No Place Like Hell (32 page)

Kasker edged up the pavement, his senses extended to their limits. More crows gathered in the treetops beyond the basketball court. Two flew down to join their flock-mate. Rowdy squabbling ensued between the newcomers and the first bird.

The lump on the basketball court resolved into a body spread-eagled on the gray pebbled concrete. Behind the court, farther up the hill, a flash of reflection cut through the dense brush. Kasker walked faster to the thicket.

As soon as he reached cover, he dropped to the ground and shed the flesh. The world of souls leaped into sharp relief—as did the magical emanations surrounding the body. He growled, low and quiet. The hackles rose along his spine.

Staying in the shadows of the thicket, he moved closer to examine the Slasher's latest victim, caution checking every step. When he was still fifty feet away, he stopped and sniffed.

Something about the tableau was off. The runes seemed sloppy and didn't spiral out to a portal. In fact, there was no portal at all in this setting. There was the usual gutting, but he couldn't detect the soap and clove oil of the ritual washing. The body reeked of booze and piss and disease.

He crept three steps closer and flattened to his belly, his lips curled back. The magic he detected wasn't from the charcoal-drawn runes around the body. It emanated from a second ring disguised in the grass around the concrete slab.

Cloaks and cauldrons!
Holmes had set another trap. If Kasker approached in the flesh, he would have stepped into it without warning. This sacrifice wasn't one of the damned souls but simply a decoy used to lure him here. A chill cooled his skin. He stepped back, growling.

He turned his attention to the upper parking lot, above the play field, where he'd seen the reflection. Two souls waited. He'd been smart to look for cover instead of trotting openly to the corpse displayed on the concrete.

Kasker retraced his steps and then wormed uphill through the thicket until he stood hidden at the edge of the parking lot. The only vehicle was a white van. The name on the side read 'Temple of Enlightenment.' The two men, Warner and Bronski, who'd sent him to the freight warehouse, stood in front of it, watching over the playing fields.

The white man peered through binoculars, sweeping them left and right. "I still don't see him. Why hasn't he gone for the body?"

"Give him a minute," the Negro said. "Maybe he's taking a leak in the bushes."

The white tossed a nervous glance at his partner. "What if the trap doesn't work?"

"Then we'll do it the hard way," the Negro replied. He patted a pistol thrust into his belt.

Kasker's lips twitched. Saliva dripped from his mouth. Unlike Holmes' minion who tried to kill the ward, these two had sealed their fates. In time, their souls would be his. His body shook with his desire to burst from cover and devour them.

He slipped back through the thicket, reclaimed his flesh, and considered his next move. Holmes' latest trap worried him. What if, when he found Holmes, the man stood inside another trap? How would Kasker get close enough to retrieve him?

He needed the ward. The thought made him grind his teeth. She could walk through Holmes' traps unscathed. If she apprehended Holmes, she'd drag him clear of any trap he might set. Then Kasker would pounce. He grinned at the thought.

All he had to do was find the ward and trade her renewed partnership for the name he'd gleaned from the side of the van.

But first, he had to get back to his car.

55

Everyone at the station looked grim and haggard. A few of my fellow officers nodded to me as we walked through the halls. Most seemed too preoccupied to notice.

I thought Stutzman would take me to an interrogation room. To my surprise, he showed me into Lt. Mack's office. I took the lone visitor chair and stared at the bare walls.

Five minutes later, Lt. Mack trudged in, sank into the chair behind the desk, and lit a cigarette. He took a drag, blew toward the ceiling, and squinted at me through the smoke.

"What happened at your place?"

"I don't know. I've been staying with a friend."

Mack's tired eyes bored into me. "I'd ask for your friend's name, but it's a cock-n-bull story. Witnesses saw your car."

Mack waited in silence. I'd read a bit about how to conduct interrogations, and I knew he wanted me to fill that silence. The urge squirmed inside me, but I kept my mouth shut.

The lieutenant ran a hand over his hair. "You've been hounding Sleeth. As a consequence, he and Herman Marks took a shot at you. Marks bought it when you chased him into a telephone pole. Don't deny it. A witness identified you at the accident scene. Where's Sleeth?"

At last, something I could answer truthfully. "I don't know, but he's not your guy, and you're wasting time if you're focused on him."

"Susan Brown is dead," Mack said, expression cold.

Neither Sleeth nor Tad had mentioned the circumstances of Brown's death. Considering Judge Richards' unusual demise, I wanted more information about Brown.

"Sorry to hear that. How'd she die?" I asked.

"Single GSW in the back. Her place had been tossed. We found Sleeth's fingerprints."

Cold fingers of doubt tiptoed up my spine. Sleeth might not be the Slasher, but if he wanted information from Brown, how far would he go? He claimed he had an alibi for the time of Brown's death, but he always told lies. And then there was the business with Emmett Merkel's death, of which Sleeth seemed to know too much and wouldn't share.

"Look Demasi, Internal Affairs is on the fence about what to do with you. You cooperate with me, and I'll put in a good word. Sure, they'll still give you a slap on the wrist and assign you to a desk for a few months. But then they'll put you back on patrol. In a couple of years, it'll be like nothing happened.

"Or, I can tell them that you're unwilling to cooperate in the Slasher investigation. That you learned nothing losing your partner, and you're still disobeying orders to stay away from the case." Mack leaned back in his chair and took another drag on his cigarette. "What's it going to be?"

Knuckles rapped on the door. Det. Arndt stuck his head in.

"We have another one, up at Highgate Park."

Another one?
My stomach lurched. The Slasher was accelerating his timetable.

Lt. Mack looked like he wanted to throw something. He settled for grinding his cigarette into the ashtray. "I'll be right there."

Arndt closed the door. Mack stood, his face gray.

"We'll finish this conversation when I get back."

Mack hurried out. I sat in the uncomfortable chair, tapping my foot at the passing minutes. Highgate Park was on the outskirts of town. By the time Mack drove there, supervised the scene, and drove back, it would be mid-afternoon.

What should I do? Should I tell the lieutenant everything? He didn't know the half of the 'interfering' I'd done while I was on suspension. Did I want my career back? Regardless of what it did to my career, I decided I'd tell him all I'd learned.

I sat there fidgeting for an hour before the duty sergeant stuck his head in the door.

"Hey, Demasi, you know where Tad Newell is?"

I arched an eyebrow at him.

He had the good grace to blush. "Mayor Newell's on the horn. He says his kid missed some public appearance and a lunch date. He wants me to roll out the National Guard. I can't find Chief Greene, and Lt. Mack's still out at the latest Slasher scene. I heard you and Tad were an item. I thought you might have some ideas about where we could look."

My breathing stopped. I couldn't move a muscle. Had Bronski and Warner finally succeeded in kidnapping Tad? Why did they want him? He wasn't on Calderon's list.

"No," I said at last. "No idea where to find him."

The desk sergeant frowned and left.

Mack needed the information I had about the Slasher. But if Holmes had Tad, he could be butchering Tad while I waited. I had to stop Holmes, and following up on Calderon's list was the best bet.

I leaped from my chair and bolted for the door. Then I stopped and rushed back to Mack's desk. I found a tablet in a drawer, scribbled a note giving him the names of the remaining members of Calderon's cult, and telling him they would be the Slasher's next victims, probably within the next twenty-four hours.

I snuck out the back of the station and took a cab to the cemetery to pick up my car. I'd visited most of the ley line intersections looking for Peck and no longer needed the missing map. I'd start again and hope I found the right location before Holmes killed Tad.

56

Kasker waited in the shade of a tree and watched the cemetery caretakers fill the grave of the angel's rotting, abandoned flesh. The ward's car stood in the blazing sun a hundred yards down the lane.

Where had she gone? Why was her car still here? He'd swung by their hotel room first, figuring that the funeral would be long over. When he hadn't found her there, he'd tried this longshot.

The hot afternoon dragged on. The flesh wanted a cold beer and a joint, or at least a burger. His stomach rumbled its complaint.

He'd thought about stopping for food, but it had taken an hour to lure Holmes' stupid goons far enough into the woods that he could make a getaway without being shot. If he'd missed the ward here, goats only knew how he'd find her again.

At the cemetery entrance, a cab pulled in. Kasker straightened. The ward climbed from the back seat, paid the driver, and jogged up the drive despite the insufferable temperatures.

Kasker sauntered to her car. When she saw him, she stopped. Her face tightened, her fists bunched at her sides. She marched forward.

"Out of my way, Sleeth." She stretched a hand toward the driver's door.

Kasker leaned his butt against the door. "Where've you been?"

She planted fists on her hips. "I don't have time for your crap. And give me back the map you stole."

Kasker narrowed his eyes. She was more hostile than he'd anticipated. Being of the angels, she should respond contritely to a reminder of her promises. He lifted his chin and kept the smirk off his face.

"We made a deal. We'd work together to get Holmes. You broke it."

"You cut out, and Peck died. Deal's over. Now get out of my way."

He scowled. Her behavior wasn't very Heavenly. "You didn't have to follow me."

Her face stiffened. "Last chance. Move."

Kasker crossed his arms and opened his mouth to argue. Her knuckles planted in his solar plexus. Air rushed from his lungs. He tipped forward, surprised by a wave of pain.

Her hip jammed into his groin, her hands laced behind his neck, and he was airborne over her shoulder. He smacked down, his spine connecting with the asphalt. More pain shot through his bones. He yipped.

The ward's key rasped in the lock. The car door opened and slammed.

Kasker gasped in a breath and rolled to his stomach. Anger flared in his true skin. He fought the urge to shed the flesh.

The ward wrenched on the ignition. The Corvair coughed and started.

In a moment, she'd be gone. He needed her. He lifted a hand.

"I know where the white van is," he shouted. It came out as a rasp, barely louder than the engine.

She didn't hear him. She stepped on the gas. The car lurched forward—twenty, thirty, fifty feet—off-kilter. She stopped with a jerk, got out, and circled to the passenger side to inspect the front tire.

Kasker smirked openly before wiping the expression from his face. He picked himself up, brushed off his jeans, and strutted to her car, determined to mask his aching back.

He'd let the air out of her tire so they would take his Mustang. That way, he'd be in control. He congratulated himself on his fortuitous planning.

"Bummer," he said. "Hope you've got a spare."

She glared at him. "Tell me about the van."

So she
had
heard him. But she'd left anyway. Why?

"It was at the park, where Holmes made another kill."

Her face registered shock. "He was there? And you let him get away?"

Indignation flared. "Of course I didn't let him get away. He wasn't there, but his minions were. It was a trap."

He snapped his jaws shut. He hadn't meant to tell her that part.

She stared hard through narrowed eyes. "You caught them at the scene of the murder, but you didn't call the police. You didn't follow them. You ran away."

"They were armed," he said, puffing out his chest. He could have followed them, but that would risk running into another trap.

She didn't look impressed.

"By the time I got near a phone, they were long gone. And what would your pig friends think when I called in another murder?"

"You've got nothing." The ward stormed to the rear of the Corvair and opened the engine compartment.

Kasker scrambled after her. "I've got the name from the side of the van."