Depths: Southern Watch #2 (28 page)

Arch wheeled around and looked again. She wasn’t Colleen anymore, that was certain. Her face was ashen and her eyes rolled back. If her mouth was gagged, and something burned her from the inside … His eyes roamed the corpse, and he cringed as he did it. Not because of the gruesome state of it—though it was—but because he was looking at a naked woman who wasn’t his wife.

She was not burned at the neck, not really, but all the way through the chest and down to her pelvis. It seemed obvious to him, though he was hardly a coroner. There was a black, burnt strip on the bed next to her and he lowered himself to his hands and knees so he could see that it had carried under the bed.

Another strip of burnt-out wood. Something glimmered in there, like oily liquid, and Arch knew. He knew.

It was the same guy.

* * *

Gideon took the car onto the bumpy dirt road and braced himself with every shock. He needed to stay off the highways now, and he’d figured out the back roads, the ones between him and his ultimate goal. He’d found another route after that, one that would lead him out of town via some old, scenic highways. They’d carry him to Knoxville, and from there he’d be able to rent another car and head north. Maybe to New York. He had a good feeling about New York again.

He turned the A/C down as he pulled up in front of the farmhouse again. He stepped out into the morning heat and looked up. The dark clouds were coming again, and that wasn’t bad. Storm coming to a head but still some sunshine making its escape before it got blocked. He could smell the rain in the air.

He liked it.

He turned the handle and didn’t experience the disorientation this time when he stepped inside Spellman’s storefront. He decided that it must have been some sort of conjuring that Spellman had done here, that he wasn’t actually in a farmhouse in Tennessee. He could feel the shift this time as he crossed the threshold. Most people wouldn’t notice that. Fewer would care. Spellman probably moved shop with the hotspots, but he didn’t really have to “move” anything. Not literally, anyway.

The smells and sounds were still muted from the cage room to his left, but he could detect them this time. Gideon ignored them; now didn’t seem like the moment for him to take interest in the misery of others, not when he’d learned just how amazing causing said misery could feel.

He walked down the hall, listening to the echo of his shoes against the floor. He came around the corner into the dining room to find Spellman sitting there, hands folded, as though he were expected. “I told you midday.”

“I know,” Gideon said. “I’m not here to pick up yet. I just figured I’d wait here until it’s done.”

Wren Spellman’s eyes watched him, a little smile perched upon the man’s thin lips. “You have nowhere else to go.”

Gideon shrugged. “I could go shopping in town, but …”

“No, you can’t, “Spellman said with a knowing look. “You’re lying low because of what you’ve done. Refuge will cost extra.”

Gideon smiled. “Money I’ve got.”

Spellman’s smile matched his own. “Indeed you do.”

* * *

Erin hadn’t seen anything like Colleen Hudson’s corpse before, not ever. Not in all the year’s she’d slaughtered animals, not in the time she’d spent on the internet looking at pictures that were designed to gross her out, not anywhere. It was disturbing in a way, all the more so because she could not figure out how the hell it had happened.

She was hardly a forensic pathologist, but it looked like Colleen had had some molten liquid poured into her vagina or anus, and it had just dribbled down and opened her up. It was hard to tell without stepping up and getting closer, but that seemed like the sort of shit that would require something elaborate to carry.

“This gentleman caller,” she said, making herself loud enough to be heard out the door. “Was he carrying anything with him when he came in?” She talked to direct her voice out into the hall, but her eyes never left the body.

“No,” Melina Cherry called back. “He wore cargo shorts and a t-shirt, a pair of tennis shoes. I doubt he had anything with him, why?”

“Just checking,” Erin said, lower this time. She was already back to thinking about the body. She looked sidelong at Arch. “What’s your friend doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Arch said, voice low. “I didn’t know she worked here.”

Erin paused, waited a second. “Does Hendricks know her from here?” She watched Arch freeze and started to ask him something else, but there was a noise out in the hallway.

“Reeve, maybe?” Arch asked. He looked a little relieved, like he might have been spared the question he didn’t want to answer. She’d hit him with it again later, even though she was beginning to wonder if it even mattered at all anymore.

“Hello?” A voice from the door caused Erin to turn. It wasn’t Melina Cherry, nor Lucia or Starling or whatever she called herself. It was a woman in middle age, blond hair that was too blond to be natural, dressed in a tweed skirt and suit jacket. She was smiling, look in the door as if there weren’t a burned-out corpse just over Erin’s shoulder. “How do you do?” she asked and took a step into the room. She was wearing black shoes, expensive ones, high heeled, and they clicked on the maple floor. “My name is Lex Deivrel. I’m Ms. Cherry’s attorney.” She proffered a business card, waving it in Erin’s face.

“Well, that’s just fucking great,” Erin said, and she didn’t even care who heard it.

* * *

They’d done a bank transfer because it was easier, Spellman had said. Gideon didn’t care. He had plenty of money and if everything came out like he hoped it would, he’d be able to replenish the coffers and more after today. Not that he cared about that part; he just liked to be comfortable, even though he usually ended up in the lower rent neighborhoods.

He went where the death was, after all.

Now Gideon was just sitting in the chair and Spellman was across from him, staring at him blankly. Really blankly. Like there was no one steering the ship, actually. “Pardon,” Spellman said after a moment, the light coming back into his eyes. “You’re talking to a shell I use to conduct business. I’m presently working in the … back room, let’s call it.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Gideon said. He wasn’t looking for someone to entertain him. He was just building anticipation for the big event anyway.

* * *

Lerner and Duncan had left Hendricks sleeping. Why bother the poor guy? It wasn’t like they needed him anyway. They headed toward the disturbance Duncan had mentioned, Lerner at the wheel, Duncan next to him with his eyes closed, directing him.

“This whole thing has got me thinking,” Lerner said. Duncan grunted, a low noise that indicated he was listening, so Lerner went on. “If left to their own devices, without us to ride herd on them, would every Sygraath out there eventually start scrounging up their own meals?”

Duncan made a hmm-ing noise. “The world is a little more peaceful in the last few decades than it has been before.”

“And the murder rate in the U.S. is at a forty- or fifty-year low,” Lerner said, feeling himself warm to the subject. These were the kind of discussions he loved to have, but Duncan was all too reluctant to participate. “Fewer war deaths worldwide this decade than in decades past. Fewer plagues. Longer life expectancies.”

“I’ve heard tales about Sygraaths gone bad as far back as the 1600s,” Duncan said. “Which means there were probably more before that. This isn’t something new.”

“No, but the state of the world might be changing them,” Lerner said. “Less death means less for them to feed on. Just like scarcity of food makes wildlife migrate. A starving man will do desperate things, right?”

“They’re hardly starving,” Duncan said, still with his eyes closed. “Chicago alone last year had some four hundred plus murders. Plus the normal mortality stuff couple with larger overall populations.”

“But you know what I mean,” Lerner said. The A/C was blowing in his face.

“Rarely.”

“I’m wondering if this guy is pushed to the edge by societal change,” Lerner said.

“Most human societies would view fewer murders and deaths as a good thing.”

Lerner sighed. “But a Sygraath wouldn’t, and that’s the point. Now he’s sparked his own little habit and doing some seriously fucked up things to hit his high. I mean, really,” Lerner said, “who knows what he’s capable of?”

* * *

Erin was still trying to absorb what was going on with the lawyer when Reeve came in. They’d already moved back down the stairs into the foyer, and Deivrel had the madam and her hooker in the parlor. She was standing in front of the door holding court like she was guarding the passage. The place still stank of cheap perfume, and Erin was trying to decide whether she was more sick of the smell or the lawyer who’d been politely but firmly rebuffing and steering them for the last five minutes when the door opened and Reeve came breezing in.

“Turns out it wasn’t just possession, but also a probation violation from one of my favorite repeat offenders,” Reeve said as he strolled in. He stopped when he realized there was someone standing before him that wasn’t expected. “Well, shit. There goes my day.”

Lex Deivrel still wore the uncaring and cold smile of someone who was putting on a face for their audience. “Well, Nick, I hope it was that dead body upstairs and not me that did it.”

“Lex,” Reeve said, making a clicking noise with his mouth, “every time you come to my county, it seems like hell rides in behind you. I didn’t see you park your pale horse out front.”

“Oh, Nick,” Lex said, and Erin could hear the slyness, “from what you say about me behind my back, you don’t think I ride a pale horse, you think I ride a broom.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Reeve said, staring her down. “You giving my deputies problems with their duties?”

“Just trying to make sure my clients are given the fairest treatment possible,” Deivrel said, her fake smile not so much as flagging. “There’s a lot of room for them to be wronged here, you see.”

“Yes, well,” Reeve said, “I can see where they might be concerned with that, being hookers and all—”

“Why, Sheriff Reeve,” Deivrel said in utter shock, “that’s an unsubstantiated allegation.”

“Oh, it’s well substantiated,” Reeve said without amusement. “It just hasn’t been proven in court.”

“Which is the guidepost you should use in your conversations with my clients,” Deivrel said coldly, “Lest you find yourself on the wrong end of a slander suit.”

“Do you get a percentage of the recovery on something like that?” Reeve asked, and ran a head over his balding head.

“Of course,” Deivrel said with that same faux smile.

“I knew I should have been a lawyer,” Reeve said under his breath. “All right, well, the crime scene unit from Chattanooga ought to be here soon—seeing as they have to take the regular roads, they can’t fly straight here on a broom,” he gave a nod to Deivrel, who just smiled. “Why don’t we move this on down to the station house so we don’t have to do this on the front lawn while the mercury is heading toward ninety?”

“I’d rather not,” Deivrel said, and Erin got the impression that she was a wall, standing between her clients and Reeve. “It’s going to rain again soon, anyway. Cool the whole town off.”

“Your ‘rather’ and mine are about to come in conflict,” Reeve said and looked sideways. “I need to consult with my deputies for a moment. I also need you and your … ‘clients,’” he said it with enough differentiation that Lex Deivrel scowled at him, fake smile gone in a second, “to step outside. Away from the crime scene.”

“Fine,” Deivrel said, and her smile came back. She recovered quickly, Erin thought.

“Deputy Harris, Deputy Stan,” Reeve said, and beckoned to her and Arch, “a word, please.” He nodded to Deivrel. “You ladies, too. Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

Lerner and Duncan were parked just down the street. It was easy to see when the house started to clear out. The big black deputy came out first—Lerner was bad with names, but hadn’t Hendricks called him ‘Arch’ or something? Yeah. The cowboy’s girlfriend was next, pert little blond, followed by a woman wearing nearly nothing, a lawyer—Lerner could smell that for himself—and a redhead. “Hello,” he said. “Look who we have here.”

“Coming out of the whorehouse, no less,” Duncan said, eyes opened. He was wearing a frown. “I can feel her.”

Lerner looked over at him. “Really? Are her tits real or fake?”

Duncan ignored his classless remark. “She’s definitely there. Not like last time at all.”

Lerner stared at her, dressed just about the same as when last he’d seen her, save for an overshirt. “Well, well, well. This is getting more and more interesting.”

“You think so?” Duncan asked, eyes closed. “Because for me it’s taking a turn into WTF territory.”

“Pffft,” Lerner said. “Stop trying to talk like the human kids. WTF. Just say ‘what the fuck’ like a man.”

* * *

“Arch,” Reeve said once they were off the porch. Dark clouds were accumulating in the sky, but the sun was still backlighting them. Arch could feel the heat, and the rain would be nice to help cool it off. “I put that pothead in the back of your car. Mind taking him to the station for me?”

“Sure,” Arch said then frowned. He and Reeve had hashed things out—sort of. This seemed like a peculiar peace offering, though. “I’ll get him down there, booked in, and head back.”

“No,” Reeve said with a shake of the head, and he stepped closer to Arch. They stood on the lawn, a good twenty feet from where the two ladies—Starling and Ms. Cherry—waited with their lawyer. Erin was hovering just a few feet from them, keeping her eyes on the porch. “Listen, you’ve seen a lot these last few days. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”

Arch felt a curiosity burning now. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Reeve said, and he was all sincerity as near as Arch could tell. “No one ought to see the shit we have these last few days. Just go on home, get your head on straight, spend some time with your missus if she has the day off,” which she did, Arch vaguely recalled, “keep your phone on and close by. I’ll whistle you up if we run into a shitstorm.” He looked up. “Which we probably will if those fucking idiots from the TVA don’t get down here to start sandbagging the river soon.”