Silent Scream Read online

  He nodded, kept nodding. “That’s why I told you about it in the first place, plus I wanted your okay to be part-time with them. But I’m feeling scared, boss, real scared. I’d rather live off Gina’s doctor salary someday than have a lot of money and be in someone’s crossover hairs.”

  Nick didn’t correct his English this time. He knew damn well what his friend meant. And he knew he’d give up this law practice and his covert South Shores investigations—all of it—to protect the ones he loved.

  * * *

  Claire had two goals at Black Bog that afternoon. One, to view the bodies, especially the faces, of the three who had shared the latest excavated grave. Second, to get a close look at the artifacts which had been buried with each person, and which had been taken quickly away for cleaning and preservation. She thought it was rather sad that those items which had been with them so long should be separated from them now.

  She felt much more relaxed and grounded after a morning holding and playing with Trey. He was getting so responsive, and despite the fact he was only a little over three months old, developing a personality.

  “Hope today’s been better,” she greeted Kris as she went to her own corner desk and laptop in their shared office. “No sore spots or bruises from the shock yesterday, I hope?”

  “I’m fine. And I won’t even say your party was a blast,” she said and hugged her, while Claire gave a dramatic groan. After all, Claire thought, what was there to do but plunge ahead and be grateful for the support of friends and family who had—for the most part—not been hurt.

  “So,” Claire said, putting her purse in a drawer and turning on her laptop, “think you’ll hear from Jace’s pilot friend?”

  “Don’t know, but it will be interesting. I need something like that, an interest in a live man instead of the other kind. What’s that motto on your website, ‘The dead still talk if you know how to listen’?”

  “And I’m hoping they do, especially around here. I’m going to ask Andrea for a close look at the new trio. Want to come along? And then—what’s the protocol for getting a glimpse of the artifacts from Brad?”

  Kris didn’t answer at first. Had she even heard that last question?

  “He does huge blow-up photos of each one,” she finally said. “Of course, he’ll let you study those.”

  “But not see the items themselves?”

  “They’re precious, priceless, and it’s not good to handle them, so much as breathe on them, once they’re cleaned.”

  Claire sank into her swivel chair and rotated it to face Kris. “So I can view them only on my laptop screen?”

  “On his. It’s like he’s keeper of the keys for the artifacts, though I can see why.”

  Claire felt deflated and a bit frustrated. Brad didn’t go out to the digs, had claustrophobia and guarded the artifacts even from the team? Well, everyone had their odd habits and quirks. And she should talk. She understood how important, how consuming it could be to protect precious things and precious people.

  “So,” Kris cut into her agonizing, “let’s go to Andrea and take a look at our three somehow related bog people. You can ask Brad to view the artifacts later. Maybe we can get a theory on these unusual bodies before they dig up any more.”

  * * *

  Nick was scanning some of the files Cheryl had brought him when his desk intercom rang. Cheryl said, “Bronco called from his post downstairs. Another most interesting person is insisting on seeing you.”

  “Tanner Linschwartz again or another guy from Georgia? Call Jensen and tell him before Bronco even passes them into the lobby. We might need security.”

  “No, it’s a very irate woman who is throwing her weight around—which isn’t much. I took a look at her on the security camera down there. A Ms. Marian James from a local group called the Endangered Properties Committee. And she says if you don’t back off, she’s going go public with your obstruction of rights and sue Dale and the firm.”

  “Actually, I’ve been expecting something from her. Is Dale here?”

  “He came in about a half hour ago, and I hear he’s on pain pills and not looking good.”

  “Keep him in his office and have Bronco escort her immediately and politely all the way to my office, then hold my calls.”

  18

  “I want to really get started with my study of the Hunter, Reaching Woman and Leader today,” Claire told Andrea and Kris as they walked through Andrea’s office to the back room that stored the bog bodies in deep drawers. “If I can just study these remains and the artifacts, I believe I can come up with a hypothesis and then consult with all of you.”

  Andrea didn’t so much as blink at her saying she wanted to study the artifacts, so perhaps she’d be more of an ally than Kris in getting Brad to show her those.

  Although Claire had been present at the disinterment of all three bodies, she steeled herself as Andrea opened the first drawer, now marked Hunter of Trio.

  There was no gut-wrenching smell as Claire had learned to associate with a coroner’s office, just an earthy odor. Hunter was still partly covered with the tarp he had been carried in, curled up almost as if he were kneeling. Even under the bright blue tarp, Claire could see his chest was hollowed out.

  “We’ll be working on examining him tomorrow,” Andrea told her. “After a thorough outer examination, we’ll remove all three brains for study, then reconstruct head and hair.”

  The pelt Hunter had worn for centuries was matted with peat and blotches of blood, but Claire could still tell it was animal hair. She noted it might have been made extraheavy, two-layered, up around his big shoulders. Had someone lovingly sewn it that way to keep him warm in the winter? Or to buffer something heavy he carried over his shoulders? But it appeared to have been pulled awry when someone had stabbed him, stolen his heart and life.

  “Was his heart found in the grave?” Claire asked.

  “The team looked around carefully,” Andrea said. “They found only that dagger in his hand, encrusted with either peat or blood. Brad’s examination of it will let us know soon.”

  “If there is blood on the dagger,” Claire said, “Brad won’t wash it off, will he?”

  “Eventually. What does it matter? We can’t type their blood.”

  As accommodating as she had started out, Andrea seemed in a hurry now, even on edge. Claire wondered if she’d overstepped. To answer the questions they had hired her for, surely they knew she had to probe.

  “Could I see the other side of his face?” she asked, shifting her position so their shadows from the bright overhead lights didn’t obscure him.

  “Of course,” Andrea said and slowly lifted the top of the tarp away.

  Claire moved around Kris to look at the other side of Hunter’s face she could not see from this angle. The right side was somewhat smashed but this left side had fared better.

  “Oh,” she cried, “he has a slashed cheek! I mean a scar, long and deep, not new. Well, definitely not new.”

  Both women gathered close and edged her out to see it themselves. It reminded her so much—too much, as if it were some awful omen—of the cut on Jace’s face.

  * * *

  “So you can get an article in the paper, but I can’t!” Marian James shouted and threw a copy of today’s The Naples Daily News on Nick’s desk.

  He had asked both Bronco and Cheryl to stay, and they sat against the wall in the back of the room by his bookcases.

  “Please sit down, Ms. James, and we will talk rather than shout,” Nick told her, ignoring the newspaper at first. She must be referring to the article about the drone attack at the country club.

  She sat, perched ramrod stiff on the edge of her chair. He slid the paper closer. Where had he put his own copy of it? He’d left the house with it. Too damned distracted. Maybe it was still in the car. He’d read it in a hurry, not much of it at that.
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br />   He glanced down at it again, a small article, thank heavens, including a picture taken of the shattered window from the eighteenth green. At least there were no photos of the sad chaos inside the verandah. And, he thought, at least the article didn’t include a guest list and only quoted the club hostess. Nothing about Jace’s or Dale’s specific injuries, no other interviews except a brief comment by Sergeant O’Brien.

  But in the second section that had slid out from under the front page was an article he hadn’t seen. Jace, face bandage and all, and—oh, yeah—he was with his pilot friend, Mitch Blakeman. They were both smiling in front of the nose of a jet at the Naples Airport. Local Vets to Hunt New Enemy—Hurricanes, the headline read. He and Claire had been so intent on the drone article, they hadn’t looked beyond.

  He had to tear his attention away from that back to the irate woman, but at least she seemed to have calmed down a bit.

  “Despite what Cynthia Lindley told you before her death, Ms. James,” Nick said, trying to steady his voice, “access to information and legal entry to the grounds of the Twisted Trees mansion was not hers to give. Mr. Braun has every right to keep those ruins and information about their long dead original owner private.”

  “It’s living history! I’m sure we could find a buyer for the property if he doesn’t want to share it with the public. As I said, our committee is not some fly-by-night organization but a well-funded one with some influential people on its board. And the German-Nazi connection makes the Braun mansion all the more important and valuable. Why, that’s of international concern. People have a right to know!”

  “Perhaps at a later time. I congratulate you on your admirable efforts but—”

  “What if there are artifacts there? This could even go into the realm of the state government control at the least, national interest at most. Magazines like The Smithsonian and National Geographic would be all over this, provide funding for reclamation and restoration of the site. And why is that carriage house or servants’ quarters or whatever it is boarded up and fairly intact when the rest of the place is in shambles?”

  Nick had to admit that this woman did raise some interesting questions. He had no answer for that. Did Dale?

  “I know Mr. Braun has problems of his own right now,” she went on in a calmer tone, “but please put this to him again, or I will have to bring more pressure to bear—and publicity. Yes, I know you said you’d insist I was trespassing when I took those photos. But since I’d earlier been invited by Mr. Braun’s fiancée—”

  “Former fiancée, not a family member, and now, sadly, deceased.”

  Marian James shot to her feet so fast, behind her, Bronco stood too. “I have a recording of the woman’s phone call to me! I know the timing is bad for this, but time is of the essence for derelict buildings, just as it is for murder suspects like your client. Please inform him he needs to cooperate with what will be very generous offers. On the other hand, I can at least let the media know that I had a call from a soon-to-be dead woman and have every right to share what she told me. I will, however, think that over for exactly one week before I act. I assure you, I and my committee will be in touch, but perhaps you will want to be in touch with me first.”

  She seized the newspaper from his desk and made a fast exit with Bronco right behind her, hopefully to be sure she didn’t try to get to Dale.

  Cheryl closed the door behind them and leaned against it as if to block the woman out. “Do you want Heck to research her and her committee, Nick?”

  “He’s got enough on his mind. I’ll have Claire check things out with me looking over her shoulder. I’m starting to think I might have missed something at Twisted Trees. But we have enough to do around here. Once you’re certain she’s gone, send Dale back in if he feels up to it,” he told her. “And even if he doesn’t.”

  * * *

  Claire stared down at the next drawer Andrea pulled out. It was labeled Reaching Woman of Trio.

  “Her pelt is the same kind as that on Hunter, don’t you think?” she asked. “Do other bodies have deer pelt clothing?”

  “No, more woven plant material, similar to Leader’s robe,” Kris said.

  At least she was getting steadier and more used to seeing these naturally mummified bodies. Her voice wasn’t shaking right now, nor was she trembling, and her stomach wasn’t twisted in knots. She was simply left with the feeling of awe—and fierce determination.

  “We’ll examine the crude thong stitching on both of the similar deer pelts, but that even looks the same,” Andrea observed.

  “Like Hunter, she has her legs drawn up,” Claire said, “as if she were kneeling—or cold.”

  Kris added, “Or trying to protect herself from that knife thrust—almost a praying position, if they prayed.”

  “Or one of deference or submission,” Claire said. “Maybe she was begging for mercy. Shouldn’t that knife have been left in place until she was further examined? I see it’s been removed.”

  “A key artifact to be studied and preserved,” Andrea recited her usual mantra.

  In other words, Claire thought, although Andrea was the trained archaeologist here, Brad ruled on that. Dare she question him on his tactics to get his hands on those precious items so quickly? Perhaps since he could not bear to see people enclosed in their graves, he was especially eager to oversee his part of this work. Besides the dagger being gone, what had appeared to be polished stones on a necklace spilled off a broken thong from around the woman’s neck was missing too. She knew better than to ask, but she planned to face Brad over that. Especially if the stone beads matched the bracelet Leader had worn.

  “Let’s just be certain again that her heart is there,” Andrea said, frowning. “Hunter’s chest was so carved out, but I’m sure her heart is intact, even if she was stabbed in it.”

  Kris shined a light she wore around her neck. It reminded Claire to ask for one of those little flashlights. Andrea carefully lifted the hem of the stiff garment from the woman’s bent knees.

  All three of them peered up the woman’s skirt. Claire gasped. Kris grunted as if she’d been struck, and Andrea swore. Reaching Woman’s chest had not been cut open, although she had indeed been stabbed in it. But a second heart, stony, hard and dark—but unmistakable—lay upon her shriveled thighs.

  19

  “All right, what’s up?” Brit demanded. “Jace, why are we parking at a police station? Something else about the drone attack? What’s going on?”

  “I wanted to get you here before I explained. Insurance for you and for us,” he said, killing the engine and unhooking his seat belt. He turned toward her so she wouldn’t have to see only the bandaged side of his face. He didn’t want to remind her of that attack or scare her more than he had to.

  “I figured you wouldn’t like it—would refuse,” he explained, reaching out to cup her shoulder with one hand. It was more to steady himself than her. “Nick has set all this up, but I asked him to. I’m going in to talk to Detective Jensen while an officer drives you to our apartment and waits until you pack your things, then follows you while you drive your car to your mother’s house. Brit, you have got to stay with her, or at least somewhere else, until I’m sure I’m clear of whoever sent that damn drone. If both of us moved and I’m the target, they’d find us again.”

  “Whoa! Who would find us? You think that drone was sent to scare—or even kill—you? I figured Nick must be the target. You mean because of Stingray, like—like some criminal found out you’re trying to nail drug smugglers?”

  “That’s not exactly top secret anymore. I can’t take the chance that you’d be hurt, if I’m the target. If they try again, you or anyone else could be—well, collateral damage.”

  “So we’re going to be apart for how long? What about our wedding plans? Oh—you think because the Markwoods’ reception was hit...”

  “Yeah, maybe. We can’t take tha
t chance.”

  “Don’t you think that write-up in the paper about you and Mitch moving on from supposedly crop and mosquito spraying to mere hurricanes is enough to keep the bad boys at bay?”

  “I’m sorry, honey,” he said, gripping her hands in his as she turned even more toward him. “I screwed up, miscalculated. See, there was a Stingray pilot in California who was targeted by a drone—in his plane. It crashed and he died. For all Mitch and I know, a drone’s the latest calling card of the Mexican drug mafia instead of a quick bullet in the head by some hit man or enforcer. I just can’t take a chance you’d be hurt.”

  “Or you would be. But for how long? Can we even talk?”

  “I figure I can call your mother, and she can give you the phone.”

  “Oh, really, like I’m six years old? And I call you how? Send smoke signals? Use poor Claire as a go-between? I know darn well you still care for her, and she’d do it for you, even if it endangered her.”

  “Not that now, honey. I’m just trying to do what will keep you safe.”

  She started to cry. “So this Detective Jensen agrees you might be the target?”

  “He doesn’t know—we don’t know. There are other possibilities, including, as you heard, that the family who owns the orange grove wants more money for an extra piece of land. But that’s too obvious.”

  She pulled one hand free and wiped tears from her face. “Just like it’s too obvious that Dale Braun would have strangled then frozen that poor girl, like she was stored chicken on ice to be devoured later. Someone running and ruining our lives from afar is horrible. I hate it, but I don’t hate you. So okay, we’ll be apart, for a little while.”

  * * *

  “I hate grilling you on this with all you’re going through right now, Dale,” Nick told him as they sat in Nick’s interview chairs at the small table away from his desk. He was trying to trust this junior partner—his client—but there was something strange going on.