Page 53 of Whispers at Dusk
Della searched his eyes and smiled. “That’s a nice story!”
“Yeah. He was a great guy. I’d go and see him when something was going wrong in life, when I was having trouble at school... I loved him.”
“That’s still beautiful,” she assured him.
“You? Come on. I know about your folks, but...” He grinned, lowering his voice to something deep and teasing—and relaxed. He was still surprised she drew so much out of him. But theirs was a strange relationship and he suddenly found himself seeing her in his mind’s eye again in a towel. She was a beautiful woman, and he had felt that attraction to her soon after they’d met. He’d reminded himself they were professionals—working. And that had stood him well.
She grimaced and paused a minute, then told him about her past.
“A friend was accidentally struck in the head in a stupid high school rivalry. Anyway...as it happened, he died. We were all devastated, including the poor kid who killed him who was going to have to live with what he’d done all his life. The guys were all throwing stuff at each other, and well, one threw a heavy mug and it hit my friend’s head. I mean, it was horrible at first, losing him. And the way I found out. I gave blood a lot, so I went to the hospital to give blood when there was an emergency call. Turned out it was for him...but he couldn’t be saved. So later, when I was in college, he saved my life. A killer followed me, and thanks to him...well, I survived and the killer was caught.”
“Whoa. Now that’s...heavy,” Mason acknowledged.
“And the same, really. He was a great friend, good to everyone, and I loved him. As a friend—we weren’t dating or anything. But when he knew I could see him—and after the incident with the serial killer—he told me I needed to use what I had. I wasn’t a kid, though. I was in college, home and working for the summer. And even then... Well, it was rough at first. Learning not to try to explain to people I could see the dead, or looking crazy when I was somewhere and saw a spirit and wanted to reach out.”
“That’s hard for everyone.”
“But you were just a kid—”
“With help,” he said quietly.
“Oh?”
“My father,” he told her. “He had whatever this is. I didn’t know it, of course, until I realized he was also talking to Mr. Delany—our neighbor who haunted the cemetery. Of course, he realized I saw him and he had a long talk with me, saying he didn’t know whether to be happy or sad I’d inherited the ability, but he was a cop...and I wanted to be a cop, too. But after the service, I was recruited by the FBI. I figured it was almost the same thing.”
“That’s wonderful and admirable. A family of law enforcement!” Della said.
“Three generations. My grandfather was NYPD, too.”
“You grew up in the city?”
He nodded. “Hey, not a bad place to grow up! I was raised in an apartment at the north end of Central Park. I spent days playing in teams there, at the museums—and my mom was a Broadway buff. I can’t complain about life growing up.”
“I didn’t imply it was a bad place to grow up!” she assured him.
He smiled. “Guess what?”
“What? Wait! Don’t say ‘Guess what, chicken butt’ or anything like it!” she warned.
He shook his head, grinning. “I didn’t travel the way you did as a kid, but I have been to the Orkney Islands before and to Kirkwall, of course.”
“What for?” she asked.
He nodded. “I had a great-grandfather from Glasgow and a cousin—Campbell Carter—who fell in love with golf and then all things Scottish. So, the summer between high school and college, my grandfather brought us to Glasgow—then Edinburgh, Stirling, St. Andrews, Loch Ness, naturally, and on up to John O’Groats and on the ferry over to the Orkneys.”
She smiled. “Good! You’ll know the terrain.”
He sat back, smiling. Then his smile wavered. He wished they were on vacation. A strange date or vacation. He had truly enjoyed the Orkneys from the historic stories about Vikings, kings, jarls, the Ring of Brodgar, the ancient standing stones, and so much more. He wished they could visit St. Magnus Cathedral, founded in 1137, filled with exquisite art chronicling hundreds of years of the Islands in its very walls. But...
As if reading his mind, Della leaned back, growing somber. “And now...the vampire. The Master? Or one of his followers, here in another historic and beautiful place.” She turned to look at him. “Did Maryanne say anything that indicated they might know others who followed the Master in any way?”
“We went through all this last night,” he reminded her.
“I just wish we could have switched off questioning the way we originally planned. But when Maryanne just started screaming—”
“And we learned about another victim,” Mason reminded her. “And you wouldn’t have gotten anywhere with Maryanne—any more than I would have gotten anything more out of Tomaso. We’ve both seen the videos of our interviews. They told the same story—same weird story. They did what they had to do, what the Master ordered them to do—but I never saw two people turn on one another like that. And even now—and I don’t care how wonderful the Norwegian correctional system is, they’re in for a long, long time—they truly believe they were an inch away from eternity. That’s the thing. I think theirMasterwas in Norway. I think he’s the one I saw in the street.”
“How? Because the murder in Kirkwall occurred just yesterday—”
