No Place Like Hell (11 page)

Kasker cursed the souls who'd done the damage, and then for good measure, he cursed the entire human race. The nearest service station was six blocks away, and he had only one spare.

He popped the trunk. The spare was bolted to the floor. His tire iron was missing. He'd dropped it in the janitor's closet at Decker Industries. He cursed more and slammed the trunk.

It was eight blocks to the service station, not the six he'd thought, and a sign in the window announced that they'd closed for the fair. Kasker stopped a man passing by and was told he could find another station five blocks west.

Sweat poured down his face by the time he arrived at the second station. The mechanic agreed to help, but he couldn't go until the other attendant returned from break. He suggested Kasker buy a Coke from the machine by the door. The Coke—like the day—was hot.

Forty-five minutes later, the attendant returned. Kasker climbed into the mechanic's beat-up Ford pickup. The mechanic chatted amiably while he drove, oblivious to Kasker's silence. They parked a block from the Mustang, the closest empty space the mechanic could find.

"She's a beaut," the mechanic said as he circled the Kasker's car. He clucked at the damaged tires. "Someone has it in for you. Where's your spare?"

Kasker opened the trunk and pointed.

The mechanic looked inside. "Tire iron's missing."

Kasker ground his teeth. "I lost it up the ass of my last mechanic."

The man blinked. Then he grinned. "No problem. I'll get mine from my truck."

The mechanic fetched the tire iron and changed the spare for the front flat. When he'd finished, he lowered the jack. The car dropped until the rim sat on the asphalt.

"Huh. Looks like your spare's flat." The mechanic wiped a greasy hand across his sweating brow, leaving a dark streak. "I'll have to charge you extra for changing that one again."

Kasker clenched his jaw and nodded his acceptance. He glanced up at the sky. Mid-afternoon already. That made him grind his teeth more.

They rolled the two flats to the truck and drove to the station. The mechanic got to work mounting new tires. Kasker squatted in the shade and craved a cold beer and a joint. And Susie.

The mechanic charged an exorbitant fee. Kasker pulled a thick wad of Seve's money from his wallet and counted bills. If the demon cut him off, he hoped Susie could feed him as well as provide a bed.

The mechanic placed the new tires in the truck and drove to the Mustang. The nearest parking space was three blocks away. Now that he had his money, the man moved slower with each passing minute. Kasker wanted to scream.

The mechanic replaced the jack and the spare in the trunk. A greedy glint lit his eyes.

"Not much good having a spare that's flat. Swing by the station and I'll fill that up for you. Sell you a tire iron, too."

"Maybe later." Kasker got in and fired up the engine.

"Mind giving me a lift back to my truck?"

The mechanic reached for the passenger door. Kasker shifted down and laid a patch on the pavement as he pulled away. In the rearview mirror, the mechanic shook an angry fist.

17

I pulled up at Cindy's house a few minutes after seven. The place looked like a Spanish hacienda with its stucco siding, tile roof, and big palms waving in the on-shore breeze. Dave's banker brother-in-law must be climbing the white-collar ladder.

A little flash of envy blossomed. I'd never afford something like this on a cop's salary. I had a cozy two-bedroom bungalow on the eastside. It was a step up from Susan Brown's place, but only a short one. If I wanted to live better, I needed a better job.

I'd thought that going to Miss Brown's would net me a vital clue to put Sleeth away permanently and show Greene I could be an effective member of the investigation. What I'd learned wasn't enough to offset the trouble I'd created for myself by going there. I had to tell, but I couldn't.

The street was jammed with cars. A sign on the front door directed me to a side gate for the baby's christening party. When I reached the backyard, I figured half the parish must have come.

Three barbeque grills smoked and flamed on the patio. Cindy's husband minded a whole fishery's worth of salmon steaks. Beer nestled in ice-filled tubs beside the grills. Nearby, a picnic table groaned under the weight of a fancy cake, a dozen kinds of salads, condiments, plates, and utensils.

I helped myself to a beer and looked through the crowd of strangers for Dave. He waved from across the yard. A pretty blonde in a halter top, floral miniskirt, and sandals had a hand on his arm. Her attention turned to me, and her soft pink lips pulled into a pout.

Dave extracted himself from her clutches and threaded between people until he reached me.

"Boy, am I glad to see you," he said, bending to peck my cheek.

I pulled back in surprise. His arm went around my shoulder, and he steered me toward the house. "That woman sticks like Elmer's Glue."

"So you told her I was your girlfriend?" I asked, feigning outrage. I couldn't keep the laugh out of my voice.

"Hardy har. Wait until some shark sets his sights on you."

Once we were in the kitchen, Dave released me. I nibbled chips from a bowl on the counter while he wiped a forearm across his sweating face.

"How was the date?" he asked.

"It wasn't a date! We just had lunch." I pressed my beer against my face, hoping to cool the rising heat.

Dave's eyes had a twinkle in them. "I stand corrected. How was the lunch?"

"Good. But listen, I saw Sleeth this morning. He lied about not knowing Decker. He spent last night with Decker's secretary."

Dave lifted his chin. "You promised you'd stay away from Sleeth."

I'd counted on Dave to see a way out of my prickly situation. I'd gotten myself stuck between a lie and a catastrophe. The tone of his voice flushed my hopes away.

"No I didn't. And anyway, I wasn't following Sleeth. I thought maybe I could get the secretary to talk, one woman to another."

"Nicky, Greene will put you on report when you tell him. You've been warned not to interfere."

I focused on Cindy's kitchen floor, looking for scuff marks while I fumed. It was immaculate, as always.

"I thought I might not tell Greene just yet," I said in a small voice. "After all, he's convinced Sleeth didn't do it. Why confuse him with facts that don't support his conclusions?"

When I glanced up, Dave stared at me with his mouth open. My hand tightened on my beer.

"All us cops, we're a team. We have to work together, help one another. And we have to obey orders," Dave lectured. "I know you're frustrated, but you can't be a renegade. And you can't withhold evidence to cover up your own bad behavior."

"I'm trying to help, but Greene won't let me!"

"It's your first week on patrol. What do you expect? You have to put in the time, show you can follow the rules. You can't take shortcuts."

I threw up my hands. "Shortcuts? Name one officer who graduated top of the academy class and got stuck on desk duty for two years."

We glared at one another until Cindy stuck her head in and called us to eat. Dave held the door for me, and we lined up with the rest of the guests.

The blonde bombshell positioned herself next to Dave and gave me a condescending look while she ran her eyes over my sneakers, pedal pushers, and seersucker shirt. I'm sure she wondered what he saw in me. Occasionally I asked myself the same question, especially when I'd done something as stupid as going to Miss Brown's house.

Dave seemed more inclined to talk to her now that he and I were on the outs. Fine by me. I needed to decide on my next move.

We ate on opposite sides of the yard. My anger faded, and I had to acknowledge that Dave was right. I needed to tell Greene and Mack about Sleeth and take my lumps. My party spirit fizzled.

It wasn't until Cindy cut the cake that Dave extricated himself from his blonde shadow and came to stand by me.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have gone off on you like that. You're a good officer and a selfless person. But lately, your desire for promotion seems to drive your decisions, and some of them aren't the best."

A little tickle of guilt wiggled through my gut. Dave had such high expectations of me. I hated to admit I'd let him down and changed the subject.

"I found out where Tad was before the accident."

Dave's mouth twitched into a frown. "You went looking without me?"

"Memories fade and get confused. I didn't want to delay any longer, so I made the rounds this afternoon. It's not like I was in any danger."

Dave wasn't mollified.

"The bartender at The Shack says he came in for happy hour and didn't leave until eight."

Dave scratched his jaw and stared into space. "That still leaves three and a half hours unaccounted for."

"But here's the interesting part. Those two guys I saw on the sidewalk came in just after Tad did and left right behind him. The bartender didn't like the look of them. He thought they were casing the joint for a stickup."

"You and Mr. Newell are on a first name basis now?" He had his hands on his hips and watched me like a mother watches her toddler in the candy store. "Did he say why he was at the Carlisle Hotel?"

I stubbed my toe on the grass. "He says it isn't familiar. If things are slow tomorrow, I thought about checking theaters to see if anyone remembers him. If he caught a show, it would fill a hole in the timeline."

"Good idea." Dave passed a hand over his hair and examined his own shoes. "You know, Nicky, if you want a promotion, you should forget about Sleeth and focus on Newell. If you collar someone who's after him, it'll prove what a good cop you are, and you won't have to do it behind Greene's back."

Dave had a point. I'd also be able to look myself in the mirror. I resolved to keep my nose clean and stay away from the Slasher case.

"Why don't you go through mug shots, see if you can recognize those two guys," Dave suggested. "That'll tell us who's after Newell."

18

The streetlights in Susie's neighborhood came on as Kasker turned down her block. Steppenwolf's
Born to Be Wild
blared from the radio, and his thumbs tapped the steering wheel in time to the music. Things were finally looking up.

Susie would have Decker's appointment diary. She'd haggle over what she wanted for it. He'd promise her anything. Then they'd screw because that would be a bargaining chip in Susie's offer.

In the diary would be the clue he needed to locate Holmes. When he'd found Holmes, he'd learn how Decker had been released and where he was now, assuming his soul hadn't been swallowed by the universe. Then he'd devour Holmes and shed this goats-begotten flesh. And his promises to Susie.

Already, an uncomfortable lump in his crotch strained the zipper of his jeans. Bang Susie first, then take the diary. No more lies. No more tricks. In and out, he told himself. In and out. The lump hardened at the thought.

But Susie was dead.

Kasker killed the radio and cruised by without slowing, all his senses heightened. No lights shone through Susie's windows. Inside her house, the last remnants of her soul faded from existence.

He slammed a hand on the wheel. He had to get into the house and look for the diary, but he couldn't afford to be found at the scene of another death, especially one connected to Decker. Bad enough he'd been seen here earlier. He turned at the next corner and parked.

An hour later, when the last light faded from the sky, Kasker considered his options. He could sneak through backyards to Susie's, but one of the houses had a dog, and all of the houses had five-foot chain-link fences. The dog would bark before he got close enough to silence it.

Approaching from the other end of the block meant more fences and more dogs. Souls and their annoying pets! He hissed his displeasure through gritted teeth.

The residents of the house directly behind Susie's enjoyed the cool evening air on their back patio. He could wait to see if they went inside, but waiting wasn't for him. He was a hunter.

He'd have to go to the front door. He wished he'd stolen all Susie's keys instead of only the key to Decker Industries, in case her door was locked. He should have taken the mechanic up on the offer of a new tire iron. It might come in handy.

Kasker strolled quietly along the sidewalk, hands jammed in his pockets, head down. No one seemed to take note of his passing. Except that old guy on the porch, a candle flickering on the table beside him. How could humans live like that? All day, just sitting. He shivered.

He turned up Susie's drive, cut across the lawn, and mounted the two short steps to the door. He didn't bother with the bell, didn't knock, didn't hesitate to turn the knob.

Locked.

Horns and hooves!
How would he get in? Then he remembered Susie's open bedroom window at the side of the house. It had done little to cool the room while they'd had sex, but it would allow him access.