Sharon Cullars - Again

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

Special thanks go to the following who provided encouragement and sometimes sanity throughout the completion of this book: Sabrina Collins, who told me to write another book when I was discouraged from a first attempt; Desiree Dawson, Alexandra Tschaler and Beverly Johns who were enthusiastic readers and gave me much needed critiques. To my agent, Janell Agyeman, who read the first draft and believed in it enough to take me on. And to the Kensington staff who made this final book possible: Kate Duffy, Hilary Sares and Sulay Hernandez.

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

New YorkJanuary 1880

T he nearly arctic wind bit through his wool coat, chilling flesh and blood. But even the cold could not quell the fetid smell of the open sewer a few feet away. The heat of human waste sent up a vapor visible in the chilled air. Reeking garbage marred the frozen snow drifts piled along the alley floor. Intent on his purpose, Joseph barely noticed the odors. He squeezed his fingers together, trying to get the blood to flow. His leather gloves provided little protection against the unusually cold day.

It wouldnt be long now. He had been waiting nearly forty minutes, yet he knew this alley was where he would find the one he sought. Joseph had studied his quarry for nearly a month now, ever since the coward skulked back into town thinking it was safe to do so. Joseph had passed money around to keep ears and eyes open around the wharfs, piers, and the streets. Three weeks ago, his investment paid off. Charlie Rhodes was back in town. Word on the street was that the man had crossed into Jersey, hiding out until everything had blown over.

For a time, the grisly murder of three men at the warehouse played on the front pages of most of the New York papers, the details glorified for the rabid readers. But with each passing week, and given the low pedigree of the victims, eventually the curious and the sensation hounds found other news to sniff after. Work at the warehouse had resumed and blood was washed away, leaving no reminders of the deaths that had taken place there. It was as though nothing had ever happened.

As though his world had not been torn away, leaving him no foothold.

He knew Charlie took this way home from the job he had gotten as a stevedore. The route was a lone shortcut through the alley a few feet from the hovel Charlie shared with a decrepit prostitute named Sally. Hardly anyone ever came this way, wisely afraid of robbers or mischief makers. Which made Charlie a fool. And which worked into Josephs plan. A plan he had decided on after Rachel was found.

Nearly a month ago, a dock worker discovered Rachels body frozen in the East River. By chance, Joseph came across the article in one of the daily periodicals. The other papers hadnt bothered to report the discovery. Even in the one paper, Rachels death had been summed up in very few words, a toss-away among news about the invention of something called a light bulb and the ever-growing media parade surrounding the Kiehl murder. The poisoning death of the eighty-one-year-old dowager had horrified the city. A Miss Catherine Zell was set to stand trial for the murder. But no one would stand trial for Rachels death. And with the discovery of her body, Josephs decision had crystallized within him. No, there would be no hue or cry for the death of a Negro woman, no matter how wonderful or beautiful. And most of those who cared about her either had no power to bring her justice or were too cowardly to come forward. So in the end, he realized what he had to do.

There was something else driving him, also. A half-remembered dreamor rather dreamsthat had been recurring lately. Dreams ensconced in a past that he couldnt decipher but that piqued his suspicions about the workings of this world as well as the one beyond. That gave him hope.

As for these past two months, he had played his part well. Son to his father, friend to his croniesmasks that at one time he had worn comfortably. Lately though, the masks had begun to chafe like a hair shirt against the skinprickly, burning, painfulor more like the bars of a prison which he had come to realize enclosed him as much as they once had his mother.

A sudden movement made him turn. A ball of gray scurried out of sight around the corner of a shack a few doors down. He breathed again, not realizing that he had stopped altogether. His pulse was racing. It was just some vermin scrounging for food. He heard its pathetic foraging in the snow, searching for discards from its human counterparts. In that second, his mind wandered as he thought of the rat. It was a second that almost cost him. He turned at another sound and saw the lone body rounding the northern corner of the alley. The newcomers feet crunched against the snow and the man wheezed into the lapel he held against his face, half hiding his features. Still, Joseph recognized him and knew that his wait had finally come to an end.

It was an early evening and the sun hovered among slate clouds, the sky dimmed by a pall that had settled over the city this winter. A pall that reflected the lifelessness within himself. Today was Friday. Appropriate. Rachel had died on a Friday.

Joseph stepped away from the building where he had been half hiding in wait. Charlie Rhodes stopped abruptly, his body stiffening at the sudden appearance of a stranger before him.

Yeah? Whatcha want? Charlie barked, his voice phlegmy. Then his mouth gaped and his eyes bulged with sudden recognition. He put a hand up as though to ward off the devil himself.

Oh, oh, noww, noww, wait, youyou got it all wrong!

Joseph smirked. Do I?

The man began backing away, shaking more from fear than the cold. Noww, noww, it wasnt me what planned the thing, Joseph. I didnt want no part of it. I tole emI tole em all it was a bad deal. But that lousy dago, Roberto, he was the one that wanted you dead. And the others, too. It was all them. Not me, Joseph. I justI just went along cause they made me. You gotta believe me.

Josephs hatred made his voice clipped. All I believe, Charlie, is that you are a liar, a coward, and that you are about to die.

No! Charlie yelled out. Joseph advanced as Charlie continued backing away in panic. The predator steadily rounded on his prey, assured that there would be no escape.

Joseph saw Charlie reach inside his coat pocket. He had been expecting it. But he was quicker. He had his knife out before Charlie could clear the ragged tears of his pocket. In two steps, Joseph closed the space that separated them and shoved the blade deep into the other mans stomach until only the Victorian bone of the hilt was visible.

Charlies eyes widened in pain and horror. Joseph, his soul as cold as his body, felt nothing as he pushed the blade in deeper, as blood spurted out on his gloved hand. Then he pulled the blade free and Charlies body fell slowly to the ground, his eyes vacant in death. Joseph dropped the knife next to the dead man, blood splattering the snow.