The Nephilim (33 page)

Chapter Twenty

The morning sun was creeping over the distant hills as Garrick sat at the breakfast table in his motel room. He had to admit he was quite fond of the view. After three days here he'd decided it was one of the best things about the place.

It was a comfortable motel. Good value too, which was important as Garrick was slowly working his way through his savings. There was no doubt that it was much cheaper living in his home. But he couldn't do that with the press hunting for him. The moment he went home he would be trapped by them. And it wasn't as if he could even drive his truck yet. He needed a functioning ankle for that and though he'd begged, the doctors wouldn't change his cast. It was something to do with his leg needing the support of a solid cast. He was probably lucky they'd given it a flexible knee. Of course they could have just healed it, but not when every reporter in the country was hunting him. So, for the moment his life had to be one of a full cast, cheap motels and people to pick him up and drive him around as he harried Benedict. Keeping him on the run.

“Does he know?”

The door swung open and Katarinka and Maricia walked in on Garrick as he sat there reading the paper, surprising him. He hadn't known the kid was in town. Actually he'd thought she was still under lock and key at the academy and would remain that way until Benedict was finally behind bars. And Maricia was supposed to be in Spain. He didn't really know why she was there in his motel room either. But she must have a reason. Why else would the kid be in Boston? With Maricia by her side? But while he might not know why she was there, Garrick knew exactly what she was asking.

“He knows.”

And though it was probably petty, he took some joy in the fact that the thief knew that it was Garrick who was destroying his life little by little. After the man had made two attempts on his life, he took more than a little joy in it.

“Then why doesn't he do something about it?” Katarinka sat down at the little wrought iron table opposite him and helped herself to the coffee pot. Was she old enough to be drinking coffee?

“Because he can't. He's in a bad way.”

Which he was. For the first time in a great many years the thief was scared. He could sense his time running out. And some of his moves were showing the signs of panic.

Garrick had taken another of his aliases off him the previous night, reporting it to the authorities as Benedict had made yet another dash for an international airport. And thanks to him the thief had had to make yet another desperate escape from an airport, a number of police hot on his tail. He'd barely got away. And by the time he had Garrick had taken Armando’s latest bolt hole away from him as well. Another tip and the police had been there waiting for him when he'd returned.

That was more money and bank accounts gone, another confederate of his in jail, and once more Armando Benedict was on the run, desperately searching for a place to hide. But those places were becoming ever fewer. Especially when every time he tried for another international airport his face was caught on the security cameras. Hours later it would be on the nightly news and yet another disguise would be useless. After three attempts Garrick suspected he'd not try that again any time soon. Next it would be a border crossing or a ship. Either way, Garrick would be there waiting for him, making sure he couldn't escape.

“How do you know he knows it's you?”

Maricia sat down between them, grabbed the coffee pot off Katarinka and pushed the juice bottle her way instead. Then she poured herself a cup of the black stuff before the girl could protest.

She'd been becoming quite protective of her Garrick had noticed. Almost motherly. Ever since the night she'd had to act as the girl’s lawyer. He wasn't quite sure why, save that it was probably a good thing. The kid needed to be kept out of trouble and under control by someone. Though truthfully these days she was a lot calmer and less troublesome than she had been.

“A hunter always knows when his quarry is aware of him.”

It was a hard thing to describe but completely true. There was a bond between a hunter and his quarry. They always knew one another.

“You getting mystical on me?”

But Katarinka meant it only as a joke, and knowing that, Garrick didn't reply. There wasn't really an answer he could give her. Maybe it was a partly mystical thing? He didn't know. He didn't really know how his gift worked; only that it did. Besides, weren't all their gifts sort of mystical?

He would probably know more if it had been his mother who had been the angel. That was one of the surprising facts that he had learned since Diogenes had been among them. They had answers to many of the questions that had plagued him and the other nephilim. And one of those answers was whether female angels did what their male counterparts did, and if so what happened to the offspring of the unions.

It turned out that they did do the same thing, and occasionally had children as a result. But unlike the males, the female angels kept their children with them, as he'd suspected they would. Where they kept and raised them though was a riddle no one had the answer to. What he hadn't realised was that those nephilim were far more powerful than the offspring of the male angels. Their gifts were far more advanced. Though thinking about it Garrick thought that it did make some sense. Being carried in the body of an angel for nine months clearly had an effect on them, as did being raised by the Choir. All of which meant that he and the others were the poor relations among the nephilim. The ones born on the wrong side of the tracks. Somehow that hadn't come as a complete surprise. But it did hurt.

“There's a reason you two are here, annoying me during breakfast?” Garrick tried to sound at least a little gruff, but just couldn't manage it. “You should be in school and you,” Garrick turned a fake glare at Maricia, “should be helping with the shift. In fact I thought you were in Spain?”

“Two days off for good behaviour.”

Katarinka smiled happily at him and for a moment that threw him. He'd never seen her smile before. Certainly not at him. How, he wondered had she gone from being a stubborn, unruly, sullen and angry kid to this in only a few short weeks? It was as though she'd been replaced by a pod person. Perhaps she'd grown up? More likely though, she was simply reacting to the way her world had been turned upside down.

“With homework.” Maricia reminded her gently of that, before answering him. “And my work is done for the most part. My team are busy tidying up and disbanding.”

“So you came to annoy me.” He didn't mean it though, and they both knew it. Katarinka managed to poke her tongue out at him and Maricia just smiled.

“New York Central Police Station. We all have formal interviews there this afternoon. You included. Didn't you check your email?”

Garrick shook his head. He hadn't checked. But then he'd been busy, and checking his phone was the last thing on his mind. He had an enemy to hunt. Of course, he'd known that sooner or later this was coming. He'd shot two people and then used the information they'd given him to expose a master criminal's hideout and rescue a kidnapped girl. The statement he'd given at the time was never going to be enough for the police. Fortunately they'd been completely overwhelmed with dozens of major investigations at the time, and he was an injured fed and someone not to be upset. They'd accepted his initial statement and run with that until they could finally get on top of things. Now, he guessed that time had come.

“Also the headmistress wants her knitting needles back. She was quite insistent.”

And Patricia could have them back – once he was done with them! But that wouldn't be for another couple of weeks when the cast finally came off. Until then they were needed for scratching duty. He'd never realised how itchy a cast could become, or how difficult it was to scratch through one. The knitting needles appeared to have been designed specifically for the job and he was keeping them. Though he had to admit she could probably have used some knitting time. As he understood it she was still dealing with the police while trying to run a school and keep a bunch of frightened nephilim from revealing their gifts. And through all that she was forced to hobble in pain because of the lesson the Choir had taught her.

“How's the shift going?” He changed the subject.

“Good. Two repositories have been completely moved and the last three are half done. The techies are steadily working through the international databases and records, altering what needs to be altered. And our teams are busy replacing the hard copies. A few more weeks, maybe a month and every piece of information Armando has will lead nowhere. He'll look like a fool.”

More than that he'd look like a liar, and that was exactly what Garrick wanted. When the time came he wanted Benedict to look as though he was simply saying anything he could to keep himself out of jail. He wanted him discredited completely. And if that humiliation could be topped off with him spending the last ten or twenty years of his life penniless and behind bars without any hope of seeing freedom again, and Garrick would be happy. Of course to do that would require an immense effort, and hundreds if not thousands of people were working day and night to do it. And all because of one man.

Still, it was being done and even the Choir were on board. He was actually a little surprised by that, even if it had been the only logical way out of their mess. But if Cassie could dance with Katarinka he guessed the rest of the Choir could dance with Benedict.

Maybe, though it seemed hard to credit, the angels did have some concern for their half blood children? Enough that they would push their damnable rules to the limit if they absolutely had to.

“Good. I can keep him running until then. I think. But after that he has to go down.”

“Go down?” Katarinka suddenly sounded excited. “Like dead?”

“Like being arrested and put on trial before spending the rest of his life behind bars.”

Katarinka looked a little crestfallen when he corrected her, and he supposed he couldn't really blame her for that. Especially when she was only fifteen and he'd done what he'd done to her mother. But still he was a little disappointed.

“Kid, it's not just the Choir you have to consider. It's you and the world you want to live in. Benedict hurt you. He hurt your mother. And he hurt a lot of other people. But there's law and there's vengeance. And I don't do vengeance. Neither should you. If you live in a world where it's an eye for an eye then fairly soon everyone's blind.”

“Besides the Mayor sent me a text the other day. The town legal people have made representation to have your mother's conviction overturned through the Innocence Project thanks to some new evidence – yours. And he thinks it's likely she'll be released soon and then brought to Olmstead. There she'll be able to get some proper help. You should concentrate on that.”

“Now, order yourselves some breakfast and I'll go and have a shower.” And maybe a good scratch he thought.

“Whatever we want?” Katarinka looked up at him suddenly hopeful.

“No alcohol and no cigarettes kid. And Maricia has to approve it as well.” Teenagers!

Chapter Twenty One

Garrick squirmed uncomfortably in his hard plastic chair, and it wasn't just because of the cheap furniture. The interview wasn't going well. In fact it was going very badly in Garrick's view. The meeting had become hostile from the moment he'd sat down, and he didn't quite know why. It appeared however, that the lead detective who was currently grilling him, had some sort of axe to grind. Detective Warren almost seemed to think he was guilty of something. He had taken the lead in the interview, grilling him like a suspect while the other two sat back and watched.  

“
I've already told you what happened Detective. I've given you my statement. Your forensics people have probably confirmed everything anyway by now. You know what happened. Two hitters broke into my room. They fired a large number of bullets into the bed where they thought I was sleeping.  Fortunately I wasn’t. I'd heard them at the door and I was able to defend myself. This was a clean shoot.”

Of course Garrick would have felt more at ease in believing that they accepted his version of events if they had finally given him his gun back. The fact that they hadn't made him nervous.