Blood of the Demon

  “What about the psycho pixies?” Zack asked after a moment. “Those came through on their own?”

  “Apparently so. They’re called hriss, and I get the feeling they’re like psychic arcane mosquitoes. Make you tired. Just one won’t kill you, but a bunch of them could suck you pretty dry of potency.”

  Ryan’s expression darkened. “Wait. Do they eat potency? Or life force?”

  I opened my mouth, then shut it, mentally replaying Zhergalet’s difficult-to-follow explanation. “You know, I think the demon was referring to essence.”

  “Maybe a herd of them is loose and sucking people dry?”

  I pondered it, then shook my head. “No, that wouldn’t explain the … rending. Plus, the faas seemed to think they were more annoying than anything.” Then I frowned, an unpleasant thought occurring to me. “But I’ve learned that an essence-eater could become stronger by consuming another essence-eater …” I decided to leave out how I’d learned that.

  “We were talking the other day about how the killer has changed,” Ryan said. “First he was killing them and then sucking their essence up, and now he can kill them by ripping the essence out. Something changed.”

  My stomach spasmed painfully, and it wasn’t because of too many pancakes. “You think that the killer got into my aunt’s house, found the portal, and somehow got his soul-eating ability beefed up?”

  He shrugged. “I’m just offering up a maybe.”

  I shoved my fingers through my hair. “Shit. I’ll ask Zhergalet tonight.” I opened my bag and pulled out the scrawled page with names and lines and circles. “In the meantime, I keep looking at how these murders are connected.”

  Zack peered at the page. “Looks like you have a lot of possibles and not a lot of probables.”

  “Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “Tell me about it.” I was beginning a deep and morose pondering of the situation when my cell phone rang. “Detective Gillian.”

  “Hi, Kara,” a perky voice chirped. “This is Annie at the lab in Slidell.”

  It took me a couple of seconds to figure out what lab she was talking about. “Oh, oh, right, the DNA lab! Sorry. What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to give you a heads-up about your request. I’ll be writing my official report, but I figured you’d want to know that there was no match.”

  It took me a few more seconds to process that. “Wait, which case are we talking about?”

  I could hear her shuffling paper. “Um, Carol Roth, homicide. And we had a reference sample for Brian Roth.”

  I felt like my thoughts were moving at half speed. “No match. So she did not have sex with Brian before she was killed?”

  “Well, I can’t tell you if there was penetration or not. Dr. Lanza would have to be the one to determine that. There wasn’t any seminal fluid, so if she did, her partner was likely wearing a condom. But we tested some pubic hair that had been collected and the saliva that was swabbed. The pubic hair had a root, so we were able to do a comparison. It matched the saliva but didn’t match your reference.”

  At least I’d been right about that much. Brian was murdered to protect whoever Carol was having sex with. Didn’t help me much, though, except to confirm what I suspected.

  I almost missed what Annie said next.

  “Wait, back up,” I said. “What?”

  “I said that it was close. It wasn’t a match, but it was pretty darn close.”

  “What does that mean?” My pulse quickened. I remembered just enough about DNA from college biology that I had a feeling I knew what it meant, but I wanted her to say it.

  “Well, it’s highly possible it was someone related to your boy.”

  I could almost feel my mouth hanging open. I wanted connections, and here was a whopper of one. I said something that may or may not have been articulate, then closed my phone, gripping it tightly. A rictus of a grin stretched across my face as I felt the pieces click into place.

  “Good news?” Ryan prompted.

  “In a roundabout way. The DNA on Carol Roth didn’t match Brian’s.”

  He frowned. “And how is this good?”

  “It was a partial match. There’s a good chance it was someone related to him.”

  “Looks like Daddy Roth has been a bad boy,” Zack murmured with a smile.

  “He killed Carol,” I said. “It may have been an accident, but he killed her.”

  Ryan held up a hand. “But do you think he was capable of killing his son? I know it’s tough to know what goes on behind closed doors, but it sure seems like the two of them were close.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “He wasn’t so close that he had a problem screwing his son’s wife.” Excitement coiled within me as possibilities fell in line. “Plus, the surveillance video from Brian Roth’s subdivision shows Davis Sharp’s car entering at about eleven-thirty that night and leaving about twenty minutes later. There was someone with him too. What if it was Harris Roth? What if Harris panicked after he realized Carol was dead and called his buddy—who also happened to be his biggest political supporter?”

  Ryan looked disbelieving. “I’m still having a hard time buying that Harris would be willing to murder his own son—or have him murdered—to cover this up. Screwing your daughter-in-law is one thing, but Roth looked pretty devastated at the funeral. I’m not sure he could have faked that.”

  I took a deep breath and forced myself to consider another possibility. “But what if Elena wasn’t having an affair with Harris Roth? What if it was Brian instead? Then perhaps Davis killed Brian for screwing his wife?”

  Zack raised an eyebrow. “A crime of passion … where he kept his cool enough to go ahead and stage it as a suicide to cover up Carol’s murder?”

  I grimaced. “Yeah, you’re right. It doesn’t fit. And Elena was attracted to ‘powerful men.’ Brian didn’t really fit that bill.” I dropped my eyes to the paper. “Harris Roth is the connection to all of them. I still think Davis Sharp was somehow involved in Brian’s murder, but it doesn’t make sense yet.” Perhaps this was why Elena had been so afraid? Maybe she’d known who killed Brian. “But at least now we have something solid to work with,” I continued. I looked at Ryan. “I figure we can get a warrant for a DNA sample to run a proper comparison, plus a subpoena for Harris Roth’s cell-phone records.”

  “With the partial DNA match, I’d say you’re right.”

  I nodded. I wanted badly to nail Harris Roth for everything—tie all of the murders up into one nice and neat case—but we didn’t have enough proof yet. “I’ll start typing,” I said. First, nail him on Carol’s death. Then make him squeal on the rest.

  Chapter 31

  THE SUBPOENA FOR THE PHONE RECORDS AND THE warrant to request a buccal swab from Harris Roth didn’t take long to type up, but it took me nearly as long to figure out what I was going to say to my sergeant. I dialed his number as I paced Tessa’s sitting room, grimacing when Crawford answered on the second ring. This would have been a lot easier to do on his voice mail. But it wouldn’t have been the best, my conscience reminded me.

  “Sarge, it’s Kara Gillian.”

  “What’s up?”

  I quickly explained the DNA results and my theory. Crawford gave a low whistle when I finished. “Damn, Kara. You sure don’t think small, do you?”

  I grimaced. “I know. But you gotta admit it makes sense.”

  “I can see where you’re going with it, yes.” He paused. “Kara, I hate to point this out, but the Carol Roth murder isn’t your case anymore.”

  I could feel myself stiffening. “Sarge, I know, but the detail with the surveillance video and the—”

  Crawford cut me off with a sharp laugh. “Don’t sweat that shit. Fuck Pellini and Boudreaux. Lazy, useless fucks. I’ll take care of any heat that comes down about you horning in on the case. Especially since it started out as yours. Easy enough to deal with.”

  I let my breath out, relieved. “Thanks, Cory.”

  “But, Kara,” he continued, “if you’re wr
ong about this, you’re killing your career. Even a buccal-swab warrant is going to be a big slap in the face for a public figure of that stature. I’m not gonna tell you not to go ahead with this, but I want to be sure that you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure,” I said, trying to fill my voice with as much confidence as possible.

  I heard him sigh gustily. “All right. I can meet you in about half an hour at—”

  “Sarge,” I interrupted him. “I … think it would be better if you, um, didn’t come.” I cringed at how that came out. But there was no easy way to put it. If Harris Roth could kill by ripping essence out, I didn’t want to risk having someone there who had no way to defend himself or even know if he was in danger.

  “I’m your sergeant, Detective Gillian,” he reminded me, tone distinctly frosty.

  I framed my words carefully. “Sarge, you once said that you’d seen a lot of shit in your career, and you were probably more willing than most to believe that some things defy explanation.”

  He was silent for several heartbeats. “And … this is one of those things that defy explanation?” I could hear the disbelief in his voice, but I thought I could also sense the barest edge of acceptance.

  “It is, Sarge. I … I just need you to trust me.” I rolled my eyes at myself. Holy crap, but that sounded lame, even to me. “Look,” I said quickly before he could say anything else, “when all of this is over, I promise I’ll give you as much explanation as you want.” If you really want it, I thought. And if everything works out.

  He fell silent again, but I could hear background noise, so I knew we hadn’t been disconnected. “Is Agent Kristoff going with you?” he said finally.

  My shoulders sagged in relief. “Yes, he is.”

  I heard him sigh again. “Fine. Keep me posted. I’ll cover as well as I can if there are any questions.”

  He was hanging his own ass on the line for me as well, I knew. “Thanks, Sarge.” I didn’t add anything trite like I won’t let you down or you won’t regret it. There was too good a chance that either or both could happen.

  “Be careful, Kara.”

  “I will.”

  I hung up, then clipped the phone back onto my belt, finding myself actually admiring Cory Crawford.

  I JOGGED UP the steps of the courthouse while Ryan circled the block to avoid the trouble of finding a parking place. We’d left my car at my aunt’s house. It was such a piece of crap that I was willing to use any excuse to get out of having to drive it. I flashed my badge at the security guard as I passed through the metal detector, ignoring the obnoxious beep. I glanced quickly at the schedule taped to the desk, pleased and relieved to see that the duty judge was again Judge Laurent. I’d experienced several moments of worry on the way over to the courthouse, running through improbable and not-so-improbable scenarios about judges refusing to sign the warrant for a fellow judge. I didn’t think I’d have any problems with Judge Laurent.

  His secretary was shutting her computer down as I entered the office. She looked up at me with an expression that clearly told me she wouldn’t be happy with me if I made her stay past her usual quitting time.

  I gave her my best winning smile. “I’m sorry to come in so late, but this should take only a second. Is Judge Laurent still here? I need a warrant for a buccal swab and a subpoena for phone records signed.”

  She sighed. “He’s still here.” She held out her hand for my folder.

  “I really appreciate it,” I said with what I hoped was enough fervor.

  She just gave a brisk nod as she passed through the doors leading to the judge’s office. A few minutes later she returned without the folder. “You can go on back,” she said, holding the door open for me.

  I nodded thanks as I passed by her. The look she gave me in return was narrow-eyed and measuring—no longer the bored resignation. She must have glanced at it, I realized. Oh, well. In less than an hour, everyone would know.

  Judge Laurent didn’t look worried or upset. He looked positively gleeful as I stepped into his office and shut the door behind me. “So, you’re gonna nail that randy horn-dog to the wall for boffing his son’s wife to death?” He cackled as he signed the warrant and subpoena in an overly large script, as if to be sure that no one could be mistaken about who had signed it.

  “Well, sir, I don’t have anything solid yet. That’s why I need this DNA sample.”

  “Ha! You’ll get it. That sonofabitch has nailed or tried to nail every pretty girl in this city. Can’t believe his wife puts up with it.” He shook his head as he handed the folder back to me with the signed warrant. “Maybe she figures being married to a judge is worth dealing with all the women.”

  I accepted the folder from him, bemused. “I appreciate your time, sir. I’m hoping this works out the way I think it will.”

  He gave me a wide grin. “You just be sure to come back to me when you need the arrest warrant signed.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Absolutely, sir.”

  I was still smiling as I let myself out, unsurprised to find that his secretary had left already. I pulled my cell phone out and dialed Ryan’s number as I exited the courthouse.

  “I have it,” I said when he answered.

  “I’m right around the corner. I’ll pick you up in half a minute.”

  JUDGE HARRIS ROTH lived in Ruby Estates, about half a mile down the road from the Sharps. Just a short walk for the judge to get some action, I thought sourly as we drove past the sweeping staircase and ostentatious landscaping of the Sharp residence. Roth’s house wasn’t on the lake-front like Davis Sharp’s, but he had a double lot that was still mostly woods in the back half. The house itself was large but didn’t have the feel of plantation-wannabe that Sharp’s did. The Roth house reminded me of an English country home—a two-story structure with stone exterior. I could see myself living in a place like this—lovely, tranquil, and quiet.

  But not so tranquil right now. An ambulance with lights flashing was just pulling out of the long driveway as we approached. Ryan and I exchanged a troubled look.

  “Bad feeling,” he stated.

  “Ditto,” I replied.

  My bad feeling wasn’t helped by the sight of another ambulance by the house.

  “Very bad feeling,” I said.

  Ryan parked out of the way of the ambulance. We got out and jogged up the broad front steps. I had the strong impression I wasn’t going to need the buccal swab warrant after all.

  The door was wide open, so we walked right in. Inside, we could see paramedics clustered around a supine figure. A blond woman I didn’t recognize stood off to the side, wringing her hands.

  It was Harris Roth on the floor. Quite dead too, though I doubted that the paramedics had accepted the fact yet. But I could feel it.

  “He’s not the one,” I said to Ryan in a low, rough voice. “Not unless he ripped his own essence out.”

  Ryan swore under his breath. I forced myself to step closer to the body so that I could approach the woman. “Ma’am? I’m Detective Gillian with Beaulac PD. Can you please tell me who you are and what’s going on?”

  The woman gulped and gave me a jerky nod. “I’m Connie Cavendish. I live across the street,” she gestured with a fluttering hand in a direction toward the front door, “and I’m friends with Rachel. We sometimes walk together. Oh, my God, is he going to be okay?”

  “The paramedics are working on him. He’s going to be fine,” I lied. I took her gently by the arm and steered her in the direction I figured the kitchen to be. Fortunately I’d guessed correctly, and a few seconds later I directed her into a chair at the kitchen table. “Ms. Cavendish, can you tell me what happened?”

  Connie Cavendish twisted her hands together. “They … Rachel and Harris had a big fight. It’s been so hard for them ever since Brian killed his wife and himself.” She gulped and her eyes grew wide. “I mean, that’s what everyone thought happened.”

  I fought the urge to shake her. “Yes, ma’am. What happened her
e? Where is Rachel Roth now?”

  Connie took a shuddering breath. “I was in my house and I heard someone screaming. I looked out my door and Rachel was in the front yard, totally hysterical. So I ran to see what was wrong.” She rubbed her arms, eyes still wide. “I couldn’t understand her at first. Then finally I got that someone had called Harris to tell him that the police were on their way, about Carol.” She paused to give Ryan and me an almost-accusing stare. I returned the look with a steely-eyed one of my own, and she dropped her gaze back to her hands in her lap. “Rachel heard it, heard the conversation. She said she and Harris got into a fight.” Connie’s lip quivered. “Rachel kept saying, ‘He killed his own son to protect himself, he killed her and killed his son.’” Her shoulders shook, and she looked up at me with tears in her eyes. “What kind of monster would kill his own son?”

  I was beginning to suspect what kind of monster, and I was fairly positive that it wasn’t Harris Roth. “Where is Rachel now?”

  “Oh, God. She was shrieking about him killing his son, then said that he’d collapsed, so I ran to the house and saw that he was on the floor. I … I guess he had a heart attack during the argument. I called 911. Poor Rachel was so hysterical. Full-blown panic attack. I didn’t have any of my Xanax with me, and I couldn’t find any in her bathroom here.” The woman looked utterly appalled and baffled that anyone wouldn’t have a ready supply of Xanax in their house. “So I called 911 again and told them that they needed to send another ambulance. They left a few minutes ago with her.”

  I turned and hurried to the living room. Ryan stood beyond the kitchen, arms folded across his chest and a dark expression on his face. “It’s Rachel?”

  “Has to be. Hang on a sec.” I moved over to where Harris lay on the floor. The paramedics had ceased their efforts to revive him, so I didn’t feel too bad about pushing in and crouching by the body. I ignored the startled looks as I quickly rummaged through the dead man’s pockets.

  My hand closed on what I was looking for. “I’m with the PD. I’m just borrowing this,” I explained to the staring paramedics, then I sprang to my feet and returned to Ryan. I jerked my head toward the front door, and together we ran back to his car. “Harris didn’t kill his own son. She killed Brian, cleaning up her husband’s mess after he screwed up and accidentally killed his girlfriend.”