by Vic Kerry
Cooper shook her head. “I doubt that. After Semmes’ body was found, we sent some officers to that place. It was completely empty. Some Russian guy said he owned the place and was waiting for a supply of Eastern European goods to come in. He said he was opening an import business.”
“Are you sure they went to the right place? I’m sure that Ashe wasn’t lying.”
“What else did he say?”
“He wanted me to email him an incantation against demons.”
Cooper’s eyes widened, and it appeared she tried to hold back a laugh. “Demons?”
“You’ve taken over Semmes’ case about Ashe’s girlfriend walking out of the morgue over at University Hospital. Archbishop Harrington, he’s over the Archdioceses of Mobile, and I had been working under an assumption that her disappearance might be demonic in nature. One of the things I study is psychoreligious phenomena. I’m an expert in it.”
The detective reared back in her chair and rubbed her face. Before saying anything else, she took a few more pages from the manila folder and handed them to Smalls. He looked at the top one. A grainy black and white image showed a black car behind a white van. Three large men stood around the car. One appeared to be stomping the head of the car’s driver with his foot. He flipped to the next picture. Another of the men manhandled what looked like Harrington. The third picture was of the white van pulling away. Smalls set those photos on top of the ones from the motel room.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“Archbishop Harrington has apparently been kidnapped. Those men indeed killed his driver, a Father Thomas, by smashing his head into the pavement. It happened late last night at the intersection of Ann and Government.”
“I had no idea.”
“We’re keeping it a secret, along with this.” She took some more pictures and handed them over.
These were of a morgue. The time and date were stamped on the corner. He thumbed through the pages. They acted almost like an old-fashioned flipbook as he watched the corpse on the table sit up and walk out. He also recognized two of the people in the photo. One was the assailant from Ashe’s house. The other was Erik Rogers.
“That’s Dr. Erik Rogers,” he said. “He’s a colleague of mine at Tech. One of the big men attacked Cybil and me at Ashe’s house yesterday.”
“That Dr. Rogers’ body type and style of clothing match the man on the surveillance video of the Amanda Moore murder. The van that was used to kidnap Archbishop Harrington was the same one that dumped Semmes’ body,” Cooper said.
“Rogers was also working with Ashe on recording emotion engrams.” Smalls’ words tapered off as he became lost in deep contemplation.
The tumblers began to click into place and the door that led to the memories Smalls had been trying to find opened. Somehow Rogers had figured out that demons couldn’t possess the dead because they didn’t have emotions. He used Ashe’s device to put emotions into the corpses and allow the demons to possess them. When Cybil heard the two men in Rogers’ office, they wanted his engram recordings. Those were the ones that he used for research. The people bringing back the dead were using his engrams gathered for studies to allow the possession of dead bodies.
“We’ve got to find Rogers,” he said.
“I’ve already tried. He’s not at home or at Alabama Tech. Any idea where he might be?”
“Have you tried that warehouse again?”
“Why would I? It’s a dead lead, Father Smalls. You might be an expert on the paranormal, but police work is my forte.” Cooper took the pictures and stuck them back into the folder.
“This may be both. I think it’s worth a shot.”
“I guess it’s better than any lead I have right now. Let me get an officer to go with us out there, just in case.”
Smalls nodded and then crossed himself. The detective gave him a skeptical look.
“Just in case,” he said.
The ride to the large warehouse on Michigan Avenue not far from St. Joan of Arc Church took only a few minutes. Cooper made Smalls ride in the back of the unmarked car. The uniformed officer drove, and she rode shotgun. A high fence surrounded the whole compound, so they had to park across the street.
“I’ll do all the talking,” Cooper said as they crossed the street.
“Do you know all the questions to ask?” Smalls asked.
“I’m a detective. Asking questions is my job.”
They stopped at the fence. A talk box hung from a thigh-high metal pole near the gate. Cooper pressed the button under the speaker.
A rigid-sounding voice came over the box. “Can I help you?”
“I am Detective Cooper with the Mobile Police Department. I need to ask the owner of this warehouse a few questions. Do you think I could come in?”
The speaker went silent. Cooper looked at her watch. Smalls decided to do the same thing. It seemed to him like they were getting a cool reception. The traffic on the street seemed brisk. Several different kinds of personal vehicles drove past. A few of those blasted varieties of loud music that could be heard clearly even though the windows were up. Two tractor-trailers rumbled past. Foul-smelling diesel exhaust wafted around them. Smalls coughed. The caustic odor always nauseated him. The back of his tongue felt heavy as if he might vomit right there. He bent over enough to hopefully alleviate the symptoms.
“Are you okay?” the officer asked.
“Diesel fumes just get to me a little bit. I think I’m going to be okay.”
“Buck up,” Cooper said. “I thought you’d be made of stronger stuff.”
Smalls straightened back up. “Even the hardest stuff cracks under enough pressure. Don’t you think we’ve been standing here for a little too long?”
“I was just about to do something about that.”
Cooper reached to press the button again, when the speaker crackled and popped.
“Can I help you?”
The heavy accent in the voice sounded Eastern European or Russian to Smalls. The wave of nausea subsided. He felt they had found the right place. Cybil had told them she’d overheard Rogers talking with a man who sounded Russian. Although Mobile was a major port city, he hadn’t run into many Russians in his time living there.
“This is the police,” Smalls blurted out before Cooper could say anything. “We have questions, and we want answers. No is not going to suffice as one though.”
The detective pushed him so hard that he almost tripped over his feet. She mouthed for him to shut up, but he had no intention right now.
“Do you have a warrant?”
“We don’t need one,” Smalls answered. “You’re not accused of anything, we just need some answers about a missing persons report in the area. If you want us to, we’ll be happy to get one and haul you downtown.”
“That will not be necessary. You may come in.”
The speaker crackled, but the fence popped as the electric pulley engaged. The gate slid open, shuddering as it did so. Cooper stepped through the gate first, followed by the uniformed officer. Smalls brought up the rear. The detective kept staring back at him as they walked across the small paved area between the gate and the door. He was sure if she could have she’d have put a bullet between his eyes with her service revolver. They stopped at the door, which was locked.
“What happened to letting me do the talking?”
“Heat of the moment,” Smalls said. “Besides that guy sounded Russian.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Cybil said that she overheard Erik—Dr. Rogers—talking to a Russian and sounding like they were engaged in some bad business.”
“That still doesn’t justify why you talked. You’re not even a cop.”
Smalls decided to tip his hand on this one before Cooper exploded. “I think Erik is involved in demonic activity. Those photos you have
of him from Mississippi should tell you he’s into something serious. Besides murder, he did resurrect the dead.”
Cooper snorted in derision. “So you think this Russian guy is a Devil worshiper? Didn’t we decide all that stuff was an urban legend?”
“I don’t think he’s a Satanist.” Smalls licked his lips and took a deep breath. He hadn’t uttered his suspicion aloud yet for fear that Cooper would think he was out of his mind, but she needed to know just in case. “I think he is Satan.”
The uniformed officer burst out with a loud laugh. Smalls watched Cooper’s mouth drop lower than he imagined a human mouth could do. Her eyes said that she wanted to laugh and curse at him at the same time, but before anything else could be said the door rattled and swung open. A short, swarthy man stood framed in the door. His dark eyes looked as if there was no difference between his pupil and iris, as if there was a huge hole in the sclera. He smiled to show small teeth, precisely lined up in his mouth.
“What questions can I answer for you?” he asked.
Cooper looked at him. Her mouth slowly closed. Smalls could tell that she was a bit surprised by him, almost as much as he was. She swallowed.
“May we come inside? It’s a bit cool, and we’ve been standing out here for a while,” she said.
“No. I am afraid that I cannot allow you inside, although I am happy to answer your questions.” He looked at Smalls. “I thought you were all police officers.”
“We are.” Cooper pointed to Smalls. “He’s a priest, but he is assisting us in finding this missing person.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes. Can I get your name for the record?” she asked.
“I am Mikal Czernobog. C-Z-E-R-N-O-B-O-G.”
“Archbishop Harrington, the head of the Archdiocese of Mobile, was kidnapped not far from here last night. His driver was killed. I was wondering if you have seen anything unusual.”
Czernobog smiled. “I am looking at something unusual right now. How often do American police officers carry a priest around with them?”
“Not often, but have you seen the archbishop?” Smalls stepped toward Czernobog.
“I do not know. I have never seen the man to know what he looks like.”
“Do you know Dr. Erik Rogers or Dr. Ashley Shrove?” Smalls pressed.
“No.”
“What about Cybil Fairchild, Marianne Lenard, or Amanda ‘Hortense’ Moore?”
“Father Smalls, please,” Cooper said.
Czernobog licked across his teeth and narrowed his eyes. “No, and I believe that we are done with the line of questioning. If you want more, I suggest getting a warrant. I may not know much of your laws, but I know about that.”
“We understand.” Cooper grabbed Smalls around the arm and pulled him away from the warehouse.
The uniformed officer tipped his hat to Czernobog and followed. The Russian remained in the doorway watching them. When they were through the gate, it began to close. Smalls jerked himself free from Cooper and grabbed hold of the chain link.
“What about Francisco de San Roman? Ever heard of him?”
Czernobog looked at him as he began to back into the gloom on the other side of the open door. “I have. He was burned as a heretic a long time ago. I don’t think you need worry about him being kidnapped.”
“I know. Thanks.”
Smalls watched the Russian close himself back into the warehouse. He stepped away from the fence and back to the car. Cooper drummed her fingers on the top of the car. She looked livid.
“What was that about?” she asked. “I ought to arrest you for hindering an investigation.”
“I haven’t hindered anything. I just proved that he knows everything.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Why else would he become so angry when I mentioned such random names? Also, he knew who Francisco de San Roman was.”
“What does that prove?” Cooper asked.
“Do you know who he was?” She shook her head. “Neither did I until a met a man claiming to be him. It turns out that like Czernobog said, he was burned at the stake over 500 years ago.”
“So Satan and a dead heretic are doing all this?” Cooper asked, sliding into the car.
Smalls crawled into the back seat. “That’s what the archbishop thought, and told me the night he was kidnapped. I believe it too, especially since there is supposed to be a demon named Czernobog.”
Cooper looked at the uniformed officer. “Not a word about this to anyone.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“What are you doing?”
Ashe raised up on his elbows and opened his eyes. Rogers leaned against the doorjamb. He held a tray with a steaming bowl of something on it.
“Napping. I have a headache.”
“This will make you feel better, a big bowl of tomato soup, with little oyster crackers,” Rogers said.
His tone was playful as if everything going on was some great big game. Ashe sat up and swung his legs off the cot. A sharp pain streaked across his temples. The time he’d spent bent over the engram mechanisms in not so good light had taken its toll on his eyes. With eyestrain came a headache, it was always the way.
“I think Advil and a day off would be better.”
Rogers walked over and handed Ashe the tray. “You should ask Czernobog about that. I’m sure he’d give you a break.”
Ashe swallowed a spoonful of soup with a soggy cracker. “I’d rather not. The less amount of time I have to spend with him the better.”
“You don’t know what he can give you. Anything you want, and pow, it’s yours.” Rogers snapped his fingers. “Look at me.”
“I’ve seen you. I don’t want to be you. The Devil has nothing to offer me.”
“You are a horrible liar, Ashe.”
“Dr. Shrove. Only my friends call me Ashe.”
“I am your friend. I wanted you included in this bottle rocket ride. We can have anything we want. Don’t you understand? We can be the kings of the world.”
“Kings of a world of zombies.” Ashe handed the tray back to Rogers and stood up. “You sold your soul for a good body and sex with my fiancée.”
“And every other woman or man I want. Don’t forget about the fame as well.”
“But for what, Erik? What does it really accomplish?”
“Everyone knows who I am and always will.”
“Don’t you understand that there isn’t going to be anyone left to care? I’m making those things so that everyone around the parade on Tuesday turns into a possessed corpse, just like Marianne, who you’ve been raping.”
“Why are you helping if this is so bad?”
“Because I want Cybil to be safe, and he promised that he would let her go, if I helped him.” Ashe knew he had selfish motives.
“You don’t think he’ll go back on his offer? He is the Devil.”
“If he does, then I’ll go back on mine.”
“Whatever. I’m feeling horny; I think I’ll go get me a piece of zombie Marianne.”
Rogers grabbed his crotch and squeezed then walked out, closing the door behind him. Ashe kicked his cot across the room. It hit the far wall, and one of the legs broke off. He snatched the broken leg from the floor and started smashing things around the room. A small electrical meter flew from a table and slammed against the wall. Pieces of plastic and metal clattered to the floor. An empty glass with milk residue on the sides met the floor and the fate of a thousand pieces. The box with several completed engram recorders sat near the edge of a table. The heretic zombies had left them there for him to troubleshoot.
He swept the box from the table, and the recorders scattered across the floor. Ashe raised his foot to stomp the first one. The tiny blue device that looked like an innocent thumb drive had a picture of Czernobog on it. His mind had produced t
hat image. He eased his foot back down. If those devices didn’t work then Ashe would have reneged on his word and Cybil would be as good as a blow-up doll for Roger’s use. It didn’t matter too much; eventually they’d all be possessed corpses anyway. There was the better plan of using the email from Smalls. He bent down and scooped the little plastic sticks up and put them back in their box. The devil left him a computer to work on. It wasn’t connected to the Internet, but Ashe had his thumb drive with engram algorithms on it. He popped it into the hard drive tower and pulled up the formulas. The string of letters and numbers blurred together. His head hurt, and his eyes wouldn’t stay focused for long at a time, but he had work to do for his own soul’s sake.
Smalls stood in the hall outside of Rogers’ office along with Cooper. He was surprised that she had let him come along after her almost losing it when he took over the interrogation of the Russian. She knew that he had insight into Rogers that others might not and that had won out over her anger.
“Open this thing,” she said.
“I don’t have a key,” Smalls said.
“I didn’t say unlock it. I said open it.”
He decided to take out a little frustration. A hard kick with all the effort he could put into it broke the door away from the jamb. It swung open. Cooper stopped it before it could recoil closed. They stepped inside. The place looked like a bomb had gone off. Smalls knew Rogers well and had never seen him so disorganized. Papers lay everywhere. The trash can was overturned. Empty Diet Coke bottles made a zigzag from the plastic bin. A brown dust covered most of his desk and chair. The whole place smelled faintly of chocolate. Cooper eyed the dust on the desk.
“What is that stuff?” she asked.
Smalls looked on the floor around the desk and under it. He saw a plastic tub and brought up to be viewed. “Just like I thought, protein powder. Chocolate flavored. Erik drinks the stuff like mother’s milk.”
