Castle of Sorrows Read online

  Morton shoved a case of supplies under the helicopter seat. “That was clever of you today, Agent Gary.”

  Jessie hefted her suitcase, slid it into the chopper. “What was?”

  “Ingratiating yourself with Shadeland. Telling him not to leave his wife and son.”

  “I wasn’t being clever. I was serious about him staying with his family.”

  Morton showed no anger, but his tone was brusque, even more businesslike than normal. “In that case it was an unnecessary risk. What if he’d taken you up on your suggestion?”

  “His family would still be together.”

  “And we’d be no better off than our predecessors. Do you find that an acceptable trade-off?”

  Morton’s pale blue eyes were hard and assessing.

  “I don’t want to compromise our investigation, but I feel that Mr. Shadeland isn’t making sound decisions at the moment.”

  “Of course he isn’t,” Morton said. “And we exploited that fact to further our cause.”

  Jessie searched Morton’s face. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  Morton seemed to consider. “Let me ask you this: Do you believe Ben Shadeland has been forthright about what happened on the Sorrows?”

  “He says he doesn’t remember.”

  “But he remembers being shot in the stomach by Ryan Brady. The pilot, incidentally, who had stolen Ben’s wife, was about to take his son from him, and who—if the evidence that has come to light since then is to be believed—was carrying on an affair with Ben’s teenaged stepdaughter.”

  Jessie said, “Maybe Ben got shot because he caught wind of the affair.”

  Morton watched her a moment. Then his eyes narrowed. “Care to tell me what Shadeland really said to you this morning when Agent Castillo and I were out of earshot?”

  Jessie knew Morton would likely ask her about this, but the question still caught her off-guard. She forced her voice to remain steady, knowing if Morton detected a lie, there could be repercussions. “He told me we needed to be prepared.”

  “Yes,” Morton said patiently, “that’s what you told us when Castillo asked you about it driving away from the beach.” He stepped closer. “What I want to know is what Shadeland really said. The truth, in other words.”

  “He said there could be trouble on the island.”

  Morton’s stare was implacable. “What were his words?”

  Jessie shrugged uncertainly, knowing she was making a bad job of it. “He said there were things on the island that could be dangerous.”

  She was sure he’d pursue the matter further, keep battering her with that withering blue gaze of his, but Castillo bailed her out by appearing beside them.

  “Old Gus looks half-asleep,” Castillo said.

  “I’m just glad we were able to find a replacement,” Morton answered, apparently dismissing the matter. “At this late hour, I had worried we wouldn’t.”

  Castillo threw a glance over at Gus, whose crossed legs were dangling out of his open truck window. “Hope he gets us there alive.”

  Morton strode back to the car. Jessie heard a ding from inside her suitcase. The text probably wasn’t urgent, but perhaps she still should answer it. She dragged her suitcase from under the seat.

  Castillo swung his travel bag up to the helicopter floor next to hers. “Think it’s just coffee in that thermos of his?”

  Jessie had wondered herself. “I’m sure it is.”

  “If it isn’t, I hope you know how to swim.”

  Jessie said nothing.

  Castillo gave her a wry sidelong grin. “You’re a hell of a lot nicer to Sean than you are to me.”

  Jessie scooted her suitcase over, then spun it around so the open door would block Castillo. She didn’t want him looking at her underwear.

  Castillo chuckled. “Now I get the silent treatment, huh? That’s not very nice.”

  “You’re obnoxious,” she said, unzipping the suitcase.

  “Ah, she does talk! That’s a relief. I thought you were gonna ignore me the whole helicopter ride.”

  Jessie reached under her makeup bag and probed for her phone.

  “You don’t even give a guy a chance.”

  “Did it ever occur to you,” Jessie said, turning and letting her suitcase door flop shut on her wrists, “that you shouldn’t be approaching me as a ‘guy’?”

  He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You act like we’re at a bar or something, like I’m some chick you’re trying to pick up.”

  “I’m not supposed to find you attractive?”

  “Of course you’re not,” she said, louder than she’d intended. She glanced nervously over at the car, but Morton was obscured from view by the open trunk. She hoped Morton’s hearing was obscured too.

  “I can’t even look? I’m supposed to pretend you’re some cow with bad hair and warts all over her face?”

  She rounded on him. “Do you hear yourself? Everything you say concerns my face, my body…who cares if I have warts? What does it matter if I’m overweight? Do those things affect the job I do?”

  He raked her body with hooded eyes, a crooked grin lifting one corner of his mouth. “You’re not overweight.”

  “For God’s sake,” she said and turned back to rummage through her suitcase. She tossed open the unzippered door and began peeling back layers of clothes.

  “I never figured you for a thong,” Castillo said.

  Open-mouthed, she realized one of the articles she’d swept aside was a red thong she sometimes wore while working out. She seized it and stuffed it down against the suitcase wall.

  “What else have you got in there? Anything naughty?”

  She turned and braced herself on the open helicopter doorway. “You’re not the first man I’ve met at the Bureau who acts like I’m a potential screw instead of a colleague.”

  He threw up his palms, took a step back. “Hey now, I never said—”

  “You didn’t have to. You’re vulgar, you’re narcissistic and your language toward me is a dozen steps beyond inappropriate.”

  “Just because I’m—”

  “I’ve tried to be patient with you. I assumed you’d take the hint. But it’s becoming obvious you’re unable to discern between what to say and what to keep in that lewd adolescent brain of yours.”

  He smiled delightedly. “Hah!”

  “And I notice you don’t act like this whenever Agent Morton is around. I think it’s time he’s aware of your behavior.”

  Castillo’s smile evaporated, a look of real concern darkening his face. “Now look, I—”

  “Here he is now.”

  Morton was treading briskly back over to the chopper. “That should about do it. I assume you have ample ammunition, Agent Gary?”

  “I do,” she answered, her eyes fixed on Castillo.

  Morton stopped what he was doing. “Something wrong?”

  “Of course not, Sean. We were just talking things over,” Castillo said.

  Morton nodded. “I see. And did these things pertain to Agent Gary’s beauty?”

  When she glanced over at Castillo, she was amused to see he was blushing, which was hard to do given his deep surfer’s tan. He was sweating a little too, a first in her experience.

  “Your silence is telling, Agent Castillo,” Morton said. “Agent Gary and I have worked together several times, and on each occasion I have found her more than capable.” He crossed his arms. “You, on the other hand, are an adequate agent who could be a good one if you approached your job with more professionalism.”

  Looking like a chastened school kid, Castillo shifted uncomfortably but did not answer.

  “Focus,” Morton said, “is paramount to what we do. Without it, we leave ourselves open to error. In our line of business, errors can lead to death.
” Morton cocked his head, eyed Castillo meditatively. “Have you ever been in a dangerous situation, Agent Castillo?”

  Castillo’s tone was sullen. “You mean have I ever been shot at?”

  “That qualifies, yes.”

  Castillo glanced toward the interior of the helicopter, gave a little shake of the head.

  Morton said, “I have. Several times. More often than I would have liked.” Morton nodded toward Jessie. “On one of those occasions, Agent Gary was with me. She performed admirably. Do you understand me, Agent Castillo?”

  Castillo nodded.

  When Morton only persisted in staring at him, Castillo exhaled loudly, heaved a petulant shrug. “Of course I understand.”

  With a curt nod, Morton said, “Glad to hear it.” Turning, he squinted toward the road. “And it looks as if the last member of our party has arrived.”

  Jessie watched Ben Shadeland’s Camry roll to a stop. Checking to make sure her underwear had been properly stowed, she went over to greet him.

  Ben grasped an orange-and-white seat cushion, his fingertips on the vinyl sweaty. Almost there, he thought. Can’t be more than ten miles away.

  Gus Williams glanced back at Morton and Jessie. “So y’all are with the government,” Gus said. It was the first time the man had spoken since takeoff.

  “Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Castillo said. With just the right amount of superiority, Ben noticed.

  Gus nodded. “You think that’ll help you?”

  Seated to Gus’s right, Castillo turned and frowned at the pilot. “Help us do what?”

  “Live,” Gus said.

  Castillo glanced back at Morton, whose expression could’ve meant anything.

  “I get it,” Castillo said to Gus. “You’re one of those guys who believes in Roswell, that kind of stuff.”

  “Of course I believe in Roswell. You saying the town doesn’t exist?”

  Castillo’s frown deepened. “You know what I mean.”

  “The UFOs,” Gus said, nodding.

  Ben glanced over, saw that Jessie and Morton were both watching Gus now.

  “You think they found little green men,” Castillo said, “and the government covered it all up.”

  “Course not,” Gus said. “The government would never do anything deceitful.”

  Castillo’s mouth spread in a contemptuous grin. “Uh-huh. We’re the enemy. We’re always hatching one sort of conspiracy or another in an attempt to rob people of their civil liberties.”

  Gus ignored Castillo’s remark, glanced at Ben over his shoulder. “You’re that composer, aren’t you?”

  Ben eyed him noncommittally. “Why?”

  “You do good work,” Gus said. “I liked your House of Skin score, but I favor your early stuff.”

  “House of Skin wasn’t written under the best of circumstances.”

  “So I hear.”

  Ben gave Gus a sharp look, but the man looked as serene as ever.

  “I went out there once,” Gus said.

  Jessie sat forward. “You’ve been to the Sorrows?”

  Gus shook his head. “Never landed there. But I flew some folks over a few years back.”

  “Who?” Castillo asked.

  “That’s my business,” Gus said.

  “Hey, where do you—”

  “As I was saying,” Gus resumed, “this party wanted me to fly over the island. I’d never done it before, but I’d heard plenty of stories from pilots who had. They said it was like walking through a graveyard on a moonless night.”

  Castillo grunted. “What a load of crap.”

  “What happened?” Morton asked.

  Gus shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “But you felt something,” Ben said.

  Gus grew very still. At length, he nodded. “You could say that.”

  They all waited, the silence drawing out in the chopper until Ben began to suspect Gus would leave them all hanging.

  Finally, he said, “My party—it was a professor and his two assistants—they wanted me to get down close to the castle. You know, hover over it so they could snap some good pictures.”

  “Did you?” Jessie asked.

  “I tried,” Gus said. “I’ve been flying this bird for a good long while, and I know her better than I knew my ex-wife, which I guess isn’t saying much since she cheated on me after twenty years of marriage. But as I was saying, I know how to handle this machine better than I know anything.”

  “Let me guess,” Castillo said. “It started to do weird things, and you nearly lost control of the helicopter.”

  “The chopper worked just fine,” Gus said. “It was myself I nearly lost control of.”

  “What happened?” Morton asked.

  For the first time, Gus looked uncomfortable. He gave a nervous little laugh and shrugged. “I started thinking, that was all. This professor, he was a nice enough guy, and his assistants, they were just ordinary young people. They didn’t do anything to me. But I started thinking about how I never went to college and how sometimes people who did had a tendency to look down on me. I started imagining that these three, the professor and his assistants, were mocking me and that maybe they deserved a good scare.”

  Gus uttered a mirthless laugh. “The door beside you, Agent Castillo, pops open sometimes. I can make it open just by veering sharply. The professor was sitting where you are now. I told him to take off his seatbelt so he could get something out of the back for me.”

  “You were going to kill him,” Ben said.

  “I might have,” Gus agreed. “I’m not proud of it, but…as I was hovering over that island all I could think about was how condescending people often were to me, like I didn’t have a brain in my head. I thought of how easy it would be to take it out on this professor. You know, make an example of him.”

  “So what happened?” Morton asked.

  “I came to my senses is what happened,” Gus said. “And thank God for that. One moment I’m getting ready to jerk the controls and send that poor man plummeting to his death, and the next I’m shaking all over and aiming the chopper back east again.”

  “You know,” Castillo said after a few moments. “Admitting to something like that could get you into an awful lot of trouble. Especially in front of a federal agent.”

  Gus looked at him. “Only if that agent is a dickhead.”

  Castillo opened his mouth to respond, but it was too late.

  The Sorrows lay before them.

  As the chopper curved toward the island, Ben double-checked his seatbelt.

  Chapter Four

  After the helicopter touched down and they climbed out, Teddy Brooks came through the front door of the castle and met them on the lawn.

  Brooks nodded at Ben, flipped his cigarette butt into the tall grass. “How’s everybody doing?”

  Castillo said, “I don’t know who you are or how you—”

  “We came in the Blackie, Agent Castillo. Ain’t that a hell of a name for a yacht? Christina’s husband apparently didn’t worry about political correctness.”

  Morton appraised the man coolly. Brooks noticed Morton’s gaze and extended a hand. “Name’s Teddy Brooks. You must be Agent Morton.”

  “You seem to know a good deal about us,” Morton said. “Your friends in Los Angeles must still hold you in high regard.”

  Brooks shrugged. “We keep in touch.”

  “Where are the others?” Ben asked.

  Castillo glowered at him. “It doesn’t matter where they are, what matters is where they’re going.” He turned to Brooks. “You’ve got ten minutes to get off this island.”

  Teddy chuckled down at his cordovan loafers. “You’re going to have a hard time gettin’ rid of this party.”

  “I’ve got the right of the United States Government, buddy
. I say they leave, you can bet your ass they’re gonna leave.”

  Morton sighed. “How many are there?”

  “Counting you four and excluding your helicopter pilot,” Brooks said, “there are ten people on the Sorrows.”

  “That’s far too many,” Morton said.

  “Don’t worry,” Ben said. “The island has a way of thinning things out.”

  They entered the castle. Inside the foyer Ben peered through the arched doorway to the great hall. It was exactly as Ben remembered it. The hand-hewn rafters lined a ceiling that hovered twenty-five feet above the stone floor. To the far left of the room he glimpsed the capacious fireplace, the one with the snarling lions carved into the stone mantle.

  The agents went through the doorway, but Ben had no desire to reacquaint himself with the great hall. What he wanted was to the immediate right.

  “Where you goin’, man?” Teddy asked.

  “Down here,” Ben answered without a backward glance.

  Ben flicked on the stairwell light, just a dim yellow bulb that brought with it a flood of grotesque memories. His best friend Eddie going insane and shoving Ben down the stairs. The bestial sounds emanating from the sub-basement. Then…

  Ben shivered, but started down anyway.

  Teddy clomped down the stairs behind him. “Care to explain to me what we’ll find down here?”

  “Julia.”

  “You’re kiddin’, right?”

  Ben didn’t answer, only continued his descent.

  Teddy’s voice was solemn. “I guess I didn’t realize how serious you were until now.”

  “You have a gun?” Ben asked.

  “Do you?”

  Ben didn’t see the need to answer. The ankle holster he’d purchased in Santa Rosa felt small and unreassuring, the Ruger it contained only slightly more substantial. Though the main odors in the ancient, echoey stairwell were damp concrete and a faint tinge of sea salt, beneath those Ben fancied he could detect a gamey undercurrent, the musky smell of an animal den. Or perhaps the stink of a long-neglected kennel, a cage in which the mongrels had resorted to eating one another for survival until only the most vicious and bloodthirsty one remained.