Secrets of the Demon

  I sighed and pulled out of the parking lot. The morose turnings of my thoughts were about to enter a death spiral at this rate. Maybe Jill’s still awake? I glanced at the dashboard clock. Midnight. I sighed. Probably not. But I was right by her house. I could always check and see if any lights were on. And if there were, I had plenty of offerings in the bag beside me.

  Cheered slightly by the thought of being able to unload on someone, I slowed as I approached her house. A whisper of relief stole through me as I saw that a light was on upstairs, in her bedroom. Cool. I thought with a smile. I can bribe my way in with ice cream and . . .

  My smile faded as I suddenly took note of the car parked in the driveway next to her crime scene van. A dark Crown Victoria with public plates and an antenna farm on the back ...

  I accelerated past her house, thick knot suddenly making it hard to swallow or breathe. Stop it. Be happy for her, for them, I railed at myself without success. Ryan and Jill are your best friends.

  I tore open the chocolate and took a big bite, then forced myself to see reason. I was being unbearably stupid. Lots of cops had unmarked cars. It could be anyone. Hell, even Cory Crawford drove an unmarked Crown Vic.

  I almost snorted chocolate down the wrong tube at that thought, and in fact started coughing so hard I had to pull over. I managed to get the coughing under control, but by then I was laughing so hard at the image of Crawford and Jill together that tears ran down my face.

  And then all of the events of the day flooded back in and I found myself crying for real. I clung to the steering wheel as if it was a lifeline, resting my forehead on it as I indulged in a few badly needed minutes of emotional release.

  I finally lifted my head and took a deep breath, then continued on home.

  But not before ripping the chips open.

  By the time I made it to my house I’d managed to consume the chocolate and the chips, and my funk had been replaced by a queasiness in my belly. I shoved the ice cream into my freezer, then headed down to my basement.

  I need to talk to Rhyzkahl, I told myself. It had nothing to do with a desperate need for comfort right now. Really.

  Crouching by the partially full storage diagram, I took several settling breaths, then attempted to draw potency into it. But attempt was the correct word, because I couldn’t draw anything. I was too unsettled and far too exhausted, and the power seemed to slip out of my control like an oiled eel.

  I continued to try to pull power for at least fifteen minutes, then finally gave up and collapsed in a sweating and shaking heap in the chair by the fireplace. And if I’d been attempting to open a portal, I’d be dead now, I thought as fear and nausea twined in my gut. Even if I’d had power at my disposal, it would have been stupid to try to perform a summoning.

  I crawled back upstairs, literally so for the last few steps, then stumbled to the bathroom and threw up the chocolate and chips. I knelt on the bathroom floor, head pounding as I fought the urge to cry. I’d done enough of that today.

  I’m safe here, I told myself as I stumbled to my bedroom. My house is warded and protected against living creatures and arcane power.

  But even as exhausted as I was, it was still a long time before I could get to sleep.

  Chapter 21

  I woke up feeling stupidly hungover—hardly fair since I’d thrown up all of the bad stuff I’d eaten. I felt marginally better after coffee, which restored a small measure of my faith in the universe. If coffee had failed me, I’d have been sorely tempted to go right back to bed and never get up again. But two cups of coffee and a toasted bagel later, I felt almost ready to face the world. Bury myself in work was part of my plan for the day. The other part was to try and forget about summonings and relationships and anything else that was stress inducing.

  I had a feeling I was going to have more success with the first portion.

  My first stop of the day was the crime lab to drop off the laptop we’d seized at Adam Taylor’s house and to beg, plead, and whine to have it bumped to the top of the queue for forensic examination. As much as I itched to fire it up and see what files were on it, I knew that was a perfect way to destroy evidence. I wasn’t a whiz at computers by any stretch, but I’d attended plenty of training sessions where it had been drilled into our thick little heads that doing anything to a computer—even turning it on—altered the data on it and could jeopardize the integrity of evidence.

  Jill was in the front office of the crime lab when I entered. She was hunched over a table against the wall, peering through a fingerprint viewer at a latent print card. She glanced up at the sound of the door.

  “Heya, chick!” she said with a broad smile. “You slumming?”

  Curiosity about her visitor last night surged, but I smacked it down. I wasn’t going to risk my friendship with Jill over a guy. Even if there was the slightest chance that it could be Ryan. Which it wasn’t. I was sure of that. I was.

  I forced myself to veer away from any thoughts related to Ryan. Last night’s incident with Zack was still far too fresh in my mind, and thinking too hard about Ryan or what the hell he was being punished for, or the insane possibility that he could be seeing Jill, would easily tip me right over the edge. Bury myself in work. Really, it’s so much healthier, right?

  I gave Jill a teasing smile. “I figured I’d watch you pretend to work,” I replied.

  She rolled her eyes. “Riiiight. Because I’m merely killing time doing the work of three techs.” She snorted and pushed the stack of fingerprint cards away from her. “One of these days I’m gonna go blind from looking at that crap. You know, most real departments have crime labs where people actually specialize in one area, instead of having to know how to do everything.”

  “Obviously, your rank recognizes your superior intelligence and wants to make sure you remain suitably challenged.”

  She made a hacking noise. “So, as much as I want to believe that you merely want to bask in my presence, I’m willing to bet that you need my help with something?”

  “I love basking in your presence. But actually I’m here to drop this off for examination.” I lifted the laptop case. “And, to find out if I can get it examined soooon?” I gave her a puppy-dog-eyes hopeful look.

  She drew back in mock fear. “Stop making that face and I’ll do anything you ask!”

  I laughed. “Really? Cool!”

  “Don’t push it,” she warned, eyes flashing with humor. “As it so happens, I convinced our resident nerd to run Mr. Kerry’s laptop yesterday, so there’s a very good chance he’ll have something to show you today.”

  “I knew there was a reason I was friends with you!” I said.

  “Nah, you love me for the running,” she retorted. “C’mon, I’ll take you to the computer lab.”

  She swiped her access card at the reader by the main lab door, and I dutifully followed her through. It didn’t take long for me to be grateful for her role as a tour guide as we made our way through the winding corridors. We finally ended up on the second floor at the end of a long hallway, in front of a door with a sign taped to it with the dire warning, “Do NOT walk in to this lab without knocking first! Contraband material present. Knock first!”

  “Most of what he does is search computers for child pornography,” she explained, gesturing at the sign. She made a face which I echoed.

  Jill knocked. I could hear movement inside, and then about half a minute later the door was pulled open by a man slightly taller than me with sandy blond hair and bright green eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties, and he was slender to the point of being skinny, but even with all of the stereotypical physical attributes nailed, he somehow didn’t look at all like a nerd.

  He stood in the doorway as if guarding the gates of hell. “Jill,” he said, expression grave, “I’ve told you before that I simply cannot make any more porn DVDs for you.”

  Jill laughed and punched him lightly in the chest. “You are such an ass. I don’t need your porn, I
have plenty of my own. This is Kara Gillian. She’s handling the Victor Kerry murder, and she has another computer for you as well. Kara, this is Brad, our computer forensics expert.”

  “Nice to meet you, Kara,” he said, rubbing his chest. “I usually break out the pocket protector and taped-up glasses for newcomers, but you caught me out.” He stepped back. “Come on in. Watch your step. There’s crap and wires everywhere.”

  Everywhere was an understatement. The room was crowded with enough computer equipment that it looked as if he could be directing a space shuttle launch. It was almost as bad as my aunt’s library, though with computers instead of books.

  “I finished the laptop yesterday,” he continued, “and pulled off copies of the files I figured you’d be most interested in—email, documents, spreadsheets, financial programs, that sort of thing.” He handed me a CD in a plastic holder with the case number carefully printed on the front.

  “That’s fantastic,” I said fervently. “I really appreciate you getting to it so quickly.”

  “Murders always take priority,” he explained with a shrug. “Only thing that trumps them is missing kids.” A pained expression flitted briefly across his face. “Anyway, I have the image of the hard drive, so if you think you need anything else, like Internet history, images, that sort of thing, let me know and I’ll pull it out for you.”

  I cocked my head. “Internet history ... you mean like what websites were visited?”

  “That’s it. Can even tell you how long they stayed at each website and whether they typed the URL in or clicked on a link.”

  “So, if I think someone’s been on my computer at home, I can find out what they did on it?”

  “Sure can,” he replied. “Though if you’re worried about it happening again, you could always put a spy program on there that’ll record everything that’s done on the computer.”

  “I may get back to you on that spy program,” I said. I could see Jill giving me a narrow-eyed look, and I could tell she’d figured out who I thought had been on my computer. It wasn’t as if there were a lot of suspects. She knew how few people were allowed into my house. “Is there a way to find out the Internet history without going through all of this?” I gestured at the mass of equipment.

  He leaned against the worktable and crossed his arms. “Uh-huh. It’s not tough to do if they haven’t cleared the cache. What kind of computer do you have?”

  I hesitated. “You’re going to laugh at me if I say ‘a black one’ aren’t you.”

  Jill snickered but Brad managed to keep a straight face. “Not at all. I’ll merely post it all over the Internet.”

  “Oh, well, that’s all right then,” I said with a roll of my eyes.

  He grinned. “Okay, well is it a PC or a Mac?”

  “PC. And I bought it about a year ago.”

  He turned and rummaged for paper and pen, then peppered me with a few more questions as he scribbled quickly. “Here,” he said, passing the paper to me. “Instructions that even a non-geek should be able to follow.”

  “I owe you one,” I said, deeply pleased. I tucked the instructions into my notebook and then lifted the laptop case. “Now I’m going to push your good will even farther. How long would it take you to examine this one?”

  “Dunno. Let’s see what we’re up against.” He took the case from me and slid the laptop from it, then flipped it over. A tiny screwdriver appeared in his hand, and a few seconds later he’d removed what I assumed was the hard drive. He pivoted to the table against the wall and hooked the drive into a gadget connected to one of the computers, then clicked a few buttons on the screen with the mouse. A gray box appeared on the screen with rapidly scrolling numbers. I waited patiently while he peered at the screen.

  After less than a minute he straightened. “This won’t take long at all.”

  “Great!” I said.“So you could finish it today perhaps?”

  He shook his head. “I’m done now.”

  I looked at him blankly.

  “It’s been wiped,” he said. “That drive is as clean as a whistle.”

  Chapter 22

  After leaving the crime lab I headed to the main branch of Lake Pearl Bank, pausing only to zip through the drive-thru at Taco Hut in a carefully orchestrated effort to undo every bit of last night’s unintended purge. I scarfed down two burritos while I drove, musing on the various revelations. Brad had gone on to explain that it was ridiculously easy to wipe a drive with the right kind of software, and that such programs were easily obtained online, with no special expertise needed.

  So, if Adam Taylor and Vic Kerry were murdered for the same reason—whatever that was—why wasn’t Kerry’s computer wiped as well? Maybe the murderer didn’t expect it to be pegged as a homicide. Or, since Vic Kerry was actually killed several days ago, perhaps the murderer hadn’t yet realized that Adam needed to be killed too. Or perhaps their murders really were for completely different reasons. I grimaced. I had an ugly feeling I was going to be up late tonight looking at financial information. Woo boy.

  As promised, the bank had copies of all Roger’s financial information ready for me. The woman at the service desk smiled cheerily as she passed it over, chirping a “Have a nice day!” at me as I took the thick envelope from her. I thanked her in an equally chirpy tone and began to leave, then paused, looking past the woman at a sign on the wall behind her.

  We’re getting a new look! New name, new benefits, same wonderful service! Lake Pearl Bank will soon be Southern Regional National Bank of Louisiana!

  “The bank is being bought out?” I asked her.

  Her smile increased in radiance. “That’s right! It’s a terrific opportunity for our customers! SRNBL has branches all over, and we’ll now be able to provide even more quality service for this community!”

  I was slightly intimidated at how Very! Happy! She! Was! About! It!

  I thanked her again and left. Ben Moran has to be pleased about that, I thought as I continued to the station. That would increase his status considerably.

  Crawford’s office door was open when I arrived, so I stuck my head in. He gave me a questioning look, then I realized that there was someone in the chair in front of the desk.

  “Whoops. Sorry, Sarge, I’ll get up with you in a bit,” I said, then blinked as Detective Marco Knight turned to give me a smile.

  “Oh, hey, how’s it going?” I said. Then frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  Knight chuckled. “Nice to see you, too.”

  Yeah, that had been real friendly. “Sorry. You took me by surprise. You’re a long way from New Orleans.” I paused. “So, what are you doing here?”

  Crawford sighed and shook his head. “This is why she’s not our public relations officer.”

  Somehow I resisted the urge to give Crawford the finger.

  “Lida Moran filed a request to drop the investigation into her attack yesterday, but then I saw that her manager had died.” Knight gave me a shrug, eyes on me. “I hate it when people try to drop cases after I’ve put work into them. Especially when there’s a chance that it was a bullshit case to begin with.”

  I snorted and leaned up against the door frame. “Aw, where’s your trust in human nature?”

  “That died a long time ago,” he said.

  “Well, actually the whole thing may be a lot more complicated than a bullshit publicity stunt,” I told Knight. “I have two murders, and I’m convinced they’re connected, but I haven’t pinned down the link yet.”

  “What makes you think they’re connected?” Marco asked.

  Crawford cleared his throat and flicked a glance from me to the door.

  I took the hint and entered fully, closing the door behind me. “The thing that threw Lida in the river was a golem, or something similar,” I explained in a low voice. “I could feel a weird resonance from it, and I felt that same resonance at the crime scenes for both of these victims. Plus, our pathologist said that whoever killed Vic Kerry was ‘strong as shit’ s
ince he apparently crushed Kerry’s neck.” I flicked a quick glance at Crawford to see how he was handling this, but he merely looked slightly pained. It was progress.

  Knight let out a low whistle. “So, how do you kill this golem thing?”

  I had to shrug helplessly. “I’m not sure, mostly because I’m not really certain what it is. I’m only calling it a golem because it’s easier to say than ‘arcane construct’, but it really doesn’t quite fit with the stuff about the golems of legend. I didn’t see any letters on its forehead, and it seems a bit too ... nimble for that sort of thing.” I shrugged again. “Not that I’m any sort of expert. My current theory is that maybe it’s some sort of earth elemental that’s being controlled and directed.” I sighed. “And even that’s a wild guess at best. I don’t know a damn thing about elementals.”

  Crawford frowned. “Is there anything wrong with just shooting the ever-living shit out of the damn thing?”

  I grinned. “Not as far as I know. Extreme violence, for the win!”

  Crawford’s phone rang, delaying any further speculation on the best way to destroy a creature I knew next to nothing about. He answered the phone, listened intently to the caller with a deepening frown, then gave me a penetrating look that didn’t give me a warm fuzzy feeling. He muttered a thanks to the caller and hung up.

  “Roger Peeler was found dead near his apartment,” he said, voice tight. “It supposedly looks like an accidental death. A fall into a drainage culvert.”

  “Shit,” I breathed. I knew it was no accident. Guilt rose in a choking wave. I should have seen this coming. I should have done more to warn him, protect him.

  “It’s not your fault, Kara,” Knight murmured. “You don’t even know what the connection is. How were you supposed to know for certain he was in danger? And you did warn him, didn’t you?”

  I scrubbed at my face, fiercely controlling the sudden desire to cry. “Yeah,” I said hollowly. “I warned him.” I shook my head. “Fuck. It has to have something to do with the money.”