The Unholy. Heather Graham

and walked out again. But I had to check it out because he was so hysterical. It’s my job.”

      Sean was thoughtful. Silent.

      Bailey continued. “It was a slip-and-slide of blood down there. A slip and slide. When I saw the way the girl was lying there…. Well, I knew she was dead. I backed out, not wanting to mess anything up for the police.”

      “That was the right thing to do, Colin.”

      “I never had anything that resembled a coherent talk with Alistair. He was in shock. And then the police got here—and Eddie. Eddie seemed to be in shock, too, and they arrested Alistair. Eddie told me not to leave my post, and it’s been a long time now, but I haven’t left,” Bailey said, nodding with determined loyalty. “I haven’t left,” he repeated doggedly.

      “Thank you, sir,” Sean said. He handed Colin Bailey a card. “If you think of anything—even something that might seem unimportant, will you call me?”

      “You bet, Sean. You know the police interviewed me for more than an hour. I think I said everything. But, Sean, yeah, you bet. I’ll call you.”

      They walked out into the dying sunlight. Sean paused. Some of the police cars were gone; they could see that Benny Knox was still standing outside the entrance to the Black Box Cinema, like a sentinel.

      “I’m going in,” Sean said. “They should have finished up with the crime scene evidence by now.” He turned to her. “There’s no reason for you to come.”

      Yes, there is. The reason Eddie picked me to be with you.

      She studied him, wondering how to explain that she somehow knew it was important that she go in without sounding like a fool. She didn’t want to say she might get some kind of feeling from the place. He’d probably look at her as if she should be committed if she said, “There’s a slim possibility that there’s a ghost in there now, and that she might talk to me.”

      What would happen? This man wouldn’t really react. He’d hold his thoughts, be polite—and then see that she was committed.

      “I really love Eddie Archer,” she began. “He gave me my life. I want to go in, I don’t know if it’ll help, but maybe…”

      “I think it’s a mistake,” he said. He might be a legend, but she sensed that to him she was just the guide. No real help, just the guide.

      “Eddie asked me to be here. I feel I should go in,” she said stubbornly.

      He knew she resented him at that moment and maybe he resented her back. He was the man in charge, so she understood.

      “All right,” he said. “I just wanted to know what we were doing before I challenged the buzzard.”

      “The buzzard?”

      “Detective Knox,” he said, rolling his eyes toward the entrance—and the man in question.

      He didn’t say any more as he headed toward the Black Box. Benny Knox had already been standing in a ramrod-stiff position, but his whole body seemed to straighten further as they approached.

      “You going in now?” Knox asked.

      “Yes,” Sean said.

      “You wait here, miss,” Knox ordered.

      “She’s working with me, Detective,” Sean said. “She’ll be with my people on this.” He kept speaking even though Knox’s frown made it apparent that he planned to argue. “This case is looking more and more like an in-house situation, Detective. Madison knows all the players on the stage now, and I may not. She probably knows the killer, and I would say fairly well.”

      “In-house,” Knox muttered. “The Archer kid was the only one here, Agent Cameron. Yeah, I guess you’d call that in-house.”

      “Come on, Knox,” Sean said. “You’re a good detective or you wouldn’t be on this. And you know as well as I do that what’s most obvious isn’t always the truth.”

      “In this case? I don’t know. I really don’t.” Knox wasn’t being a wiseass, Madison thought; he was serious. The subdued way he spoke scared her for Eddie more than anything else.

      Sean said, “We’re not going with obvious. We’re investigating. Madison is familiar with the working of this studio and the cinema, inside and out. She’s with me.” The last was quiet and firm.

      Madison watched Knox’s inner struggle. His longing to argue was clearly there, but he didn’t persist. She wondered what kind of power Sean and his people had—exactly who they were, she wasn’t sure.

      Knox nodded. “Hands gloved, feet bagged,” he said.

      “Of course,” Sean agreed.

      At the entry there was a box of supplies. Madison followed suit as Sean put plastic covers over his shoes and pulled latex gloves on his hands. She fumbled awkwardly as she tried to get the gloves on, perhaps because Knox was behind them, watching her every move.

      The three of them went inside.

      A tech in a jumpsuit was leaving, a plastic box filled with vials in his arms. He nodded. As they headed through the theater, she saw that Sean looked at everything, from the Art Deco popcorn stand to the rugs, the cinema itself—and the office. As they reached the tunnel, she heard two of the techs talking.

      “Hazmat will have fun with this one,” someone said.

      “This is nothing! You should’ve seen that murder site up on the hill. The killer wrote in blood everywhere. Wonder if that place will ever sell,” another voice responded.

      “This is Hollywood—you can sell anything,” the first man said. “Let’s finish up here. I’m ready for a drink.”

      The techs nodded as they passed Knox, Sean and Madison.

      “Your team’s covered everything?” Knox asked.

      “Sir, if we covered any more, we’d have to take the walls,” the man said.

      “Good.”

      As they made their way down, Madison felt as if the place was closing in on them. It was actually a broad throughway, maybe fifty feet in width and a hundred and fifty in length.

      When they reached the tunnel, she felt dizzy. The smell of blood was overwhelming.

      The museum in the tunnel had always been fascinating. It was an homage to a bygone era of film, one that played an important role in the evolution of movies. Although Madison preferred romantic comedy, fantasy, adventure and horror, she loved the feel of the little museum. She’d learned new respect for film noir because of it, and she was impressed by the accuracy and detail of the old tableaux.

      Today, it was different. The artistry seemed to be gone; it was merely a tunnel with props and policemen. There were little plastic clips with numbers, a photographer was still snapping photos and tape outlined the place where the body had fallen. The last tableau at the rear, the Sam Stone movie scene, was out of kilter. It had been photographed, fingerprinted and invaded.

      Madison focused on that tableau, not wanting to see the blood on the floor.

      It wasn’t prop blood. It wasn’t chocolate, as Hitchcock had used for the black-and-white murder scene in Psycho. It was real blood, and the person who’d shed that blood was now dead.

      Thankfully, the body had been taken to the morgue. Despite what Madison had said, and despite all the time she spent creating creatures that were sometimes heroic and most often terrible, she felt somewhat squeamish about being down here. She wondered if she’d ever be able to come to the museum again without thinking about what had happened last night.

      She’d come for a reason! she reminded herself. She had to be here.

      She stood several feet from the tape that marked the position of the body and tried not to see the remaining techs or pay attention to Sean Cameron as he