She may help save a womans life. We dont like bringing anyone into harms way, Mrs. Preston, Griffin said. But Im afraid that whoever is responsible, they know about the attempt by Bertram Aldridge on Vickies life. The Ballantine house is near the Paul Revere house. And Vickie ran from that house.
Look! Philip Preston said angrily, I wont have it! I wont have you use her.
Dad! she said, standing up suddenly. Dad, please. I know youre talking out of love for me. But Im an adult. I can make my own choices. And if theres anything I can do, Im willing to do it.
No! her mother said, her face going as pale as ash.
Mom, Dad, it will be all right. These men are FBI. There are cops everywhere. Im going to go with them and see if I can do anything.
Then youre going to Italy with us! her father said firmly.
Dad, well talk later. But time may be of the essence here. Please. Im going to go with them, Vickie said firmly. She rose and looked at Griffin and said, Shall we? I mean, I will be with the two of you at all times, right?
Absolutely, Griffin said, looking at her. He had, she thought, the darkest eyes she had ever seen. Dark eyes, dark hair, bronzed, rugged face. For a moment, their gazes seemed to be locked. He didnt like this, she knew. He wasnt happy to be drawing her in.
She realized that he and the other agent, Jackson Crow, were here because they were desperate to save a womans life.
And she could help.
Youll call me, youll call us, the minute... I mean, youll keep in touch, youll let us know where you are every step of the way, her father said.
Were wasting time, Dylans ghost said urgently.
Hey, its going to be okay, Vickie assured her parents. She looked from Griffin Pryce to Jackson Crow and said, We need to go.
Go where? Vickie
Where Preston ran and Paul rode, Vickie said. The corner where the Ballantine house isdown the street from the Paul Revere house. They have her there somewhere. If I see the site, I might know what the clue means.
* * *
It had been some time since Griffin had seen Victoria Preston.
Over eight years.
He had never forgotten her.
She had matured well.
When he had first met herterrified at the scene when he had shot and wounded Bertram Aldridgeshe had still been a kid. At least basically. Shed already been about five-eight back then, willowy, with long black hair and tremendous green eyes and fine, slim features. Shed been a beautiful girlbut beautiful girls like her abounded, and he might have seen dozens like her at any sorority party or teen gathering.
Hed immediately felt an affinity for her.
And shed needed to talk. Which was good, because there was paperwork. Lots of it. Shed explained about the door being slightly open, but Mr. and Mrs. Ballantine had been home. Shed made sure it was locked and the alarm on after they had gone.
He hadnt been a detective back then; hed been on the force three years, gathering experience, and had already started the application process with the FBI.
Detectives had taken over along with the FBI. Bertram Aldridge had gone back to being incarcerated with another trial in his future. Hed killed two guards during his escape.
Griffin shouldnt have had anything else to do with Victoria Preston. But he hadnt been able to leave it alone. Hed had to check on her.
Because he wouldnt have been on timehe wouldnt have saved her lifeif Bertram Aldridge hadnt gone down. His shot might have killed Bertram instead of wounding him, but Victoria Preston would have been shot as well if Bertram Aldridges shot hadnt gone wild...
He hadnt liked to think about it back then. He didnt like to think about it now.
But hed seen the kid who had been with Vickie.
The ghost.
Seen him, and then hed been gone. Griffin never knew if Vickie had seen what hed seen that day, if she hadnt been saved to a far greater degree by a dead boy than she had been saved by his own actions.
Hed never point-blank asked her if shed seen the boy; he hadnt been sure of what hed seen himself, despite his own past.
Now, of course, he knew. Yes, she saw the boy.
And the boy was still with her.
Chrissy Ballantines older son.
Griffin was doing the driving; he was the Bostonian, who knew where he was going, which streets were open, which were closed, which only went in one direction. They could have easily walked. But under the circumstances, the car was quickerand more official.
And, thankfully, due to government tags, could be left anywhere, even in the narrow streets of Old Boston.
Hed suggested that they head to the corner street of the Ballantine house. Naturally, police were still in the house. George Ballantine was there with his son, and crime scene techs and detectives were going over the house and the grounds and trying to ascertain how the kidnapper/killer got inand how he or she got out.
Jackson Crow was fast to get out of the car, but Vickie Preston was already out the back door. She stood for a moment, looking around. Griffin hurried around to her side, looking around as well.
The Paul Revere house was just down the street. They were on the Freedom Trail. When Griffin had been growing up, hed had lots of friends who lived in other areas and the suburbs who came here just to shop for their Italian sausages and cannoli.
It was Old Boston. Centuries of history unfolded in a number of fairly centralized streets; giant skyscrapers stood among cemeteries where founding fathers had long lain at rest. Great Gothic houses of worship stood among the modern, built in defiance of restrictions long before the Constitution affording a separation of church and state had been penned. Boston was, in Griffins mind, a perfect example of the making of a countryand, in this particular area, there were treasures to be found.
It was also a mammoth haystack. How to find a woman among the new and the oldand the many giant buildings that rested here and there between those crafted at a time when a skyscraper had yet to be imagined?
You think that shes heresomewhere near the house? Jackson asked Vickie.
She stood looking up, thoughtful, distraught. Then she glanced Griffins way.
Im a writer and researcher, she murmured. I dont know much about the mind of a killer, Im afraid. But...
But what? Griffin heard himself ask, a little too sharply.
Yeah, what, what?
The ghost of Dylan Ballantine was with them, anxious. Griffin hadnt felt his presence in the carDylan must have come on foot. Or through the airor however the dead managed to travel.
None of them actually responded to the boy.
Griffin glanced at Jackson.
Apparently, none of them were going to acknowledge the fact that the others also saw Dylan.
The clue is, Where Preston ran and old Paul rode. I mean, he might have ridden on any of the streets around here, and maybe it doesnt mean anything. The reference to Preston could also mean anything, but where old Paul rode might suggest that shes somewhere Paul Revere might have been.
Griffin looked around the street. He tried to judge the age of the buildings they saw. The apartments across from them had 1830 chiseled into the stone. They were near Boston Common, and they were near a few of the very old churches, and, of course, burial grounds.
But he didnt think theyd find her in a cemetery or vault. Their last victim had been found so. Maybe the killer thought that theyd start digging, with such a clue.
The Ballantine house, Vickie said. It was here before the Revolution.
The Ballantine house is crawling with cops, Jackson pointed out.
The basement? Dylan said.
They havent found anything to explain how the killer might have spirited her out, Jackson said to Griffin. Its easy enough for a determined criminal to watch people coming and goingand to notice they might have forgotten to lock a door or havent found time to lock it and set an alarm. No one saw or heard anything. It wouldnt be surprising if a criminal had just slipped in and even out. But itd be more surprising if someone came out carrying something the size of a woman, even if Chrissy Ballantine is a small woman.
Dylan was already running across the street.
Vickie? Griffin asked.
They have a basement. Only part of it has been finished. The foundation is really bigso, as you can imagine, theres a lot to the basement.
Griffin studied Vickie. He was pretty sure that she had something of a gift. Intuition, or something stronger that helped her. Like her ability to see the dead.
A gift...that some people might consider a curse or a sickness! Whichever. At the moment, he had to think that they were working with a giftone that could save lives.
The three of them headed toward the house. Men in uniform stood outside, blocking entrance to it, but Griffin and Jackson quickly showed their credentials. They were allowed through.
George Ballantine was seated on the couch in the grand parlor of the house; it was a large room, tastefully furnished with antiques. He had a cup of coffee in front of him that he hadnt touched. When they entered, he was talking aloud, rambling, just to talk and try to figure out why this would have happened to him.
Chrissy is smart, she doesnt just open the door. I mean, my God, we had a maniac in here once. Shes careful. He paused, breaking off in pain. We lost my older sonwe nearly lost Noah. And now Chrissy...
He broke off, staring across the room.
Vickie?
Mr. Ballantine, she said, hurrying forward.
George stood, a distinguished man in his tailored suit, and reached out for Vickie. She hurried forward and he enveloped her in a trembling hug.
Mr. Ballantine, we think that Vickie can help, Jackson said.
George Ballantine looked at Jackson and then at Griffin.
Theyd met at the house, briefly, before heading over to pick up Vickie. George Ballantine hadnt really seemed to recognize Griffin from the past, but then, they hadnt had much interaction. The detectives and FBI agents on the case had dealt with the family. Hed looked at Griffin strangely, but hadnt seemed to have grasped the connection.
Vickiehe knew.
Vickie, dear, so good of you to come...its been so long. Noah... Noah is in his room. Im trying to keep him from everything going on. Of course, I havent managed that at all. Hes nine now, still a kid, but... Im going to have to explain. He just knows that his mom is missing. He had baseball today, Little League, you know? They called me because Chrissy wasnt there to get him, and then I came home, and she wasnt here, but she had a cup of tea out... Chrissy doesnt leave things out like that. Her purse is here, her keys...its as if shes vanished into the thin air. And that clue, Vickie, I mean, thank you. No one can know that Preston means you, but...oh, God! I cant believe this. My family, Chrissy, shes amazing...you know Chrissy. Oh, God.
Vickie Preston drew gently away from him. Mr. Ballantine, we need to search the basement.
The basement? The cops have been down theretheyve been everywhere, he said.
Yes, Mr. Ballantine, but we need to look, please, Griffin told him.
The man still looked dazed. Of course. Whatever. But shouldnt you be out there looking for her?
Were working on it, Mr. Ballantine. Please, Jackson said quietly.
What about the other womanthe other woman who was just saved? Its all over the newsyou just saved her. Cant she tell you anythingtell you who did this? She could help, she could give us something! George said.
We keep checking in, Griffin assured him. Im afraid shes still unconscious. We need your help, sir.
Ballantine nodded. Sure. He frowned as he stared at Griffin. I know you, he said.
I used to be a Boston police officer, Griffin said.
Yeah, yeah, you were here... George Ballantine seemed confused, and then angry. Are you the reason this madman took my Chrissy?
I dont believe so, sir. I havent worked here in years, Griffin said.
Then what the hell are you doing here? Mr. Ballantine demanded. Then he looked at Vickie as if it all might somehow be her fault. Both of you...maybe its because of you.
Vickie was visibly shaken; Griffin fought his anger. The man was in no condition to be rational.
Im with the FBI now, Mr. Ballantine, Griffin said. Excuse us. Were hoping that something in the basement will help.
He turned; he didnt know the Ballantine house, but Vickie did. She took his cue and walked away from Ballantine, heading to the kitchen.
Vickie opened the door that led to the basement. Griffin and Jackson followed her down. It was evident the police and techs had been down there already. Shelves that lined the brick walls had been gone through; the door to a half bath stood open.
One door led to the water heater and cooling system, another to other mechanics. The first room held a pool table and old comfortable chairs. There was a half bar that had been built to one side.
Structural components blocked off various areas.
They walked through the different rooms in the basement, between giant brick columns, leaving behind the finished section and moving into a raw work area. They all searched.
Vickie stood in the middle of the floor, baffled.
Dylan Ballantine appeared at her side.
Vickie, please, please, think!
She was thinking; that was painfully evident.
Im not sure what else...where else. The clue seems so evident. Where Paul rode...this house would have stood then. Im not sure what else...theres the Paul Revere house down the street, but too many people are in and out. And the churches...there are so many tourists around.
And we just found a woman in one of the cemeteries, Jackson said quietly, encouraging her train of thought.
Shes here. Shes hereIm sure shes here, Vickie murmured.
Griffin looked around. A pile of wood was neatly stacked against a far wall. He closed his eyes and tried to see with his minds eye. Yes, there could be someone beneath it. But with just the wood piled on top?
Had the killer changed his ways, and strangled or stabbed her first?
He strode firmly over to the woodpile and began to toss the large and small logs to the side. He became more frantic, and then he was joined by Jackson and Vickie.
But as they neared the bottom of the pile, he felt his frustration grow. There was no woman there.
Beneath, beneath! Vickie cried. Theres a door to a deeper pit...they used to store way more wood down here before, decades ago, long before modern heating systems came in.