The Summerland (18 page)

She cast a glance at him out of the corner of her eyes before continuing. “In certain covens ritualistic sex between the High Priestess and High Priest follow, then the circle is closed and the ceremony complete. We don’t practice the Great Rite in my coven; the Judeo-Christian influences in this county are too strong. It would only get us in more trouble than we already are with the community.” She grinned at the expression on his face.

“
So, that’s how a traditional ceremony would be performed. Now look at your crime scene. He’s using every bit of traditional lore and ornamentation, then killing. It doesn’t fit. And this guy isn’t even practicing black magick. The signs just aren’t there. Basic practices and ideologies do change from coven to coven though. All I can figure is that he’s morphed the basic credo into something his own. It’s almost like he’s performing the Great Rite, killing his version of the High Priestess, then using their body as an altar. Whatever he is, he’s a twisted son of a bitch, let me tell you that. And he also knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s been in a coven before, he knows the setups and idiosyncrasies of a ceremonial circle too well, and while you can certainly pick that up from a book, his circles just don’t have that feel. He’s invested himself in this practice as a whole. This isn’t just a game to him or a red herring for you. He believes in what he’s doing, and that makes him even more dangerous than just a nut. He’s a religious nut with an agenda.”

Bill grimaced, glancing down at his clenched fists. The portrait Josie painted was turning out exactly as he’d feared.

He blew out a long, tortured breath, then looked back up at Josie. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, and soon. You’ve heard of Dr. Adam Porter, I take it?”

* * * *

Doug Brewster walked into the Sheriff’s office holding a piece of paper just as the telephone rang. Josie stood, preparing to leave. As she started for the door Doug reached out, touching her arm.

“
You need to stay for this. Have a seat.” The big sergeant looked uncharacteristically rattled. He handed the paper to the Sheriff, then closed the door, leaning up against it.

Bill took one look at the piece of paper and went deathly pale. He looked at the blinking light on his telephone line, blew out a deep breath, then picked up the receiver.

“
Arden. I’m putting you on speaker, OK? Sergeant Brewster, Josie Galloway and I are in the room. Where did you get this?” He handed the paper to Josie, bringing her fully into the circle.

“
Hello Bill, Sergeant Brewster, Josie. I got it from Tony Ortiz. He gave it to me the day I picked up my car, said it had been jammed into the hood insulation. I was just getting ready to throw those clothes away and found it in one of the pockets. What in the hell is it?” Arden’s voice was brittle and frightened. “It’s from him, isn’t it? He’s sending some kind of message.”

Bill ran a hand through his hair, then leaned forward on the desk, bracing his weight on his forearms. “We think it’s a sigil. And if it was on your car, then you were right, he’s probably got Samantha. This piece of paper is undeniable evidence to the connection.” He looked up at Doug.

“
You know what this means, don’t you?”

Doug nodded his eyes serious. “I’ll pick him up now, but it doesn’t make sense. Why would he give it to Captain Jones if he did these things? He just threw suspicion on himself.”

“
Wait,” ordered Arden, and there was no doubt it was an order. Her voice rang with it. “Tony Ortiz didn’t have anything to do with this. He had no idea what it was when he gave it to me. He just said it was weird and he thought he should give it to me. Really, he was just fixing the car.”

“
Arden,” said Bill wearily, “You know we can’t just let it drop like that. We have to bring the man in for questioning. That’s just the way it works. Now, that piece of paper is evidence. Are you at home? I’m going to have an uniformed LAPD officer swing by and pick it up. He’ll FedEx it to me and we’ll keep it here in our evidence room, OK?”

When her answer was long in coming, he picked up the receiver, excusing Josie and Doug with an abrupt motion of his head.

“
Arden, are you all right?” he asked, worry evident in his tone.

“
I just want this to be over. I’m so tired. I’m tired of being strong, of doing what’s right for everyone but me.” Her voice was rough, broken, frustrated. He thought she might be crying, but she masked it so well it was impossible to tell. The thought of the Arden Jones he knew giving in to tears was such a contradiction, such a shift in personality that it shook him to his core. From any other woman he would have expected tears long ago, even welcomed them, but even the suggestion of tears coming from tough-as-nails Arden Jones broke his heart.

“
I know honey. Hang in there. This is the first and only thing we’ve got linking this guy to Samantha. You broke this wide open. Do you understand me? You’ve just given us something to go on.”

“
I just wish I was there,
doing
something. I can’t eat, I’m not sleeping, and I can’t even exercise because of this damned cast. And everyone looks at me now. I can see it everywhere I go. They look at me and whisper.” Now she sounded crabby. Bill smiled. That was more like it.

“
Are you going to be around tonight? I may have some news later this evening.”

“
What? Tell me now.” He could hear the anticipation in her voice and hoped like hell that they caught that bastard Carlos this afternoon.

“
I can’t. I’ll call you tonight, one way or the other, okay? Now, hang tight until I can get a uniform over there to pick up that paper. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Chapter Eighteen

Special Agent Frank Drebin helped make the bust himself. His analytical mind couldn’t pin down why he’d become so attached to the people in Mariposa, but he was. Maybe it was just the unsolved mystery that drew him. Whatever it was, he found himself looking into the case with every spare moment of his time. Yesterday his wife had accused him of being obsessed.

He was certainly something, he reflected with a wry grin, weapon drawn, waiting behind the SWAT team members assembled outside an upscale waterfront warehouse in San Marcos.

The Justice Department had marked the money in Samantha Henning’s Gucci bag in an effort to catch and convict one Carlotta Henderson, a.k.a. Carlos, on the street. She’d been smuggling and selling Microsoft and Intel chip knockoffs since the big PC boom years ago. Her contacts in Mexico and South America had guaranteed a handsome profit with almost no overhead. Add to that the fact that she used beautiful women as her pigeons and it was a picture-perfect little business with a touch of prostitution thrown in on the side for extra profit.

The Justice Department had been trying to get close to her for some time with dismal results. Carlotta had always been very choosy when it came to picking her girls, almost paranoid as a matter of fact, which made the JD’s job that much harder. She trusted her ladies with her life or she trusted them with nothing. Samantha had been one of the first, and from what Drebin could tell from the Justice Department investigation, her predatory nature had made her one of Carlos’ early favorites.

The JD’s lucky stroke had come when a Mexican “fishing trawler” had capsized just off the coast of San Diego. The Coast Guard and a nearby Navy destroyer had answered the distress call and found one very swamped boat with fifteen illegal aliens hanging on for dear life. The seamen had managed to save the boat and the passengers, and were just ready to turn the living cargo over to the Immigration and Naturalization Service when one of the crewmembers began to tell an interesting tale.

The crewman, claiming he would be killed if sent back to Mexico, told a wild tale of picking up a strange cargo before they went to sea…tiny boxes that held the power of the world. The INS agents had scoffed at the man’s obvious ploy for political asylum, but the Coast Guard took him at his word.

The cases of microchips found concealed beneath a fetid cargo of fish were grade-A. Promising resident alien status to the captain and the crewman, they’d instructed the men to deliver their cargo as originally contracted.

Compromising the receipt “agent,” one Samantha Henning, had been easy, almost too easy. They’d kept the chips and told Samantha to return to Carlos, giving them the evidence they needed to take Carlos into custody and the grounds to perform a search of the warehouse she used as a headquarters.

If only they had researched Samantha Henning as carefully as they’d examined Carlos. Unfortunately the agent in charge of the transfer had been thinking with his little head rather than his big one. He made all of the correct procedural moves. The serial numbers on the cash were annotated and Samantha’s car was equipped with a location transmitter. Then he took one look into those big blue eyes, never seeing the cunning calculation behind them, and made one gigantic mistake. He didn’t have her followed. She’d disappeared, totally and completely.

Until Drebin had mentioned the money as a sidebar to his primary investigation of the murders in Mariposa, the agents had been at a standstill. Both Carlos and the Justice Department had had their ears to the ground, but Carlos had one advantage, Samantha Henning’s cell phone.

Drebin rolled the facts over in his mind as the team dropped into place. How Samantha Henning and Arden Jones had come out of the same womb was a puzzle to him. From what he’d seen and heard of Arden Jones, the word “integrity” should have been stamped across her forehead in big, bold letters. Samantha, on the other hand, seemed to be the type of person you watched your back around, and all the time.

The steel door of the warehouse exploded inward under the immense pressure of the battering ram and the raid was over almost as quickly as it had started. No shots were fired, and Carlotta “Carlos” Henderson was quietly led away. The SWAT members who had wagered their money on whether or not “Carlos” was actually a woman were glumly forking over their stakes in a dark corner of the building while investigators prowled the empty floor.

Drebin’s request for a ride-along with the prisoner had been granted, and he found himself face-to-face with Samantha’s employer, even if it was through the thick mesh of the barrier between the front and back seats of the cruiser.

“
Hello Carlos. I’m Special Agent Drebin with the FBI.”

The woman’s voice was clipped, matter-of-fact, cultured. “If you must speak to me, please address me as Carlotta. Other than that, Agent, I have nothing to say to you. My attorney will be speaking for me as soon as we reach the police station.”

“
Certainly, I understand completely. I’m not really here in an official capacity. I just wanted to meet the person who was ballsy enough to put out a contract out on a United States Air Force officer.” Drebin sat back, waiting to see if his ploy would work. For a moment he didn’t think he’d succeeded, then she bit.

“
What are you talking about?” she asked disdainfully. “I never put any contracts out. I don’t even know any Air Force people.”

“
Well, I’m sure our vic will be happy to hear that. A female assassin tried to cap her, and strangely enough, the shooter was tossing your name around. And even better, she named her connection to you. Samantha Henning ring any bells? Half a mil in cash? Her sister, Arden Jones?” Drebin watched casually, carefully gauging her reaction to his barrage of facts.

She was either very good or had no idea what the hell he was talking about. Drebin wasn’t sure which path to take, so he straddled the middle and forged ahead. “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but the US government doesn’t take very kindly to having its soldiers assassinated while they’re on holiday. Shooting at each other in a war is one thing, but this lady was on vacation for God’s sakes. And you know the most ironic thing, Carlos,” he paused for a long moment, rolling the name off his tongue with a Mexican flair, leaning into the screen. “We would’ve never even gotten the warrant if it wasn’t for that soldier. Do you understand? You fucked up. You should have left Arden Jones alone and concentrated on Samantha. Now we’ve got you, and we’ve got you cold.” Giving her a triumphant look, he swiveled his big body forward on the bench seat of the squad car, staring out the window as life in Silicon Valley forged onward.

* * * *

Two days later the ‘nonexistent’ contract on Captain Arden Jones’ life was withdrawn. Carlotta Henderson claimed to have never ordered such an extreme action, and Drebin believed her, almost. Since the only person who could actually tell the whole tale was dead, it seemed a moot point anyway.

Her name had been Teddy Reynolds, and she’d been one of Carlotta’s ‘special’ girls for some time. The women in this cadre were used for more than the usual tasks of courier and hooker, they were confidants, movers and shakers, and in some cases, lovers. Samantha had been an integral part of this elite group, which sought Carlotta’s trust and affection with an almost religious fervor. From what Carlotta said, Teddy must have had seen this as a chance to even the playing field and solidify her position within the organization.

With that, Frank’s interest in Carlotta and her whole organization waned. Arden Jones and her safety had been his primary concern. While he would still puzzle over the man who had made a life out of using the Wiccan religion as a reason for killing, he had a gut-deep feeling that reign was about to end. In fact, he had no doubt about it with Bill Ashton on the case.

Chapter Nineteen