Secrets of the Demon

by Diana Rowland

  “You’re wearing running shoes,” Ryan pointed out.

  “Yeah, that’s because I gotta wear them all the time,” Trey replied. “I have plantar fasciitis. The doc told me to lay off the running for a while.” He gave a morose sigh that at first made me think he was joking, then I realized he was truly upset about not being able to run. Then again, he had that lean lanky build of someone who probably ran a hundred miles a week without breaking a sweat. And enjoyed it.

  Sick.

  “And I don’t wanna end up like Roger,” Trey added, shaking his head.

  I frowned. “What do you mean? What happened to Roger?”

  “He used to do a lot of running too, coupla years ago.” Trey looked at me, tragedy written all over his face. “Then he messed up his feet. He stopped running. Stopped! Never went back to it. Went with the weight training instead.” He shuddered. “Man, I can’t even imagine.”

  I stared at him, unable to come up with any sort of response that didn’t include the words Are you fucking kidding me?

  “How have things changed since you signed with the label?” Ryan asked, saving me.

  A pained expression flashed across his face. “I don’t know. I guess it’s not what any of us expected, y’know? I mean, it used to be tons of fun, and now there’s a bunch of pressure to earn back the money the label invested in us. And ... well, it’s not that great of a label, to be honest. We should have had a lot more distribution. So now we gotta think about making it big and getting noticed so that when our contract is up we can get signed with someone bigger. Plus, our concert schedule for the coming year is insane. But concerts are where we make money, not CD sales.”

  Ryan and I exchanged a quick glance at the getting noticed. “Has anyone in the band been talking about ways to get noticed?” I asked.

  “Well, yeah,” he said, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “I mean we’re always trying out new ways to do promo and stuff. Lida busts her hump writing new songs, and doing appearances and interviews. And I put together the website. But Adam’s the one who’s doing most of the regular promo. He works his ass off, but I think he has a lot riding on us really breaking out.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Times have been tough, y’know? He owns the studio, but his business has been shit lately.” Trey’s gaze swept the room. “He’s been trying to sell it, but no one’s interested.”

  Well, that confirmed what Roger had said.

  The side door opened and we all looked over to see Lida coming back in without Michael.

  “Is he okay?” Trey asked her with what sounded like genuine concern.

  Lida nodded, frustration and fatigue flashing briefly over her face. “I figured it was better to let him sit outside for a bit instead of bringing him back and risk him getting all upset again.” She shot us a look of apology and I gave her a slight nod of understanding in response.

  Trey stood. “You want me to go sit with him?” She gave him a grateful smile, but then he glanced back at us. “I mean, unless y’all need to talk to me some more.”

  “No, we’re done,” I said. “I know how to get in touch with you if I need to talk to you again.” I handed him one of my cards. “And feel free to call if you think of anything that might be useful.”

  He tucked the card into the front pocket of his shirt. “Will do. Thanks.” He moved to Lida and gave her a quick, sweet kiss, then strode to the door and left.

  Lida let out a soft sigh that sounded like it was tinged with relief. “Trey is so good with Michael. Like his best friend and big brother all rolled into one.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Sorry about having to take him outside,” she said. “Roger came by earlier and told us about his client, and unfortunately, Michael heard him. He’s so sensitive that he gets really upset whenever he hears bad news. It’s like he doesn’t have the perspective to know that it wasn’t someone he was close to.” Sadness flickered across her face.

  “Could Michael ever live on his own?” Ryan queried gently.

  “No way,” she said without any hesitation. “And I don’t want him to go to a group home or anything like that either. He’s my brother,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. “I can take care of him.” She sounded defensive.

  “Has anyone suggested you do that?” Ryan asked.

  Her defiant stance wilted slightly. “Adam suggested it once. As talented as Michael is, Adam worried that the stress of being in the band would be too much for him, especially with our current schedule. And Uncle Ben agreed with him, though he said Michael wouldn’t need to go to a home and said he’d hire someone to care for Michael at the house.” The frustration returned to her face. “I mean, I know they’re worried about me and think that I’m spreading myself too thin ...” She paused, then rolled her eyes. “Okay, my uncle is worried about me. I think Adam’s only worried that Michael will have a meltdown or something during a concert.” Anger flared in her eyes, but then she took a deep breath and seemed to push it down. “But I could never do that to him. It would kill Michael if he was taken out of the band. He loves it.”

  “Follow your gut,” Ryan advised.

  Lida gave him a firm nod. “Yeah, I intend to. Screw the rest of them.” She forced a smile onto her face. “Okay, I don’t need to be dumping on y’all. Sorry about that. You need to talk to me some more?”

  “Yes, if you have the time and don’t mind,” I said. “Though we mostly came by because we need to speak to Adam.”

  She frowned. “Adam’s been upstairs for hours, working, ever since he came back from his meeting with the label. It’s been a crazy day. It took over an hour to get Michael calmed down after Roger told us about Vic.” She stepped behind us and snagged a candy bar off the table. “Sorry, I’m starving. It’s probably a good thing Roger isn’t here. He’d make me do an extra half hour on the bike if he saw me eating this,” she said with a weak smile.

  “He’s your trainer?”

  “Well, he sets up workouts for me and gets on my ass about my eating, but he’s not officially my trainer or anything.”

  “Have you ever used the gym at Vic Kerry’s office?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t even know he had one there.”

  This next part was going to be more confrontational.

  “This whole thing has generated a lot of publicity for you, hasn’t it?”

  I expected her to get indignant, but to my surprise she merely sighed, looking abruptly exhausted. “I know, and I know that you’re wondering if this whole thing was staged. Uncle Ben grilled me hard about it the other day after you left.” She met my eyes. “I swear, if it was set up, I had nothing to do with it.”

  “What about Adam?” Ryan asked.

  She rubbed her eyes. “He’s awesome. He really is. He knows the business inside and out, and he busts his ass for us.”

  I leaned forward. “And do you think he’d be capable of setting something like this attack up?”

  Lida shook her head emphatically. “He would never do that.” But I could see a flicker of doubt in her eyes. She seemed about to say more but then Michael came back into the room, closely followed by Trey.

  “It’s beginning to rain,” Trey said with an apologetic grimace.

  “And I’m hungry,” Michael announced.

  Lida gave a soft sigh. “If you need to talk to Adam, his office is upstairs,” she said. “Go through the double doors, take a right at the end of the hall, and his office is at the top of the stairs. I’m sorry, but I need to take Michael home.”

  “I understand,” I said. I watched as she returned to Michael and put her arms around him, speaking softly to him before leading him out.

  “I hope she makes it big,” Ryan murmured.

  I exhaled. “Me too.”

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “All right, let’s go see what Mr. Taylor has to add to all of this.”

  “Let’s squeeze him nice and quick,” I said, stifling a yawn. “I’ve already had an insanely long day and Sunday n
ight wore me out. I haven’t had a chance to catch up on my sleep yet.”

  He was silent as we walked to the double doors, but it wasn’t until he stiff-armed through them like a tank that I realized he was upset. In the next instant I realized why. Crap. And what happened Sunday night to wear me out? Or rather, who wore me out. I sighed inwardly. Nice move, Kara.

  He strode down the hall, forcing me to nearly run to catch up. Aggravation flared, pushing out the guilt. The summoning was more exhausting than the sex, damn it. So much for him being all mature and shit. But my annoyance vanished as a familiar sensation crawled over me. I reached out and grabbed Ryan’s arm to stop him.

  He whirled, nearly snarling at me, but then he saw my face and went still, giving me a more normal questioning look. I stared at him for a heartbeat, not wanting to believe I’d seen the earlier anger, but the resonance abruptly twined around me, fresh and disturbing. I sucked in my breath and looked away from Ryan as I shifted into othersight. I didn’t think that whatever had left it behind was still nearby, but I pulled my gun anyway, relieved to see Ryan following my lead. Together we crept down the hall to the corner.

  I took a quick peek, then let out a low curse. At the bottom of the stairs lay Adam Taylor, head twisted at an unnatural angle.

  Chapter 19

  The angle of Adam Taylor’s neck had me fairly convinced that he was dead, but I still stooped and put my fingers to his throat to check for a pulse, while Ryan remained standing with his gun at the ready. I didn’t think that the golem was still around, but best to play it safe. The body was faintly cool to the touch, which led me to the unscientific conclusion that he’d been lying there for a couple of hours at least.

  I straightened and Ryan gave me a questioning look. I stood still for a moment, sensing. Ryan remained quiet, watching and waiting.

  “The resonance feels stronger in that direction,” I said softly, indicating the door at the end of the hall.

  “That leads outside, to the rear of the building,” he replied in a low voice. We moved to the door and opened it cautiously. A light drizzle fell on an empty parking lot. I stepped outside, but the trail of resonance ended at the edge of the lot, and I couldn’t see any mundane clues such as tire marks or a conveniently dropped wallet.

  “Whoever’s controlling the thing must have driven it here,” I said, returning inside and holstering my gun. “I doubt it’s sophisticated enough to drive itself.”

  “Does it feel as if the golem was anywhere else in the building?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t really explain how it feels ... but it’s almost like a slime trail. I can sense it from a few feet away, and it’s really obvious where the golem has been.” I carefully stepped around Adam’s body, then ascended the stairs. I paused when I reached the top. “It came up here,” I called down to Ryan. Adam’s office door stood open. I peered in and could see that the chair behind the desk was on its side. I stood silent and still for a dozen more heartbeats, assessing, then returned downstairs.

  “As far as I can tell,” I told him, “the golem came in that door, went upstairs, grabbed Adam out of his chair, and tossed him down the stairs. It might have given Adam’s neck an extra twist to be sure he was dead, and then it walked right back out that door, where someone picked it up and took it away.”

  Ryan’s gaze raked over the body and the stairs. “This certainly complicates things.”

  I crouched again, worrying my lower lip as I took in the feel of the resonance. After a moment Ryan crouched beside me.

  “Any luck pinning down what it is?” he asked quietly.

  I twitched a shoulder up in a shrug. “I have some theories. But I’m not sure it matters. It doesn’t point to who might be controlling it, or how to stop it.”

  He laid a hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Well, then we’ll simply have to resort to over-the-top violence.”

  I laughed and gave him a grateful smile for pulling me free of the funk before I could get into it.

  He stood and I followed suit. “I’d better call Zack and fill him in,” he said.

  “And I need to call my rank.” And how was I going to justify to Crawford that I knew this was connected to Vic Kerry’s murder? I fought back a sigh. Deal with that later. For now, follow procedure.

  Fortunately, there was no one else left in the building, which made it easy to secure the scene. Zack arrived about ten minutes later, with Jill pulling up in the crime scene van right behind him.

  “You know what I love about working your scenes?” she asked after I filled her in on what I had. “The fact that I do all sorts of work and collect all sorts of evidence, and then I never have to actually process any of it since you then go off and solve the case using your spooooky demon powers.” She wiggled her fingers at me and made an absurd face.

  I had to laugh. “That’s so not true, but I will say that I highly doubt that the perp in this one left behind any fingerprints.”

  She wrinkled her nose as she readied her camera. “Well, unfortunately I still have to check for prints, since it’ll look pretty bad if I don’t.”

  “And it’s always possible that I’m wrong,” I added.

  “Well, I’m still not gonna waste my time hunting down matches for fingerprints on AFIS until you tell me to.” She stepped past me and began photographing the scene. I grinned and stayed out of her way.

  Crawford showed up as Jill was finishing up her pictures. He peered down at the crumpled body and then looked back up at me. He opened his mouth to say something then closed it again, clearly conflicted. He flicked a glance around, taking in the people present.

  Finally he cleared his throat and returned his focus to me. “I take it you have some reason to believe this wasn’t an accident?”

  I nodded. Shit. How was I supposed to explain? This one wasn’t as easy as saying a dog had been chasing me. “There are some, er, similarities to the Victor Kerry scene, as well as to the attack on Lida Moran in New Orleans.”

  His inner turmoil was painfully obvious. Even Ryan and Zack seemed to be aware of it as they stood silently by, carefully pretending to be paying no attention to our conversation.

  “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Then he swept his gaze over the agents. “This is some kind of supernatural-type bullshit, isn’t it?”

  Ryan gave Crawford a grave nod. “In a way, yes. Our task force often handles cases that fall outside the commonly accepted norm.”

  Crawford gave a snort. “ ‘Commonly accepted norm.’ I don’t fucking believe this.” He looked almost relieved, though, as if the fact that Ryan had admitted it helped to prove he hadn’t lost his mind.

  “Sarge,” I began, but he held up his hand to stop me.

  “Kara. It ... it’s okay.” He still had a pained expression, but he didn’t look miserably conflicted anymore. “So, are you some kind of psychic or witch or something?”

  I fought the urge to smile. “Not exactly. I ... um ... have the ability to see arcane power and can shape it for certain purposes.”

  He blew out his breath. “Fucking shit, but that explains a lot about you.”

  I burst out laughing. He looked at me sharply, then joined in a second later. After a few seconds he regained control of himself and looked over at Jill. “And you’re part of this X-Files crap too?”

  She made a rude noise. “Look, just because I hang out with these weird peeps doesn’t mean I’m one of them!”

  That seemed to relieve Crawford more than anything. “All right. So, what do you really have here, Kara?”

  “I have reason to believe that an inanimate creature controlled by supernatural means was involved in the attack on Lida Moran and in the two murders.”

  I could see him visible struggling to accept the otherworldly aspect to all of this. “Okay,” he said slowly, voice perhaps a tiny bit shaky. “What do you do now?”

  I spread my hands. “For now, treat it like any other investigation.”

  Relief filled hi
s eyes. He knew how to handle “any other investigation.”

  “We have three victims,” I continued. “Even though Lida survived going into the river, I’m still counting her as a victim.”

  “But how is Vic Kerry connected?” Crawford asked.

  “Not sure yet,” I said. “One theory is that it’s possible Roger Peeler was the intended victim of Kerry’s murder, since Roger was in the habit of using the workout equipment in Kerry’s office.” I chewed my lower lip in thought for a few heartbeats.

  “That would imply that the band is being targeted,” Crawford said, eyes narrowed. He was in his element now that we were talking about more mundane things.

  “Yes, but I also found a copy of three NSF checks from Adam Taylor in Kerry’s desk. And I also found this.” I tugged the paper with the initials out of my notebook and passed it to him. “Roger Peeler confirmed that Kerry loaned him fifteen thousand dollars.” I paused. “Or rather, Kerry loaned it to him, and then was nice enough to invest it for him. Plus, Kerry was a real sweet guy and approached Roger with the offer of the loan.”

  Crawford’s expression turned dubious. “Real sweet. You have subpoenas out, I take it?”

  “I do for Kerry’s info,” I said, “but I’ll be shocked if I get the return back in less than a week.” I couldn’t help but scowl, even though I respected the privacy issues that delayed the release of information. “However, Roger went down to the bank and gave them permission to give me full access to his accounts. I’m going down to the bank in the morning to pick up copies. I’ll also send out subpoenas for Taylor’s financials.” Ugh. I was going to be drowning in boring paperwork soon.

  “Sounds like you have it covered. And with the bad checks there’s a link between Taylor and Kerry,” he said.

  “Right, but I still have to determine if that link had anything to do with their deaths. I’d like to get a search warrant for Mr. Taylor’s house.”