Chapter one

In Grace's opinion this has been their worst case ever. It was so hot that you couldn't breathe normally and it seemed as if everything stopped in the unmoving air. The outskirt where the murders were committed was gloomy and raffish. It was obvious that only the poorest families of the town lived in this area.

The whole case was somehow creepy. There have been three victims so far, all were found in a dilapidated house and their hearts were practically ripped out. The local coroner couldn't find out what kind of weapon was used, only that it was something dull and surely not a knife. The first victim was a tramp who probably wanted to spend the night in the house. The second was a 14-years old boy – why he was in the house nobody knew, and the third was a police officer who was left in charge to guard the house.

The only connection between the dead-cases was this house. Nothing else. Or so it seemed until now but of course the local police didn't have a profiler like Sam.

Grace sighed. They were at the scene now and she didn't really have anything to do as the last body was already taken to morgue. The last murder happened yesterday and in this heat they couldn't leave a body in the open so long. So, while the others were doing their jobs, she found a shady place and just watched them.

Bailey and Sam were talking to the local detective in charge in front of the house. Sam was wearing only a sleeveless top and she was steadily fanning herself with a rolled magazine. Bailey on the other hand was immaculately elegant in his suit as ever, though he chose a lighter color this time.

Grace suddenly sighted John coming out frombehind the house. He was everything but immaculate. His jacket had been dropped down on the porch earlier, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and he loosened his tie. Their youngest workmate joined the others at the porch and Grace sighed again. She pulled herself together and walked to them as well.

"Have you found anything?" was Bailey just asking.

"Yeah" John answered. "I found some traces in the backyard. One is from the first victim I think, the second from the boy, he jumped over the fence and went in through the basement door. It has only a rusty lock on it and it has been broken recently. The officer stayed on the porch, didn't he?"

"Yes" the local detective, named Jack Warren, answered.

"I didn't find any other traces, so I guess the murderer used the front door or some of the windows here" John finished.

"You should take photos of the onlookers" put in Sam. "I think this guy is obsessed with this house. We're lookingfor somebody who has a connection to the building, maybe lived here or in the neighborhood and something traumatic happened to him."

"It won't be easy" said Detective Warren. "People move in and out in this area and this house is more than 200 years old. Nobody stayed here long, they say it's haunted" he added almost apologetically.

"I think every area has a legend like this" said Bailey. "I'll call George to do a research on this house."

"I'll take a look around inside" said Sam. "John?"

The agent was watching the small crowd that gathered and watched the investigation.

"I'll chat with those boys over there" he replied and nodded at the three teenagers who were standing on the pavement on the opposite side. "I have a clue what that boy might have done in here."

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"Hi, boys!" the children jerked their heads up like frightened birds. "Agent Grant. FBI."

Only for effect he flashed his badge. Probably it made him even more impressive that without his jacket they could clearly see his holster and his gun in it. Their eyes if possible went even wider.

"Did you know Tommy Felton?" he asked.

"Y-yes" stuttered one of them, probably the bravest.

"What's your name?"

"Brian."

"Was he your friend, Brian?"

"Not really. We went to the same class."

"I see. Tommy wasn't very popular, was he?" It was enough to take a look at his photo. The poor boy had glasses and a lot of freckles and he was rather skinny: in one word the typical looser.

"Er… no, he wasn't."

"Don't you know by any chance what he was doing here so late in the evening?"

"Why would we know?"

"I was just asking. It's my job, you know, to ask questions. Are you interested in the investigation?"

This sudden change in topic obviously surprised the boys.

"Everybody is interested, I think…" shrugged Brian who was the mouthpiece in the small group.

"I don't see many children here around" said John looking around. "Detective Warren said there's some kind of festival in town. Why aren't you there?"

The boy just shrugged again.

"You know, I have a theory" John said casually. "I think that Tommy went in the house to prove his courage to somebody. I also think that that this somebody feels a little bit guilty now about what happened to him. Maybe this somebody was nagging Tommy to do it…"

"We didn't want him to get hurt!" exclaimed one of the other boys and Brian glared at him. But John could see that he was on the verge of tears himself. He suddenly looked up at John.

"Will we be closed in prison?" he asked quietly.

"Why would you be?" he smiled encouragingly. "How could you have known that this would happen? It wasn't your fault but you have to tell me everything so that we can catch the murderer. You were here with him, right?"

"We didn't go in with him. Frankie here" and he waved at his smallest companion "lives in the second house behind the haunted one. We were there camping in the garden and Tommy came along. He was walking down the street and we were bored and so we thought it would be funny to play a… you know … a prank on him. We told him he wouldn't dare to go in the house. He said he would. So we climbed into Mrs. Hofstatter's garden and he then jumped over the fence and vanished. We looked through a hole until he went down to the basement door."

"When did this happen?"

Brian looked at his friends and the smallest – Frankie – answered.

"At about nine."

"And then, what happened?"

"Then there was nothing for a while. But suddenly… somebody screamed…. It was like in a horror-movie or so…"

"And you?"

Brian looked at his shoes as if they were much more interesting than anything else in the street.

"We ran away" he admitted quietly. "We didn't even sleep in the tent. But we didn't dare to tell anybody… even after… you know…

"Yes. I'm glad you told it now. I talk to Detective Warren and you have to repeat this at the police station. And don't be afraid, nothing will happen to you. You are not guilty in what happened to Tommy. Even if you hadn't ran away you couldn't have saved him."

All three boys nodded hesitantly and then Frankie asked:

"You will tell our parents what happened?" he became even paler than before and John saw something painfully familiar in his eyes.

"We don't have to tell them precisely what happened" he said and smiled at the boy. "I'll ask Detective Warren not to tell everything. We could tell them that you heard something while you were in the garden. Is it okay so?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically.

"All right, then. And thank you again for your help."

He started to walk back to the others when somebody touched his shoulder from behind. He turned around and saw a young woman or rather a girl whoabout twenty, hadruffled long hair and was wearingdirty jeans and despite of the hot temperature a sweater. She looked almost like a waif, she was short and very thin, her clothes were hanging loosely on her.

"You are with the FBI?" she asked.

"Yes, I am. Can I help you?" he asked with not much enthusiasm.

The girl obviously wasn't one hundred percents. Her eyes had sucha distant quality thatJohn had a feeling that she wasn't really seeing him and her left hand was constantly playing with the edge of her sweater that was already frayed.

"I… I saw what happened in the house… I saw the murderer…" she started slowly.

"Really?" John asked back a little bit skeptically.

"Yes, but the police didn't want to listen. Just like that old man and all the others. I told everybody not to go into the house but nobody listened… they never listen" her words quickly turned into a sputter.

Why am I not surprised? John thought, but instead he asked:

"Why shouldn't they go inside?"

"Because of the ghost… he doesn't allow it…"

"The ghost?"

"Yes, I saw him. He killed the old man. I didn't see when he killed the boy but it must have been him."

Great… But maybe she could have seen something despite her obvious craziness. John couldn't decide yet if the woman was mad or just a junky pumped full with something but he couldn't allow himself to not follow a trace, even if it seemed to be hopeless.

"And could you describe … this ghost?"

"Of course. But it won't help you that much, you should close down the house and forbid for everybody to go in. It would be even better if it would be demolished then he couldn't stay here anymore."

"I don't know much about it, but maybe we can ask an expert later" John cut in. "I'll bring a drawer and we do a picture of the ghost, if it's okay with you." The girl nodded, but her eyes were focusing on the haunted house. "Do you live somewhere near here?"

"Yes, I live just down there" she indicated at a house on the opposite side, that didn't look much better than the one the murders were committed in.

"Thank you. I'll visit you later then, okay?"

The girl didn't answer but watched the house with fearful eyes, playing with her hair this time instead of her sweater.

Just great, another few hours waste of time! John thought, but on the other hand he knew that sometimes the most stupid traces turned out to be the most useful ones so you could never know.

Without another word – as his witness was obviously in her own world – he walked back to the house, where he found only Grace outside.

"Why is it that I always catch the nutcases?" he asked.

"Maybe they see the soul-mate in you" Grace answered with a broad smile.

"This was only a poetic question, but thank you very much. Have you seen Bailey?"

"He went inside after Sam."

"Well, then I'll go as well. Maybe I can meet a wandering spirit in there…"

"A what?"

"Never mind. Don't you want to join me?"

"No, thanks, I'm just waiting for an officer to take me to the coroner's office. So at least I can do something useful. And maybe there's an air-conditioner, there!" she added wishfully.

"Have a nice necrotomy then!" John said wickedly and with three long steps he vanished in the house.

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6