Jane's mind, like a reminder of why she needs to make it through the danger alive. Only one face is on her mind, and it has the smiling dark features of Jack Macready.

  Charles speaks, “Up ahead, do you see that clearing? Franklin's hut is there.”

  In front of Jane, the thick mess of tangled trees and bushes parts as if welcoming her to a terrible fate. In a small clearing, a hut sits; a ramshackle cabin, clearly pieced together from the woods all around.

  “Stay here, promise me?” says Jane, turning to Charles. “I don't want you to get hurt.”

  Charles smiles. “I'll stay here until you need me, Jane.”

  Jane moves off on her own, towards the hut. As she does, she notices through a loose panel that a dim, yellow, incandescent light is glowing from within. Pressing her eye up to the gap, she sees the hunched figure of Franklin the gardener sitting on the floor. He is holding a rifle, pointing it at th
e only door to the cabin, his thick, oily hair fingering its way down his face.

  He's not coming quietly, thinks Jane. Rashness when closing in on a suspect is not something Jane likes in her colleagues, and yet she often goes against her own advice. She quietly walks around the back of the cabin until she finds a closed window. Inside, in another room, a strange red light casts a horrid hue over aging furniture and books. Jane entertains images of Franklin carrying out satanic rituals bathed in that unnerving, red light.

  Pushing the window up, she is relieved that it doesn't make too much noise. She climbs inside, hoping that he won't see her. Jane's plan is to sneak out of the room and rush Franklin before he has the chance to turn the gun on her or himself, but something stops her dead in her tracks. The red light isn't from any satanic ritual; it is for an entirely different purpose. The room is where Franklin develops his photographs. The red light was common in developing rooms back when film cameras were used, and Jane can see bottles of developing solution and a basin where Franklin will turn the negatives from his camera into full photographs. He is clearly a creature of the past.