Secret Sanctuary Read online

  “What a noble guy,” Cullen muttered. “LeCroix told you all this?”

  “Most of it. Some of it I heard through the faculty grapevine. Evidently, Lucian’s mentor and Dr. Barloft, the president of Heathrow, are old childhood friends. That’s how Lucian knew about the position here.” She paused, her gaze on Cullen. “Why are you so suspicious of him? He hardly fits the profile of our killer.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he doesn’t have a medical background.”

  “How do you know he wasn’t a premed student before he changed his major?”

  She glanced at him sharply. “Do you know something about him I don’t?”

  “No,” Cullen admitted. “There’s just something about that guy…” He scowled at the road.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.” He lifted his hand from the steering wheel to massage the back of his neck. “He’s a little too smooth, if you ask me. A little too perfect.”

  “He’s very handsome,” Elizabeth commented, eyeing Cullen carefully.

  “If you like that type.”

  “I imagine a lot of women do.”

  Cullen said something under his breath as he whipped the car into a parking space in front of the police station, something Elizabeth was quite certain she wasn’t meant to hear.

  He killed the engine and turned, his expression closed, his gaze shuttered. “Be careful with that guy, Elizabeth.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve seen his type before. He’s a real player. And a girl like you—”

  She cut him off with an icy glare. “A girl like me, what?”

  “You could get in over your head, that’s all.”

  Anger washed over her, and she turned toward the door, reaching for the handle. “Thanks for the warning, but I can take care of myself these days. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m all grown-up now.”

  “Oh, I noticed,” he said grimly. “I noticed all right.”

  IT WAS LATE by the time they decided to call it a night. They’d searched through the archives for hours, but they hadn’t been able to locate any of the case files from the murders twenty years ago. The archives had been moved several years ago into a new building after the old facility had been damaged by fire. Elizabeth supposed it was possible the files had either been destroyed or lost, but it seemed odd no one had noticed they were missing until now.

  She tried to remember everything she’d heard about the murders, but the only thing that stood out in her mind was the suspect. David Bryson. In the ensuing years, he’d become a wealthy man. Now he had enough money to protect himself from a police investigation, Elizabeth thought. To hide away in his fortress until the smoke cleared.

  As they drove back toward Heathrow, Elizabeth laid her head against the seat and thought about the recent murder. About the lack of evidence and the lack of suspects. What they needed, she thought wearily, was a break in this case, and soon. Before the killer struck again.

  The night was very dark, with heavy cloud coverage blocking the moon, and a pea-soup fog that had rolled in from the sea. Cullen drove cautiously, his frowning gaze on the road. He didn’t speak. He appeared so deep in thought that Elizabeth wondered if he’d forgotten her presence entirely.

  She turned her head on the seat, studying his features in the dash lights. His jaw was firmly set, his mouth thin, his eyes slightly narrowed as he watched the road. There’d always been something about him that girls were riveted to, even when he’d been considered a bad boy. And in truth, that had probably been part of his appeal. But now, even wearing a badge, even on the right side of the law, he was still very attractive. Maybe not as smooth and polished as Lucian LeCroix, but the rough edges and a faintly sinister past only emphasized his masculinity and made Elizabeth all the more drawn to him.

  She thought about what she knew of his childhood. His mother had left the family when Cullen was only five or six, and he’d been raised by a father who’d spent long months at sea. Elizabeth had no idea who’d taken care of Cullen during his father’s absences, but she had a feeling he’d pretty much been left to his own devices.

  She supposed they had that in common, although she doubted Cullen would see it that way. She’d been brought up in the lap of luxury. She’d grown up in a beautiful home, raised by a nanny with impeccable credentials. No expense had been spared when it came to Elizabeth’s physical well being and to her education. And yet the thing she remembered most about her childhood was the loneliness. The hours spent by herself, waiting…just waiting….

  Had Cullen experienced that, too? That aching feeling in the pit of his stomach, that terrible suspicion that no one cared much whether he lived or died?

  He turned suddenly and caught her watching him. “What?”

  “What, what?”

  He smiled. “I think we’ve had this conversation before. Why are you staring at me like that?”

  Because I like looking at you, she wanted to tell him, but instead she shrugged. “I was just thinking about the case. Do you think it’s possible Bethany’s murder could be tied to those old killings?”

  His expression turned grim. “All I know for certain at this point is that we’re dealing with a real sicko.”

  Elizabeth stared out the window, trying to imagine what the killer was thinking. Was he cowering in terror since he’d killed Bethany? Was he wondering in horror how he could have done such a thing? Why he’d done such a thing? Was he panicking, feeling the authorities closing in on him?

  Or was he holed up somewhere, savoring his conquest? Reliving past glories? Was he thrilled at the prospect of the next one? Planning even now who his next victim would be?

  Elizabeth shivered as she watched the fog melt past her window, and she suddenly thought about Claire, about that night in the cemetery that had changed all of them forever. Claire had been taken by a monster, and in the days and nights that followed her abduction, she’d been subjected to a horror that only she could know. That she, herself, hadn’t been able to live with.

  She still breathed, still ate and slept, still dreamed perhaps, but her life had been stolen from her just as surely as Bethany Peters’s life had been taken from her. Just as surely as Leslie Ridgemont’s life and all the other victims’ lives had been cut short twenty years ago.

  Elizabeth tried to peer through the fog outside her window, and for a moment, she could have sworn invisible eyes were staring back at her.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” she asked softly. Her gaze was still on the window.

  “No,” Cullen said flatly. “Do you?”

  She thought for a moment. “Yes, I think I do.”

  “You surprise me, Elizabeth.”

  She turned to face him. “Why?”

  “Someone with your intelligence, and yet you’ve bought into all those old tales. They’re just stories. They’re not real.”

  “Myths are often based on facts,” she reminded him.

  He shot her an exasperated glance. “Do you honestly believe McFarland Leary rises from his grave every five years to terrorize Moriah’s Landing?”

  “He was supposed to have risen the night we went to the cemetery,” she said, wrapping her arms around her middle. “And Claire was abducted.”

  “No ghost tortured that poor girl,” Cullen said harshly. “No ghost killed Bethany Peters. There’s a monster out there somewhere. I’ll grant you that. But he’s real. He’s a flesh-and-blood man who can be taken down when we catch him. And we will catch him.”

  He glanced at her then, his expression stern in the dash lights. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth, to say what, she wasn’t quite sure, but as she turned to stare out the windshield, the fog parted and she saw something in the road. Something wispy and fragile. Something that stared into the headlights, undaunted.

  “Cullen, watch out!” she screamed.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What the hell—” Cullen saw
him at the same time she did, and he braked so suddenly, Elizabeth would have shot through the windshield if not for her safety belt.

  As the car rocked to a stop, she squeezed her eyes closed, bracing herself for the awful thud of flesh against metal. When no sound was forthcoming, she thought the specter must have passed cleanly through the car. She slit her eyes, hardly daring to find out.

  But then she saw him standing in the hazy glare of the headlights, his features indistinct but very real.

  Cullen reached for the door handle. “Wait here.”

  But Elizabeth had already opened her door, too, and she scrambled out. They hurried around to the front of the car where the man remained transfixed in the glow of the car’s fog lights. He was dressed for the cold, in a heavy gray overcoat, hat, gloves and muffler. He appeared large, but Elizabeth thought the bulk of his clothing might be contributing to his size.

  “Hey,” Cullen said. “Are you okay? Did I hit you?”

  “No, no. The car didn’t touch me.” His voice was cultured, but there was something oddly disturbing about it, a quality that sounded almost…otherworldly, for lack of a better term. Elizabeth found herself shivering in the misty cold.

  “I was just out for a stroll,” he said in a conversational tone. “I must have gotten caught up in my thoughts, and I didn’t see the headlights. Sorry to frighten you.”

  “Out for a stroll?” Cullen said. “Hardly a great night for walking, is it?”

  “Oh, I don’t mind the cold. Or the fog. Gives one a marvelous sense of isolation. Besides, the fresh air helps me to think.”

  “Maybe you should think about staying out of the middle of the road in fog this thick,” Cullen said dryly. “I’m Detective Ryan with the Moriah’s Landing Police Department. Mind showing me some identification?”

  “Identification?” He patted his coat pocket. “I left my wallet at home, I’m afraid. I don’t live far from here. My name is Leland Manning.”

  “Dr. Manning?” Elizabeth asked in surprise.

  “Why, yes.” He turned to her then, and although she couldn’t see his expression clearly in the darkness, she had a feeling his eyes were deep and probing. That he was searching her own features and missing nothing. “Do I know you?”

  “I’m Elizabeth Douglas. I believe you know my parents, Marion and Edward Douglas.”

  He peered at her through the mist. “Ah. I see the resemblance now. An extraordinary woman, your mother. As brilliant as she is beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth murmured, discomfited by the man’s piercing gaze.

  “You say you live around here?” Cullen asked him.

  Manning turned. “Yes. Not far from the college.”

  “Maybe we should give you a lift. Probably not a good idea to be out here walking around by yourself.”

  “Oh, I’ll be careful,” Manning assured him. “The night air helps to clear my head after I’ve been in the laboratory all day.”

  “That may be,” Cullen said. “But if I were you, I’d take my walks before dark. At least for a while.”

  Manning nodded. “I understand what you’re saying, Detective. You’re referring to that student who was recently murdered. You haven’t found her killer yet, have you?”

  “We’re working on it,” Cullen assured him. “It’s only a matter of time.”

  Manning shook his head. “She was a lovely girl. Such a pity.” He turned, his gaze meeting Elizabeth’s in the darkness. “All that potential, wasted.”

  “THAT IS one seriously weird dude,” Cullen muttered as they drove away.

  Elizabeth craned her neck to watch behind them until the fog had swallowed up Leland Manning. Then she turned back around, shivering. “He has a rather Hannibal Lector-ish quality about him, doesn’t he?”

  “He does kind of look like that guy who plays Lector in the movies.” Cullen glanced at Elizabeth. “I take it you know him?”

  “Only by reputation. His name is legendary in the scientific community. He was one of the pioneers of gene therapy research.”

  Cullen watched the road, but Elizabeth saw him glance periodically in the rearview mirror, as if he expected Manning to materialize suddenly in the back seat. “Gene therapy?”

  “Yes. It’s a way to correct certain diseases at their root. Essentially, there are two forms. One is called somatic gene therapy which involves the manipulation of gene expression in cells that will be corrective to the patient but not inherited by the next generation. The other form is called germline gene therapy, which involves the genetic modification of germ cells that will pass the change on to the next generation. You’re getting into some tricky territory there, ethically speaking.”

  “Sounds like something from the sci-fi station if you ask me,” Cullen said. “So Manning is involved in all this monkeying around with genes?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, but there’s more. He has a rather bizarre theory about witches.”

  “Witches? Why do I suddenly feel as if I’m in the Twilight Zone?” Cullen grumbled.

  “Manning has a pet theory that witches did, and do, have special powers, but it has nothing to do with black magic. He thinks some people are born with a special gene which, in some cases, gives them supernatural abilities.”

  Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “He actually believes in this hocus pocus?”

  “So he says.” Absently Elizabeth tapped her chin with her fingertip. “It seems like there’s something about him I should remember.”

  Cullen shot her a glance. “He’s not secretly a werewolf or something, is he?”

  Elizabeth grinned. “Nothing quite that interesting. Some kind of scandal associated with him,” she mused. “It happened a few years ago. I’m not certain of the timeline, but it involved another scientist. Manning’s protégé, I believe. He had an odd name.” She thought for a moment. “Rathfastar. Dr. René Rathfastar.”

  Cullen shot her a glance. “What the hell kind of name is that?”

  “Shush. I’m trying to remember exactly what happened. As I recall, they were both working at the time on the Human Genome Project, but there were rumors they were both affiliated with some sort of secret society whose methodology wasn’t endorsed by the mainstream scientific community. To put it bluntly, members of the society didn’t necessarily concern themselves with the ethical and moral dilemmas that bedevil most legitimate research into human DNA.”

  “What kind of secret society are we talking about here?” Cullen’s gaze looked skeptical. “You mean skull and crossbones type stuff?”

  “More like a scientific Trilateral Commission,” Elizabeth told him. “I’ve heard rumors that the membership contains some pretty powerful scientists. But, of course, it is just a rumor. I’m not at all certain such an organization really exists. It could be just another legend. Supposedly, however, the society dates back to the 1600s, when a group of scientists banded together to perform secret experiments on witches.”

  “And Manning is a member of this group?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “According to local gossip. As was Dr. Rathfastar. And, come to think of it, so was Geoffrey Pierce.”

  Cullen turned. “What’s Pierce got to do with all this?”

  “I don’t know that he does these days, but he used to be a wannabe scientist who used his family money and influence to buy his way into some important research projects. However, he never published any important findings.”

  “What about David Bryson? He’s some kind of scientist, too, isn’t he?”

  “I never heard his name linked to the society, so I don’t know.” Elizabeth wondered if Cullen was thinking what she was thinking. All the men they’d just mentioned would have the know-how, as well as the equipment, to have performed such a grisly procedure on Bethany Peters. But where was the motive?

  “I’ve gone up to Bryson’s place to try and talk to him a couple of times, but that butler of his is pretty protective,” Cullen said. “He wouldn’t let me in.”

  “Y
ou think Bryson had something to do with Bethany’s murder?”

  “He was a suspect twenty years ago. A lot of people in town still have strong feelings about him.” Cullen reached over and adjusted the controls on the heater. “But forget Bryson for the time being. Tell me what else you remember about Manning.”

  Elizabeth frowned in concentration. “There was some controversy regarding his research. Dr. Rathfastar accused Manning of publishing stolen findings, and Manning, in turn, claimed Rathfastar was a dangerous fanatic who used human test subjects in his research.”

  “Wow. A regular Dr. Frankenstein,” Cullen commented dryly.

  But Elizabeth barely heard him. She was remembering something else about Manning. An image came to her suddenly—her mother and father late one night sitting at the kitchen table. Elizabeth had come down for a drink of water and was surprised to find them there, in such a cozy, domestic setting. She’d wanted very much to join them, to tell them about her day or to simply sit quietly and listen while they talked.

  But their low, angry tones kept her at bay, and she’d listened unabashedly at the door.

  I’ve never made any secret of my feelings, Edward. You know I’ve always believed Leland Manning to be a fraud. A dangerous one at that.

  For God’s sake, Marion, you can’t really mean that. The man is a genius. His research into the human genome is nothing short of phenomenal.

  Research that he stole from his own colleagues. Her mother’s tone grew acid.

  Her father was silent for a moment, then he said angrily, “So that’s it. You’re taking his side.”

  “I’m not taking anyone’s side, but I’m entitled to my own opinion. I happen to believe René.”

  “So it’s René now, is it?” There was something in her father’s voice that frightened Elizabeth.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Edward, don’t be ridiculous. The man is a colleague. What would you have me call him?”

  “I don’t give a damn what you call him. Just never mention his name in my presence again.”