Chapter Nine

Waking up might have been awkward. Especially since they had gotten to sleep around five in the morning and his phone went off just after noon.

Luke had entered Carly’s room last night with his phone in his hand, but he had dropped it along with his towel when she’d walked into his arms. That meant it was somewhere on the floor ringing away.

He bounded out of bed searching the floor. She was sitting up as he found it, watching him, waiting.

He identified himself and realized, of course, that his caller ID was showing him it was Jackson Crow.

He hadn’t needed to identify himself.

“Sorry—long, weird night,” he told Jackson.

“I figured,” Jackson replied. “But I just heard from Brendan Campbell. They have processed Ben Pratt and Clayton Moore. And since none of us customarily democratic and decent countries practice torture, they’ve let them eat and sleep. But Campbell expects to interview them himself within the hour and he knows you’re anxious to be there and put forth your own round of questions. I hated to wake you, but this thing moves at the speed of light, thanks to the wonders of the web—light and dark. Plus, I knew you were anxious to get to them.”

“We are,” he said, glancing at Carly. It was cool in the room, and she was wrapped in the covers. She didn’t appear to be dismayed in the least that they’d given in to basic desires during the night.

She arched a brow at him.

“I’m more anxious to discover, though, if we have a lead on the person who may be behind this whole thing. Has he—or she—gotten the site back up yet?”

“Not that we’ve been able to find.”

“Wow. It’s imperative, then, that—”

“You get to it. We’ll video call when you’re back with Campbell to interview the men you took down last night. Oh, by the way, Campbell came into this Euro-Krewe thing quite unhappily, obeying orders from above. But he’s now had nothing to say about you two that isn’t glowing with praise. So it’s still going to be a hard route, but you are doing great things for international diplomacy.”

“Happy to make the man happy. And I admit, I first thought he was a bit of a stuffed-shirt desk dictator, but he’s proven himself, too.”

“Should I wake Carly?”

He couldn’t help glancing at Carly again and smiling.

“That’s not necessary, sir. Angela arranged unbelievable accommodation for us. We have two rooms in the same suite, so...”

It wasn’t a lie.

“Gotcha. Talk on video soon.”

Jackson ended the call.

“They’re ready for us?” Carly asked.

He nodded. “So—”

“Get out of here! I want to get ready fast, and I don’t want to be distracted!”

She was fierce, but she was grinning.

“No showering together, huh?”

She threw a pillow at him. He laughed, let it fall to the floor, retrieved his towel and hurried to his room.

Another quick shower was in order.

And he was quick; but when he emerged from his room, dressed and ready for the day, he found Carly was coming from her room at the same time. Her hair was pulled back, and she was wearing a pristine navy pantsuit with a blue tailored shirt.

“Very pro,” he told her.

“Yeah, I decided the miniskirt and crop top wouldn’t be appropriate at the station.”

“Do you even own a miniskirt or crop top?” he asked her.

“Okay, no. I thought I might be early and start coffee—”

“They’ll have it at the station.”

“They’ll have tea. And I—”

“They’ll have coffee,” he assured her. “Maybe it will be bad, as it often is in stations across the US, but they’ll have it.”

She grinned. “As you say.”

“You slept well?” he asked her.

“Like a rock.”

‘You’re welcome,” he told her, and she laughed. “Let’s go!”

When they headed down, Carly cried out with delight. They had a kitchen, but the hotel still had a complimentary coffee/tea/cocoa station. She instantly veered away to brew herself—and then him—a cup of coffee for the road.

“Okay, cool. This is really good and...thank you!”

“You’re welcome!”

Once they were on the way, she looked serious as she asked him, “Where do you think the facial recognition they’ve apparently pulled from all the video might take us?”

“Well, if the man you saw at Graystone Castle, the man who Aaron Miller told us was there before you checked in, was proven to be the same man who was at the café—using the computer that brought up the dark-web site—they might have been able to get an identity on him. If so, we have found our H. H. Holmes Society creator.”

“A man who won’t have his own castle,” Carly surmised.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Luke said.

She turned to him. “I don’t think he does. Rather, I believe he’s playing the role of Holmes at earlier stages in his life. Maybe he’s doing some grave robbing—”

“Much harder these days than in Holmes’s era,” Luke reminded her.

“Or he’s scamming the rich for their pensions or their holdings, perhaps hoping to take over some form of castle or, in true Holmes fashion, build his own.”

“I think he already has a base,” Luke said.

“But then where does he find the time to visit others and the internet cafés?” Carly asked.

“He has management.”

“Would he trust people?”

“If, like Holmes, only he knew the true extent of the castle he’s created.”

“If you hired and fired people the way Holmes was doing in the 1800s, you’d be facing a zillion lawsuits.”

“Holmes did face lawsuits and that’s how he was finally brought down. After Pitezel’s death, the insurance agency hired the Pinkertons to go after Holmes, and the Pinkertons were the ones who found him. He was arrested first for having stolen a horse once—ages before—in Texas, but he’d also made use of an accomplice he’d promised to pay and ended up stiffing, and so the man turned on him. So, he killed Pitezel instead of substituting a corpse as he had promised his accomplice he would do, and told Pitezel’s wife that he was in hiding, of course. To ‘help her out’ he traveled with three of the Pitezel children so that he could eventually reunite them with their mother and Pitezel whenever it was safe for them all to meet. But he cut up the boy and burned his body and gassed the girls and buried them—authorities found them after Holmes was arrested.”

“I’ve seen all the information, too, and it broke my heart to see the reenactment of Mrs. Pitezel on the stand, giving witness against Holmes and crying her eyes out,” Carly said. “That’s the hardest, I think, even though it was well over a hundred years ago now, thinking that Holmes could have killed those children without blinking!”

“You’ve read what he wrote from prison, right?” Luke asked.

“Yeah, yeah, the devil had been standing by his mother’s side, and as his execution date drew near, he could see his own face expanding as if he was truly turning into a devil.”

“‘I was born with the devil in me,’” Luke quoted. “‘I could not help the fact that I was a murderer, no more than a poet can escape the inspiration to sing.’”

“Whatever! He was truly a monster and one was enough!” Carly said.

They had reached the station and headed in. A pleasant desk officer greeted them and told them, “Campbell is still in with Clayton Moore. But he’s had Ben Pratt sitting in an interrogation room, letting him just sit on purpose, so that you could go in whenever you arrived.”

They thanked her and walked along a hallway. A guard stood outside the interrogation room, and he nodded to the two of them before opening the door for them.

“Tap, call, anything to draw my attention, should the need be,” the young man told them gravely.

Luke thanked him.

He didn’t think they were going to need help against Ben Pratt, who had required trickery and a knife or a gun when he meant to take someone down.

And he surely had no weapon now.

“About time!” the man announced as they entered the room.

They sat across from him at the table that offered nothing except rings for chains and cuffs.

Ben Pratt had both wrists in cuffs attached to the rings.

“This is cruel punishment! Complete brutality. I will demand counsel.”

“If you demand counsel, we can stop right now,” Carly told him.

“What? They’ve had me chained to this bloody table for hours now, and you think I’m not going to smear your faces in a swath of lies?” he demanded.

Luke looked at Carly and shrugged. She understood his silent decision and stood as he did.

“Wait, what? I have!” Pratt exclaimed. “I’ve been sitting here for hours!”

“Well, be that as it may,” Carly told him, “we just need to hear your swath of lies.” She smiled sweetly. “We’re not in Edinburgh that often, you know, being Yankees. And there is so much that can be done in the city!”

“What do you want? I’m innocent of everything, everything—except for having been terrified for my own life!” Pratt insisted.

They both stared at him.

“My life, and that of my poor sainted mother!” Pratt exclaimed. “Aye, that’s it, the problem, don’t you see? He threatened not just to kill me but me mum! And she’s a good woman, she is, deserves nothing bad happen to her!”

“Do you think he has a mother?” Luke asked Carly.

She had her phone out, quickly pulling up the police records now accessible to them and then smiling at the man.

“Your poor sainted mother died ten years ago from a heart condition,” she told Pratt. “Luke, let’s go. This is going to be worthless.”

“No! No! Stay here. Talk to me.”

“All right,” Luke said. “We won’t stay long,” he promised Carly. “Talk to us, tell us what else we need to know. Oh, has anyone told you? At the least, I’m afraid, you’ll go down all on your own for attempted murder. Poison was discovered in the drink you gave Herr Grunewald.”

He sat back, grinning. “Well, Carly, dear Carly! You took the drink from the man. Perhaps you will go down for attempted murder!” he told her.

“Mr. Pratt, I do realize we’re Americans, but British criminal law and American criminal law are not so different—” Carly began.

But she was interrupted by a spate of laughter. “What? You’re going to take the death penalty off the table. Good heavens, this is a truly civilized nation! No death penalty.”

“Maybe you could see the light of day again,” Luke said. He turned to Carly. “He really is useless.”

“Useless!” Pratt raged. “Useless! I’m the face, man. I’m the charm. I’m the magic man. People see me, they talk to me, they love me, they believe in me!”

Carly looked at Luke. “Wow. Can’t wait to tell Clayton Moore he was the useless one!”

“Moore owns the place, Moore had the money to put into the place, to hire the right people—and fire them—when fixing up our tunnel and the chutes and... Moore had money,” Pratt said. “But he had nothing, nothing at all, until he found me.”

“How did he find you?” Luke asked.

Pratt leaned back, smiling, then allowing a scowl to touch his lips as he was jerked back by the fact he was chained to the table. He snarled and his expression was hideous. “The website, of course.”

“It’s down now, you know,” Luke said with a shrug.

“Even as we’re sitting here, it’s back up or will be,” Pratt assured him.

“But let me get this straight. You were on the website, and you saw a man with a Georgian manor house was looking for a lackey?” Luke asked. Counting him in as secondary now seemed to be the best ploy against him.

“No!” Pratt snapped. “Partner, a partner. I didn’t have the finances—Clayton did. He had a way for us to get more and more money if he just had...had the Holmes charm and cunning down. He didn’t. He desperately needed me.”

“Okay, so you are guilty of multiple murders, kidnapping, fraud and all the rest, then, right? You’re recorded here, so...you want legal help, now is the time to claim your innocence. Wait!” Luke said, looking at Carly. “He just said he was a full partner, the charm and cunning and coercion needed for the two of them to operate as true Holmes acolytes.”

There was a moment when the man’s expression wasn’t angry in the least, just betrayed confusion.

Luke pressed the advantage. “Such a fool!” he told Carly, shaking his head. “Poor Ben didn’t realize at all he was about to be used just as Pitezel was used all those years ago. There would have been an insurance scam—or maybe poor Herr Grunewald’s property was supposed to go in Ben’s name, and then Ben, of course, would have everything in the name of his honored benefactor, Clayton Moore. Then...hmm. Interesting terrain so close around here! Ben could have fallen to an agonizing death, broken to bits upon the rocks as he pitched downward from one of the heights.”

“Better yet!” Carly added. “He could have plunged straight from the rocks into the loch—and been mauled to death finally by the Loch Ness Monster!”

“No, no, I was a full partner. Clayton was never going to kill me!” Pratt protested.

Luke looked at Carly and they laughed together.

“He wasn’t!” Pratt insisted.

“He is the idiot of the duo,” Carly said. She turned and smiled at Ben Pratt. “You’re a lucky man. You will live. I don’t think we can help you. There’s murder and conspiracy to commit murder and kidnapping and fraud and, wow, I don’t even know what else. There’s nothing this idiot can tell us we don’t already know, and I believe they really do have life without parole here. Of course, he might worry just a little. I mean...prisoners kill other prisoners here, too, right, just like in the United States? We have gangs, lots of gangs, but then again, we were all founded on the same law and people are people no matter where they are in the world...”

“This is Great Britain! We’re civilized,” Pratt said. But he was looking worse and worse.

“Sure. Hmm, remember Edward I at Berwick? All those bloody battles... Oh, yeah, everyone here is more decent than in the States. Oh, wait. This is the land of Burke and Hare—”

“Stop it!” Pratt snapped.

“Sure. We’re out of here,” Luke said.

Luke and Carly stood and he smiled and indicated the door to her. She headed right for it with him behind.

“Wait!” Pratt called.

He was sounding a little pathetic now.

Luke knew he had to be honest. “We can’t give you immunity. The charges are too many and too heinous. But we can possibly help when it comes to where you’re being held and how you’re being held.”

Pratt was shaking his head. “He—he did. Clayton. He had me befriend Herr Grunewald so that he would sign over his estates after his death... I was Gunther’s friend. His good, his close friend. Then he started talking to Mary Nelson all the time. She was good to him, and Clayton was already intrigued by her. First we had to get her out of the way. Clayton probably wanted her anyway for his table or his rack, and it was easy enough for him to walk her through the forest and intrigue her with the hole in the rock and...”

He stopped speaking. He looked from Carly to Luke and back to Carly again.

“Help me.”

“We’ll talk to our counterparts and see what we can do,” Luke promised him.

He indicated the door again; Carly nodded.

“I can really help you if you really help me!” Pratt pleaded.

“You’ve just told us what we need, and we do intend to help you to the best of our ability and the law,” Luke said.

“No, no...you don’t know all of it.”

“What don’t we know?” Carly asked, sitting again. Luke stood behind her, waiting.

“You don’t know about the real Holmes!” Pratt told them.

“The real Holmes?” Carly asked.

Pratt nodded strenuously. “He’s alive. He survived his hanging, and he’s been alive all this time. And he told us he lives and survives because the members of his society keep blood running, and when blood runs, he draws energy and life from it and sometimes—”

He broke off suddenly, wincing, as if terrified of what he had been about to say.

Carly reached across the table and set her hand gently on his where it lay near the hook that held his shackle.

“Don’t be afraid, Ben. You may be a prisoner, but you’re a prisoner surrounded by Police Scotland, the National Crime Agency and even the FBI. Someone has lied to you and used you. Holmes is not alive. Years ago, one of his descendants began research on Holmes’s life—real name Herman Mudgett—and anthropologists and other scientists were there when Holmes’s body was exhumed. DNA proved that it was the real Holmes. He did not escape death. Did you believe you were seeing a spirit or—”

“No! A flesh-and-blood man. He helped Clayton in many of the killings!” Pratt said.

Carly straightened, looking over at Luke.

They’d known someone had been keeping up the website—and that someone had visited Aaron Miller at Graystone Castle.

They’d known a man had been accessing the website at the café.

But now they did know more. They knew that whoever this person was, he most likely did not have his own “castle.”

Rather, he was a voyeur on his own website, making use of all those who fell into his trap.

And yet that in itself seemed to be in contradiction to the man who was playing the role of the long-dead Holmes.

His followers should have been men like Holmes, psychopathic beyond a doubt, but a man who had excelled at school even as a child, who had acquired a medical degree and learned how to twist and turn the law in his own favor time and time again and managed to run and elude the authorities for a long time before making his fatal mistake.

Then again, he was operating a “society.” Not all members could be brilliant, but they might well have what he didn’t, property, the ability to con others out of money.

All things he could enjoy with those who would do his bidding.

“Thank you,” Luke said simply. “We’ll do what we can.”

He and Carly left the room.

Brendan Campbell had been watching the interview through the one-way glass, and he was waiting for them in the hall.

“We must find this man,” he told them. He gritted his teeth, shaking his head. “The bloody monster is in Scotland! We now know of several sightings. We’ve pinned down an image with help from your folk across the pond, but we’re still seeking the truth.”

“The truth?” Carly asked him.

“The truth. We found an ID for him. He isn’t real. We’re seeking the truth.”

“What was on the identification you found?” Luke asked.

“The false ID by which he entered the country,” Campbell told them. “Herman Mudgett!” He shook his head. “How the hell he flew with that name—”

“The entire world doesn’t know the names of historic killers,” Luke reminded him. “But if you knew his name—”

“And there could be another Herman Mudgett out there. A man named Jeff Mudgett, a wonderful writer, discovered he was the man’s descendant when he was forty years old and started investigating and did amazing work on following every trail out there—but the point there is that the surname is a viable surname and I looked it up. There are over a thousand-something people in the United States alone with the surname. So...if our impostor had a passport that went through all checks, he must have bought himself a good one and there’s no one to blame for not knowing that the pseudonym might be a play on a historic human monster known as Holmes,” Carly said. She glanced quickly at Luke.

“I believe we have come to know the current monster too well—and not well enough at all. You’re right. Forgive me my impatience. Just when I saw what our tech pros discovered, it just... I feel that he has so flaunted all this in our faces, and while we’ve stopped many of his followers, we don’t even know how many are out there,” Campbell said.

Luke understood. The man was angry with himself and, yes, it was incredibly frustrating and worse to know that the man must truly enjoy the fact that he’d dared to use such a passport—and walked through airports without comment.

“We need Carly to see what we have, but since we ran the facial recognition and came up with a passport matching the facial images we captured off the surveillance footage, it’s most likely. But we’ll feel more solid, Carly, if you believe it was the man you saw at Graystone Castle,” Campbell finished.

“Whenever you wish,” she assured him.

He nodded. “Clayton Moore is in another interrogation room. Ah, and we seldom have our prisoners sit as those two are sitting. But with the body count we’re having due to these Society members, we’re taking no chances. The expression, I believe, is ‘desperate times call for desperate measures.’”

“I can look at the footage that’s been singled out first. I don’t mind leaving Clayton Moore to sit cuffed and chained to a table,” Carly told him.

Campbell started to respond and lowered his head instead. “Come to the conference room, please.”

They followed him to a large room where there were a multitude of screens and three computer experts at their station.

They looked up when Campbell entered, asking, “We’ve what we need?”

“Aye, sir,” a young man said, nodding to Carly and Luke.

“I shall introduce you all,” Campbell said. “The young lad here is Duncan McSorley,” he said, indicating who had spoken, a young blond man with a lean face and visible respect for those around him. “And next to him, Liz Anderson,” he continued, pointing out a young woman of about thirty with dark auburn hair. “And, last, never least, the illustrious Ian Muir—we call these three our computer technicians and, sometimes, our superior data analysts, but then, of course, they’ve been working with your people through Angela and through the group, well, they are quite magnificent.”

“Aye, indeed, we try!” Ian Muir said. Like his coworkers, he was young, with a great smile to go with his flaming red hair.

“And you are all deeply appreciated,” Luke said, nodding to the trio. He understood computers. He could figure out any phone in a matter of seconds.

But sometimes, the magic he saw others perform on a computer amazed him. He was grateful, truly, for their work.

The young man, Duncan, who appeared to be the head of the trio, rose to point to a screen. “These are the images we’ve managed to acquire, separate and enhance, along with the capture of a passport bearing the same image—and the name Herman Mudgett.”

“Carly, Luke!”

Their names were called from the screen, and he and Carly both paused to look at the one screen that offered a conference call.

A man waved to the two of them.

“Jackson,” Luke acknowledged, smiling and nodding. He remembered the words he used so often with Carly—we’re not alone.

Jackson, of course, was juggling several cases, but he always managed to be on top of everything; Luke wondered how he handled it all.

“Between us, we’ve gotten good information and, at the very least, a suspect.”

“And there he is,” Carly murmured.

Luke studied the image that was brought up of their suspect’s passport.

The image did not appear on an American passport.

“It’s German,” he murmured. “A German passport.”

“German passport,” Carly repeated.

“Which does not mean that the man is a German national, just that he’s good at getting passports that pass for the real thing,” Jackson said.

“Right, because the name originated in England in the early 1300s and went through many spellings which, according to several sources, meant ‘son of Margaret,’” she murmured. “Not that it means he’s an Englishman either.”

Luke looked over at her, arching a brow.

“I looked the name up when we were studying different aspects of the original Holmes,” she said, and she turned to the techs and quickly added, “and, please, just use my given name, Carly!”

“Aye, great, thanks,” Duncan said, his r’s rolling handsomely. “And remember, we’re Duncan, Ian and Liz. Okay. The man is clean-shaven in every image we’ve gotten, but according to our understanding, he appeared among his society with a full mustache.”

She shook her head. “Yes, this is... I didn’t stare at the man forever, so it’s not as if his face is indelibly frozen into my mind. But, yes, this looks like him. The eyes. I do remember his eyes.”

“All right,” Duncan said. “Here’s another—artist’s rendering done by your own amazing coworker, lovely lass named Maisie.”

“She is amazing,” Carly murmured. “I have worked with her before.”

“She is quite wonderful!” Liz agreed.

“I’ll make sure she knows that you’ve appreciated her work,” Jackson assured them. “What’s important is where it’s gotten us.”

Duncan clicked a control he held in his hand. One of the images captured on film had been enhanced with the goatee that appeared in most pictures seen of the historical figure.

Carly nodded. “You’ve found him,” she told the group.

“Well, we found a passport for the arrival of a man who is playing a dangerous game with his own identity. He could have run into someone who knew the name,” Duncan said.

“But that’s half the man’s pleasure, considering himself to be far cleverer than anyone around him,” Carly mused.

“Any recent sightings of him?” Luke asked.

“Not in the last two days. Apparently, in the café, he put a virus into the computers and then enjoyed a stroll down the Royal Mile,” Liz told them.

“I’ve sent everything we have out to the National Crime Agency and every force we have in the country,” Campbell said.

“We’ve alerted Mason and Della in France and they’re following leads there. They’ve discovered one would-be follower and taken him down, but they’re headed to Marseille now, following more disappearances. However, they’ve been informed, of course, that until the last day or so, at the very least, we believe that the man behind it all is here,” Jackson informed them.

Luke shook his head. “Jackson, whoever this guy is, he’ll know. He’ll know by now that we have his likeness. And he’ll change it up. He may even have more passports and show up in another country soon.”

“We’re all aware that he might move with the speed of light,” Jackson said. “But his confidence is amazing. I don’t believe he’ll have done so yet, but as I’ve said, we have Mason and Della on alert—and every country out there in and around the EU.”

“If only he’d move on!” Campbell murmured. He seemed to give himself a mental shake that sent a slight shiver through his body before he turned to them and said, “Not that I wish him on any other country—nay, I want to stop him here. Jackson, we appreciate your people. And everyone needs to be aware our fine lads and lass here will stay on this in every way possible. I doubt if there’s anything more that can be gained from Clayton Moore, but we do have him in an interrogation room, waiting.”

Luke looked at Carly, who looked at Jackson.

“Can’t hurt, Carly,” Jackson said. “We’ll all keep anything we learn moving to all parties as quickly as we get it. For now...let’s trust in a team effort that will bring this monster down.”

“Thank you, Jackson!” Campbell said.

“And thank you. Angela is working it from our end nonstop, and she’ll keep in touch with Duncan and his people.”

“And you’re always just a speed dial away!” Luke said.

Jackson grinned, saluted, and the screen he was on went blank.

“And now...” Luke murmured, looking over at Carly. She gave him a nod and he glanced back at Campbell. “I’m going to suggest that we send Carly in alone and observe. I believe that Clayton Moore signed on to the whole Holmes thing and considers himself superior to all others—and especially women.” He smiled at her. “Too bad for him he doesn’t begin to comprehend the strength in the ‘fairer’ sex.”

“I’ll take a go at him, sir,” she told Campbell. “Though I think that we already know everything we might get out of him.”

Campbell nodded to them. “Duncan?” he said quietly.

“We are continuing to go through every bed-and-breakfast, inn, hostel, hotel and rooming house in Scotland and the British Isles, sir.”

“Thank you!” Campbell told them.

Then he walked them down the hall, indicating two doors. A guard stood before one of them and he nodded solemnly to Campbell.

“Special Agent MacDonald will be going in,” Campbell said. “Special Agent Kendrick will be in the observation room. If anything—”

“Aye, sir! I’ll be on the alert and wary, sir!” the guard said.

Carly smiled at him, nodded to Luke and Campbell, and walked on in.

Just as Ben Pratt had been, Clayton Moore was wearing handcuffs that were attached to the rings on the table.

He was set up a bit differently, though. She’d shot him in the shoulder. His wound had been treated and was bandaged and his arm was in a sling, making his position awkward with his wrist in shackles.

She saw him a second before he saw her.

He appeared aggravated, weary and perhaps very uncomfortable from the way he’d been sitting for so long, though it appeared that his wound had been given consideration.

He straightened when he saw her, a smile coming to his face but not beginning to touch the hatred in his eyes.

“I should be in a hospital.”

“Oh, I can see they treated your injury,” she said.

He smiled. The malice in his eyes was almost palpable, and though he barely moved, he did edge an inch toward her when he spit out his threat.

“You just don’t know what’s coming, do you? You just don’t know. Lady, you are still going to die. You will die because you think you’re clever, you think you’re good. But you’re just another bitch, to be used, tossed out. He will come. He knows you’re coming for him, but he will get you, and you are the one who will die, slowly, and in agony. He will see that your blood runs and that you feel every single thing as he chops you up and feeds you to the flames!”