The Academy (Moving In Series Book 6) (10 page)

“Perhaps I can be of assistance, then,” Ernest said. “Who is it?”

“Nathaniel Weiss,” Brian said.

The smile on Ernest’s face faltered, then fell away completely. “Ah.”

“Do you know him?” Brian asked.

“I do,” Ernest answered. “Well, I knew him. Quite well. What do you need to know about him?”

“How he died,” Brian said. “And, if you know, what his interest was in the supernatural.”

Ernest smiled. “He died of old age. Nothing more, and nothing less. It was neither a tragic death nor was it an exciting one. He passed in his sleep. And his interest in the supernatural was to see if he could maintain a presence here on earth after death. Which, of course, he did.”

“How do you know?” Brian asked eagerly. “Did you see him after he died, and how well did you know him?”

“I did indeed see him after his death,” Ernest said. “Several times, actually. And I knew him extremely well.”

“Do you mind if I ask how?” Brian said.

“Not at all,” Ernest said. “He was my father.”

Brian blinked, shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, did you say he was your father?”

Ernest nodded, all humor was gone from his face. “Yes. He was a difficult man in life, and nearly impossible in death.”

“How often did you see him?” Brian said, then clarified, “I mean, after he died.”

“Three times.”

“Was there a reason behind the infrequency of contact between you two?” Brian asked.

“Yes,” Ernest said. “I locked him away in a lead-lined safe. Why are you asking?”

“Your father was released. Accidently, but still, he’s out and about.”

Ernest frowned. “Do you still have the photograph?”

Brian shook his head. “No. It’s gone missing.”

“Then I suggest you find it,” Ernest said seriously. “I trapped him in it, until his name was spoken. And it seems some fool has let him out. Mind you, Mr. Roy, my father is a cunning man, and extremely manipulative. He speaks exceptionally well, and he has a disturbing ability to convince people to commit actions they normally might not willingly do.”

“I have to ask, did you have the safe built into the wall, or moved it there?” Brian asked.

“My father actually had all of that done,” Ernest said. “Which brings me to another question. What did you do with the other items in the safe?”

“What other items?” Brian asked, confused. “The photograph was all there was.”

“You need to look around the study then,” Ernest said. “And the house. In addition to my father’s photograph, there were, I believe, five other possessed objects. You should check the cellar as well, who knows where they could have gotten to.”

“Wait,” Brian said, shaking his head. “Are we both talking about Deer Stag House?”

“Deer Stag House?” Ernest said. “Dieter Stag’s house? No. Not at all. I’m talking about my own house. I had left it in the will to be used by the Academy for a library after my passing. The safe was in my father’s study.”

“The safe I’m talking about,” Brian said, “is in the cellar of the Deer Stag House. Someone buried it there and then walled it up.”

“You’ve more problems than you can imagine then, my friend,” Ernest said sympathetically. “If the safe was moved, and only my father was confined there, then you must be wary. I know for certain that one of them was exceptionally brutal to deal with.”

“Do you know how many altogether?” Brian asked.

“Five. I’m nearly certain it was five. Six, if you are including my father in the equation.”

“Six,” Brian repeated.

“Yes, six. My father will seek to free them as quickly as possible, he was,” Ernest paused and then said, “well, he was an egomaniac. He liked nothing more than to bend others to his will. Unleashing those only he can control will feed his mania.”

“Great,” Brian muttered.

“Be careful, Brian,” Ernest said. “My father is not a man to take lightly.”

“Yeah,” Brian said morosely. “I already figured that one out.”

Chapter 27: Listening Well

Detective Bethany Skillings had graduated from the Academy. The class of 1998. Other than a little traveling she had done in the summers of her college years, Beth was strictly a New England girl. And a Connecticut one at that.

She stood in front of Adrienne Hall, where she had kissed a boy named Peter Jackson as a freshman, and thought,
Why in the hell did this happen?

The crime scene was what one would expect for a violent assault turned homicide. There was blood everywhere; all across the neatly planted boxwood bushes, the red brick and the white marble of the walls. It had even soaked into the ground. Aaron Dubois had been beaten to death by someone who knew their business. He had bled a great deal, the killer taking their time, making sure it lasted as long as possible.

Usually, Beth was able to turn off the sympathetic part of her brain, but the scene had been a little too much. Dubois had literally looked like someone had put him through a meat-grinder. His lips had been flayed back, revealing cracked and broken teeth. The orbital sockets had been crushed. One eye was jellied, and the other lay on a swollen cheek, the optic nerve trailing back into the socket. The man’s nose had been splayed across his face, and his scalp had been torn backward, leaving a large patch of bone exposed.

Even a few of the forensic techs had been forced to take breathers. Everyone had breathed a sigh of relief when the medical examiner had given the okay for the body to be removed.

Now, all I have to do is figure out who killed him
, Beth told herself. The electronic assets had proven to be a bust, but she was hopeful something in the man’s life might shed some light on the crime.

If not,
she sighed,
it’ll be good old fashioned police work. That wonderful question of, ‘Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary?’

Beth turned away from the blood splatter and saw Dean Marks by the building’s stairs. Dean had been a forensic tech longer than she had been a cop.

“Hey Dean,” she called.

The man didn’t look at her. He stared straight ahead, eyes locked on the door to Adrienne Hall.

“Dean?” she said again, moving a step closer to him.

He still didn’t respond. His eyelids blinked, he smiled softly and nodded to himself. Without a word, he climbed the stairs.

“Dean,” Beth said sharply as the man grabbed the doorknob and tried to let himself in.

Several other techs stopped what they were doing. Everyone stared at Dean, a collective air of disbelief heavy in the atmosphere as he rattled the knob.

Beth walked towards him, the door rattling on its hinges with the force of Dean’s efforts. She called his name again, and still he ignored her. When she reached him, Beth put out a hand, taking hold of his arm.

He looked at her, his expression was one of mild surprise.

“Dean,” Beth said. “Are you okay?”

He smiled, shook her hand off and returned his attention to the door.

As she reached out a second time for him, Dean stopped, tilting his head slightly to the right and a serious expression swept onto his thin face.

“Yes,” he whispered, and slammed into the door with his shoulder.

Beth watched in horror as Dean’s left clavicle broke, the bone piercing through his white coveralls. Blood instantly soaked the fabric, and Dean frowned as he glanced at his injury. With a sigh, he turned a little and drove his right shoulder into the door, which sagged in on broken hinges.

Dean’s shoulder, however, shifted and popped out of its socket. The man didn’t notice. He tried to walk into the building, one arm hanging awkwardly and the bone protruding from above the other. Beth kept her grip on him, though. Dean turned to face her, frowning.

“You need to let go, Beth,” he said, his voice curiously thick. “I have a job to do.”

“Dean,” she said gently, forcing herself to shut off her horrified shock. “Come with me. You’re hurt.”

“In a minute.” Dean turned away, and Beth let go of him, worried she might injure him more if she kept her grip.

To the left of the door, there was a glow, as though someone had sprayed the wall with fluorescent paint.

Was that there before?
she asked herself, but then the question was forgotten as Dean walked forward.

She followed him into the building, half a step behind. He paused, looked from left to right, and then nodded again.

He’s listening to someone
, Beth said.
But who? What?

Dean moved to the right, walking towards a closed door.

Beth glanced over her shoulder and saw Sarah, one of the other forensic techs, had come up the stairs. “Get an ambulance here, Sarah, now!”

Sarah nodded and took out her phone. While the young woman made the call, Beth continued after Dean, who had reached the far door.

No, not again,
Beth thought, worry flooding her as Dean slowly tried the knob.

Thankfully, it was unlocked. When the door swung in, a light came on, and a tiny room was revealed. Tall, narrow bookcases, packed with paperbacks, occupied each wall.

Dean twisted around to face her, a happy, almost innocent smile on his face.

“It’s here,” he said cheerfully. “Here.”

His eyes rolled back in his head, and he went limp, falling noisily to the floor. Beth ran into the small room, dropped down to her knees and rolled Dean onto his back. She winced at the sight of the bone and quickly put her fingers at his neck.

Still alive
, she thought, sighing with relief as she felt the steady thumping of his heart through his carotid artery. Distantly, she heard a siren. Sarah hurried back into the room, bringing water and a first aid kit.

“There’s not much we can do,” Beth said. “We need to keep his head steady, and make sure he stays still.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open, pain filling them as he let out an agonized scream. He tried to move, but Sarah kept his arms pinned down, the screams shifting to shrieks.

“Dean!” Beth snapped, holding onto either side of his head and looking down at him.

His frightened eyes locked onto her. “Oh Jesus Christ, Beth! What the hell is wrong with me?!”

“Dean, look, focus on me,” she said, forcing him to continue looking at her. “We’ll talk about what happened later. Right now, you’re just going to look at me. The paramedics will be here soon. They’ll take care of you and fix you right up. You know that. Until they come in, it’s you, me and Sarah. Okay?”

Dean nodded slightly.

“Good,” Beth said.

The sirens got closer, and Dean whispered, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Beth replied. “I’m not sure what happened, but I do know you’re going to be okay.”

As the last word left her mouth, she heard the squeal of brakes as the ambulance arrived, the siren cutting out in mid-wail. Behind her, Beth heard the familiar sounds of the paramedics approaching, the noises of the doors and the equipment.

“We’ve got him, Detective,” a young man said, squeezing past her and taking control of his head.

“Thanks,” Beth managed to say, and she exited the room quickly. She found herself standing next to Sarah as the paramedics worked on Dean.

“What the hell happened to him?” Sarah asked in a low voice.

“I don’t know,” Beth answered. “He’s not the first to do something weird, though.”

Sarah looked at her, surprised. “I thought those were just rumors.”

Beth shook her head. “We’ve got one suicide, another murder-suicide, a janitor who destroyed a display case with his head, a mysterious beat-down, and the murder last night.”

“Think it’s got something to do with the pipes?” Sarah asked. “You know, methane coming up from the burst toilets?”

“I don’t know,” Beth said. “But I think this place should be closed up tight while it’s figured out.”

Sarah shook her head. “Students might like that, but the parents will raise a stink.”

“Yeah,” Beth agreed, looking over at the paramedics and Dean, “but what’s the alternative?”

Chapter 28: Sneaking In

Herman crouched down in a lilac bush and kept an eye on Adrienne Hall. An ambulance had left a few minutes before, and the main door had been closed over. Someone in a pair of white overalls had sealed it with yellow tape, and the last of the forensics’ people loaded up into a large black truck and left.

Herman didn’t rush out. He wanted to make sure no one was around before he tried to sneak in. Herman didn’t know why school had been canceled again, or why the police had been there, but he didn’t want to get into any trouble.

Yeah,
he told himself,
let’s stay out of trouble. Mom’s in a bad enough mood as it is
. His father had never come home, and his mother, drunker than usual, had decided to yell at Herman for being out all day. Thankfully, she had focused more on her wine than on him, and soon her anger was forgotten. Herman pushed the memories away and returned his attention to Adrienne Hall.

Another thirty minutes had passed before he felt comfortable enough to emerge from the lilacs. He adjusted the baseball hat he wore and hoped the cameras wouldn’t be able to make out his face. With his head tilted down slightly, Herman walked rapidly to the stairs, up to the door, and saw how it hung curiously on its hinges. Only a gentle nudge was required to let him in, and Herman managed to do it without any damage to the crime scene tape. He paused in the dim hallway, let his eyes adjust, and looked at the trophy case.

It was huge, commanding nearly a quarter of the long hallway. Within its protective glass, there were trophies dating all the way back to the late 1800’s. They came in a huge array of shapes and sizes, and for everything from successful debates to target shooting.

Which one does he want?

“You’re Herman?” a deep voice asked, and Herman nearly jumped out of his shoes. His hat flew off his head, and he looked around frantically for the speaker.

A short, squat man in a suit stood in a dark corner, barely visible in the light.