No Place Like Hell (9 page)

Sleeth got in his Mustang and pulled out in a hurry. I gave him a two-block head start and drove away, certain he hadn't spotted me. The little old Asian man waved goodbye.

I didn't know the neighborhood. It took me fifteen minutes to find a restroom and another five to get the service station attendant to cough up the key. When I'd taken care of business, I filled up with gas. The attendant cleaned my windshield and checked my oil while I tapped on the steering wheel.

I returned to Miss Brown's house. The curtains were still drawn. I knocked anyway. And knocked. No answer. Maybe she was in the bath.

I waited in my car for fifteen minutes and tried again. Still no answer.

As I walked back to my car, the little old man caught my eye. I strolled to his house and stopped on the sidewalk. He smiled and nodded. Encouraged by his greeting, I joined him on his porch.

"Good morning," I said. "I couldn't help admiring your beautiful garden."

He smiled and nodded. I wondered whether he understood English. Or maybe he was hard of hearing.

I took a few steps closer. The pad on the table listed my license plate number right under Sleeth's. I swallowed hard.

"I was hoping to catch my friend Miss Brown at home this morning, but she isn't answering."

More smiling and nodding. He glanced down at the front page of the paper before he turned his attention to me.

"Y'all a friend of Miss Susie's?" he asked with a thick Texas drawl. "Or is this official police business?"

I stared. I wasn't in uniform or driving the patrol car. How did he know? Was he one of Mack's undercover agents?

He held up the paper. There was the picture of me with the mayor and his son. He put it back in his lap.

"If this is official, I'll need to see your badge so I can write down the number." He picked up his pad and pencil.

"This is a social call. We went to school together," I replied.

His sharp eyes looked me up and down. "A social call at sunrise? Didn't your mama teach you better manners?"

"Okay, okay," I said. "It's not an official investigation, but her boss was murdered night before last. That guy she was with is a person of interest. What can you tell me about him?"

If the information about the murder surprised him, he didn't show it. Of course not. He read the paper.

"Not much. He's never been here before."

That tidbit was unexpected. They'd looked damned friendly when they kissed. Had they been going to his place instead? Was he worried that his apartment might be under surveillance?

"Anything else you can tell me about her?"

"She grew up in that house. Her folks died in a car accident two years ago, and she inherited it. She keeps to herself."

Time was marching by. If I was going to question Miss Brown and get back for my lunch with Tad, I had to get moving.

"Guess I'll give her doorbell another try."

"You won't get an answer," he said, reaching for his cup. "She went out not long after you and that young man left."

14

Kasker navigated the deserted Sunday morning streets on his way to Decker Industries. He blinked dry eyes. He hadn't gotten much rest. Susie's appetite for sex exceeded that of his flesh, something of a novelty.

Too bad her house didn't have air conditioning. He could stop trawling for willing females at parties and use her exclusively if only her place were closer to his apartment and more comfortable.

How did humans cope with all the nattering distraction? Food, drink, drugs, sex. To deny the flesh was to be miserable. Perhaps that was why so many humans sold their souls to Seve and his brethren.

His true form had but one desire—to hunt the damned. The diary would provide the clue he needed to Holmes' location. He'd devour Holmes' soul and return to Hell where he belonged, free at last from the torturous realm of humans.

Susie's car still blocked the driveway of the Decker Industries parking lot. As before, Kasker left the Mustang around the corner and walked back. He glanced at the flat tire as he passed. She could find some other sucker to change it.

The key he'd lifted from her purse opened the rear door. He slipped into the stuffy interior and strode to the elevator. On the sixth floor, he stepped out and prowled for the janitor's closet. It was tucked in next to the restrooms just a few steps from the elevator. It was locked.

Goats! Susie hadn't said anything about a key for the closet. He walked all the sixth-floor offices looking for something to help him break in. Most of them weren't used.

He found Susie's desk, another picture of her scruffy dog and a pamphlet for some hippie commune on the desktop. The drawer held five bottles of nail polish in various shades of pink and a long, sharp letter opener shaped like a jeweled dagger.

The phony dagger proved ineffective on the door. The blade snapped off when he tried to pry the latch back. He kicked the steel-clad door, more from anger than a test of its strength.

His Moses moccasins were no match for the metal. He hopped away bruised and cursing. Decker had done an excellent job protecting his private stash.

Flummoxed, he walked each floor on his way down. These offices, too, were vacant. None provided the necessary weapon for his next assault.

He went to his car and returned with the tire iron. Prying with it got him no farther than prying with the dagger. He took aim and bashed at the doorknob. Each contact sent an unpleasant jolt up his arms. After five or six blows, the knob surrendered and crashed to the floor.

By fiddling with the internal workings, he drew back the latch and pushed open the door. He stepped in and wished he hadn't. The place stank of noxious cleaning compounds.

He flipped on the light. The narrow slice of back wall visible between the metal shelving was covered by a bulletin board plastered with health and safety notices. He crossed the dinky space, gripped the edge, and tugged. The board didn't budge.

Kasker didn't bother hunting for a latch. He jammed the tire iron under a bottom corner and pried. The lower half of the board snapped off and dropped on his toes.

After more cursing and hopping, he levered off the remaining half to expose the safe. He twirled the knob, entered the combination, yanked the handle. The door swung back.

The safe was empty.

Kasker flung the tire iron to the floor. It bounced against a shelf, toppling a bottle, which fell and broke. More noxious fumes swirled.

Coughing and squinting through watering eyes, he ran to the elevator. The stinging odor followed him. He gave up on the elevator and plunged through the stairwell door, running down all six flights.

When he came out in the parking lot, he realized he'd left the tire iron behind. He wanted to use it on the windshield of Susie's car. The bitch had lied.

He had no doubt that the diary
used
to be in the safe. The question was whether Decker removed it before he died, or whether Susie had taken it. If Susie had it, why had she told him it was in the safe?

Sex, of course. When he didn't find it here, he'd go back to her. She'd use it as payment for another fantasy evening with her knight errant. He'd hunted souls for thousands of years. The females were always the more devious.

The day had warmed to an unpleasant temperature. The flesh nagged for food, and he'd need forty minutes behind the wheel to return to Susie's. A pox on the woman.

The drive to Susie's was hot, boring, and a waste of time. Susie wasn't home. He waited down the block for a useless hour. The neighbors began to stare—especially the little old man with the binoculars.

Seve expected him. He needed to feed the flesh. He'd come back later, and then he'd settle the score with Susie. He'd get the diary. Right after they screwed.

15

I swallowed my trepidation, tucked my hat under my arm, and pushed through the door of Travo's.

Who would have guessed that Italian brothers would decorate their upscale restaurant Indian style? Sun shone in west-facing windows and glittered off tableware and white linen tablecloths. Little crystal vases held pink carnations and a sprig of fern leaf.

Bold pastel pink and green strips zigzagged the tan walls. A mural by the door showed an Indian brave mounted on a rearing pinto pony, a teepee in the background. His nocked arrow aimed at my heart.

The place buzzed with conversation from two dozen tables filled with women in town to shop. They wore breezy cotton dresses and carried designer purses. I wore my dark blue uniform and carried a gun. I began to question my choice in apparel.

The place was jammed. How had Tad gotten a reservation so quickly? I supposed if you're the mayor's son, you could call in favors.

Cool air sent a shiver down me. Or maybe it was the sight of Tad sitting in a booth near the back. He hadn't seen me. I could run away, plead an emergency call from work, or say I'd been kidnapped by aliens in a flying saucer.

Dave was right. Hanging with the mayor's son was a bad idea. It wouldn't endear the upper echelons to me. They'd think I was trying to leverage our acquaintance into a promotion. We'd have lunch today, and then I'd call it quits.

I gritted my teeth and wove between tables until I reached him. For a guy who'd bounced down the asphalt just the day before yesterday, he scrambled up with surprising speed.

"Officer Demasi, I'm glad you made it," he said as he helped me into the booth. He took his seat and stared so hard I thought I'd smeared my lipstick.

"Mr. Newell, it's good to see you up and around."

He gave a throaty chortle. "Listen to us. We sound like complete strangers. It's Tad. 'Mr. Newell' is my dad."

"We are," I blurted. It felt a lot warmer by the kitchens. "Strangers, I mean."

Belatedly I added, "Nicky. Friends call me Nicky."

The waitress arrived with menus. I scanned for something that wouldn't slop on my uniform or get stuck in my teeth. Tad ordered a beer and asked if I'd join him. A tall cold one sounded wonderful.

"Not while I'm in uniform," I said, regretting again my choice in dress.

"You wear it well," Tad said. "It's about time the Solaris PD realized what an important contribution women can make."

"I'm delighted to hear you think so," I said, surprised by his progressive attitude. "Now if only the 'old boys network' would come around."

Dave's words of caution danced through my head, and I bit my tongue. I didn't need Tad tattling to his dad how the lowly patrol officer whined about the brass.

"You have all the qualities of an excellent officer. You're smart. You keep your head in an emergency." He reached across the table to touch my hand. "If you didn't, I wouldn't be here now. I can't thank you enough."

The little metal cream pitcher reflected the red in my face. "Any officer would have done the same."

"Of course I wasn't awake to appreciate it, but I'm glad it was your lips locked on mine." He winked at me.

I focused on the menu. His flip-flops from serious discussion to smarmy quips left me confused and without a retort.

He read his menu. "I recommend the tomato bisque with the bread sticks."

The waitress returned to our table, and he ordered the soup for both of us. I placed the napkin on my lap and adjusted the cutlery.

"This Slasher case sounds nasty," he said. "The police chief has been updating my dad hourly."

I breathed a sigh of relief at the turn in conversation. "It was. Blood everywhere."

Tad's face shaded to green under his yellow and purple bruises.

"Oh, sorry, I shouldn't say that at the lunch table."

"You were there?" He swallowed hard, and a sheen of sweat broke on his forehead.

"My partner and I were first on the scene. We got the call right after you left in the ambulance."

"I hadn't realized…"

He frowned down at the fork that he rubbed with a forefinger, and I got the impression he'd gone a million miles away. Or perhaps he'd gone only as far as the killing fields of the war.

"But I can't talk about the case." I sat back.

"No, of course you can't."

Tad rearranged the salt and pepper shakers. We both looked around the restaurant to avoid looking at one another.

"You must be excited to work such an important case. Mr. Decker didn't deserve to die like that. It's a great opportunity for you to bring the person responsible to justice."

I snorted. "I'm not part of the investigation team. Lenny Greene doesn't think it's a suitable job for a woman."

"You graduated from the police academy top of your class, and you've been on the force for two years. You found the body. Why shouldn't you be involved?"

"How did you know about my academy record?" I asked, voice climbing.

Tad grinned. "Dad mentioned it in his speech yesterday. I guess you weren't listening."

My cheeks got hot enough to singe my eyelashes. "I was listening… sort of."