Echoes (Whisper Trilogy Book 2) (15 page)

“The official report stated he was killed in the fire which he started with the intention of murdering the Samsons. It was put down as an unfortunate accident, however that wasn’t exactly how it went down, was it Mitch?” Marshall said with a faint smile on his lips.

Mitch hesitated, looked at Marshall, then at the folder.

“I suspected pretty much immediately there was more to it. You don’t do my job for as long as I have without getting a kind of gut instinct about certain things. Although the Samsons swore Donovan attacked them and set fire to the house, the evidence said otherwise.”

“What kind of evidence?” Goodson asked, setting the grisly photos face-down on the table.

“First off, the circumstances of the fire. The fire department established the gasoline was poured around the inner rooms of the house first and a trail left towards the door, yet we found the body in the sitting room. If Donovan had done it himself, he would have had to have left a trail to the door, gone back into the main bulk of the house to set it ablaze, then just stand there and wait to die.”

“It’s unusual, I’ll give you that,” Goodson said. “But everyone knew the guy was a nut. He had a psych record as long as my arm. Maybe he was crazy enough to do it and just sit there and burn.”

“Maybe,” Mitch said, as he rummaged through the folder and slid a document across the table to Goodson.

“That’s his autopsy report. The coroner found Donovan had signs of trauma to the face, as well as a stomach wound consistent with penetration of some kind of stabbing weapon. We also found faint evidence of strangulation on the unburned portions of his neck.”

Mitch pulled another photograph from the folder and handed it to Goodson.

“We found that near the body.”

Goodson looked at the picture. It was a charred handmade crucifix.

“We had it examined and found not only did it match the wound on Donovan’s stomach, the wood also contained fingerprints. One set belonging to Donovan. Another set to Steve Samson.”

“Are you saying Samson killed Donovan?” Goodson said, glancing at Marshall who seemed to be enjoying the show.

“It looks like a possibility. Maybe it was in self-defense, who knows. We found his prints on the gas can too. My theory is he found Donovan after he’d intruded; the two got into a scuffle, and either by accident or design, Samson kills Donovan. He panics and starts the fire to burn away any evidence.”

“It sounds plausible, although I don’t understand why he wouldn’t he just get the hell out of there? You saw the way he looked after the fire, he was a mess.”

“Yeah, it puzzled me too. This is the best I could come up with. The two tussle. Samson stabs Donovan in the stomach and thinks he’s dead. He panics and starts to pour the gas all over the house to hide the evidence. Donovan though, isn’t dead. He comes round just as Samson starts the fire. Samson can’t afford for Donovan to tell what happened, so even though the fire is burning, he goes back in and the two fight again, this time their battle culminating in the sitting room where Samson finally overpowers Donovan and strangles him. By this point, he’s also burning up. The house is ablaze. He leaves Donovan’s body to burn and charges through the house and slams through the glass kitchen door and into the snow, which is where we found him.”

“That’s exactly it.” Marshall mumbled.

“Say again, Henry?”

Marshall blinked, and squirmed in his chair. “Nothing, just thinking aloud. Go on.”

“Well there’s nothing more to say on it anyway. It’s my best guess as to how things went down. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not in any way defending Donovan. He was a violent, murdering psychopath. I just don’t think the Samson’s are as clean cut in all this.”

“Why wasn’t this reported? Surely this was grounds for some kind of an investigation?” Goodson said.

Mitch glanced at Marshall, who chose his words carefully.

“Try to see it from the town’s point of view. We’d already been hit with a lot. You have to remember, it’s different here. In the city, murder and death are normal. Here in Oakwell, it is – or was – a lot more sedate. We took certain steps to try and protect the town all in the interests of the greater good.”

“You covered it up, didn’t you?” Goodson said, looking from Marshall to Mitch.

“Cover up isn’t the wording I would use…” Marshall said.

“It looks a hell of a lot like it to me Henry.”

“Try to see it from our side will you?” Mitch said. “Donovan had already killed two people the night of the fire. God knows how many others over the years. Can you imagine what it would do to the town if we opened this up to a full investigation?”

“Besides,” Marshall cut in. “This went a lot deeper than anyone had realized. Long-time residents were involved in this, people who were pillars of the community. All of them were guilty of turning a blind eye to everything which had happened there since it was built. Investigating it would only bring trouble to the doors of good people who didn’t deserve it. This way was better. Damage limitation.”

“Donovan was already dead,” Mitch said as he put the photos back into the folder. “Henry convinced me it was better for the greater good if we fabricated the report and pin everything on Donovan. It would give us some closure and at least give the town a chance to recover.”

“Yeah, and look how that worked out,” Goodson snapped.

“We couldn’t have known how things would turn out,” Marshall said. “The damn internet is to blame. It seems we went overnight from our own quiet, sleepy slice of suburbia to a paranormal hotspot for the curious. Even so, sacrifices were made. Make no mistake.”

“And what were they?”

“I quit my job.” Mitch said. “After I falsified those reports, I didn’t feel like I could continue. There isn’t a day go by when I don’t think about what I did. The only reason I can sleep at night is knowing I did the right thing.”

“What about you Henry? What did you lose in all this?”

“What did I lose?” Marshall snapped. “I lost good friends, people who used to make this town tick. I lost the town I grew up in. I had to stand by and watch as it transformed into an ugly, overcrowded shithole like every other major city in the world. Don’t you dare talk to me about loss Goodson, because let me tell you, you don’t know the half of it.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you Henry,” Goodson said, reigning in his frustration. “This is just a big shock to me, and to be honest, I’m not really sure why you brought me here.”

“I thought it would have been obvious by now,” Marshall said with a slick smile. “I want you to use this information to make sure that Samson’s music deal collapses.”

“Is that ethical?” Goodson asked, shuffling in his seat.

“Probably not. Even so, I’m not interested in ethics. The way I see it, the Samsons owe this town a favor, even if they don’t know it. Make sure word gets around. Make sure people know it would be bad for any company’s public image to work with Steve Samson. Don’t go overboard with details, just leak enough to suggest there may be a pending follow-up investigation into his involvement in the Hope House fire. Just enough to frighten off any would-be customers.”

“Are you sure you want to do this Henry? They have a kid and they’re already flat broke. This could really push them over the edge.”

“That’s exactly what I want. Don’t worry, if they do as I ask, I’ll make sure they have more than enough money to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. This is just a necessary step.”

“Like I said to you earlier, this situation is making me very uncomfortable. I don’t like it.”

“Look, all you have to do is release the information and I’ll do the rest. Think of it this way, all they have to do to turn their current unfortunate situation around is accept my offer. It makes perfect sense. Don’t you agree?”

“I suppose so, I just don’t like it.”

“As Mitch will tell you. If you listen to me and go along with my advice, everything will be alright. Remember, everything I do is for the greater good. Can I trust you to do what needs to be done?”

Goodson looked from Marshall to the folder, then at Mitch, who was doing all he could to avoid eye contact. With a sigh, Goodson scooped up the folder from the table.

“Leave it with me. I’ll make sure it gets done.”

“Excellent,” Marshall said, clapping Goodson on the shoulder. “This will work out just fine, you wait and see.”

Goodson wanted to ask what would happen if they didn’t go along with it, however something in Marshall’s eyes told him he wouldn’t like the answer. Either way, he was glad he’d arranged the meeting with Rollins. This was something else he was sure he would be interested in knowing.

CHAPTER 9

“There he is,” Scott whispered.

They were crouched in the undergrowth on the outer edge of the circle. Cody was standing in the center, arms down by his side, face turned up to the sky.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Alex whispered as he shifted position.

“This is all he does. He just stands there, staring up into space. He never moves. He was here for five hours one day last week, just standing there. He didn’t even move when it rained.”

“What do you suppose he’s doing?” Carrie asked.

“Who knows? It looks like he’s praying or something. It’s freaky.” Scott replied.

“Why don’t we go and ask him?” Alex said, and before anyone could argue, he stood up and strode towards the center of the circle.

“Hey, numbnuts, what the hell are you doing out here?” he said as he swaggered towards Cody.

“Hey man, I’m talking to you.” Alex stopped short, and for a second, fear stabbed at his chest. Cody was completely oblivious to his presence, eyes half-closed, mouth open. A thin crust of drool stuck to his cheek.

He’s dead.

The thought entered Alex’s mind for a split-second, then he noticed Cody’s breathing. Even so, Alex felt something coming off the other boy, some kind of aura which didn’t feel good. It was as if everything had slowed to a crawl. The stifling silence served as the perfect backdrop while Alex stared at his friend. Everything appeared to have perfect clarity. Every pore on Cody’s pale, waxy skin stood out in perfect detail every tiny blood vessel in the corner of his eyes alive and vivid. Again, Alex was reminded of a death mask of some kind, and was consumed with the idea that he wasn’t looking at Cody. Instead he was sure he was watching a terrible, hellish thing dressed in his friend’s skin. A Cody mask. He could almost imagine the teenager’s flesh rippling while whatever lived underneath moved and squirmed, staring into the depressingly overcast sky.

“Cody, talk to me man,” Alex whispered, the act of being an overconfident prick forgotten. “The guys are worried, come on, let’s talk about this.”

Alex put a hand on Cody’s shoulder. It was like a trigger, some kind of switch transforming Cody from passive sky-gazer to lunatic. He screamed the most painful, anguished guttural roar of rage imaginable. There was only a split-second in which to register it before Cody tackled him to the ground. Such was the ferocity of the attack, Alex never even tried to defend himself. He felt vice-like fingers sink into the soft flesh of his neck, making such things as breathing a luxury he no longer had. Cody was glaring, eyes wide, veins throbbing in his temple as he whispered and muttered. Just as unconsciousness was starting to take Alex into its soothing grasp, he felt the pressure release on his throat as Cody slid his hands up his face and wedged his thumbs into his eye sockets.

Even worse than the horror of what was happening, and the absolute and utter helplessness he felt as he lay there on the ground, were the voices. They hissed and spoke with such cruelty and venom that any concern of what was happening to his physical body became secondary to the threats those disembodied vocalizations made.

“What the hell man, get off him!” Scott yelled as he grabbed Cody around the neck and attempted to pull him away. Emma, too, was now clawing at Cody’s forearms, trying to pry his fingers away from popping Alex’s eyeballs. Cody was supernaturally strong, his tendons as taut as steel wire, muscles bulging under his skin as he crushed the intruder.

From his position on the ground, Alex was only vaguely aware of all this. The voices in his head were trying to convince him to let go, and allow Cody to pop his eyeballs out onto his cheek. They said he wouldn’t need them, that they would be his vision and guide him away from his mundane existence to a place far beyond human comprehension.

He relaxed his grip on Cody’s wrists, allowing the pressure of the thumbs against his eyelids to increase. He was waiting for the wet popping sound to come when the pressure was released. He blinked away the white spots dancing across his vision, then strove to piece together what had happened. Cody lay face-down in the dirt. Beside him, Scott was holding the thick stub of a tree branch in both hands, breathing heavily with an expression of shock and revulsion.

Emma was shaking and crying as Carrie comforted her.

“You okay?” Scott whispered.

Alex nodded, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

“What the fuck happened?” Alex croaked.

“I hit him. I didn’t have a choice,” Scott said, glancing at the thick branch in his hands and tossing it aside. “What the hell did you say to him?”