The Silenced. Heather Graham
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Mary Elizabeth was already dead. She’d known because she’d awakened to find Mary Elizabeth sitting at the foot of her bed. At first, she’d been joyous, certain that her older cousin had been released and come home while she was sleeping. But Mary Elizabeth had drawn a finger to her lips, shaking her head. She’d tried to speak, and Meg had heard a rustling sound. And then she thought she heard her cousin speaking, telling her that she had to let them know the truth—that the family couldn’t go on believing when there was no hope. Her body was in the cemetery, hidden behind a mausoleum. Meg crawled out of bed. The grown-ups were all awake; officers crowded the house, and everyone waited by the phone.
Crying, Meg went to her mother and whispered what she knew. Her mother was horrified, not wanting her dad’s sister and husband to hear. She’d pulled Meg away and chastised her in the kitchen. But the older man who’d come with the FBI people had followed. He’d listened to her story and, back in the parlor, told someone to check the cemetery.
Where they’d found Mary Elizabeth’s body.
At first, Meg’s own mother had treated her as if she’d been possessed by Satan. She’d quickly gotten over that, but Meg would never forget the way her own family had looked at her. Thanks to her, they’d caught the killer almost immediately. Forensic evidence left at the scene made short work of identifying him, since he was a repeat offender and therefore already in law enforcement databases, and of proving his guilt.
She saw her cousin one more time. At the funeral, by the graveside. She’d been beautiful, dressed in the white confirmation gown in which she was buried, shrouded in brilliant gold light. Somehow it had been comforting. And she’d actually comforted her aunt and uncle; her conviction was so strong that Mary Elizabeth was in heaven.
Adam Harrison had been at the funeral. He’d been so kind to her, and Meg had never forgotten.
Standing outside alone, she’d watched while he paid his condolences to her family. When he saw her, she thought she’d start crying all over again. But he came to her and said, “You’re a very brave and special girl, you know.”
“I’m a freak,” she told him.
He shook his head. “No, Margaret, you’re not a freak at all. You’re special,” he repeated.
That made her roll her eyes. Her older cousins liked to tease her and call her “special” when they were making fun of her.
He’d smiled. “No, you really are. You can’t bring Mary Elizabeth back, but you’ve allowed her to be at peace. And the man who killed her, he’ll never kill again. We found her body quickly because of you, and found the evidence we needed to arrest her killer. There are monsters in this world, Margaret. And it takes very special people to stop their power. If you ever need me, call.”
He’d handed her his card. Later, without ever using it, she’d put the number in her cell phone.
Over the years, she’d read everything she could about Adam. He was rich, but he didn’t spend his money on cars or vacations. Without being a member of any police force, he assisted various agencies with what were referred to as “unusual” crimes. He’d been appointed a “directing consultant” with a specialized unit at the FBI.
That was when she’d known she’d wanted to be part of the FBI.
She’d never contacted him; she’d just worked toward her goal.
But now...
When she called him at the cell phone number that was still, miraculously, the right number, he told her to come over.
His home was in northern Virginia, so it hadn’t taken her long to reach him—no more than forty-five minutes—even though she stopped by Lara’s on the way.
“You’ve graduated, Margaret. Congratulations!” he said as he welcomed her into his home.
“You...knew I was in the academy?”
“Of course. I thought maybe you’d find me. If you hadn’t, I would have sought you out. Do you want to be with the Krewe?” he asked her. “Oh, would you like some iced tea or coffee—or a drink?”
She shook her head. “I need help,” she said.
“Oh?” He seemed surprised. She realized he’d assumed she was coming to inquire about becoming part of the Krewe.
“My friend Lara Mayhew is missing. I saw the press conference about the woman discovered in the river. Adam, Lara fits the description to a T.”
He frowned, obviously not expecting this. “It’s a long shot to think your friend might be this girl. When did she go missing?” he asked.
“She left me a message at around two-thirty this morning, about leaving DC. She said she had to get out of there. And she seemed really distressed.”
Adam was silent for a minute. Meg knew he’d lived through a great deal of stress and heartache through the years. “But...if she said she was leaving, it’s quite possible that she...left.”
“There was something wrong with the message, Adam. She didn’t sound all right. She almost sounded as if...as if she planned to go into hiding.”
“Maybe she did,” he said gently.
“I know, but her message scared me.”
“So you’d say she’s been missing, what, about fifteen hours?”
Meg nodded unhappily. She knew that the length of time Lara had been missing wouldn’t fit the official interpretation of “missing.” It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours.
“And you haven’t been able to reach her?”
“No, and I made several other calls, too.” She hesitated, then added, “She was involved in politics. Not that I’m suggesting politicians are evil or anything.”
Adam laughed. “We could take a poll on that one,” he said.
“The whole situation really worries me, Adam. She worked in media relations for Congressman Walker, and I tried calling his office. They seemed to be saying she quit, but I couldn’t get any more out of them. They gave me...the brush-off.”
“I won’t get a brush-off,” he assured her, his voice grim. “Those offices are usually busy, and unless you represent a powerful lobby of some kind... Well, let’s just say that the days when a man could walk into the White House to chat with the president are long gone.” He paused, then offered her an encouraging smile. “Remember, though, your friend may be fine. Try not to stress too much. If she said she was leaving, she might have done just that.”
“Adam, I know that something’s wrong.”
“Ah,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”
“I—I need to see her.”
“Of course. You mean you need to see the victim. If she can be identified, it’ll certainly help the investigation. You realize it’s not easy?”
“I went through the academy. I’ve seen all kinds of horrors.”
“Yes,” he said, “but this is the real world you’re entering—not a video of what others have been through or a lecture about what they’ve discovered. This will be up close. And it might well be personal.”
“I’ve been to an autopsy before.”
“However, it may not be your friend at all,” he pointed out.
“But then again, it may be. I can’t reach her, Adam,” she said, even more urgently than before. “I tried repeatedly. I called her aunt. I called other friends. And, as I told you, her office wouldn’t give me any information.”
“So they say she quit?”
“Yes, sometime yesterday or last night, I assume. Actually, they didn’t use the word quit. They used the words no longer here. And