Fallen Stars (The Demon Accords) (6 page)

I poured her a cup of coffee from the pot on the table, then passed the cream and sugar, both of which she applied liberally.

“Ned was just about to tell me about the murders,” I said around a bite of sausage.

“About a month and a half ago, Simon Masten, the other Alpha at the bar last night, called me.  His pack was based in Kentucky.  He asked permission to visit my territory with some of his pack: three females and three males.  I agreed,” Granger explained.

We were in a private conference room in the hotel. It had several tables laid out for breakfast, but we only occupied one.  The three of us looked as one to the door that was suddenly shoved open by a massive arm. Jep held it for the teenage waitress who was serving us.  She came through with a tray bigger than she was, loaded with breakfast plates.  Jep’s other arm held a similar tray, this one with extra platters of bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast.

The redheaded girl quickly placed heavily loaded plates in front of Ned and myself.  I also got a smile to go with my food.  “Thank you, Jetta,” Ned said to the girl, who nodded and grabbed two more plates of food, one of which she set in front of Stacia with a tight-lipped smile, the other on the floor in front of the furry ottoman by my side. ‘Sos got a pat on the head, then the young human was setting additional food on a table next to ours so we could easily reach it. Jep settled in next to Granger with a huge platter for himself.

“Ya need anything else, Mr. Granger?” the girl asked with a soft Southern accent. She was cute, young, and wore too much perfume.  Her hair was a deep red, long and wavy.

“I think we’re good for the moment, Jetta, but maybe check back in a few minutes,” he answered  glancing with amusement at the extra food I was piling on first my plate and then Awasos’s.

The girl left, and Granger continued to speak.

“I’ve known Simon for about ten years, ever since he took over the Kentucky pack.  We got along fine, but he bore watching.  Anyway, he shows up here a few days after we spoke but only has two males with him.  Then I find out the third was murdered a day after he called.  Not only that, but the two he has with him are his last male weres.  The others have all been killed off, one at a time.”

“How were they killed, Ned?" I asked, reaching for a third piece of ham but getting my hand batted down by Stacia, who snagged it for herself with a slight growl.

“Gunshot wounds to the head.”

“Silver bullets?” I asked.

“Well, no not really.  Sorta,” he said unhelpfully.  I raised eyebrows at him but kept eating.

“.38 caliber lead bullets, but they were hard cast and the lead alloy had some silver in it.  The bullets were delivered to the brain stem from real close and there was enough silver to count.”

Stacia turned to me.  “Silver in lead?”

“Some companies cast lead bullets for reloading cartridges.  They sometimes have trace amounts of silver for extra hardness,” I answered.

“Isn’t a lead bullet a lead bullet?” she asked.

“Is Jimmy Choo just a shoemaker?” I asked her back.  “There are soft, cheap lead bullets for target practice, and there are high-end, hard-cast, flat-nose bonecrushers  that are suitable for killing dangerous game like Cape buffalo. Those bullets are usually an alloy, not pure lead, which is super soft.  Silver is pretty hard, and it mixes well with lead and tin.”

Both Granger and Jep were looking at me, surprised.

“Gun stuff was part of my formal education.  But back to the murders.  Someone was executing Simon Masten’s weres, only the males, with single gunshots to the head?”

“Yeah.  The murders were very public and law enforcement got involved.  Then one of the two guys with him got whacked down here, across state lines, and the FBI showed up.  There’s just Simon and one other male left.”

“But nobody is killing the girls?” I asked.  He shook his head, grimacing.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s just that I’ve never seen a successful Alpha treat his women like slaves or third class citizens.  He leaves them out of everything.”

“Any notes or phone calls?”  Another head shake.  “Video?”  Shake.

“What about the coroner?” Stacia asked, pouring herself some more coffee.

“The one here in Asheville is part of the Pack, so we’re covered.  There were six kills in Kentucky.  The first two happened in the woods, and Masten just left the bodies and filed missing person claims.  The third happened outside a bar at night.  The local coroner was underfunded, under trained, and not real curious.  But the next three kills happened over several weeks in public places like bars, parking lots, and such.  I don’t know what happened with those bodies, but Masten called me right before the sixth kill.”

“Where was the murder down here?” I asked.

“In an alley outside a popular restaurant.”

“Nobody heard the shot?”

“Nobody heard anything.  Simon Masten and the remainder of his pack were inside the

restaurant.  One of the guys left to use the men’s room and somehow got shot outside.”

“And you want us to investigate?  To help your friends?” I asked.

He grimaced.  “Simon Masten isn’t my friend.  I don’t really like the guy.  Treats his women like shit.  But now there is mega attention on the whole thing.  Agent Krupp is some kind of serial killer expert, and it’s now a big deal.  The quicker it goes away, the less damage.  We don’t want to move territories.  Brock said you get visions of crime scenes?”

“Sometimes, if they’re supernatural crimes,” I replied.

“Gordon, I’m can’t tell you how grateful we are for saving our children.  But I gotta ask, with no offense intended, what the hell are you?” Granger asked.

“He’s a bona fide gift from God!” Stacia said with a smirk before I could answer.

I gave her a glare, but it bounced off like she was coated in Teflon.

“I’m an oddity.  But I still need to get that Hellgate in your kids’ bedroom closed.  And deal with the book that I think might have created it.”

“Yeah, it’ll be tough to sell that dump with demons streaming into it.  We’re gonna house hunt today for a new place.  Let me know how you make out,” Granger said.  “But Gordon, even if you can’t help with Masten’s problem or get the gateway closed, what you did last night… well, I don’t think I can ever begin to repay that debt!”

“Nothing to repay.  It’s what I do.”

He nodded and got up.  “Still, don’t be afraid to ask for anything you need – anything!”

The big guy, Jep, paused before following.  “What he said!” he rumbled, reaching over and gripping my forearm.  He nodded at Stacia and Awasos, then followed his boss.

“What next?” Stacia asked, sipping her coffee.  I split the last of the food on the table with ‘Sos and stacked the empty platters for the young waitress.

“Next, we make some phone calls. Then it’s time for church.”

“Ahh, Mr. Gordon, good morning!  And Ms. Reynolds, is it?” a voice said from the doorway.  Agent Krupp looked in, a grim smile on her face. Behind her stood another agent, a dark-haired female who hadn’t been at the bar.

“Hello, Agent Krupp.  You just missed Granger!” I said, pointing out the door.

“Oh, I didn’t miss him.  I was looking for you,” she said, still smiling.  It was not a heartwarming smile.

“Oh, well. Would you like some coffee?  I’d offer you breakfast, but Ms. Reynolds ate it all,” I said.  A small foot kicked me under the table.

Krupp entered the room, her eyes scanning everything.  She pulled out a chair, and her partner grabbed the other one.  She was wearing a dark gray pantsuit, her companion pressed khakis and a dark blue polo shirt.

“This is Agent Mazar,” she introduced while pouring coffee for herself and the brunette.

Mazar was taller than her boss, with black eyes and olive skin, a Middle Eastern look to her.  She nodded at both of us but didn’t say a word or attempt a handshake, just sipped her coffee and watched us over the rim.

“So, to what do we owe the honor?” I asked.

“Well, Gordon, I was curious about you and Ms. Reynolds.  Occupational hazard.  So I ran your names through the system.”

“You don’t say,” I commented, pouring out the last of the coffee and holding the empty pot up for Jetta the waitress to see.  The young girl nodded and disappeared, hopefully to get more.

“I have to say it was a unique experience for me.  Not only did I immediately hit both a Department of Defense lockout, but the laptop we used to make the request was frozen remotely.  Then the phone started ringing—a lot.  Four calls, to be exact.  The first was from Homeland Security, a deputy director.  He wanted to know the circumstances of my inquiry—in detail—then warned me to leave you alone.  Then I got a call from a Director Stewart, of Oracle, curious about you.  He was also full of helpful warnings.  Next up was a Gina Velasquez, referred by DHS, who asked a whole passel of detailed questions.  I got a little short with her.  Not my best moment, but I’m not used to being questioned about my investigations.  She’s very calm, that one.  I told her I was investigating serial murders and asked if you were a likely suspect.  You know how she responded?”

I shook my head, thinking it couldn’t be good.

“She asked how the victims were killed.  When I explained single gunshots to the brainstem, she assured me it wasn’t you.  You know, Gordon, I’ve asked that question probably a thousand or two times in my career and the response is always
no, there’s no way Johnny could ever kill anyone
.  But this time?  It was not if you could kill, but the manner of the kill.  Frankly, I was a bit dumbfounded.”

“Well, don’t they say that everyone has the ability to kill?  Wouldn’t she have been wasting your time by saying I was a great guy and wouldn’t harm a flea?”

Krupp did the whole inscrutable thing, not giving away any emotions.  Then she continued without acknowledging my comment.  Her companion just watched.

“I pressed for details about you, and she just deflected the whole lot of them, like a damned hockey goalie.  Then, like the others, she warned me.  But her warning wasn’t about hassling you. No. She said to leave the wolf and the blonde model here alone.  Said I could rough you up; in fact, I think she may have been encouraging it.  But she was clear as day that I should avoid these two.  Why would she say that, Gordon?”

I frowned.  “Why would you hassle a wolf, anyway?  Makes no sense to me, Agent Krupp.  I mean, I can understand giving Stacia a hard time, because she’s… well, Stacia, but the wolf?  I don’t get it.”

Stacia smacked my arm.  She meant it, so it ended up sounding like Mark McGwire knocking a baseball into the stands.  Both agents raised their eyebrows at that.  I tried to ignore the sting.

“Gordon, I wouldn’t
hassle
the wolf. I’d shoot him!” Krupp said, leaning forward.

Awasos sat straight up, head cocked to one side, studying the agents intently.  I did the same thing, my cocky demeanor falling away, replaced by something else. Something serious.

Both agents froze, their heartbeats suddenly pounding loudly in their chests.  They held themselves as if acutely aware of the location of their holstered handguns.

“Why would you say that?  Who goes around shooting people’s wolves?” I asked in a voice slightly rougher than normal.

“I think Agent Krupp was trying to get a reaction out of you, Chris.  Congrats on that, agent.  You found a hot button,” Stacia said, swirling her coffee in her mug and generally ignoring the tension. “I’m pretty sure she wasn’t gonna actually shoot ‘Sos, right, Krupp?”

Awasos glanced to Stacia then back to Krupp, waiting for her response.  I kept both hands on my coffee mug, trying to control the urge to use it as a weapon. Grim felt certain that the thick ceramic would make it through both agents’ skulls.

Krupp’s calm demeanor had been replaced with one that was a little more gunfighter in the street and a lot less investigator in the interrogation room. She blinked.  Then smirked. 

Awasos huffed, then lay down, his head on his paws, watching.

I peeled my fingers away from my coffee mug, one at a time, mentally counting to ten.  Then I had an odd sort of insight that it might not be a coincidence that counting to ten to calm oneself matched the number of fingers on both hands.  Visual aids are especially helpful to angry people.  Having completed that minor introspection, I looked back up at Krupp, ignoring her companion.

“So, aside from recounting your fun evening of phone calls and indulging in a little button pushing, what exactly did you want with me this morning?” I asked, pretty much done with the conversation.

Jetta came back in, a full pot in hand.  She hustled over to the table, refilling our cups and leaving the pot behind, along with a swirl of perfume and another bright smile.  Cute kid.

The women exchanged glances and eye rolls at the overabundance of heavily scented air.  Then Krupp fastened her gaze back on me.  “I’d like you to give me your impressions of the crime scene.  You are a psychic, right?”

Okay, that one caught me off guard.

“The word
psychic
is really kinda broad.  I’m not really your crime-solving kind of spiritualist.”

“Oh?  Velasquez seemed to think you might be handy.”