Interpreter for the Dead Read online

  "I have to Henry, to fix the bleeding," said Emerson, lowering the anesthesia mask over his face.

  "I had another dream," said Henry, his hands moving slowly.

  "Did you dream you were flying?"

  "No," said Henry. "I dreamed you were hurting me."

  He waited for the boy's eyes to flutter shut and he told himself that this was it, that things were over between them, and he meant it.

  But he'd been mistaken. Henry began thrashing on the table and went into cardiac arrest. Realizing it was a reaction between the gas and a flu vaccine given the day before, Emerson had clamped his hand over the boy's mouth and tried to suffocate him, but a teacher heard the commotion and came running in. Emerson took his hands off and enlisted the teacher's aid as he now struggled to save the child's life.

  There were never any suspicions, never any charges, but he took a job in Kansas City the next week.

  That was the last Hiram Emerson had seen of Henry Dane, until Henry showed up on his doorstep two months ago, his face old and lined and his eyes filled with rage.

  It would have been simple enough to give Henry Dane his revenge, to have gone in the garage and sat in the car with the engine running until he was alive no more. That was the thought had gone through his own mind, and Henry's no doubt, when Dane had agreed to give him a day to tell his wife before he went and turned himself into the police. Better that than prison.

  He did get in the car, but not to kill himself. He used it instead to follow Henry Dane all the way back to Boulder before he lost him in traffic. But his number was in the phone book and it was easy enough to find the plot of land where he lived, widowed with no family save for a golden retriever - or so he had thought, until he became head of the school board and found out otherwise from Oren McConnell. Not that knowing would have made any difference.

  He took out the dog out first; watching from a distance to make sure it was dead. Then he came back that night, feeling the cold through his waders as he followed the stream all the way to the back of the house.

  Everything was locked up tight. Henry wouldn't hear him if he smashed one of the windows, but his Intuition told him told him to find a better way, leading him to the barn where he found a pipe wrench. Walking back to the house something caught his ear. He followed the sound to the dog's collar nailed to the tree, the air still smelling of overturned earth. It occurred to him - was given to him - that here would be a good place to bury the body. Nobody would think to look underneath the dog.

  He went back to the house and forced the handle on the back door, the sound seeming as loud as a gunshot. He stepped inside and let his eyes adjust to the dark before going on. He went to Henry Dane's room and he stood over him, listening to him breathe as he looked down upon him. He could just make out the tiny scar on his cheek. The memory of their Special Time came back to him and he had to keep himself from reaching out and touching him. He reminded himself this was not the Henry he had known, so full of Love and Innocence. This Henry wanted to do bad things to him.

  He told Henry that he still loved him, but that he was going to have to kill him.

  Stepping back to use the pipe wrench, his hand brushed against the nightstand and something fell to the floor. Picking it up, he saw that it was heart medication and received another Revelation. Taking the pills into the bathroom, he immersed them in a solution made from methamphetamines. Usually used only as an adjunct in the Work, he had brought along a handful to help him make the long, cold journey down the river.

  He had to smile at the Serendipity of it all.

  He waited for them to dry, and then put them back in the bottle and returned the bottle to the nightstand.

  He popped the one tablet he had saved and left the house, going back the way he came, feeling no pain as he waded along and watched the stars dance across the surface of the water.

  The lights flickered overhead. Emerson fingered a butterscotch candy from the glass dish and went to the window, closing the door along the way. He sucked the candy and clicked it against his teeth while he watched them play.

  How ironic, he thought, that the position on the school's board of directors should become available so soon after Henry's death.

  It was if he had been allowed to return back to the Garden. True, he was not the physician for the school, but he'd already become a presence in the nurse's office, volunteering to help whenever he could. Under budgeted and overworked, the nurse and staff were always grateful for his assistance.

  Emerson watched a blonde-haired little girl try to keep her skirt from flipping over her head as she hung from the monkey bars.

  With all the money they would get from Henry Dane's property, he would buy them new equipment. Or maybe even build them an entirely new playground, closer to his office.

  He smiled thinking about the tape Henry Dane's very own friend had given him. He had not known before then how valuable the land was that Henry Dane owned, or even that he owned it.

  Neither did he know that Henry Dane had a wife and son until he was in the house and saw the pictures. The woman had died years ago. The boy, he assumed was grown and gone. A quick search of the house was enough to let him know that wherever he was, he wasn't there. Emerson had wondered, however, as he sat waiting for the pills to dry, if Henry had shared the Mysteries with his son. He liked to imagine that he had.

  Too soon, the lights flickered again and the children scampered back to the classrooms, the last of the butterscotch candy melting on his tongue.

  He took a drink of his coffee, feeling the now lukewarm, bitter liquid slide down his throat.

  He'd only been mildly surprised when Michael Dane had shown up in his office earlier in the week. After everything Oren McConnell had told him, he knew they'd be hearing from his lawyer at the least. Not that he would have pursued it. It would have been nice had it been that easy, but he knew that it wasn't. The tape was simply a last desperate attempt by McConnell to save the little farmer's market he and his neighbors had put together and nothing more.

  It had no legal weight, as Henry Dane's son knew. But it had seemed odd to him that his son was so desperate to avoid a legal battle. Still, he could have cared less. It was only a chance call from Oren McConnell that he was able to learn the will was a fake.

  That information, along with what he discovered about the boy's past, changed everything. If he could get rid of Michael Dane, then there was a very good chance that they could get the property.

  The boy was smart, too, and that bothered him. He was sure that he had covered his tracks, but if there was any chance he might be discovered it would be while the boy was nosing around. Better to get rid of him, too.

  The Compass pointed the way again when it led him out to McConnell's farmer's market, Fate gracing him with McConnell's absence and nobody recognizing him in his heavy overcoat and hat. It had been amazingly simple really. Jamming the lock on the portable toilet forced them to have to let him use the toilet in the house. In less than three minutes the deed was done. Now all he had to do was wait.

  Emerson noticed the newspaper and remembered what he had told the secretary. It would be a good excuse to stretch his legs and stop by the nurse's station.

  He walked out into the hallway, singing a little song under his breath. People were coming and going through the front door. There seemed to be some of commotion at the entrance. He craned hi neck to see.

  Michael Dane, forcing his way towards his office.

  He knew.

  Emerson turned and ran.

  Chapter 31

  Dane saw Emerson turn and run. A pack of children poured out of a classroom right in front of him and he had to jump to avoid them. He slipped and fell on to all fours, dropping the printouts.

  Damn.

  Sharp pain shot up from his knee. He pulled himself back up using the rail and limped after Emerson.

  Not now. Not this close.

  Behind him, children picked up the pieces of paper - photocopies of newspap
er articles, public records, and police reports that verified everything Dane had suspected.

  He lost Emerson around a corner.

  Why had he wasted precious time confirming his suspicions? He should have left as soon as he'd guessed what the picture meant.

  Up ahead, the sounds of screaming as Emerson shoved children out of his way.

  Please don't let him have a gun, thought Dane.

  He hobbled along as fast as he could.

  Dane heard the fire alarm go off. Bells rang and lights flashed. Swarms of children and teachers moved out into the hall and cost him precious seconds.

  A sound like a gunshot rang out.

  He was too late.

  But no - it was just Emerson slamming his office door. Dane threw himself against it. It was locked.

  "Open up the door!"

  He flung himself up against the door over and over again, until the door frame splintered and he fell inside.

  Emerson was nowhere to be seen. One of the windows was open. Dane ran to it and looked out, quickly scanning the entire grounds. Trees, outbuildings, cars. Too many places to hide. And if he got to a car...

  Gone.

  Dane turned and made for the door but stopped. There was small hallway in the room leading to another doorway. He followed it.

  The door was locked. Dane shouldered it until it gave. He stumbled inside. A full bathroom with a shower. He saw a distorted shadow move on the other side of the frosted glass.

  "It's over Emerson."

  Nothing.

  Dane picked up a trashcan and hurled it. The shower door shattered. Emerson fell to the floor, he was shoving a handful of pills into his mouth. Dane reached in an yanked him out, dragging him over jagged glass still stuck in the bottom of the frame.

  Emerson cried out.

  Dane stood over the bleeding, broken figure, panting like a wild animal. He picked Emerson up by the throat and slammed him against the wall, his feet dangling off the ground. White foam dribbled from his mouth. Dane could feel the old man's pulse racing through the vein in his throat, matching the pace of his own.

  "Finish it," Emerson urged.

  Dane pulled his fist back and screamed.

  He screamed for his own life. He screamed for his father. He screamed for all the lives wasted because of this pathetic piece of shit in front of him.

  Dane flung the old man to the ground.

  He slammed his fists into Emerson's stomach, and the old man puked everything he'd swallowed.

  "You finish it. In prison."

  Epilogue

  Cottonwood seeds drifted among the headstones like a million tiny ghosts, as Michael Dane made his way through the cemetery. At his mother's stone he knelt down, placing the flowers he had picked from the window box at the house on her grave.

  "These are from me and Dad."

  He kissed his fingers and held them to the granite. When he pulled them away, they were covered with dust. There were a million things he wanted to say to her, but he couldn't find the words.

  He stood and turned toward his father's grave. Empty for the past week, it was now ready to receive back that which had been taken from it. The casket was suspended above the grave, ready to be lowered. Nicked and scratched during the disinterment, Dane had the casket sanded down, painted and resealed during the inquest. Leaning over to lay flowers on the lid, he saw his own reflection in the polished wood. They had done a good job restoring it.

  There had been just enough methamphetamine left within the embalmed tissue to match against the residue left in the pill bottle found in Emerson' house. Why Emerson had kept his father's prescription bottle he did not know.

  Even without it, investigators had found enough so far to put Emerson away. Picking up where Michael Dane had left off, and even using much of the information he had gathered, the police located victims across seven different states.

  Some did not want to reopen old wounds, and refused to cooperate. They didn't want their private lives, often in ruins, dragged into the public light. Many, however, were grateful to receive answers to questions that had plagued them their entire lives and willingly pressed charges. Several victims were dead long ago, either from Emerson's hand or their own.

  Dane stepped back from the graveside and nodded to the caretaker. The casket was slowly lowered back into the ground.

  AJ and Brandy waited in the truck for him to return. They drove in silence for a while, the dog laying her head in Dane's lap as he rubbed her ears.

  "Thanks for driving me out here," said Dane.

  "It's the least I could do after everything we put you through," AJ told him. "I guess you were right when you said I didn't know my father as well as I thought I did."

  Who does? Dane thought, looking away.

  "Things get complicated when you start looking out for other people," he offered.

  "I guess so. Doesn't make it right."

  "At least he feels bad about it, AJ. Emerson didn't feel bad about any of the things he did."

  "Now Emerson can't hurt anybody else. Thanks to you."

  They drove for quite a bit before Dane spoke again, grinning.

  "Funny how that works isn't it?"

  "What do you mean?" AJ asked.

  "How the guy looking out solely for himself gets everything and more, while the guy looking out for everybody else ends up looking like an ass."

  "Yeah, I guess you could say that," she replied, unable to hide the irritation in her voice.

  "Does your dad feel like an ass?"

  That was enough.

  "Listen, Michael, what my dad did was wrong. You don't have to rub my nose in it."

  Dane held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, I was just asking a question."

  AJ stomped on the accelerator.

  "So does he?"

  "Jesus, Michael. He resigned from the co-op, he barely says a word to me, and all he does is mope around the house. What do you think?"

  "Oh," said Dane, looking down. "That sounds pretty bad. I guess I didn't really gain much by giving the land to the school then."

  "You did what?"

  "I gave the land to the school. I guess technically I let them keep it, by not contesting the video will."

  She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

  "You didn't use your father's will after my dad gave it back to you?"

  "Are you kidding? And make myself look like the bad guy? See, by letting the school have the land, I get to look like the good guy. Your father gets to feel bad for not giving it to me to begin with."

  Dane braced himself against the dash as the truck screeched to a halt. AJ leaned over and threw both her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

  "You did that, really? Just for us?"

  "No, not just for you," said Dane, peeling her arms off. "I did it to piss off Caywood, too. If I don't get the land-"

  "He don't get the land," AJ finished, ecstatic. "But what about your trial?"

  "Oh that? It got called off."

  "How the hell does a federal trial just get called off?"

  "By the prosecutor agreeing to drop all charges in exchange for full cooperation."

  "Full cooperation with what?"

  "I'm not exactly sure," said Dane. "They weren't real clear about that part. I think it's got something to do with helping them catch other guys like me."

  "Why you?"

  "Because I'm the best, baby," said Dane, looking offended.

  AJ rolled her eyes and put the truck in drive.

  "Well, maybe not the best. I am really good though."

  "They probably realized how hard it was going to be to prosecute somebody who helped put away one of the worst pedophiles in recent history."

  "Maybe," Dane said, shrugging. "Or maybe they found out I was going to inherit a lot of money and just might get off. But I wouldn't know anything about that."

  AJ shook her head.

  "Now I get it. You get to keep all the money you had when they arrested you.
You don't need the land."

  Her eyes dimmed, and Dane found himself shocked at how her disappointment made him feel.

  "I had to give all the money back."

  "You have nothing?"

  "I wouldn't say that. I keep the house and about ten acres. It was part of the deal I struck with the school in exchange for not filing my claim."

  She looked at him, perplexed.

  "Oh, and the horses and the barn. I wanted to make sure I had something to keep me busy during my forced retirement."

  "You're going to stay? But why?" said AJ, searching his face.

  "I don't know. I just love shoveling horse shit, I guess."

  "Michael Dane. I do believe somewhere in the middle of all this you got a conscience."

  "You can't prove that," said Dane.

  "I don't have to," said AJ. "You already did."

  "Well, we'll see about," Dane muttered, patting the dog. "We'll just see about that."

  ***

  SONS OF SILENCE PREVIEW - BOOK TWO IN THE MICHAEL DANE SERIES

  He watched through the rain in his rearview mirror as men scurried into the club, music pulsing through the air and rattling his car windows.

  The dashboard clock glowed green. She was late. She had never been late before, maybe something happened. He felt his heart in his throat.

  Maybe she had a fight with the boy. Maybe she told him she didn't want to come here anymore. Maybe she told him to leave and that made the boy mad. His hands tightened on the wheel of the car. Maybe he hurt her. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the keys.

  The girl's apartment was only a mile away; he could be there in less than a minute. He fumbled for the ignition in the dark.

  The girl could be dying. He could save her.

  The key slid home and he pumped the gas, but then a flash of red in his rear view mirror as her Karman Ghia whipped into the parking lot caught his attention. He silenced the engine.

  He watched the driver's door open, watched her emerge. Thin strips of black leather rose from impossibly high heels, crisscrossed up her milk white calves. A black vinyl corset wrapped around her waist and pushed up her breasts. She shook her hair, the dark strands falling in cascades over her skin. She strode quickly toward the entrance, the glow from the streetlamps glistening like water on the curves of her body.