The Silenced

He went on to thank his audience, which included reporters from various news organizations, and stepped away from the podium. The DC mayor came forward again and began to speak.

But Meg didn’t hear him. Her heart seemed to slam against her chest. She saw that the agent who’d just finished was standing in the background, talking to an elderly white-haired man in a pristine suit.

Adam Harrison.

Meg got up. She had to speak with Adam; she didn’t want to simply call a hotline.

She’d intended to go to him eventually for another reason altogether. She’d always wanted to be part of the Krewe of Hunters—and she felt she belonged there. She’d wanted to graduate and enter the criminal division first, a matter of pride, perhaps. As in, I’ve taken all the right steps. I’ve worked my hardest. I believe I’ve excelled and I believe I have the skills you need...

There was no waiting now.

She had to go to him; she knew he’d help her.

And she desperately needed help. She had to find out about the victim.

Because Lara was a blonde, five-seven, lovely and fit and about a hundred and twenty pounds.

* * *

“Margaret!”

Meg wasn’t sure why Adam Harrison even remembered her. He must have met hundreds of people through the years and she hadn’t seen him in more than a decade.

He was a very dear man. Ramrod-straight, dignified in manner and appearance, he had to be in his late seventies or early eighties. She’d been surprised that the phone number he’d given her all those years ago still worked. Her call to him via that number had gone right through, almost as if he’d been expecting to hear from her. How that could be, she didn’t know.

Years ago, Adam had arrived at her home, although the police and even Meg’s own parents had been skeptical. He’d come with the FBI agents who’d been called in because her cousin’s case had begun as a kidnapping.

While the family worked to put together a ransom, Meg knew that Mary Elizabeth was already dead. She’d known because she’d awakened to find Mary Elizabeth sitting at the foot of her bed. At first, she’d been joyous, certain that her older cousin had been released and come home while she was sleeping. But Mary Elizabeth had drawn a finger to her lips, shaking her head. She’d tried to speak, and Meg had heard a rustling sound. And then she thought she heard her cousin speaking, telling her that she had to let them know the truth—that the family couldn’t go on believing when there was no hope. Her body was in the cemetery, hidden behind a mausoleum. Meg crawled out of bed. The grown-ups were all awake; officers crowded the house, and everyone waited by the phone.

Crying, Meg went to her mother and whispered what she knew. Her mother was horrified, not wanting her dad’s sister and husband to hear. She’d pulled Meg away and chastised her in the kitchen. But the older man who’d come with the FBI people had followed. He’d listened to her story and, back in the parlor, told someone to check the cemetery.

Where they’d found Mary Elizabeth’s body.

At first, Meg’s own mother had treated her as if she’d been possessed by Satan. She’d quickly gotten over that, but Meg would never forget the way her own family had looked at her. Thanks to her, they’d caught the killer almost immediately. Forensic evidence left at the scene made short work of identifying him, since he was a repeat offender and therefore already in law enforcement databases, and of proving his guilt.

She saw her cousin one more time. At the funeral, by the graveside. She’d been beautiful, dressed in the white confirmation gown in which she was buried, shrouded in brilliant gold light. Somehow it had been comforting. And she’d actually comforted her aunt and uncle; her conviction was so strong that Mary Elizabeth was in heaven.

Adam Harrison had been at the funeral. He’d been so kind to her, and Meg had never forgotten.

Standing outside alone, she’d watched while he paid his condolences to her family. When he saw her, she thought she’d start crying all over again. But he came to her and said, “You’re a very brave and special girl, you know.”

“I’m a freak,” she told him.

He shook his head. “No, Margaret, you’re not a freak at all. You’re special,” he repeated.

That made her roll her eyes. Her older cousins liked to tease her and call her “special” when they were making fun of her.

He’d smiled. “No, you really are. You can’t bring Mary Elizabeth back, but you’ve allowed her to be at peace. And the man who killed her, he’ll never kill again. We found her body quickly because of you, and found the evidence we needed to arrest her killer. There are monsters in this world, Margaret. And it takes very special people to stop their power. If you ever need me, call.”

He’d handed her his card. Later, without ever using it, she’d put the number in her cell phone.

Over the years, she’d read everything she could about Adam. He was rich, but he didn’t spend his money on cars or vacations. Without being a member of any police force, he assisted various agencies with what were referred to as “unusual” crimes. He’d been appointed a “directing consultant” with a specialized unit at the FBI.

That was when she’d known she’d wanted to be part of the FBI.

She’d never contacted him; she’d just worked toward her goal.

But now...

When she called him at the cell phone number that was still, miraculously, the right number, he told her to come over.

His home was in northern Virginia, so it hadn’t taken her long to reach him—no more than forty-five minutes—even though she stopped by Lara’s on the way.

“You’ve graduated, Margaret. Congratulations!” he said as he welcomed her into his home.

“You...knew I was in the academy?”

“Of course. I thought maybe you’d find me. If you hadn’t, I would have sought you out. Do you want to be with the Krewe?” he asked her. “Oh, would you like some iced tea or coffee—or a drink?”

She shook her head. “I need help,” she said.

“Oh?” He seemed surprised. She realized he’d assumed she was coming to inquire about becoming part of the Krewe.

“My friend Lara Mayhew is missing. I saw the press conference about the woman discovered in the river. Adam, Lara fits the description to a T.”

He frowned, obviously not expecting this. “It’s a long shot to think your friend might be this girl. When did she go missing?” he asked.

“She left me a message at around two-thirty this morning, about leaving DC. She said she had to get out of there. And she seemed really distressed.”

Adam was silent for a minute. Meg knew he’d lived through a great deal of stress and heartache through the years. “But...if she said she was leaving, it’s quite possible that she...left.”

“There was something wrong with the message, Adam. She didn’t sound all right. She almost sounded as if...as if she planned to go into hiding.”

“Maybe she did,” he said gently.

“I know, but her message scared me.”

“So you’d say she’s been missing, what, about fifteen hours?”

Meg nodded unhappily. She knew that the length of time Lara had been missing wouldn’t fit the official interpretation of “missing.” It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours.

“And you haven’t been able to reach her?”

“No, and I made several other calls, too.” She hesitated, then added, “She was involved in politics. Not that I’m suggesting politicians are evil or anything.”

Adam laughed. “We could take a poll on that one,” he said.

“The whole situation really worries me, Adam. She worked in media relations for Congressman Walker, and I tried calling his office. They seemed to be saying she quit, but I couldn’t get any more out of them. They gave me...the brush-off.”

“I won’t get a brush-off,” he assured her, his voice grim. “Those offices are usually busy, and unless you represent a powerful lobby of some kind... Well, let’s just say that the days when a man could walk into the White House to chat with the president are long gone.” He paused, then offered her an encouraging smile. “Remember, though, your friend may be fine. Try not to stress too much. If she said she was leaving, she might have done just that.”

“Adam, I know that something’s wrong.”

“Ah,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

“I—I need to see her.”

“Of course. You mean you need to see the victim. If she can be identified, it’ll certainly help the investigation. You realize it’s not easy?”

“I went through the academy. I’ve seen all kinds of horrors.”

“Yes,” he said, “but this is the real world you’re entering—not a video of what others have been through or a lecture about what they’ve discovered. This will be up close. And it might well be personal.”

“I’ve been to an autopsy before.”

“However, it may not be your friend at all,” he pointed out.

“But then again, it may be. I can’t reach her, Adam,” she said, even more urgently than before. “I tried repeatedly. I called her aunt. I called other friends. And, as I told you, her office wouldn’t give me any information.”

“So they say she quit?”

“Yes, sometime yesterday or last night, I assume. Actually, they didn’t use the word quit. They used the words no longer here. And they suggested I speak with her if I wanted more information about her future plans.”

Adam was thoughtful for a moment.

“Have you...seen this friend?” he asked her softly.

Seen. As in seeing her ghost or whatever remained of the person who had once been Lara.

“No, but like I said, I’m absolutely certain that something is very wrong. She loved her job. Plus, her message seemed so strange. And there was another call from her phone but no message. I figured at first that she’d redialed by accident.” Meg shrugged hopelessly. “Adam, believe me, I tried all the people and venues I could. I had her landlady check, but Lara didn’t answer the door at her apartment. I checked her place myself on the way here. She didn’t respond. I have her spare key so I went in. She’s not there. Her purse and keys are gone, but she hasn’t packed to go anywhere. I’m aware that she hasn’t been gone very long and yet...her resemblance to the victim is so close.”

“I understand.”

“I just— I need to see the woman they found, Adam.”

“The body is badly decomposed,” he warned her.

“Still... I believe I’d know if it was Lara.”

“I agree that you need to see her,” Adam said.

“I noticed that the Bureau is handling the case.”

“Yes, the Krewe specifically, and yes, I can make the arrangements. Are you ready now?”

She nodded.

“You drove here?” he asked her.

“I did. So we can go to the morgue right away?” Meg asked.

“We’ll stop there first, although we probably don’t have to. I’m sure that if this is your friend, her fingerprints are in the system, since she works on the Hill. I believe the corp—the young woman was not... Well, it may take them time to get prints, but I can find out where the ME is with that.”

He made the calls as she drove. They reached the OCME and a receptionist was waiting to let them in. Adam was familiar with the morgue and led her down a hallway.

They were met by the man she’d seen on television. She was tall, but he seemed to tower over her. She tried to remember the name she’d heard on TV. Agent...Boswell or something like that.

It didn’t matter. Adam introduced them. He was Special Agent Matthew Bosworth. He was polite but restrained during the introduction, and assured Adam that Dr. Wong was already there, prepared to show the body.

Meg was brought into the room where the woman lay. The air was pungent with the combined scent of disinfectant and decomposing flesh. She swallowed fiercely to fight her gag reflexes. She’d seen death before, but never like this.

It was difficult to view the body...

She had to. She began to shake. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Is it your friend?” Agent Bosworth asked her.

2

Matt had long been accustomed to the horrors in this world and yet every time he saw the handiwork of a killer he felt as though his heart and soul had been torn apart. All that made it bearable was the fact that he confronted those monsters. Someone had to, and perhaps because of his own past, he was more determined to confront them than others.

Yet watching Meg Murray as she stared at the dead woman seemed more wrenching than dealing with death himself.

He wondered if she really could make an identification—the corpse was so mottled and distorted with swelling and decomposition.

Even Dr. Wong, who spent far too many hours gazing upon the horrors inflicted on one person by another, seemed moved as he studied the young woman. But Wong didn’t usually get to observe, up close, what seeing the ravaged body of a victim did to those who had cherished that victim in life. Making the whole situation even harder was the fact that Meg was one of them now. And she had a past with Adam Harrison, although Matt knew very little about it.

Wong cleared his throat.

As he did, Matt remembered when it had been his turn to stare down at the dead, dreading the possibility that the remains would belong to someone he loved.

He glanced over at Adam, who was looking back at him.

Matt set a hand on Meg Murray’s shoulder. “Is it your friend Lara?” Meg was straight and tall—and shaking. She had enormous and striking blue eyes. She blinked hard, trying not to betray emotion. Watching her was painful; she was beautiful but seemed fragile, yet she also had the rigid stance and stoic control of a hardened law enforcement officer.

He forced himself to be just as impassive. The seconds ticked by.

He wondered if she’d heard his question.

“No.”

She was shaking even more badly now.

She turned suddenly, almost colliding with him. He was afraid she’d fall and awkwardly tried to comfort her, holding her upright, patting her back.

“No, no,” she said. “It’s...it’s not Lara.”

Her hair smelled sweetly clean. For a moment, when she clung to him, her body racked with emotional spasms, he felt as if they’d been transported from the decay of the morgue to the realm of daylight and life.

“You’re sure?” he asked huskily.

She nodded.

“You realize that the face and body have been badly...compromised,” he began.

“It’s not her. I’d know Lara.”

She took a huge breath and steadied herself, shoulders straightening as she moved back, and shrugged with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I just...”

“It’s fine,” he said.

“I was so afraid...” Her voice shook. “I should have better control.”

“We should never have complete control. We wouldn’t be human,” he said.

Matt had never met her before tonight, but he’d heard about her. Unless circumstances brought them a perfect candidate for the Krewe, Adam and Jackson introduced prospective agents they’d heard about to the rest of the group—and then the possibility of an interview was broached. They were a tight clan.

They spoke freely among one another.

But just one another.

They were closemouthed, careful to smile casually when other agents teased them about being the supernatural crowd. If they responded, it was merely to say that they considered all possibilities on a case. He’d first heard about Meg—or Margaret Colleen Murray—in a meeting. Adam had mentioned that a “prospect” was coming through the academy.

If she was on Adam’s radar, there had to be a reason.

“Well, then, there’s hope,” Adam said. “Meg? Don’t you agree?”

She’d been looking at Matt with an expression of relief mixed with horror. She turned to Adam and shook her head. He stepped forward with her, urging her closer to the corpse.

“You’re sure?” he asked, just as Matt had.

Meg seemed frozen for a minute or two, then reached out and gently touched the dead woman’s arm. “Yes...”

“My heart bleeds for this poor girl,” Adam told her quietly, “but as Matt said, at least there’s hope for your friend Lara.”

Matt sent Adam a silent question, gesturing toward the door.

“Shall we go?” Adam suggested. “Dr. Wong, thank you.”

Matt followed Adam and Meg out to the hallway, thanking Wong for coming back in at a moment’s notice that night.

“It’s difficult, huh?” Wong shook his head. “I’m very glad for Agent Murray—but it means other people out there will mourn this woman. I wonder sometimes what I was doing when I decided to become a medical examiner. There’s an old joke about doctors who go that route. As an ME, you can’t make fatal mistakes—because your patients are already dead. But...I like to think that at least we speak for the dead, that we’re a voice. The voice that may lead to justice.”

“Yours is the voice that leads to justice,” Matt declared.

Wong nodded slowly. “There’s something off about this. I can’t quite figure out what it is.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “When I have both bodies here, maybe I’ll see it.”

“Keep me posted.”

“You heading this one up?”

Matt glanced at Adam and Meg as they moved down the hall toward the exit. “So it seems. Jackson Crow officially, but definitely our unit.” Jackson Crow spent long hours in the office. He was in charge of supervising the Krewe and overseeing the unit in New York. He coordinated data searches that came to them, organized specialized work as needed and kept his expert eye on every case in motion.

Since Matt had been summoned to the morgue that morning, he assumed he was now responsible for this one.

“I’ll call you immediately with anything I have,” Wong promised him.

Matt thanked him and hurried after the other two.

While Jackson Crow did the real supervisory work, Harrison was the creator of their unit and the overall head; Harrison dealt with the Bureau chief, mayors and other law enforcement—paving the way for Krewe members when that was needed. Adam and Jackson made a good team; Adam Harrison left Jackson Crow free to concentrate on the work at hand.

Matt had thought Adam and Meg would leave, but they were waiting for him, speaking quietly.

When he reached them, they left the building.

“What made you think your friend might have been one of the victims?” Matt asked.

“I received a strange message from her, saying that she was going home,” Meg replied.

Matt couldn’t help it; he raised his eyebrows at Adam. He said, in what he hoped was an even tone, “Then, perhaps, she has gone home.”

Meg Murray stiffened. He almost smiled. His reaction might be a whimsical one, but he felt she had the look of a dark-haired pagan queen—not a fledgling agent—at that moment. She might become a force to be reckoned with, if she wasn’t one already.

“She didn’t go home. I called her cell phone, her landline and her home in Virginia. She always has her cell—and she’s not answering it. Her parents have both passed away, but I’ve spoken with her aunt, who hasn’t heard from her, either. And now, of course, she’s worried, too.”

“But she might have taken a longer route...”

“Home could mean two other places,” she broke in, “aside from her apartment, and she’s definitely not there. Harpers Ferry is where she spent half her time, or it could mean Richmond, where her aunt lives. There is no route to Richmond or Harpers Ferry long enough to take all day,” Meg said tightly.

At least her anger with him had stopped her shaking. There wasn’t a thing about her that seemed fragile now.

“Thank you for making these arrangements, Agent Bosworth. I won’t trouble you again.”

She turned and headed for her car. Adam Harrison watched her stalk off, a concerned frown on his face. “She has good reason to be worried,” he said.

“And that reason would be?”

“I don’t know the whole story yet. For starters, we need to have that phone message analyzed. Her friend Lara Mayhew worked for Congressman Walker. Lara called Meg very late—as in 2:30 a.m. Lara was upset. The kind of upset that worried Meg,” Adam explained. “And Lara used these words—I have to get out of here.”

“But this call only came in last night, or rather, early this morning,” Matt pointed out. “I’m not trying to be skeptical. I’m merely playing devil’s advocate.”

“I’ve heard the message. Well, messages,” he said.

“Messages?”

“Two of them,” Adam told him. “I’ll have her play them for you in the morning. The second one sounds like an accidental call—just background noise. Might have been wind. We’ll need to have it analyzed, as well.”

Matt mulled that over. “So, there could be trouble. It could mean someone took the phone away from her, for instance. But it could also mean that her friend’s gone into hiding, which is what the first message implied.”

Adam nodded. “She could have, but I know Meg. And Meg... Well, you should understand. Sometimes people just...know,” he said.

“Yes, I remember you had your eye on her when she was in the academy.”

“And now she’s out. Her graduation ceremony was yesterday. She’s been assigned to the criminal division. Anyway, I’ll make the appropriate arrangements and bring her in.”

“You think this is a real case? This business about Lara Mayhew? Adam, we do have two savaged bodies. And Meg’s friend wasn’t one of them.”

“But her friend has disappeared. There’s a killer out there. And I don’t like the idea that Lara was working for a congressman. I hate to say it, but...”

“Yes, scandal has erupted in those circumstances before.” Matt frowned. “But if there’s ever been any scandal around Congressman Walker, I’ve never heard it. His wife is gracious, a well-known hostess and fundraiser for assorted charities. And Walker’s been in office so long his kids go to school in DC. Does Meg Murray—do you—believe that Ian Walker has done her friend in over a sex scandal?” Matt was skeptical. Not that congressional scandals didn’t exist and not that appearances couldn’t deceive, but as he’d said, Walker’s reputation was that of an honest, upstanding family man.

“Meg hasn’t suggested that her friend was saying anything negative about Ian Walker. Then again, you never know.” Adam sighed. “She’s worried. And her friend and the two dead girls fit the same description. She might be this killer’s type.” Adam looked away for a minute. “I’m bringing her into the Krewe. She has...instincts. We’re going to help her find Lara.”

“But should we be chasing someone who might want to stay hidden? Whose disappearance might be entirely unconnected? Sir, we have the makings of a serial killing spree here. One more will make it three.”

“Yes, and her friend just might be the one to raise the body count to three,” Adam said. “I’m going to let Meg focus on this situation until it’s solved. And, Matthew, you’ll work with her. My office, first thing in the morning, if you will.”

* * *

Was she dead?

Lara Mayhew saw nothing but a world that was black. Maybe it was limbo, maybe it was purgatory.

If so, death came with all the pain of life. Her limbs hurt; her head pounded. Opening her eyes seemed to be a Herculean task.

Death. Did death come with thirst and hunger and cold, too?

No.

She wasn’t dead, but she was in hell. Hell on earth. She could smell the soil around her; she could feel a damp chill seeping into her.

Buried! she thought. Buried alive.

A sound escaped her lips and she knew that before death came the ability to feel fear. Terror. She tried to move and found that she could. She stretched out her arms and felt the hard dirt beneath her. Yes, buried alive.

She rose to her knees and felt around her.

Scream? Don’t scream? Was the killer nearby?

On her hands and knees, she crawled forward—until she struck hard rock. She felt the pain in her knuckles. Yes, that proved she was alive!