No Place Like Hell (31 page)

All he needed to do was trail behind Holmes devouring the damned souls after they'd moved to their new bodies. As long as he got to the murder scenes before the displaced souls were swallowed by the universe, he'd have no problem identifying the new flesh worn by the damned.

His mouth watered at the thought of the feast that awaited him. Of course, eventually he'd have to devour Holmes or incur the wrath of his master. Still, he'd enjoy the extra damned souls on a timetable earlier than the one Fate intended.

The cab stopped three blocks from the freight warehouse where the angel perished two nights earlier. Kasker instructed the driver to wait, but the man refused and demanded payment.

Once the cab was gone, Kasker moved into the shadows, sat against a building, and loosed his flesh. He detected no magic nearby, and no souls, either. On silent paws, he trotted away to the end of the block and peered around the corner.

The Mustang remained parked in front of the freight warehouse. No pigs waited in the vicinity. They must have given up their surveillance. Kasker returned to his flesh, strutted to his car, slid into the driver's seat, and tooled away.

All he needed now was a place to lay low for a few hours while he waited for the morning edition of the paper to arrive. He should find a party, smoke some dope, and sate the flesh's yammering appetite for a woman.

His high mellowed into a pleasant afterglow, and he began to rethink his strategy. Perhaps Holmes took the other damned with him to each ritual. If Kasker arrived before they departed, he could identify whose flesh they'd stolen. Then he could pay his respects to each and devour them one by one.

Kasker licked his lips and decided to follow Peck to her rendezvous instead of waiting for the morning papers. He wound through side streets, avoiding the main arterials, until he reached Peck's apartment complex.

He drove past, checking for the ward's car or the flicker of her soul. He detected neither. He made a U-turn and pulled into the crowded lot.

No lights were on in Peck's apartment. No souls waited inside. She must have left for her rendezvous with Holmes. A niggle of worry crawled up his spine. He pushed it aside. Back to Plan A. He'd wait for the morning paper to give him the murder location.

That left plenty of time to party. He hadn't driven far before a fuzzmobile passed him going the other way. His unease rose. The more he drove around, the more likely he was to be spotted by the pigs.

Kasker rolled into the parking lot at the IHOP and swung behind the building where the Mustang would be out of view from the street. He tilted the seat back and snoozed in the car for an indeterminate amount of time.

When he awoke, the sky had lightened. He crawled from behind the wheel, stretched, and sauntered around to the front door. The morning paper showed its headlines behind the glass of the display box. They appeared to be a rehash of the Slasher case.

Kasker jimmied the box and withdrew a paper. He perused it while he headed into the restaurant. He barely noticed the perky waitress who greeted him.

At his table, he poured over the front page. Finding no mention of Peck, he turned to the inside sections while worry gnawed at his guts. The discovery of Peck's body was conspicuously absent.

Goats! Had the incompetent pigs not found the body yet? Or did they discover it too late to make this morning's paper?

Kasker abandoned the restaurant and hurried to the Mustang. He turned on the radio, twisting the dial in search of a news broadcast. Another murder ought to be the talk of the town, but no one reported it.

Now how would he find Peck? Perhaps he'd been too hasty in abandoning the ward. Thinking of her reminded him of her map. If he had the map, he could check each location until he found Peck's body. Would she still be at the hotel room they'd shared?

Each passing minute meant less chance that the displaced soul could be identified. He roared from the parking lot and sped the short distance to the hotel he'd shared with the ward. The sun slipped above the horizon.

As he'd hoped, her car remained in the parking lot. He waited while a man in a suit and tie loaded luggage in the trunk of a Cadillac. When the Caddie pulled away, he crossed the lot to the ward's gutless Corvair.

The doors were unlocked. Kasker popped the passenger door and pawed through the glove box, leaving a messy pile of items on the floorboards. He grabbed the map, slammed the door, and returned to his Mustang.

53

I took a last glance in the mirror. My white cotton blouse still showed the creases from hanging on the rack at Woolworth's. The black skirt I'd found there was a size too big and drooped unevenly just below my knees. I wore my white sneakers without socks. It wasn't suitable attire for a funeral, but it was the best I could do without going home.

I walked into the morning sunshine. It seemed inappropriate weather for so solemn an occasion. My guilt over Dave's death hung like a dark mantle from my shoulders.

I reached my car and slid in before I noticed the contents of my glove box strewn on the floor. The ley line map was missing.

Sleeth.

Burning anger ignited in my chest and spread to my arms until I clutched the steering wheel in a death grip. I wished it was his neck. I blamed him for Deborah Peck's death. And I blamed myself, just as I did about Dave.

I'd elected to skip the mass at St. Charles and attend only the short graveside service at Holy Trinity Cemetery. When I arrived, I parked at the end of a long line of vehicles a quarter mile from the burial site.

A river of dark blue uniforms flowed toward a white canopy erected beside an open grave on a gentle hillside half way up the rolling lawn. I kept my head down, too ashamed to make eye contact with my fellow officers.

"Nicky!" Tad took my right elbow. "Thank God you're okay. When I heard there was shooting at your house…"

I looked into Tad's worried face, and then around at those nearby, concerned about what they'd think seeing us together. I wasn't the mayor's little darling anymore.

Tad seemed thin and haggard. His bruises had shaded to a nasty yellow-green, and the scrapes were still fleshy pink. Dark semi-circles smudged the skin under his eyes.

"Shooting at my place? I don't know anything about it. I've been away for a few days," I said.

Tad spoke barely above a whisper. "Susie Brown is dead. I'm convinced Sleeth did it."

I lifted a brow. "I thought you were the one who said Sleeth was innocent?"

Tad glanced around like he expected a bogeyman to jump out any minute. "He's dangerous. Stay away from him. Stay away from the Slasher case."

"Look," I said. "The Slasher killed my partner. I'm going to get him, no matter what it takes. If I can't do it as a cop, then I'll do it on my own."

Tad started to speak, glanced behind us, and stopped. If he'd looked worried before, he looked positively spooked now.

"I just wanted to offer my condolences on the loss of your partner," he said, his voice louder than it needed to be.

With that, he strode ahead, his limp nearly invisible.

A hand touched my arm. "Hey, how you doing Nicky?"

I turned to Maggie Tisdahl and did my best to smile. "I'm okay."

Maggie tugged at the hem of her uniform jacket. The temperature was already climbing, and a sheen of sweat showed through her thick makeup.

"I stopped by your place to check on you, but the neighbors said they hadn't seen you in a couple of days, not since that shoot-out in your neighborhood. I was worried."

"I've been staying with a friend," I said, glad to note that my face didn't heat while I lied.

"You and I should go for coffee when the service ends," Maggie said.

I glanced around at the swelling ranks of officers. "Are you sure you want to be seen with me?"

Maggie gave me a disbelieving look. "I don't care what the others say. I know you. You didn't do anything wrong."

So my workmates thought I'd screwed up and gotten my partner killed. I blinked back tears and focused on the ground for the next hundred feet.

"You hear the news?" a male voice said behind me.

"That the Slasher struck again?" A second voice asked. I thought it might be Benny Rositto, but I didn't turn around to check. I sucked in a breath and held it, sure that the operator must have recognized my voice when I'd made my anonymous call to the station telling them where to find Peck's body.

"Naw, everyone knows that—everyone except the press," the first voice said. "Me and Steve got called out to Judge Richards' house this morning. He keeled over sometime last night."

The first voice had to be Larry Monroe. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed my suspicions. He and his partner patrolled the lower South Hill—the same area where I'd found Sleeth.

"For real?" Benny said. "I'm supposed to testify before him next week."

"I never seen anything like that before. The judge was laying in bed. His hands were up at his shoulders like he'd been trying to push something away. And his face… He musta had a bad dream or something. It sure wasn't peaceful."

"Foul play?" Benny asked.

"ME says it was a heart attack. How would anyone get into the judge's place? He's got one of those fancy alarm systems, and the housekeeper said it was on when she got there and found him."

Unless someone was psychic and didn't have to enter the building to kill the judge?
I didn't like coincidences, and I didn't trust the hippie. No normal person was that cold.

"Listen, honey," Maggie said, "I think I forgot to lock my car. You go ahead, and I'll catch up to you after. Then we'll get that cup of coffee."

I nodded my agreement even though I didn't intend to go anywhere with Maggie. I'd hang out on the fringe of the crowd and slip away before she could find me. I had Calderon's list, and I intended to make sure the three remaining names on it didn't meet the same fate as all the others.

At graveside, Dave's family and Solaris PD VIPs filled a row of chairs under the awning. Everyone else stood in a semi-circle behind them. There must have been a hundred people. I couldn't see the priest for the wall of bodies.

The priest cleared his throat and the crowd of mourners stilled. He began his prayers. The Catholics in the group responded where appropriate. Someone stepped up at my left shoulder.

I glanced sideways. It was Lt. Mack. He noticed my glance and nodded. I clamped my jaw and stared at the ground until the priest finished his final prayers.

I turned to go, and Lt. Mack fell in beside me.

"We responded to a report of shots fired in your neighborhood night before last."

I trudged across the dry grass toward the paved drive. "Good to know Solaris looks after its citizens."

Stutzman came out of nowhere to flank my right shoulder. Lt. Mack stepped in front of me. I frowned up at him.

He wasn't getting me to admit to anything. I wasn't the one blowing holes in the neighbors' houses, and I had places to go, things to do. I kept my face passive and stared back.

"Sorry, I can't help you. I haven't been home the last couple days."

"Look, Demasi, I have a killer to catch. I don't have time for games. Jonas will drive you to the station."

54

Kasker followed the winding drive up the hill to the county park set amongst the scrub. The park overlooked Solaris to the west. To the east, the foothills rose into national forest lands. It was his thirteenth stop.

Ahead, the narrow paved access road widened to provide gravel parking on each side. The road separated a baseball diamond on his left from a picnic area shaded by spindly pines on his right. Swings at a children's playground just beyond the diamond creaked in the gentle breeze. Beyond the swings, basketball backboards stood at each end of a concrete patch.

Past the play area, the road curved behind thick brush and out of sight. A sign indicated more parking on an upper level. The lower level was empty. No one enjoyed the play area or lounged at a picnic table.

The scent of blood wafted through the open window. Kasker slammed on the brakes and scanned the area more closely. He couldn't detect a displaced soul, but it was mid-morning already. Any hope of finding the victim of Peck's body swap had dwindled away hours ago.

A lump on the basketball court caught his eye. He stiffened, and then he pulled into a parking space.

The lump was too far away to identify, but the wind came from the right direction for it to be the source of the blood scent. A crow fluttered down from a nearby tree, landed a few feet away from the lump, and waddled over to take a tentative peck.

Abandoning the flesh this far away would tell him little he didn't already know. He wouldn't venture across the sun-splashed playground in his true form. But if he walked to the thicket where the road curved, he could take his true form and traverse back through the brush to inspect what he was now sure was a body.

Kasker stepped out of the car and swept his eyes over the park. Song birds chirped in the trees. A squirrel rooted around the base of a picnic table. The swing continued its annoying squeak. The wind brought the scent of coyote scat and barbeque ash.