Sleep No More

by Iris Johansen

  “And with you, it would be more than a little familiar.”

  “It’s fascinating … and dark. It … drew me.”

  “And how would you be able to trace Drogan through his voodoo oil?”

  “They’re not all the same. The various holy men prefer different ingredients. It’s like a signature. This one is … unusual.”

  “Where are you supposed to find a voodoo holy man in the middle of California?”

  “You think voodoo is limited to Louisiana and the islands? No way. It’s just not as frequently practiced.”

  “I stand corrected,” Joe said. “If you can find a voodoo holy man who will lead us to Drogan, for God’s sake do it.”

  “There are tire tracks on the edge of this grass, Quinn,” Newell called from where he was kneeling on the side of the curb.

  “I’ll be right there.” He glanced at Kendra before he turned away. “Why is it unusual?”

  “I’ve smelled this oil before, but now there’s something else here. The oil is interacting with something else.”

  “What?”

  “It smells like … cucumbers.”

  “Is that part of the recipe?”

  “No … it means…” Kendra looked up. “There was a snake in here, Joe.”

  He stiffened. “What?”

  “He had a snake in this car. Some snakes’ musk glands can give off an odor that’s similar to cucumber. I know that smell.” She gave him a level glance. “And the way the odors blend and interact … I think he may have oiled it.”

  “The snake?” He stared at her. “Totally bizarre.”

  “Particularly if he spread the oil on the snake with his own hands. That would really be weird.” She made an impatient gesture. “Go check out those tire tracks. You can’t help me with this. I’ll be with you as soon as I’m through here.”

  Newell looked up at him. “I think he was driving a truck. There are two treads, close together.”

  “Which won’t do us much good.” Joe was tensing with frustration. Time was passing, and they were running into blank walls. “We don’t have time to run those tire prints and identify the usual trucks who use them.”

  “I’m done.” Kendra was beside them. She examined the tire tracks. “Not much help here, is there? Not on an immediate basis.” She went a little farther down the curb. “But here’s a footprint…” She knelt and shined her beam. “Men’s size eleven or twelve, fairly common hiking boot…”

  Sirens in the distance.

  She lifted her head. “There’s the police you called, Joe.”

  “Then let’s get out of here.” Joe turned and strode back toward the beach cottage. “I did my duty by calling them. But I can’t be stuck here answering questions and filling out reports. You think you can find the source of that voodoo oil? Let’s do it. Hurry.”

  Kendra almost ran to keep up with him. “I am hurrying. I know that you— Who is that?” She had stopped in the street and was staring at the driveway of the Malibu cottage.

  A woman was kneeling on the driveway beside Rick Avery, cradling him in her arms and rocking back in forth in an agony of sorrow.

  Joe muttered a curse. “Nelda Avery.” He was striding up the driveway. “We may have just gotten lucky.” He stopped before Nelda. “Where is Drogan?”

  She didn’t seem to hear the question. “My son is dead.” Tears were running down her cheeks. “My Rick is dead.”

  “And Beth and Eve may end up that way before the night is over if I don’t get Drogan. I don’t give a damn about your son. Tell me where I can find Drogan.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” She was gently stroking the hair back from her son’s forehead. “I told him to be careful, not to hurt my Rick. He didn’t listen. Now look at him…” She was sobbing. “I made Rick promise to call me right after he talked to Beth, and he didn’t do it. Rick always kept his promises to me. I called him, and he didn’t answer. I had a terrible feeling…”

  “Where is Drogan?”

  She was rocking Rick back and forth again. “Go away.”

  Joe bent toward her and his voice was low and fierce. “Listen to me. You tell me where he is. Quick. I’m not having those police decide you’re some pitiful victim and taking you away. I don’t care if you’re the mother of this poor, half-witted bastard. You’re responsible for getting Eve here. Now tell me where Drogan took her. Or, by God, I’ll break your neck.”

  Kendra took a step forward. “Joe.”

  He ignored her. “Where? Stop protecting him.”

  “Protecting him?” Nelda looked up at him, her face ravaged by pain. “Do you think I’d protect Drogan? He killed my son. He’s ruined my life. I want him dead.”

  “Where is he? I’ll be glad to oblige.”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t trust me. I’ve always contacted him by phone, and he was always telling me that he’d do things his way.” She looked down at her son. “This is his way,” she said bitterly. “Go find him. Go kill him. I’d like to do it myself.”

  “There must be something you can—”

  “I tell you that I don’t know where that bastard is,” she said hoarsely. “Now go away and leave me with my son.”

  “She doesn’t know, Joe,” Kendra said. “Can’t you see? She’s telling the truth.”

  Joe gazed at Nelda for an instant longer, then whirled on his heel and stalked down the driveway toward his car. Newell straightened from where he was leaning on the front bumper. “I know how you feel, Quinn,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure I wouldn’t have broken her neck anyway. Drogan was the weapon, but she was the one who wielded it.” He got into the backseat of the car. “So we struck out, Kendra. Can you pull any rabbits out of your hat?”

  “How the hell do I know?” She got into the front passenger seat and took out her phone. “Get us away from this subdivision before the police get here, Joe. Those sirens sound pretty close. I’ll see what I can find out about that voodoo oil.”

  “How?” Joe asked as he pulled away from the curb. “We don’t have time for you to—” His phone rang. His heart leaped as he saw Eve’s ID. His finger jammed the access button. “Eve? For God’s sake, where are you?”

  “With me. Drogan. I couldn’t resist talking to you. I hoped to have you present when I got rid of your woman, but that might not be wise. So I thought that I’d let your imagination help me.”

  “If you touch her or Beth, I’ll butcher you the way you deserve, you son of a bitch.”

  Drogan chuckled. “No, I’m on top now. All you have are empty words. You won our first encounter, but I’ll win the last. I’ll get you eventually, but now I have Eve Duncan. Do you know what I’m going to do with her?”

  “I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Joe said hoarsely.

  “I’ve decided she deserves a ceremonial end. You’re a good cop, aren’t you, Joe Quinn? I’m sure you were able to research my somewhat colorful background. Your Eve reminds me of my mother.” He added softly, “Do you know what I did to my mother?” He hung up.

  Joe’s right fist crashed down on the steering wheel. “Bastard. Bastard.”

  “Joe?” Kendra tentatively touched his shoulder.

  He drew a harsh breath. “Well I definitely know what he’s planning for that snake.” He turned to her. “And I won’t let him do it. We’re going to find him. Help me, dammit. He may toy with her for a while, but he’s—”

  “I’ll try. Calm down. I’ll make a phone call,” she interrupted as she dialed. “Dave Kramer. He’s an old friend who owns a head shop in San Ysidro. He also sells a lot of this Goth and occult stuff. He might be able to give me a lead on Drogan’s source.”

  “Who may have a delivery address?” Newell asked.

  She shrugged. “We just have to follow the dots.” She put the phone on speaker as the call was accessed, “Dave, Kendra Michaels. I need—”

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No, but you
interrupted me.” He added sourly, “Never mind. What do you want?”

  “Voodoo oil. I need the name and address of a holy man who sells black arts oil in California.”

  Kramer made a disgusted sound. “Kendra, don’t tell me you believe in that crap. The only reason I carry this stuff is that—”

  “I don’t want to buy it. There’s a certain oil I need to trace back to the maker. Can you help?”

  “I can name four people right off the top of my head. Some of those college kids in Burbank have been fooling around with the cult since there have been all those movies and zombie shows.”

  “This isn’t a college kid. He’s the real thing and very nasty. I have to find him fast, Dave.”

  He was silent. “Okay. Bring it in, and I’m pretty sure we can—”

  “No time for that. I’m in Malibu. But I think I can tell you most of the ingredients.”

  “Why make it easy for me, huh?”

  “I identified several of them. Probably not all.” She began to reel off the scents she’d detected in the car.

  Joe shook his head. Kendra always amazed him—a few minutes of concentration, and she had been able to separate and identify at least ten elements.

  “Wait a minute.” Dave stopped her. “Cola?”

  “That’s what it smelled like. Am I wrong?”

  “Yeah, that’s cinnamon bark you’re smelling. Give me a minute to look through my catalog.” He came back on the line. “There’s only one person in the area who deals with a black oil made with cinnamon bark. It’s Nancy Geronimo and the cinnamon bark is kind of her trademark. She’s an elderly Native American woman, and she claims that the cinnamon bark soothes sacrificial animals used in the rituals.”

  “Snakes?”

  “I never heard of its being used on snakes. I guess it’s possible. But they’re not usually one of the sacrifices. They tend to embody a god or something.”

  “Drogan may be establishing his own rules. Where does she live?”

  “Mojave.”

  “The desert?”

  “The town. It’s in the desert.”

  “Can you give me a phone and address?”

  He paused, checking, then rattled off the information. “Is that all? Now may I go back to bed?”

  “Yes, thanks, Dave.”

  “Well, it wasn’t my pleasure, but you’ve done me a couple favors, Kendra. Come and see me next time you’re down my way.” He hung up.

  Kendra immediately dialed the phone number for Nancy Geronimo.

  No answer.

  No voice mail.

  Joe muttered a curse.

  She dialed again.

  No answer.

  Kendra hung up and turned to Joe. “We can go bang on her door. But Mojave is over an hour away. When we get there, the old woman may not know anything about Drogan. Or she might be mailing his order somewhere. However you look at it, it’s risky. It’s your call, Joe.”

  “Yes, it is.” If this turned out to be a wasted trip, then Eve and Beth could be killed before he found them. By shooting Rick Avery, Drogan had burned his bridges, and he was not going to wait too long to get at least a little satisfaction.

  But what the hell else could he do? He had no other clues at all.

  His foot pressed the accelerator.

  “We go to Mojave.”

  * * *

  “INSIDE.” DROGAN THREW OPEN the wooden door and pushed Eve inside the shack. He gestured to Beth, and she stumbled after Eve over the threshold.

  “Here we are all together.” He lit the oil lamp on the table. “Cozy.”

  Eve was immediately assaulted by the scent of peppercorn and sulfur again. She could now detect some other ingredients: mustard, patchouli … and the potent burning oil was pervading the air of the shack. No wonder it had clung to Drogan … and the snake. “It stinks in here. Is that some kind of voodoo brew?”

  “Black arts,” he corrected. “There are many oils, but I prefer this one. It brings back memories of childhood.”

  “And you actually believe in voodoo?”

  “Sometimes. When I wish. I rule it, it doesn’t rule me. Those memories were very exciting. My bitch of a mother liked to frighten me at those voodoo ceremonies when I was a child, but I learned to beat her at her own game. Occasionally, I feel a tug of nostalgia, and I have to go back to my roots.” He set the cage down on the dirt floor and opened it. “Come out, Mama, we’re home.”

  Eve stiffened. “You’re letting the snake out?”

  “If she chooses. I like to give her freedom before she’s confined again. I take very good care of her. I feed her, I stroke her down with special oil to protect her.” His gaze was narrowed on her face. “You don’t like snakes?”

  “It depends. What kind of snake?”

  A rattle came from the cage.

  “Does that answer you?” He smiled. “Yes, I thought so. As a boy, I used coral and water moccasins, but rattlers are easier in the desert. This one is very aggressive.”

  Eve couldn’t keep her gaze off the door to the cage. Why wasn’t the snake coming out? She moistened her lips. “Where is this coffin you were bragging about?”

  “It’s near the grave I dug out back in the trees. Do you think I wouldn’t be prepared for you?”

  “I don’t think about you at all. You’re not worth—” She inhaled sharply. The rattlesnake had slid out of the cage and was coiled in the middle of the floor. Stop freezing, she told herself. Think about how she could kill the snake before it killed her.

  Or Beth.

  The snake was sliding across the room toward her sister.

  “No!” Without thinking, she grabbed the oil lamp and hurled it at the snake. It struck the rattler but then glanced off and broke on the floor. “Get out of the way, Beth.”

  Beth shook her head, as if to clear it, and was staring at the burning puddle of oil and the snake that was undulating away from it. “What—”

  Opportunity. Move.

  Drogan was cursing as Eve leaped for him.

  But his gun instantly swung to cover Beth. “Back. Or I’ll put a bullet in exactly the same spot between the eyes as I did to her father.”

  Eve froze. “I’m not moving.”

  “You bet you’re not. And it’s time I put you in the ground.”

  “No, you can’t do that,” Beth said, her gaze on the snake. “I won’t let you hurt her.”

  “As if you could do anything about it. You’re nothing, a weakling. I knew it was a fluke that you got away from me in that hospital room.” He turned away, keeping the gun ready and on Eve. “Now be still while I put Mama Zela back in her cage to take her with us.” He was moving swiftly, catching and handling the snake with an amazing deftness. In a matter of minutes, the snake was back in the cage, and he was closing the cage door. “There you are, Mama. You didn’t like her doing that to you, did you? Don’t worry, you’ll be able to teach her a lesson soon. It will be a pleasure that—”

  He screamed.

  Beth had picked up a jagged shard of glass from the broken lamp on the floor and thrown it at his face. Blood spurted from his left eye.

  “Bitch.” Drogan leaped forward and hit Beth with the barrel of his gun. He hit her again as she was falling to the floor. “I’ll break your head, you—” He whirled back to face Eve as she took a step toward him. “Out that back door.” He grabbed the snake cage. “Now.”

  She didn’t argue. At least she had managed to distract him from Beth. Though she wasn’t sure that the intervention wasn’t too late. Beth was lying very still; the blows had been vicious.

  “Move.” Drogan was wiping the blood from the corner of his eye. “I’ve had enough of you. Let’s see how you deal with Mama.”

  * * *

  THE WHITE HOUSE WHERE Nancy Geronimo lived was small but neat. The baskets of fake geraniums hanging from the posts on the long porch were the only spots of color.

  “It doesn’t look like the house of a woman who makes voodoo oil,” Newell
murmured. “Maybe cookies for the PTA.”

  “You can’t label people.” Kendra was knocking on the door. “Maybe she does both.”

  “No answer,” Joe said tightly. “But there’s a car in the driveway. Wake her up, dammit.”

  “I’ll do my best. But she may be taking some of her own potions.” She banged harder on the door. “But one way or the other, we’ll—”

  “Get away from my door.” The front door had swung open to reveal a tall, thin, elderly woman, dark hair pulled back from her face. She was dressed in a pink flowered robe that was completely incongruous to both her grim expression and the shotgun she was leveling at them. “And then get in your car and take off before I blow you away.”

  Kendra held up her hands and backed away. “We’re no threat to you. We just want information.”

  “That is a threat to me,” she said grimly. “In my business, you can get your throat cut for giving out information. Go away.”

  “This is a police investigation.” Joe stepped forward and showed her his badge. “A kidnapping. Trust me. You don’t want to get involved, Ms. Geronimo.”

  She glanced at his credentials. “This is an Atlanta badge. You can’t have authority out here.”

  Sharp. And probably very familiar with police procedure.

  “I could still get a court order. It would just take me time. I don’t have time. And if the kidnap victims are murdered in the meantime, you’ll be in a world of trouble.”

  She moistened her lips. “I’m not involved in any kidnapping. I just sell herbs.”

  “And black arts oil.”

  “Which doesn’t hurt anyone. It’s just a game some of my clients play.”

  “We’re looking for a man who bought your oil.”

  “I sell a lot of oil. I wouldn’t remember. I have clients who come to me from four other states. Sometimes on weekends, my front yard is bumper-to-bumper with cars and trucks.”

  “This would be a truck,” Kendra said. “A tall man, large feet, probably usually wears Timberland hiking boots. The footprint I saw had an imprint of cross-pattern lugs sole. That’s pretty distinctive of Timberland.”

  Nancy Geronimo was gazing blankly at her. “I don’t pay much attention to boots.”