As I looked down through my chart, underlining “feather,” “soul effigy,” “broken chain” and “shackles,” I felt a stirring of excitement. Maybe Tom Gerrity was right. The answer was there, staring me right in the face, if only I could interpret the killer’s message.
How much time did we have, I wondered, before he claimed his next victim?
“What is it?” Devlin asked.
His voice startled me in the quiet. I’d almost forgotten he was there, which also surprised me. “I was just sitting here going over all the epitaphs and symbols and thinking that Tom Gerrity was right. There is a message in all of this, but I don’t know how to read it.” I paused. “Have you found anything?”
“No, unfortunately.” He sounded as frustrated as I felt.
“You know what’s still bothering me? How the killer knew about those tunnels.”
“Like I said earlier, old records, deeds. By accident.” He glanced up. “I’ll tell you what’s bothering me. The way the skeleton was shackled.”
“Because it breaks the pattern?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“When will you hear from Ethan?”
“Soon. He’ll make it a priority. At least now he can compare any anomalies or details he finds in this skeleton with the remains we exhumed from the grave.”
We both fell silent for a moment as we concentrated on the Oak Grove images.
Then I thought of something else I wanted to tell him. “Remember I mentioned earlier about seeing Daniel Meakin in the archives room at Emerson? I asked him that day about the possibility of a missing register from an old church that was once connected to Oak Grove. He said a lot of records were destroyed during and after the Civil War, but he also mentioned that some of them might have merely been misplaced because everything is such a mess down there. And he’s right about that. Someone could have easily removed any record or book that cited those tunnels and no one would have missed them.”
“Did he mention anything other than a church in connection to that property?”
“No. And we talked about it, too. He did tell me that he has some old books in his office that reference Oak Grove. He was going to look up some information for me, but I haven’t seen him since that day.”
Devlin nodded. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“I think that’s a good idea. If anyone would know whether something had been there before the church, it would be him.” I hesitated as something else occurred to me. “This probably has nothing to do with anything, but Temple told me that Meakin once tried to commit suicide.”
Devlin glanced up.
“I know it’s just gossip, but apparently she saw a nasty-looking scar on his wrist. And he does tend to favor his left hand. You’ll see what I mean when you talk to him. He holds it at an odd angle as if he’s constantly bothered by that scar or overly aware of what he tried to do to himself.”
“He’s always been a little strange,” Devlin said.
I cocked my head in surprise. “You know him? When you said you knew of him, I assumed you were familiar with his work.”
“He was a few years ahead of me in school.”
“What school? Emerson?
He frowned at the accusatory note in my tone. “Is that a problem?”
“No…it’s not a problem, but why didn’t you mention it before?”
He shrugged. “I don’t talk about my personal life unless it’s relevant.”
I stared down at my chart, wondering if he would consider my next question relevant or just plain nosy. “Did you meet your wife at Emerson?” I almost said “Mariama,” but caught myself because Devlin had never once called her by name. Another odd thing.
He hesitated. “Yes.”
“Did you know Dr. Shaw?”
“Everyone on campus knew Shaw. He was an enigmatic presence, to say the least.”
“Did you ever go to one of his séances?”
“I can’t think of a bigger waste of time.”
So much scorn from someone so haunted.
“Did you know any of the Claws?”
He closed his laptop. “You sure have a lot of questions tonight.”
“Sorry.”
“I’d say you’ve taken to detective work like a duck to water.”
I wasn’t sure he meant that as a compliment, but I decided to take it as such. “In some ways, it’s not so different from my job. And I like mysteries. Which is why I’m so intrigued with the Order of the Coffin and the Claw. Have you noticed that no one wants to talk about them?”
He made a noncommittal sound I couldn’t interpret.
I gave him a surreptitious appraisal out of the corner of my eye. “You said earlier that people in high places were starting to pull some strings. Do you think that has something to do with the Order? They have generations of influence behind them and apparently no one wants to take them on. Are they closing rank to protect one of their own?”
Devlin scrubbed a hand down his face, looking bone-deep weary when only moments ago he’d seemed relaxed. “I don’t know. I’ve seen signs of manipulation, but I don’t know where it’s coming from.”
“They can’t cover it up, can they?”
“No. Not after what we found today. But they can control it by bringing in their own investigators.”
“But it’s your case.”
“You’re right. And I don’t intend to give it up without a fight.”
The look in his eyes scared me a little. “What can they do to you if you don’t cooperate?”
“Nothing,” he said. “They can’t touch me.”
With Devlin’s confident assertion still ringing in my ears, I rose and went into the kitchen to make tea. I took my time boiling the water and setting out cups because I wanted a chance to think back over our discussion. I felt that I’d learned some important things about Devlin. The revelation that he’d attended Emerson was of particular interest, and I still found it curious that he hadn’t mentioned it on the many occasions we’d discussed Afton Delacourt’s murder. But maybe he really was just that discreet about his personal life.
I carried the tea out to the office only to find Devlin stretched out on the chaise, fast asleep.
Sitting down behind my desk, I returned to the images, but the longer I sifted through the now-familiar symbols and epitaphs, the less enthusiasm I had for the task. I was beginning to feel a little off—weakness in my knees, an uncomfortable hollowness in my stomach. The same symptoms I’d experienced the last time Devlin had fallen asleep in my office.
I told myself I wouldn’t go to him this time. I would just let him sleep, and when he woke up, we would resume talking about the case or he would leave. And that would be that.
I wouldn’t go to him.
But, of course, I did go to him because I couldn’t stay away. I stood over him, bracing myself for the jolt, for that breathless pressure in my chest, and when it came, it still took me by storm. My legs buckled and I sat down heavily on the chaise beside him.
Devlin’s eyes flew open. He stared at me intently, but I had the strange notion that he wasn’t really seeing me. That he might not even be fully awake yet.
Something fleeted across his face, an unbearable sadness that came and went so fast I wasn’t even sure that I’d seen it. But I was reminded of what he’d told me that afternoon about his nightmares.
He sat up and glanced around. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened. We were going through the Oak Grove images and you fell asleep.”
He sat back against the chaise and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “What is it about this place?” he
