Page 3 of Whispers at Dusk
“Della, the rock!”
She was startled to hear the urgent whisper.
There was no one anywhere near them!
But the person who was not there kept talking. And she knew she’d been hit in the head. She was terrified. She might be going completely crazy with fear, but the person was using...
Jose’s voice.
She stared at the killer and her eyes widened.
Because Josewasthere. Something of him. She could see him, handsome in the casual suit in which he had been buried, coral shirt, gray jacket, and trousers. His dark hair was neatly combed, he looked wonderful, except...
He couldn’t really be there.
“Listen to me, Della!” Jose said firmly. “He’s coming down. Let him get close—despite the knife! Let him get close. Then kick him in the nuts as hard as you can and grab that rock and smash in his face. I’d do it for you, but... I can’t pick anything up, I’m afraid. I’ll try kicking...get it closer to you. But wait...wait...let him get down and then...”
She had to be imagining he was there, her dear friend, trying to help her, even from the grave.
She had never been so terrified in her life, watching the killer come down closer and closer to her, watching the knife gleam so strangely in the moonlight...
“Now!” Jose shouted.
She reached; she could feel the rock. Her fingers curled around it.
And she kicked. She had the leg strength of a strong swimmer, and she drew her knee up and kicked him with everything in her while slamming the rock against his head as hard as she could.
And the knife fell, dangerously close to her face, as the killer screamed in agony and clasped his bloody face and fell to her side in a fetal position.
She was up in a flash, screaming desperately for help and racing toward the caretaker’s house where a door was opened for her, where the police were immediately called and then...
It seemed all hell broke loose.
They caught him that night. He still couldn’t stand straight when the police arrived. He tried to say he’d just been walking down the street, and Della had attacked him. The police didn’t buy it. And in the days to come, forensic science would tie him to other murders. He’d thought he’d cleaned his knife. He hadn’t. Special techniques showed the knife had been used on the poor woman in the Biloxi area, and once that happened, he’d been proud to be known as the Canal Carnivore. He assured them all he was going to be immortal, one of the greatest killers ever.
An FBI agent who had been following the killer’s trail of blood assured him all he had done was take some beautiful people away from those who had loved them. He wasn’t famous at all. He was just Henry Worth of Los Angeles, California, and he’d be doing—at the least—life with no chance of parole.
The agent had questioned Della. A man of about forty, he was even and controlled. When they talked, Della realized just how close he’d been. He told her if it hadn’t been for her, Worth might have killed again and again.
“You showed remarkable coolness in such a situation, young lady. Think about joining the Bureau. I hear you’re studying criminology.”
“I was thinking forensics,” Della told him. “But... Well, I have three more years to go.”
The agent had been kind. Her parents, of course, had been hysterical. To calm them she had reminded them she’d taken down the killer.
But in truth, Jose had done that. And when the dust had settled on it all, she returned to the cemetery just as the sun was setting in the western sky. She stood by his grave and said, “Jose! You saved my life, my friend. Please... You’re here, right?”
She felt him touch her shoulders, as he had in life sometimes supporting her. She smiled and turned and he was there.
“I wasn’t so sure,” he told her. “I thought you might have it. Like an extra sight, the ability to see with your mind—or your heart or soul—whatever it might be. Benjamin Turner, the Yankee buried up by the house, told me about it. Some of the living have it. When I thought about the way I had seen you here at various times, I suspected you might.” He grinned. “Oh, and Lieutenant Parker—he was with Lee’s regiment during the Civil War, opposite side—assured me what Ben was saying was the absolute truth.” He shrugged. “I enjoy the two of them. Parker is great—a man who can admit he was wrong, that a whole society was wrong... Anyway. I’m just so grateful you could see me, hear me!”
“And I’m just so grateful you saved my life,” she whispered.
He smiled. “You...your folks. Always giving to others. But... I heard that FBI guy. You have what it takes, Della. I think you should consider joining the Bureau. This special thing. Whatever it is. Della, it means you have an edge. And maybe you should use that edge.”
“Maybe,” she whispered. “Maybe. As long as I get to keep seeing you.”
Jose grinned. “We can do that! And I’ll introduce you to Ben and Josiah Parker. They’re great! And then... Well, talk to them, too. Then use what you’ve got, my dearest friend. Use what you’ve got!”
