No Place Like Hell (18 page)

"No idea. It was meant as a guide for those who could afford to take spiritual pilgrimages. Then six months ago, my sister returned from backpacking around Europe with news of Michell's work. Suddenly everyone in Solaris was drawing ley lines on maps."

"And your name?"

"Amanda Blake."

I glanced at the name on the car door.

"There aren't any sons," Amanda said. "It's just my sister and me. People don't think women can cope with death. If they see 'Sons' in the name, they assume the company is run by men and hire us."

I understood how difficult it was to be a professional woman and thought none the worse of her and her sister for their ruse. A woman had to do whatever it took to get ahead.

"Can I keep this?" I asked, flapping the map at her.

"If it helps restore the balance between light and dark, you're welcome to it."

"It will," I replied. I walked back to my car feeling like I'd finally done something right, something important. My feet seemed to skim the pavement.

If there were more murders—and as long as Sleeth ran free, there would be—they'd be at the intersections of the lines on the map. I had the key to stopping them.

30

Seve glowered at Kasker. After some hesitation, he shifted a geometric patterned throw rug from the hardwood floor beside his desk and opened a square hatch in the floor. A ladder led down into darkness.

Kasker climbed down into a room twice the size of the office above. The demon followed and flipped on a bare bulb that hung in the center of the musty space.

Deep wooden shelves rose floor to ceiling on three of the walls. Dusty boxes of liquor filled them. A heavy iron safe stood against the fourth wall, and next to it, a barred door.

The door to the safe yawned open. Ledgers and yellowed scrolls filled the dark interior. The scent of damnation strengthened. Kasker repressed the urge to howl.

"You leave the safe unlocked?" Kasker asked.

The demon drew himself up. "When I'm here using the ledgers. Otherwise, it's locked."

Kasker pointed to the barred door. "Where does that lead?"

"To a tenement building across the alley, and through it, to the next street over."

"Someone could sneak in while the safe is open and take everything."

"The lock on the other side is unbreakable, and no one can shift the bar on this side from there. Besides, you're not the only one who can detect a damned soul. I would know if Holmes visited."

Kasker snorted. "Like you, he may use minions to do his bidding."

Seve squinted at him. "The souls who work for me would never dare to steal my belongings. They fear my wrath."

"They wouldn't have to steal. Easy enough to copy the information."

Kasker walked to the safe. Alone on the top shelf sat a thick tome. The cover was charred and flaking. The title read
Book of the Dead
. Whole sections of pages were missing, the loss indicated by gaps at the spine.

Strange energy emanated from the volume, not unlike the energy from the dagger left in Decker's throat. Kasker stepped back and turned to the demon, eyes wide. He pointed an accusing finger.

"You keep a magical book. That's forbidden."

The black form of the demon surfaced on the human flesh. "It's none of your concern."

Kasker's spine stiffened, and he bared his teeth. "So this is how you best your demon brethren and turn so many souls toward Hell. You know the future."

"The book does not reveal a soul's final alliance. It merely provides information to help decide which to approach."

"And when and where they will die," Kasker said.

"When, but not where," the demon replied. "And the pages are written only a short while before the soul's demise. Look for yourself if you don't believe."

Kasker had no intention of touching the book. If his master knew about it… Perhaps this was a way to ensure only favorable reports about his performance reached his master. Seve would not be anxious to be found with the contraband.

The next shelf held five fat ledgers. Below them, six brittle scrolls tied with black ribbons nestled. Their scent drew him like heroin drew an addict.

"Who knows about the safe?"

The demon frowned and ran a finger over his mustache. "Only my accountant. He fetches the ledgers and works on them in the office above."

"He has the combination?"

"No." Seve contemplated the safe. "But sometimes he has taken longer than necessary to retrieve a ledger."

"Fool," Kasker muttered. He climbed the ladder back to the office.

The demon followed and replaced the hatch and rug.

"Who is this accountant?" Kasker asked. "Do you have his blood?"

Seve's mouth pulled down into a grimace. "I had no need of blood. He is weak, controlled by his vices and his fear. He is called Alan Mong."

Kasker growled his displeasure. "You have his address then?"

The demon sat at the desk, retrieved pen and paper, and wrote a list, which he handed to Kasker.

"These are the names and locations of the bookies he frequents. He lives with his girlfriend. Her address is the last." Seve looked him in the eye and spoke with sarcasm. "You are the great hunter. You'll have no trouble finding him—even without blood."

"Push me, demon, and the master shall hear of your book," he answered with a toothy smile.

Seve crossed his arms over his chest and scowled but said no more. Kasker kicked the chair from his path and stalked out.

31

I'd agreed to meet Tad at a hot dog stand he'd be passing as he rushed from one campaign event to another. When I reached it, I checked my hair in the rearview mirror and tried to curb my excitement.

I decided to skip eating despite the heavenly aroma coming off the grill at Dad's Dogs. I didn't want my uniform stained with mustard. I got a cold bottle of Coke and sipped it while I waited.

Tad arrived fifteen minutes late. He pulled into a loading zone across the street and limped over to me. A tingle electrified my skin. I couldn't wait to tell him what I'd found.

Tad gave me a lackluster greeting and bought a chili dog despite the baking heat building around us and the danger of spilling on his tie, which was loosened and askew. My excitement ebbed a notch.

We sat under a tatty umbrella at an outdoor table that hadn't been washed since Eisenhower was president. Flighty sparrows vied with fat, aggressive crows to grab stray crumbs dropped on the concrete.

"Did you interview Susie Brown?" Tad asked.

"Haven't had time." I didn't see the need, either. With the map in our possession, we'd stake out the other ley line intersections and catch Sleeth red-handed.

"They were drugged. At least Decker was, according to Chief Greene," Tad said. He stared at his chili dog, picked it up, set it down unbitten. "This can't go on. The Slasher has to be stopped."

"We'll nail him." I spread the map on the table. "Sleeth won't make mugs of us again."

"How can you still think he's doing this when you're his alibi for the Haskell murder?" Tad clenched a fist, and his voice flowed with frustration. "Doesn't anyone get it?"

I didn't want to argue about it. I knew Sleeth had arranged an alibi for himself. He was involved up to his cold blue eyes.

"I found out why he chose the bookstore. It's on a ley line intersection."

Tad gave me a blank look. I pointed to the lines on the map and repeated what Amanda had told me. "So either Sleeth really believes this mystic mumbo jumbo, or he and Calderon are trying to throw the police off by making mob hits look like ritual killings."

Tad went still. "You think Calderon had something to do with the deaths?"

I was surprised Tad hadn't heard about Sleeth's connection to the mobster and wondered whether I'd given away information I shouldn't have. Did the Solaris PD think Calderon had ears in the mayor's office?

"If it's a crime in Solaris, odds are Calderon is involved," I said by way of cover for my faux pas.

I could almost hear the wheels go round in Tad's head. He pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a migraine coming on.

"What about the men you saw outside the hotel?" he asked with an urgency he hadn't displayed before.

I pulled photos of the heavies from my pocket and laid them on the map. "Harold Warner and Jake Bronski. Warner was in the service, but he was dishonorably discharged. Do they look familiar?"

Tad studied both photos for a minute or more, frown lines appearing on his brow.

"Tad Newell wouldn't run from a fight. Why run from these guys? I wish I could remember," he muttered. His worried eyes met mine. "Do they work for Calderon, too?"

"If they do, it isn't in their files." I wondered why he'd think the penny-ante hoods were Calderon's men. He seemed unusually interested in the mobster.

Seeing the concern I'd caused, I wanted to reassure him. "They're small potatoes, and you were in a very public location. It's probably just a coincidence that they were at the accident scene."

He didn't look reassured. "I'll keep an eye out for them. Maybe you could follow up? Find out why they were there? They may be more of a threat than I initially thought."

I studied the well-bitten nails at the ends of my fingers where they rested on the table. Now that I had the map, I wanted to focus on the Slasher case, not waste my time on petty crooks who chased Tad in my imagination.

"If I see them around, I'll ask."

Tad stood and dumped his untouched hot dog in a nearby bin. I rose, too. He took my left hand in both of his.

"You've made great progress, Nicky, but you need to talk to Decker's secretary. If you're going to find the Slasher, you need her help."

Tad grabbed my upper arms and bussed me on the cheek. I stiffened. He didn't notice because he was looking at his watch.

"I have to go," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow. You can tell me what you learn from Susie Brown."

With that, he limped away to his car.

I frowned after him. Interviewing Brown was indefensible—and it might not lead to putting Sleeth behind bars. Dave was right. I needed to focus on advancing my career through actions that I could justify.

I drove to the station in search of Lt. Mack. The duty sergeant informed me that Mack and Greene were at city hall personally updating the mayor. I paced the squad room.

When they returned, a hush fell over the station. Mack's face looked carved in stone. Greene was a walking heart attack. Suddenly everyone had somewhere important to go. The place emptied in minutes.

I screwed up my courage and followed Mack to his office. He stood behind an orderly desk in a room cramped by half a dozen file cabinets and a lone visitor's chair. No photos or framed commendations marred the vacant walls, although word was he'd received numerous awards.

"What do you want, Demasi?"

I stood at ease, map in the hands I kept behind my back. "I know where Sleeth will strike next."

He squinted hard at me. "How's that?"

"Given the ritualistic nature of the murders, I asked around in the spiritual community—"

"You mean those occult nut jobs?" Mack cut in. His fingertips drummed on the desktop.

"Yes, sir. Given the unusual nature of the crimes, I thought those 'occult nut jobs' might explain the choice of locations." I brought the map out with a flourish and opened it on his desk. "It has to do with their belief in mystical power lines that connect places of old power. Intersections—the places the lines cross—"

"I know what 'intersections' means, officer. Get on with it."

My face heated. "As you can see, there's an intersection at the bookstore, and another where Haskell died. If we stake out the other intersections around Solaris, we can catch Sleeth in the act. Sir."

Mack placed both hands on the desk and leaned on them while he studied the map. I held my breath.

"What the hell is this?"

Chief Greene's voice boomed behind me.

I jerked around, face burning hotter. "I was just—"

"Officer Demasi has some ideas about where the Slasher may strike next," Mack said, his voice level and cold. He tapped the map. "She thinks we should stake out the intersections of the red lines, all thirty-three of them."

Greene crossed to the desk and looked at the map. His mottled skin darkened. "Don't you have anything better to do with your time, lieutenant?"

"And you, Officer Demasi." Greene snatched the map from the desk and slapped it against my chest. "Your shift's starting. Get out there and do the job you're paid for."

32

Kasker drove to the ratty apartment complex where Alan Mong lived with his girlfriend. After running up four flights of stairs to find the right unit, he didn't bother to knock. No souls were inside. He walked down the four flights, cussing and swearing.