The Death Dealer

“Nikki, it’s all right,” Brent said. “We all know where you and I…come from. But at the moment, I gather Joe’s been having some different experiences of his own.”



There was an edge to Brent’s final words, and Joe had to admit, he deserved it. But as for his own “different” experiences…he would be damned if he was going to admit to them.



“Have you shown him the articles yet?” Nikki asked her husband.



“What articles?” Joe asked sharply.



Brent reached down for a briefcase beside his chair, pulled out a folder and pushed it toward Joe, who opened it to see several photocopied pages.



“What are these?”



“Read them.”



Joe looked down. The first article was from a Richmond paper, dated three years earlier. The headline read, “Poe Scholar Found Dead in Own Basement.”



Joe glanced up. Brent’s face was impassive, so he went back to reading. According to the article, a literature professor named William Morton had been found dead inside his brick-walled wine cellar. He had been strangled. There was no mention of a note being found with his body, but given the Poe angle, a connection to the murders of Thorne Bigelow and Lori Star had to be considered.



“Did the killer leave anything?” Joe asked the other two. “Was there a note found with the body?”



“I know the cops who worked the case,” Brent said. “It’s gone cold, but it’s still open. And no, there was no note found with the body.”



“Did you, um, work the case yourself?” Joe asked.



“I just happen to know the cops who landed it,” Brent said. “Check out the next article.”



It was from a Baltimore paper, and it was dated a year ago. This headline read, “Professor Found in Family Tomb. Noted Poe Scholar Dead of Heart Attack.”



Joe read quickly through the article. Bradley Hicks, fifty, had been found lying on the floor of his family’s mausoleum. The door had been unlocked, but the coroner’s supposition was that the man had thought he was trapped, and that his terror had brought on the heart attack that killed him.



Joe looked up at Brent Blackhawk and his wife, who looked back at him without saying anything, allowing him to reach his own conclusions.



Joe skimmed both articles again.



The second mentioned the professor’s scholarly monographs, and the first touted William Morton’s acclaimed fictional account of Edgar Allan Poe’s life.



“No note found at the second scene, either?” Joe asked.



“To be honest, I didn’t know about the Baltimore death until Adam called and I started doing research. In fact, Hicks’s death isn’t even on the books as a murder. It’s listed as accidental. The investigators concluded that he went into the family mausoleum for whatever reason, thought he’d locked himself in, then panicked, had a heart attack and died. As far as William Morton goes, I don’t think anyone ever thought his murder had anything to do with Poe. And maybe it didn’t.”



Joe stared thoughtfully into space. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Blackhawk had presented him with some really solid research, the type that could give him what he needed to crack the case.



“We’ll need to find out if any of the New York board members were in either city at the relevant times,” he said.



“None of them,” Brent said. “At least, none of them was living in either place.”



Joe frowned. “You’ve already checked?”



“Of course,” Brent said.



“But either one is easily reachable from here,” Nikki put in. “By air or driving.”



“Do we know if any of the board members were on vacation in either area at the time?” Joe asked.



“I haven’t had time to pull their credit-card records. We’re looking at three different cities and three different states, but we’ll get there,” Brent said. He tapped on the paper. “I know William Morton’s widow,” he said.



Joe looked up at him. “You do?”



“Yes. I happened to meet her when I was in Richmond, doing some…some work at Hollywood Cemetery there. She had brought flowers. We talked. I’d say she considers me a friend.”



“Can we interview her?” Joe asked.



“Yes. And here’s something interesting. Her husband knew Thorne Bigelow.”



“Not surprising, given that they were both interested in Poe. Still, the police in both jurisdictions should start coordinating their investigations. In fact, the FBI should be involved,” Joe said.



“I’m sure they will be,” Brent said, leaning back. “But we’re still talking law-enforcement agencies, and lots of legal hurdles they can’t circumvent.”



Joe felt as if he were listening to Raif Green. Cops couldn’t always do what he did. They were public servants.



He wasn’t.



Just then Brent looked past him and rose. Turning, Joe saw that Adam and Genevieve had arrived. Adam was wearing a suit and looked as if he belonged on Wall Street. And Genevieve…



He winced inwardly. Her eyes were on his, and they were full of hurt.



He didn’t look away. He wondered if she could read his own feeling of betrayal in his eyes.



But despite that, he also felt an instant surge of appreciation for the fact that she was there. He realized, seeing her, the luster of her hair, the easy grace of her movements, even that look in her eyes, that, whether he liked it or not, she had come to mean so much to him. No, not so much. Everything.



Still…



He turned away. He couldn’t help it. He was still angry. She had asked for his help, and he had given her his best. And she? She had betrayed him.



She had called in Adam Harrison.



And then she was there, exchanging hugs and hellos.



“Brent, Nikki, it’s wonderful to see you again. Thanks so much for coming.” Her greeting was enthusiastic.



“Joe,” she said, after greeting the others.



Little enthusiasm there.



“Hey, Gen,” he replied, and gave her an awkward kiss on the cheek.



“Shall we order drinks?” Adam said.



“There are some loose ends I’d like to tie up here,” Joe told Brent, getting back to business—and trying hard not to look at Gen—once they’d ordered iced tea all around. “But then I’d like to stop by the Baltimore police station, and get down to Richmond and interview your cop friends. And the dead man’s widow, as well.”



“What’s going on?” Genevieve asked.



“Brent found some similar deaths that just might be related to your murders up here—and might bring us closer to the truth,” Adam explained.



“Really?” Genevieve asked. “So when are we leaving?”



“I need the afternoon for those loose ends I mentioned,” Joe said. “I want to bring Raif Green and Tom Dooley up to speed on what I’ve just learned, for one thing.”



“There’s something else I think we need to take care of,” Brent told him.



Why the hell was the man looking at him that way? Joe wondered.



“I think you and I need take a trip together first,” Blackhawk said.



“A trip together? What are you talking about?” Joe asked impatiently.



“Hastings House,” Blackhawk said.



CHAPTER 15



Genevieve saw Joe’s expression darken and knew he wasn’t pleased, to say the least.



And yet, though she had enlisted Adam’s help because of Joe, she was tempted to say, “Hey, what about me? I need some help, too.”



But she had never mentioned her own strange experiences to Joe, any more than he had confided in her about what was preying on his mind and making him act so strangely. Maybe she was like him, determined not to acknowledge the reality of certain things. At the same time, the very fact that she had called Adam in meant she was at least a little bit more receptive than Joe was.



They hadn’t eaten yet, but suddenly Joe stood and said, “We’ll see. But you’ll have to excuse me. I just remembered something I have to do. Enjoy your lunch,” he added. Then he turned and left.



And that was it. Everyone else at the table was left staring after him.



“Hmm, that went well,” Nikki said, after a moment.



And Genevieve had to laugh, even if there was just a hint of a sob in it.



“No, I’m serious, that went well,” Nikki repeated.



“How can you say that?” Genevieve asked.



“He didn’t tell us all to go fuck ourselves, for one thing,” Brent said, offering her an encouraging smile.



“Brent…” Adam said.



“Sorry.”



Then Adam waved the waiter over, and Gen realized they were still going to have lunch, though she was sure she wouldn’t be able to eat a thing.



“How about you? How are you doing?” Nikki asked her, once they’d placed their orders.



Genevieve looked at the other woman, her senior by only a few years. She suddenly envied her tremendously. She was fully comfortable with her “gift,” whether other people believed in it or not, and she was also head over heels in love with her husband, who had an ever greater “gift” and who completely understood her.



“I’m sure it’s just the stress getting to me, because I thought…well, I mean, it’s not like anyone was really even there,” she said, then bit her lip. She hadn’t really intended to say that out loud, had she?



“What?” Brent asked, and flashed a glance at Nikki.



Genevieve winced. “I’m sorry. Like I said, it’s just the stress of worrying about my mother and the whole Poe thing.”



“I heard,” Nikki mused, obviously sensing Gen’s discomfort and willing to let her off the hook, at least for now, “there are Poe tours here in New York.”



“Are you suggesting we take one?” Adam asked.



“Why not?”



Genevieve was surprised to discover that the offer of the diversion was a welcome one, even for her.