A Soul To Steal (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book One) (22 page)

“We are taking way too much on faith here,” Quinn responded. “That he really did copy the letters, that he has kept them all these years, and that they are sitting at his house.”

“We have to start somewhere, Quinn, or are we just going to be wait for Lord Halloween to find us?” Kate said.

“What if they tell us nothing? They didn’t tell the police much, did they?”

Still, within two hours, Quinn found himself along with Kate and Janus outside of Laurence’s house. He had a modest enough place just outside Leesburg. Quinn didn’t know for sure, but he thought Laurence must have moved recently. The house looked relatively new and had that cookie-cutter look that most of the developers were going for.

The nice thing about the outskirts of Leesburg was that they had so much surrounding woodland still left. The three journalists positioned themselves in Laurence’s back yard and scoped out the house.

“It’s all dark,” Quinn said.

He thanked God it was October and the sun was starting to go down so early. Somewhere he could hear a dog bark and he hoped it wasn’t making noise because of them—or that Laurence owned it. At least now they could lurk around without anyone seeing them. Quinn couldn’t see why Lord Halloween enjoyed that aspect of his work. Instead of feeling invisible, he was worried any minute he might be seen or, knowing Virginia residents, shot at.

“So who’s going in?” he asked.

He shouldn’t have bothered. Once they confirmed that Laurence wasn’t home yet, Janus was already moving to approach the house.

“Does he even know where he’s going?” Quinn asked.

Kate shrugged.

They watched Janus approach the backdoor. It was a nice double door opening out to a patio. Janus tripped a motion-detecting floodlight, but clearly didn’t seem worried about it. He stood there, standing out.

“This isn’t going to work,” Quinn said.

“Could you please try and be a little positive?”

“Well, I didn’t bring up the part where we all get fired and go to jail. I thought that was pretty positive.”

Janus had pulled something out of his pocket—Quinn at first thought it was going to be his lighter, the one he carried with him everywhere. Instead it appeared to be a tool of some kind. He was using it on the door. Within seconds, the door came open.

Quinn braced himself. If there was an alarm, this would be when it was triggered. After the attacks by Lord Halloween, most Loudoun residents had bought an alarm. But he heard nothing. Instead Janus gestured back at them.

Seconds later, Quinn and Kate were through the door. The house looked nice considering he knew how little Ethan Holden paid anyone. It was possible Laurence was paid more money than most, but he doubted it. Laurence wasn’t a tough negotiator and it was hard to imagine Holden ever willingly parting with cash when he didn’t absolutely have to.

“Let’s spread out,” Kate said. “The shorter time we’re here, the better chances we have.”

“Nothing ever went wrong with
that
plan,” Quinn said, but Janus and Kate had already split up.

Quinn decided to stick to the back. He walked through the dining room, which looked totally bare except for a table, and then briefly stopped in the kitchen. He doubted Laurence would have any files in there. As he turned the corner, he saw a door to the basement. He felt like he was in a bad horror movie. Don’t go in the basement, he told himself. But didn’t that seem like a better place to hide files?

Slowly, he walked down the steps, taking care not to trip in the dark. When he got to the bottom, he fumbled along the wall until he found a light switch and turned it on. He hated turning on the light—what if Laurence came home—but had no choice. Without it, he was effectively blind.

The basement wasn’t as dank or scary as Quinn had feared. It was largely bare, however, with a big TV and a stationary bicycle on the far side of the wall. It didn’t look like either had been used recently. But feeling the urge to be thorough, he walked to the back of the room and found another area off to the right.

The room was an almost identical replica of Laurence’s office at the
Chronicle
. Two desks were pushed together and an older-looking computer sat at the direct center of one of them. He flicked on another light to get a better look. Bingo! Two filing cabinets sat by the far end of the room—just like at the office. He was just about to shout upstairs to the others when he heard something that made his blood stand still.

The front door had opened.

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He was a journalist—trained for stressful situations—but Quinn could see getting fired, possible jail time and the end of everything he had tried to build here. What paper would hire him now? He would be a part-time criminal. Maybe he could convince Laurence not to press charges. He could just walk upstairs and admit it.

He heard footsteps as someone walked in the house. From the sound of it, it was probably two people. He heard voices, even giggling. Quinn had to do something.

The files, a voice in his head said. Get the goddamn files. If he was going to go down, he shouldn’t be standing around waiting for something to happen—he should act.

His eyes darted to the filing cabinets. Please don’t be locked, he thought, as he heard more talking upstairs. How long until Kate gets caught? What about Janus?

Focus, he thought. Focus on what you are here to do.

He examined the filing cabinets and tried to pull them out. But as he feared, they were locked.

“Shit,” he said under his breath. “Motherfucking piece of shit.”

He looked around the room. Keys, keys, there have to be keys somewhere. The desk was bare. Near the computer was a series of newspaper clippings, laid out in an unusually neat pattern. He opened the drawers and started looking through. How long before they notice the light is on downstairs? How long do I have? There were pins, pens, notepads, paper clips, staples, a letter opener, highlighters and every kind of other junk in the first drawer. The second drawer was filled with random stuff as well, as far as Quinn could tell. There were papers in there, but nothing else.

There’s no key here, Quinn thought. He should run now. Just get out of there while he could. But this would be his last chance. He wasn’t going to get another shot at this. And if Laurence caught even a glimpse of him, he would know it was Quinn.

He could hear the voices talking upstairs, moving around a little. It sounded like they were in the kitchen—he could hear glasses clinking.

“Shit,” he said again.

His eyes searched the room. He returned to the filing cabinet and gave it a good look. It looked like solid oak, but the lock was very small. Maybe it wasn’t that stable. He could see the piece of metal through the opening slat holding the drawer shut. If he had something flat, small and hard, he could maybe move it without a key. His brain was working on overdrive.

The voices had stopped talking and he could not hear anything upstairs. He didn’t know where Laurence and his friend were, but they could be anywhere.

The letter opener, Quinn thought. He moved back to the desk, pulled open the drawer and grabbed it. Please let this work. He slid the letter opener into the slat and tried to push the latch. At first there was nothing and Quinn thought it was over, but then it gave way slightly. He pushed a little harder. It was resisting him, but also moving.

Above him, he could hear people moving and voices again. It didn’t sound like anyone had been caught—maybe Kate and Janus had gotten out already. But the footsteps sounded like they were coming towards Quinn. He could almost make out what the people were saying.

The lock gave way. One minute it was resisting slightly and the next it had slid all the way into the drawer. He’d done it. He pulled open the drawer and looked at a series of files. At first he couldn’t make out what he was looking at. On each file was written a name—and there were at least two dozen files. They meant nothing to him until he saw one near the front: “Mary Kilgore.” The murdered woman.

He pulled it out. In it was his newspaper article on the murder and even the metro article from the
Post
. A headshot also fell out. Until that moment, Quinn hadn’t known what she looked like. She looked in her early fifties. Her hair was dark, but Quinn had a feeling it was colored. She had been pretty once, but in the photo she just looked tired. Her smile looked forced, as if she didn’t have any reason to be smiling. Quinn put the photo back in the file and returned it to the drawer.

He looked at the other names until one jumped out at him: Sarah Blakely. It was Kate’s mom. He looked more carefully at the names now and could see he recognized many of them: they were all victims of Lord Halloween. Laurence had an entire drawer filled with information. Had he also done his own investigation?

He didn’t have time to think about it. The footsteps now sounded like they were at the top of the basement stairs. He heard a voice as clear as day.

“Just one second,” Laurence said.

He started walking down the basement steps.

“I didn’t think I left the light on down here,” Laurence said to himself.

Quinn was finished. In five seconds Laurence would be down the steps and it would be over. Instead of his life flashing before his eyes, Quinn saw his career flash before him. Starting as a cub reporter working sports, trying to learn the ropes, then finally working his way up to general assignment. It was over. It was all over.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Laurence paused on the steps, turned around, and walked back up them. Quinn nearly shouted in relief. His heart was racing. Whatever chance he had just been given, he took it. He looked back at the files and frantically searched through the names until he found the one he wanted: Tim Anderson.

He grabbed the file. It was clearly one of the biggest. Quinn didn’t read it. If the letters weren’t here, they weren’t anywhere, and now was not the time to check. As an afterthought, he grabbed the file on Blakely as well—and shut the filing cabinet as gently as he could.

Hoisting the files under his one arm, he began to creep up the stairs. Whoever had rung the doorbell, he just hoped they would keep Laurence busy. At the top of the stairs he stood and listened.

“I just thought it was worth bringing to your attention,” a voice said. With shock, Quinn realized it belonged to Janus. He had been the one to ring the doorbell. He must have snuck out of the house and gone back around to the front.

“You really think he’s harassing her?” Laurence asked.

“Well, I don’t know that it’s risen to that level yet,” Janus said. “But between you and me, he hasn’t had a good date in a long time and the way he looks at her—well, frankly, it makes me uncomfortable. I can only imagine how I would feel if I were a new reporter.”

What the hell was Janus even talking about? Quinn knew he was just creating a diversion, but the conversation sounded…

“I’m worried about Quinn,” Janus continued. “I really am. He’s been acting all paranoid lately, and he had that run-in with the police. You should have heard him. He was downright disrespectful to the police—Kate and I were shocked.”’

Oh, fuck, Quinn thought. He wanted to go out there and set the record straight and realized with a start that he had broken into this house. It was now or never to get away.

He walked toward the kitchen and heard someone open the refrigerator. Laurence wasn’t alone, he should have remembered. Whoever it was wasn’t rushing out to meet Janus, though. Quinn couldn’t go that way.

Instead, he went the other direction. He was near Laurence’s living room. He crossed quickly in the dark through the dining room. He hoped whoever was in the kitchen didn’t move.

“I just really wanted you to know about it,” Janus said.

“Well, thanks Janus,” Laurence said. “I’m very glad you brought these concerns to me. Rebecca and I will talk to Quinn first thing in the morning.”

Quinn was about out of time. He moved carefully but quickly through the dining room and to the back door. From there he could see into the kitchen and was surprised to see Rebecca standing in it. She was clearly listening to Laurence’s conversation, but did not appear eager to give herself away. If she looked away now, she would see Quinn.

He quietly opened the door and backed out of the house. The floodlight was still on, but Rebecca was looking the other direction, toward the front door. Quinn backed across the lawn. He had to be sure he wasn’t seen. As soon as he was out of the light, he turned and ran across the back yard, grasping the files in his hand to keep them from falling out.

When he got to the rendezvous point, he stopped.

“You made it,” Kate said, and Quinn nearly screamed. He hadn’t seen her in the dark. “Janus and I knew you were still in there: he hoped to create a diversion.”

“Well, he did that, although I think he was saying I was stalking you.”

“What?” Kate asked, but her eyes were on the folders under Quinn’s arm.

“Did you find something?” she asked.

Quinn nodded. “He has files on every victim of Lord Halloween, Kate.”

He handed the files over to her.

“That’s Tim Anderson’s,” he said.

The next thing he knew Kate had kissed him again. It was brief—all too brief—but it felt great. She let him go.